Haul Asses

In the ongoing war between NASCAR and hip-hop for the heart of middle America, the good old boys of the racetrack set have found a way to steal some of that ratings tested make-over mania. Taking a page from Pimp My Ride, Country Music Television has created Trick My Truck. No, this is not some cheesy rip-off where guys in bib overalls and mouths full of chaw restyle Ford and Chevy 4x4s with new paintjobs and ultra-tech interiors. No, the bad boys of the Chrome Shop Mafia (think Jesse James and West Coast Choppers gone Dixie) mean to make big rigs, 18 wheelers, all “nice and purty.”

Every rusting fender, every bent manifold, every cracked headlight and displaced differential has a tale of woe behind it, and Trick My Truck is determined to create joy out of said junk. Thus the series sets up a must-see paradigm: long haul truckers crying like schoolgirls at the sight of their sweet new rides. Where once a hulking half-ton sat, shedding steel and endangering lives, now appears a new flashy freighter, revitalizing its owner’s damaged dignity.

Sadly, that’s about all this series has going for it. Staged that you can practically see the participants reading off cue cards and fixed on making icons out of its shop team, the show forgets we come to it as much for the how-to as the who-does. This makes Trick My Truck a substandard make-over show. Each of the first two episodes began with the mafia (as they like to refer to themselves) playing some manner of mindless junkyard game. The boss then arrives in a golf cart, shaking his head in feigned disgust at the shenanigans. The team retreats to the shop, where they hear the story of the truck-tricking target. We get one of those montages that feature a certified sob story, robotic reaction shots, and pledges that this mighty band of fabricators and mechanics will get the job done right!

At least shows like TLC’s Overhaulin’ admit they are faking the fun, with elaborate practical jokes and kooky costumes to “mostly” throw off their marks. But Trick My Truck tries to “keep it real” by relying on the underwhelming acting skills of its participants. During the set-up scenes, when individuals with names like Rod and C.B. are stalking their next project, you start to wonder if it’s really that easy to climb all over someone’s vehicle in a truck stop parking lot. When the “surprised” individual comes out to see the crew claiming his rig, the response rises to bad b-movie histrionics, similar to the look of “shock” that crosses the faces of individuals chosen by Ty Pennington. You can see the several takes implicit in every one of these “unrehearsed” moments.

There is very little DIY and lots of personality pantomime. We never know how long they take to trick a truck, and issues like motors and mileage are left unexplored and unexploited. A few of the crewmembers stand out for a single valid reason—they do great work. Ryno, a self-described “paint whore,” creates absolutely magnificent murals on the sides of these rigs. His “Icebreaker” design was impressive, but his “American Eagle with Flag” creation was a showstopper. Interiors man Rob also does a dynamite job of refurbishing an old sleeping car into a cozy Alpine cabin, complete with wood paneling, flat screen TV, and fireplace.

Yet other “characters” on hand only confuse and annoy. Scrapyard Dog is a grimy goof who obviously functions under the standard TV missive that all bumpkins, even the significantly socially retarded, are downright entertaining. His missing-toothed mania, full of cornpone caws and “I Love Junk” jive is enough to make even the most Southern-fried hick hide his head in shame. Shop foreman Scott assumes the Junior Samples style of deadpan delivery. Everything he says—in anger or joy—comes out of his mouth like a moth slowly circling around a lighted screen porch door.

Masterminds Kevin and his brother Rod look like rejects from a Good Charlotte tribute band, and their obvious urban flair (no mint julep-soothed accents here) completely clashes with the countrified work ethic of the guys around them. While such a meeting of methodologies might make for good future conflict, there are no country mouse/city mouse cock-ups in the initial episodes.

Still, it’s an interesting idea, as truck drivers get very little respect, what with Duel, B.J. and the Bear, and Claude Akins taking up so much cultural space. The hardworking highwaymen visible on Trick My Truck, logging long hours so we can have fresh berries for our corn flakes, are the lifeblood of the American freight industry. Heck, Wal-Marts would be lost without their regular deliveries of cut-rate cargo. Most of these serious businessmen barely make ends meet, and could use revitalizations of their vehicles to expand their earning capacities. There are hints of this happy ending in Trick My Truck, but it is almost always blotted out by the self-referential ridiculousness going on. A make-over show for Mac trucks is a stellar concept. Too bad CMT went for the good old boy instead of the gearhead. Viewers are as likely as the truckers to feel tricked by this silly show.