Richard Simmons is a lot nicer than Jack Bailey, and true to his word, "Dream Maker" is not about competition. Even in a lighthearted bit in which three newlywed couples face off in a hula contest to win a honeymoon in Hawaii, the losers are treated to vacations in a California spa.

Nor do you have to come up with a Dickensian ordeal to be worthy of the Dream Maker's attention. Many of the segments feature people-next-door types with fairly common dilemmas: a woman who's been juggling work and school for years could use a scholarship to complete her studies; or a girl whose family has recently moved wants to attend her old high school's prom with the boyfriend she left behind.

This amounts to so much filler -- after all, these people don't really need a Dream Maker intervention. Simmons reserves his special zeal for the truly dream-deprived, the ones who inevitably burst into tears as they approach the payoff.

Simmons isn't cynical about these tears -- on the contrary, he's often on the verge of sharing them. Unlike Jack Bailey, he projects a palpable empathy for his charity cases, and really seems to want the best for them.

But "Richard Simmons' Dream Maker" at its most earnest was also at its phoniest. Consider the handling of struggling single mom Jackie, who we see in a taped pre-interview describing how there never seems to be any money left over to lavish on her little girl, Amanda.

She portrays Amanda as a real trouper who understands the pressures placed on her mom and rarely asks for anything. There is one thing she wants, Mom reports (although I suspect 6-year-old Amanda had a little help here) -- a trip to Florida to attend the taping of her favorite Nickelodeon show.

No sooner is the dream articulated than Richard himself comes storming in, arms poised to hug. When the giddiness of the surprise fades, Richard softly explains what compelled him to break with stuffy TV protocol: "When I got your e-mail I wanted to meet [meaningful pause] one of the most wonderful mothers in the world. And that's what you are."

The two bask in the warmth of Mom's recognition for a moment, and then it's time for Richard to get some validation of his own. For this, the actual recipient of the dream, waiting to be whisked away from nursery school, is pressed into service.

But Amanda can't seem to find her motivation, despite Jackie's careful coaching: "Mommy wrote a letter to these people at a place called Dream Makers [sic], and it's a place where they make your wishes come true ... they picked our letter baby and they're making our wish come true. Guess where we're going ... guess where we're going."

With admirable 6-year-old honesty Amanda refuses to guess: "I already know," she mumbles shyly. When asked to repeat this phrase, some annoyance creeps into her voice.

Another bunch of "Dreamers," on the other hand, manage to hit their lines beautifully. But then, real life has put them in such an exquisitely pitiable jam that the segment practically writes itself. It seems money's so tight they can't afford a headstone for their departed paterfamilias, already six years in the ground.

As he walks down the "quiet" street in the "sleepy little New England town" that is home to the Wells family, "Dream Correspondent" Jerry Penacoli lays on the fake sincerity so thickly it looks like he's screen-testing for the "Daily Show."

"They don't have a lot of money, but what they do have is a lot of love that keeps them together." It's family that counts, and they've got nothing to be ashamed of -- except, apparently, when it comes to having stiffed their dad with a mere wooden cross purchased at Wal-Mart.

"I feel as though I let him down," sniffs daughter Patti, and it's a feeling that Penacoli encourages her to go with. By the time the Wells are trotted out to place flowers on their beautiful new headstone, everybody's pretty keyed up. The ensuing orgy of tearful thanks to the Dream Maker makes you long for a good, old-fashioned chair fight.

A common accusation against shows like Jerry Springer's is that guests are lied to and exploited. When a mom with an "out-of-control pre-teen" goes on Ricki Lake, it's under the pretense that she'll have a forum to discuss and maybe get help for her problem. The real entertainment value, of course, comes from watching hidden camera footage of her 9-year-old "gangsta" threatening to bitch-slap her in the green room.

The relationship between Richard and the people who come on his show is more "intricate," to use his word. He doesn't lie to his guests so much as he and his guests lie to each other, together conspiring to create a fairy-tale world in which life is fair.

The guests get to sit back and savor both the rich unjustness of their lives and its long-overdue correction. Richard gets to be the sole agent of that correction, prancing in like some nutty fairy godmother to restore things to their natural order.

In its own way, "Richard Simmons' Dream Maker" is competitive -- it's a contest to see who can shout "Why me?" the loudest. To lose weight the Richard Simmons way -- or any way, for that matter -- requires that you stop feeling sorry for yourself, so it was unseemly to see Simmons traffic in self-pity. He certainly didn't get to where he is today by waiting for the world to give him a break.

When Howard Stern used to command his pal Richard to "talk like a man" or dangled a fishing pole baited with a baked chicken before one of his "porky friends," Richard took it in stride. He had his line of fitness products to promote, and the exposure was worth enduring a few stupid jokes at his expense.

The people across America who actually use those products display similar pluck, and this "Dream Maker" obituary is dedicated to them. However modest their projects of self-transformation may be, they're the real dreamers -- and they deserve better from their champion.

Recent Stories