New cable shows dig deep, but still turn up typical Vegas

Whenever cable series come to town, they usually gloss over everything not included in the Vegas Variety Pack: a buffet, some showgirls, a wedding chapel Elvis impersonator and a bachelorette party complete with matching Ed Hardy T-shirts and lower-back tattoos.

But two shows are digging deeper.

"Cities of the Underworld" (9 p.m. today, History Channel) devotes an episode to examining what goes on deep below Las Vegas. The new series "Rehab: Party at the Hard Rock Hotel" (10 p.m. Tuesdays, truTV), meanwhile, only goes down about five or six feet -- the depth of the pool the Sunday afternoon party calls home -- but it feels even shallower.

In retrospect, Vegas probably wasn't the best idea for "Cities of the Underworld," since it turns out not that much really goes on down there -- stupid caliche! -- and our underground kind of pales in comparison to those in the surrounding episodes: Sicily's Mafia territory and Hitler's trenches.

But since anything about Las Vegas usually attracts big ratings, I'm sure it will pay off. Even though the episode has to expand the boundaries of Las Vegas to include Lake Tahoe.

The "Secret Sin City" episode finds host Don Wildman deep in the bowels of Hoover Dam touring tunnels so secret the camera has to be turned off, repairing the Fountains of Bellagio "for the first time on TV" and inspecting Fitzgeralds' subterranean hard-count room, which is "almost never seen on television."

But then the episode takes an unnecessary trip to the casino's surveillance room for the same kind of footage that turns up every few hours on the Travel Channel. And the look at the city's storm channels isn't exactly riveting.

"Rehab," on the other hand, is so brilliantly simple, I'm kicking myself for not having thought of it first.

The series trains its cameras on one of the wildest, most successful parties the Strip has ever known and lets nature take its course. (Although judging by the number of Rehab-themed ads for breast implants that pop up every spring, "nature" may not be the best word.)

"Rehab" should be content in letting ordinary shlubs like me see what the party's really like without spending $40 on the cover charge and the next six months in the gym. But it keeps trying to focus on the pool's core group of employees -- a la "Sunset Tan," "L.A. Ink" and others -- rather than the random, drunken hardbodies of the week. Honestly, though, the pool staff would have to consist of leprechauns, mermaids, unicorns and a sober, rational Amy Winehouse to draw attention away from all that debauchery.

There's the girl who gets violently, George Jones-back-in-the-day drunk and starts slapping and biting security guards. The guy who passes out in the bushes and swears it's 1998. And the dozens of shirtless jackasses, screaming and mugging for the cameras, that you just want to punch in the throat.

Then there's the bare flesh. Acres and acres of it. And while no one's top has come off -- yet -- with all the bouncing, grinding, jiggling and gyrating going on, the only thing separating most of the footage from a "Girls Gone Wild" commercial is the lack of obnoxious steel drum music.

The exhibitionism isn't limited to the guests. A cocktail waitress named Julia, who gave up selling insurance in San Diego to work at Rehab, showcases what she calls her "special charm," which apparently includes her "booby shake" as well as slapping guys on the butt and squeezing their nipples. (The rest of the regulars include fellow server Kelly, who admits Rehab offers "an absurd amount of money in a small amount of time," as well as bartenders Chantel and Christina, security workers Sharon and Deebo, and new pool general manager Justin.)

In the end, though, "Rehab" suffers from the same problem as many reality shows: too much time spent showing what's coming next. Pretty much anything worth seeing can be found in the seconds before the episode starts or before a commercial break. "Rehab" even adds a new wrinkle by wasting still more time showing you what you just saw 10 minutes ago via a series of sepia-toned flashbacks.

Like I said, it's shallow. But while you might not want to dive in head first, it's at least worth dipping your toe in to see how it feels.

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