Bad Habits - American overkill - September 09 2000

We hate to say, “We told you so.” No, wait, we actually enjoy it in a smug sort of way. We told you it was only a matter of time before Britain’s sweet little “Robot Wars” series was bastardized by a U.S. company catering to the “bigger, better, more” credo of American society.

What is it with America and the overkill? People in other countries start their day with a cup of espresso and a petit croissant. We grab a Triple-Shot Murder Mocha with strawberry whipped cream and a scone the size of our heads.

In Italy, they commute to work on cute little Vespa scooters. We jump in our deathtrap SUVs to drive three blocks to the video store.

Now, Comedy Central has taken “Robot Wars” and super-sized it. Renamed “BattleBots” (premiering Aug. 30), this show is big. They’ve morphed the host/backstage correspondent duo into a six-person “broadcast team”: Bill Nye (yup, the Science Guy), comedians Randy and Jason Sklar and Bill Dwyer, football lunkhead commentator Sean Salisbury and not just any girl, but former Babewatch alum Donna D’Errico.

Yes, the premise remains the same: “My robot can beat up/saw apart/sledgehammer your robot.”

But, oh, these new robots ... they’re bigger, faster and sport serious weaponry capable of serious damage. We would be out-and-out lying if we denied our profound joy at the carnage. And though we really believe that we should be grateful to Comedy Central for providing 15-year-old boys across the U.S. with an outlet for their, um, “creative” energies, the purist in us cringes at the changes to the show’s format. Specifically, must we always be so darn tacky?

The old “Robot Wars” set is a dimly lit obstacle course/gladiator pit of rusted metal and dry ice fog; elegant, really, in the way it recalls how we envisioned the future ... back in 1980. Say what you will, it reminded us of “Logan’s Run” and “Battlestar Galactica,” and we were grateful for it.

Meanwhile “BattleBots” is set in a Plexiglas-enclosed wrestling arena that has nothing to do with setting the proper tone for robot death matches and everything to do with avoiding litigation from onlookers injured by wayward robot debris. How utterly ... safe.

And let us not forget the obligatory bright lights, rock ‘n’ roll soundtrack and shrieking play-by-play announcer. We’re sure there’s a national philosophy at work here, an overarching doctrine which explains America’s continual rejection of anything “old” (that is, older than last Tuesday) or even mildly understated. Perhaps because our nation formed a relatively short time ago we remain in a perpetual state of adolescence. It would explain a lot of stuff: Howard Stern, microwave popcorn, Ron Howard’s directorial career.

Poor little “Robot Wars.” Another casualty to Americans’ voracious appetites. But what more can you expect from a country that has spawned both Donald Trump and the bee-hive hairdo?

Hey, who’s up for a Big Gulp?