Boat show actors could bring a boat to life

It’s probably a well known fact for the regulars of this column that my car has some serious steering problems. Whenever it sees a marine swap meet, it veers out of control into the parking lot. It also pulls into driveways where there are garage sales that have nautical junk. It’s been suggested that it’s the nut on the wheel, but I think it’s more likely an alignment problem.

Nevertheless, most people don’t know that my car also has the same malfunction at open houses. I don’t know what it is that fascinates me about an open house, but I can lay waste to a Sunday afternoon (when the boat is laid up or it’s too frigid to sail, of course) by leapfrogging from open house sign to open house sign.

That said, I stopped at one a few weeks ago that seemed to have more than the usual crowd of visitors. As I started to walk around the house, I had the uneasy feeling that it wasn’t an open house, but that I’d walked into someone’s home during a party. There were presents in the living room and the smell of a baking cake wafted throughout the house.

I sidled up to a woman who was observing the preparations and asked what was going on. “Shhh,” she said. “They’re going to have a birthday party.”

“Who? The homeowners?”
I asked.

She whispered back, “No, silly, the actors!”

I could make this a long story, but let’s keep it short. The builder of this particular tract had hired actors to portray a family: father, mother, boy and girl.

I discovered later from a newspaper article that the builder was having great success with actors simulating family life in their model homes. These faux homeowners apparently had a general story line to follow, in this case, a birthday party, but the rest was improvised.

According to the marketing people for this particular home development, it was proving to be very successful, allowing potential buyers to envision how their own family would look in one of these homes.

In the scenario I encountered, it was Mom’s birthday and she was upstairs in the bathroom putting on makeup, while telling potential homebuyers about the great whirlpool tub. Dad and the kids were working in the kitchen, showcasing the drawer glides and the center-island cook area while buyers wandered about, visualizing themselves having just such a party.

It was a little surreal—as though stepping into the middle of a “Twilight Zone” episode—but I can see what the builder’s marketing director meant when he said it gave the home “a heartbeat” and made the open house “an emotional experience.”

As I drove away, it occurred to me that this might be the next great boat show experience too. For years, boat shows were static and rather formal, with row upon row of boats and yachts sitting stiffly on stands in a covered arena. To get aboard, you had to climb stairway after stairway and then you had to be careful not to fall off onto the concrete floor. It was a sterile and rather unappealing way to buy a boat.

The big breakthrough in boat shows came when in-the-water shows were introduced, which was a great improvement. First of all, you didn’t have to climb all the ladders, and second, a boat seems to come alive when it’s afloat. There’s a movement as you step aboard, and it’s a more natural way to consider your purchase.
But here’s the zinger, it still isn’t realistic. Not one of the many boats I’ve owned has ever looked like those carefully decorated and artfully posed yachts at a boat show. I’ve never had any of those cutesy Tommy Bahamas pillows on my settee, the tall candles on the dinette would have torched the cabin the first time we hit a wave, and the sensuous coverlet on the owner’s berth is more five-star resort than weekend racer.

So I started imagining various story lines that actors could improvise to show off a boat in its truest colors. As a starting point and with the boat at the dock, we could place four method actors in the cockpit with a couple of six packs. To stay in character, they would be a day or so unshaven, be wearing grubby and salt-stained clothing, and they would slouch appallingly. They would also keep a running commentary on every female that passed along the dock. That’s how one of my neighbors in the marina seems to use his boat.

Another possibility is more weekend-racerish. As potential buyers come aboard, they encounter the entire cabin covered with wet and smelly sails that have been thrown unceremoniously down the forward hatch during a frantic leeward rounding. The galley sink would have the leftovers of cold sandwiches and warm beers. Adding to the general funk would be several pairs of oilskins: some occupied, some not. Instead of the genteel birthday party that I encountered at the open house, the crew would be sitting in the cockpit second-guessing every wrong tack they made and every sloppy spinnaker set.

For cruising boats, the story line for the actors should be a little different. In the cabin, sleeping bags are scattered around the various bunks and, in the forward stateroom, Dad is snoring loudly from the depths of such a bag. Muffy and Skip are arguing over who has to pump up the inflatable dinghy, which is draped across the cockpit like a deflated Hindenberg. And Mom is banging around the galley, swearing under her breath because Dad had promised her “relaxing weekends” when they bought the boat.

I don’t think, however, that we’re ready for actors portraying docking or anchoring scenarios. You know the ones I mean, where Dad is standing at the helm shouting at his wife to “Drop the damn anchor!” or “Just pick up the friggin’ dock line!”

Let’s draw the line on reality boat shows right there. After all, boat shows are intended to sell boats, not start divorce proceedings.