Bouncy Big Balls the breakout stars of goofy ‘Wipeout’

Big Balls.

Say it out loud. "Big Balls."

If you're not already feeling a little better, maybe even sensing the beginnings of a grin, you've obviously never been introduced to the spine-crunching wonderfulness of "Wipeout" (8 p.m. Wednesdays, KTNV-TV, Channel 13).

Of the dozens of obstacles contestants fling themselves at while stumbling through "Wipeout's" Japanese TV-influenced course, the Big Balls -- a line of four bouncy orbs that are all but impossible to traverse -- are the show's breakout stars.

Each week, 24 contestants challenge the Big Balls, and most weeks, 24 of them are sent careening off in an undignified manner, limbs flailing about and twisting in ways nature never intended.

I can probably lose my critic's license for saying this, but there are few things on TV I look forward to more than seeing someone slam face-first into one of the balls, the impact folding their bodies up so severely that they kick themselves in the back of the head. Thankfully, "Wipeout" lets viewers relive those moments several times through gratuitous slow-motion, even super slow-motion, replays.

Don't get me wrong, I still love the hypnotic, if glacially paced, "Mad Men." It's just that I also love seeing a succession of goofballs get punched in the head by a wall of pistoning boxing gloves in one of "Wipeout's" other signature bits. Honestly, it's like they turned "America's Funniest Home Videos" into a game show.

Other summer offerings, including ABC's nearly as silly "Dating in the Dark," force you to pay at least the tiniest bit of attention. But "Wipeout" is perfect for those times when even The Three Stooges seem too complex.

Man runs across a series of collapsing planks, man bounces his chin off one of them and falls in the mud. It's that simple.

"Wipeout," you see, taps into that primal, Neanderthal part of our brains that still loves triple cheeseburgers, "Baywatch" and big-budget action movies based on Hasbro toys from the '80s.

The series bills itself as having "the most extraordinary obstacle course ever assembled." It doesn't. Some of the Japanese versions that came before it -- "Viking: The Ultimate Obstacle Course," for example -- would punch the "Wipeout" course in the stomach and steal its lunch money.

And while it's similar to Spike TV's "MXC" and G4's "Ninja Warrior" -- which simply added English voice-overs to Japan's "Takeshi's Castle" and "Sasuke" -- neither of them are as gut-bustingly goofy as "Wipeout."

Part of that stems from the contestants, many of whom have started bounding about and dressing like the audience at "Let's Make a Deal." Some see the show as the chance to show off their Yoda impression, some view it as a means to express their maniacal devotion to their pet rabbit. Then there are the true oddballs, such as the mild-mannered Bible school teacher calling himself "The God Warrior" who had a very specific plan for the $50,000 grand prize should he win: "I wanna open my own strip club."

Hosts John Anderson and John Henson are on hand to provide more groaners than a night in the Catskills. A contestant proud of his Irish heritage is "running as Bel-fast as he can"; they later observe that he's "sham-rocking this course." (Co-host Jill Wagner is there to wear belly shirts, interview the contestants, then grimace and laugh when they fall on their necks.)

"Wipeout's" only downfall is that it gets less interesting as it goes. The first round -- the Big Balls, the Sucker Punch Wall and various other ways of sending contestants tumbling head over heels over head again -- starts strong, with 24 contestants to manhandle. (Lest you get the wrong idea, I've only seen one or two injured to the point they couldn't continue. Although nobody sees what kind of shape the rest of them are in the next morning.)

But then there's The Wipeout Zone, each episode's grand finale. With its dramatic lighting and random bursts of fire, it should be filled with suspense, but it's actually the least interesting part and one I often skip. By then, the field has been winnowed to four relatively coordinated challengers, and there are far fewer ways to send them crashing to the chilly waters below.

But that first half-hour or so? That's the kind of twisted genius I hope is still around when I'm sitting in the corner of a group home and drooling into my lap.

Which at this rate probably isn't as far away as I'd like to think.

Christopher Lawrence's Life on the Couch column appears on Sundays. E-mail him at clawrence@reviewjournal.com.