Guilty Pleasure: Cathouse the Series

by Dale Nixon

HBO knows how to push the remote buttons. Or perhaps it is just out of habit that channel surfing always leads to the nine options that the network offers at any given time. If anything, there is usually a Curb Your Enthusiasm rerun to be viewed, and as Julia Louis-Dreyfus accurately pointed out in one episode, it is the network where you get to say “fuck”.

HBO also does a masterful rotation of the hit shows, so while one series is on hiatus or filming another is screening new episodes. But somehow the return of the network's guiltiest pleasure Cathouse: the Series, snuck out a new season in the shadow of Tony Soprano's looming return.

The premise is simple, a “reality” series based in the real-life Mound House, Nevada brothel (might it have been built on the site of the sold-to-developers Ponderosa?), the Moonlite Bunny Ranch. It's based around the non-adventures of the Ranch's various attractions, be they hookers (Air Force Amy, whose Phyllis Diller in sunlight visage and occasional crackhead twitch belie her apparent attractiveness to sauced clientele and earning power) or the proprietor, Dennis Hof, who claims to be living every man's dream by operating a business of vaguely-attractive women having sex to make him money. Lots of money. Which, of course, he philanthropically splits with them 50/50 as his partner. Less expenses, no doubt.

Hof himself became a focal point in the first season, he's an opportunist who likes to play up his business savvy and Robb Report lifestyle (chomping on expensive cigars, breaking out the fine champagne, driving his convertible Mercedes, buying “top performers” laptops, taking home a pair of dingbat twins for a test drive) along with the frequently repeated mantra that his role is solely business partner for the girls. He is often prone to making hyperbolic claims about their earning power. The press bio plays up the Fortune 500 wanna-be appeal of Hof.

“Since buying the Ranch in 1992, Dennis Hof has upgraded the facilities, creating an upscale and customer-friendly brothel that attracts friends and high rollers alike. Hof's "highly motivated sales team" follow precise rules of conduct and safety, and split the fruits of their labor 50-50 with management. It's not uncommon for an attractive girl at the Bunny Ranch to make $200,000 or more a year."

Umm yeah. Can we see some tax returns?

Two specials introduced the Ranch to the HBO viewing public in 2002, with 11 episodes forming the recurring reality series in 2005. For the new second season, HBO has tweaked the format by making the series monthly. At first it seems like an adjustment in programming schedule and a way to maximize on-demand reruns. But after the first episode, it's apparent that producer Patty Kaplan is desperately trying to buy time for a series that has lost most of the star power. Gone are the regulars familiar to viewers (AF Amy, the philosophical whore next door Isabella Soprano, man-faced porn star Sunset Thomas, cyber-starlet Max) and teetering down the hallways of the Ranch on six-inch jelly heels are a bunch of noobs.

Episode 12: Hot to Trot kicks off the new season by introducing the fresh meat (or maguro, as they call it in Japan) with a limo picking up new recruits at the airport. Perky (read bimbo) Brooke Taylor, with her trailer park platinum dye job is soon joined by Melody Lane, a vet of the adult “entertainment” business. Both are positively bubbly to be showing up at the Ranch and in front of the “reality” cameras (sidenote: Dennis, isn't it time to spend some money on landscaping the tumbleweeds around your supposedly multi-million dollar place of business?) and both quickly “call their moms” who are apparently supportive and enthusiastic about their daughter-hoes embarrassing them on international television.

Yeah right. And I have a brothel in a caisson of the Brooklyn Bridge to sell you. This is the crux of the problem with all of the so-called “reality” series running rampant on television. The scripting of the “reality” is often blatant and obvious.

Of course, by the end of the installment, a “spoiler” is brought in...you know, the sacrificial character who will be introduced and summarily killed off/voted off/exiled/sent to a purgatory of guest spots on The View/fired in the name of plot development and chronological continuity. In this case, it's “Tiffany Taylor” a stunning-in-a-California-Playboy bunny kinda way (orange tan, the best teeth and breasts money can buy, expensive blond hair without roots showing) who has come to the Ranch with her mountain of Gucci luggage “on a dare” because she wants to make lots of money to keep her appetite for the finer things quenched. One problem. She doesn't give beejs. Oops. Another one: she only wants to have sex, I mean “party”, with hot guys. She probably neglected to mention that in her screening interview.

Talk about a cliff hanger. How's a hoe to reap the greenbacks without giving head or partying with the ugly fat but rich guys? Umm, stay tuned. Because as vapid and transparent as Cathouse is, it's still a guilty pleasure.

I mean, what are you going to do at 11:30 at night, watch Letterman?