The show is highly consumable. Lots of great reality conventions--money, arguing, deal making, likable "regular guys"--but the beauty is these conventions are balanced with one foot in a passable reality. Pawn shops are actual things. It's an ingrained part of our society rich with cultural cache and connotation. What is the moment like when you look a loved one in the face and say "I pawned it"? We're post-Craigslist now, and selling stuff in a matter of days, or even hours, takes Internet-level effort. A pawn shop is for when you need money now. Not now, like thirty minutes ago. Then you take that model, add Vegas, and set-up cameras. I know, this should be the most despicable and sneering drama on television, but filtered through History Channel's production sieve, she shines like a goddamn dime.
The items featured are the pillar of the show. Both a platform for impromptu history lessons, and catalyst for steamy doses of old school haggling, the variety of items passed in front of the guys never ceases to absolutely stun me. For every "who ever even heard of such a thing?" moment, the Pawn Stars seem to have some anecdote or factoid to validate any bizarre item's existence. For those things even deeper still in the cut, the Pawn Stars have a brood of experts at their disposal. You name a specific type of nerdery, Rick and company will find you a nerd. When the gun expert, Clark county museum guy, or chin-bearded historical auctions guy rolls in, brace for an elite level knowledge drop.
Tangible history lives in each item placed on the counter. The Pawn Stars and their experts exorcise the context from a relic, weave a magic shroud of historical import, and then slap a figure on it worth half of what they'll sell it for. It's the best parts of Antiques Roadshow, but instead of some sepcualtive auction value, these people walk out with a handful of cash into skeezy ass Las Vegas. As far as a central idea to grip the viewer goes, it's air tight, but no matter the fake-real sheen used to coat each episode, the second, and more compelling story still teems beneath the surface.
I saw an episode with a polite minute or two on a solidly grey, khaki wearing, reform hippie out to sell his collection of concert posters. He had a stack of vintage psychedelic San Francisco prints with Summer of Love cliches beaming from each sheet. The bands and venues featured were pantheon and the condition was impressive. Bear in mind, this guy was out getting weird on the scene in 1967 San Fran. He still had the presence of mind to not only collect these posters, but get them home from what ever crash-pad/love-in he might stagger out of come daybreak. That alone is worth a thousand bucks.
Already knowing retail was $8000, he wanted $3500. He left with $2125. The twenty-five, a token of hollow victory. Knocked down to half of his asking price, resigned to concede, he pushed for a tiny amount more just to have the last word.
The deal done, they interviewed the aging Hippie outside. A thin smile found its way out from his mustache. Eyes tight behind his glasses, he said "I'm gonna be sad to leave 'em here...but I am moving on with my life." I am moving on with my life? Those are words rife with implication. Is he finally sober, the selling of the posters a symbolic funeral for his rock'n'roll life time and cocaine sweet tooth? Perhaps it's some shrewd third wife intent to break a man of something he loves just to assert her station. Maybe he's terminally ill, and the ephemeral nature of things we carry with us revealed, he's shoring up his resources to disappear into a beautiful, far-off place. Any which way, the potential for realness is hard to quantify.
The up against it guy, yelping outside the store, his antique pistol worth a fraction of what he paid. The woman selling her grandmother's jewelry, and stumbling head-long into a small fortune. The waitress given a turquoise and silver dancing Indian statue by an elderly regular. The guy who rubs his hands together and says "I already got plans for this $6500," like it's a ten spot he found in an old suit jacket. The scope of circumstance leading up to the sale, and the labyrinthine web of possibilities opened up after, is downright provocative. It's the sort of reality so pungent, the fake-real construct in this case is not to manufacture reality, but to dilute it.
The items featured are the pillar of the show. Both a platform for impromptu history lessons, and catalyst for steamy doses of old school haggling, the variety of items passed in front of the guys never ceases to absolutely stun me. For every "who ever even heard of such a thing?" moment, the Pawn Stars seem to have some anecdote or factoid to validate any bizarre item's existence. For those things even deeper still in the cut, the Pawn Stars have a brood of experts at their disposal. You name a specific type of nerdery, Rick and company will find you a nerd. When the gun expert, Clark county museum guy, or chin-bearded historical auctions guy rolls in, brace for an elite level knowledge drop.
Tangible history lives in each item placed on the counter. The Pawn Stars and their experts exorcise the context from a relic, weave a magic shroud of historical import, and then slap a figure on it worth half of what they'll sell it for. It's the best parts of Antiques Roadshow, but instead of some sepcualtive auction value, these people walk out with a handful of cash into skeezy ass Las Vegas. As far as a central idea to grip the viewer goes, it's air tight, but no matter the fake-real sheen used to coat each episode, the second, and more compelling story still teems beneath the surface.
I saw an episode with a polite minute or two on a solidly grey, khaki wearing, reform hippie out to sell his collection of concert posters. He had a stack of vintage psychedelic San Francisco prints with Summer of Love cliches beaming from each sheet. The bands and venues featured were pantheon and the condition was impressive. Bear in mind, this guy was out getting weird on the scene in 1967 San Fran. He still had the presence of mind to not only collect these posters, but get them home from what ever crash-pad/love-in he might stagger out of come daybreak. That alone is worth a thousand bucks.
Already knowing retail was $8000, he wanted $3500. He left with $2125. The twenty-five, a token of hollow victory. Knocked down to half of his asking price, resigned to concede, he pushed for a tiny amount more just to have the last word.
The deal done, they interviewed the aging Hippie outside. A thin smile found its way out from his mustache. Eyes tight behind his glasses, he said "I'm gonna be sad to leave 'em here...but I am moving on with my life." I am moving on with my life? Those are words rife with implication. Is he finally sober, the selling of the posters a symbolic funeral for his rock'n'roll life time and cocaine sweet tooth? Perhaps it's some shrewd third wife intent to break a man of something he loves just to assert her station. Maybe he's terminally ill, and the ephemeral nature of things we carry with us revealed, he's shoring up his resources to disappear into a beautiful, far-off place. Any which way, the potential for realness is hard to quantify.
The up against it guy, yelping outside the store, his antique pistol worth a fraction of what he paid. The woman selling her grandmother's jewelry, and stumbling head-long into a small fortune. The waitress given a turquoise and silver dancing Indian statue by an elderly regular. The guy who rubs his hands together and says "I already got plans for this $6500," like it's a ten spot he found in an old suit jacket. The scope of circumstance leading up to the sale, and the labyrinthine web of possibilities opened up after, is downright provocative. It's the sort of reality so pungent, the fake-real construct in this case is not to manufacture reality, but to dilute it.
Geesh I have been watching all the wrong reality tv...
ReplyDeleteI just gave this gem a twice-over when looking for the junk culture piece to send to T.O.M. Bravo, sir. Keep chopping that wood. I'd like to see an entire series of TV pieces from you, starting w/ the hoarders and this. Something to think about as a column for a magazine or something.
ReplyDeleteI feel like shoes like this have really helped me with my negotiating skills. I have definitely seen some improvement with my ability to haggle in pawnshops. It is how I was able to get my new Fender Stratocaster for a great price.
ReplyDeletehttp://www.pawnshopnorthphila.com