By Harriet Ryan
Court TV

Would-be participants sign a slew of legal releases to prevent suits, but can anyone really relinquish control of their voices, faces, bodies, and names forever? (AP Photo)

Hey there, couch potato, growing tired of "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire" mania? Reached your limit on Regis, lifelines, and final answer jokes? Don't fret. The next big thing is in the works. It's called "Survivor!" and if you haven't already heard of it, you soon will. The CBS show, which begins filming this spring, blends game show, iron man competition, and reality-based soap opera, and promises to become a phenomenon of Millionaire proportions.

Here's the deal: Sixteen people are marooned on a deserted island in the South China Sea for six weeks. They must forage for food, build shelters, avoid poisonous snakes and wild boars, and learn to cooperate with each other. That might get dicey because every third day the islanders cast secret ballots to kick a fellow castaway off the island. When there are just two people left, the exiled islanders vote one of the pair off, and the last person — the "Survivor!" — gets $1 million. Oh, and this being TV, the islanders are filmed 24-7.

You're already excited, aren't you? "Survivor!" does sound like great television, but let's face it, it also sounds like great litigation. Deadly snakes? Mind games? Fifteen people who feel cheated out of $1 million? Lawyers will be swimming to the island, right? Well, maybe.

Desperately Seeking Fame

Americans will famously do anything to get on television, and that's why the growing number of these reality-based TV shows has to beat volunteers back with a stick. Over 6,000 applied for a spot on "Survivor!." But Americans are equally famous for suing for an injury be it spilled coffee or lost Pokemon cards.

"Nobody's going to negotiate these releases, because if you do they'll say "Next!"

Real life, television-style, can be painful. As anyone who has ever watched MTV's Real World (seven obscenely good-looking strangers mating and fighting in a plush pad in a cool city while the network rolls tape), hot coffee is nothing compared to the psychological trauma and national ridicule in store for those who choose reality-based over reality. Say good-bye to your complex personality. The video splicer has used your voice, face, name, and quirky habits to create a "real" character whom you may not even recognize.

With "Survivor!", the pain and suffering are on a whole different scale. The network says safety is its top priority, but its promotional material for the show touts the physical and mental challenge of the island. There's the harsh wilderness with merciless tropical sun and scary fauna. There's the lack of privacy, contact with loved ones, and basic sanitation.

And then there's stress. The producers spice up the island life by holding physical contests where the castaways compete for such prizes as a cold soda or a candy bar. A victorious islander might be tempted to grab the prize and wolf it down, but he or she must weigh the political options. Eat the snickers now, and fellow castaways might kick you off the island — and away from the $1 million — at the next vote. Split the prize, but with whom? You have to determine your most valuable allies before you divvy up the prize. Sound tense? It's no wonder one columnist compared it to William Golding's "Lord of the Flies."

The First Victim

In fact, the stress may already have claimed a victim. In 1997, when the show premiered on Swedish television, a Bosnian immigrant was the first castaway to be voted off the island. He returned to Sweden where he told his wife he was distraught about how he would be portrayed in the show. A month later, he threw himself in front of a train. The Swedish network blamed pre-existing mental problems, including trauma suffered during the Bosnian war, but the man's wife remains convinced the show's intense psychological pressure caused his death.

CBS says it learned from the Swedish experience. The 50 finalists for the show will be put through a battery of physical and mental tests to make sure all are well-prepared for the experience.

If the show billed the island as a "Club Med with Coke machines where everyone would experience six months of living in a tropical paradise," that might constitute fraud. (AP Photo)

"We are not interested in producing good television at the expense of someone's health or safety," said CBS spokesman Michael Naidus.

Given all the legal mine fields, CBS's decision to produce the show is a testament to the network's faith in its lawyers and the releases they will draw up. Naidus said no releases have been drawn up yet, but that he anticipated they would be "extensive."

A contract basically allows the network to do things to people that would normally land them in civil court. Anyone who has ever been skiing is familiar with such a waiver. Take a look at the back of a lift ticket and you will see fine print informing you that no matter how badly you injure yourself on the slope or in the snack bar, you won't get one red cent.

In addition to assuming responsibility for injuries that occur during filming, people on reality-based shows agree the producers can invade their privacy and libel them, meaning follow them everywhere with a camera and edit the tape to make them look stupid or mean or oversexed.

"You don't give up the right to sue so much as you give up the right to win."

In effect, people signing the release agree that CBS can use their face, voice, and name any time they want. If Dan Rather wants it playing behind him as he delivers the news, well that's the way it goes. Your life, liberty and happiness may be unalienable, but your identity isn't.

"If somebody wants to make an idiot of themselves, the government doesn't care," said Los Angeles entertainment attorney Thomas Hansen. "Look, I could buy from you today the right to use your name and likeness on toilet paper for perpetuity."

Producers generally try to make more attractive offers.

"[The release] can say it in a friendly, buttery way or in a legalistic way and it can be one page or four, but the shorter the better. You want it to be both complete and non-threatening," said Sheppard.

Sign or Go

Those of you out there who are thinking that buttery language aside, you would scour the contract and demand certain things, should consider this: You are no Meryl Streep. You are not even a Ricky Martin. Open your mouth just once, entertainment attorneys say, and you'll be bounced right out of the producer's office.

"Nobody's going to negotiate these releases, because if you do they'll say "Next!" Do you really think they care if it's one person or the next? They're just cattle, just bodies. It's sign the release or don't do it," said Hansen.

Obviously, the type of people dying to appear on these shows aren't likely to mull deeply the implications of signing the release. Getting in front of the camera eclipses giving up their day in court. But if problems develop and a release signer wants to sue, have they relinquished their right to litigate?

"In a sense you have. You don't give up the right to sue so much as you give up the right to win. I suppose it's possible that you could convince an attorney to file suit, but it'll be a very short-lived complaint," said Sheppard.

There are, of course, some exceptions. Without a release, naturally, everyone is fair game. One California suit filed last month concerns a plumber caught on Candid Camera. The plumber was on a routine maintenance call when Candid Camera actors began playing out a violent love triangle in front of him. He had no idea he was being filmed, never signed a release, and is currently suing the show for emotional distress, fraud and invasion of privacy.

Deadly snakes? Mind games? Fifteen people who feel cheated out of $1 million? Lawyers will be swimming to the island, right? Well, maybe. (AP Photo)

Even with a release, there are exceptions. First, the contract may be invalid if the producers misled people about what filming would entail or how the material would be used. In "Survivor!"'s official materials, the producers are clear that the island is deserted and castaways will live in primitive conditions that will challenge them physically or mentally.

But, for example, if the show billed the island as a "Club Med with Coke machines where everyone would experience six months of living in a tropical paradise," that might constitute fraud, said Mark Litwak, a Los Angeles entertainment attorney who has written a book of a book of forms contracts.

Litwak compared it to a photographer who tells his subjects he is taking pictures of their nude bodies for a medical textbook and then sells the pictures to Playboy. Misrepresentation means no valid contract and no protection from suits.

Another exception that would render a release worthless is a producer's gross negligence, which means acting or failing to act in reckless disregard of the safety or property of another. If the "Survivor!" island had an active volcano, for example, and the castaways were killed or injured, they could sue for gross negligence, arguing that the producers should have realized the danger.

No Illegal Harassment

Likewise, no contract can guard against intentional wrongdoing. Some people may want to be on "Survivor!" so much that they would agree to be beaten or enslaved for the opportunity, but a contract that includes illegal activity isn't binding.

"The law does not protect (producers from liability for) any type of intentional wrongdoing. For example, if the release says you can punch me in the mouth or kill me, my heirs would have a case because you can't contract to commit an illegal activity," said Litwak.

A participant can't agree to racial, sexual, or religious harassment either because the law provides special protection for these classes. But entertainment attorneys admit that it's unclear just how much responsibility the producers of, say, "Survivor!" would have if a castaway was peppered with epithets by other cast members. There is no precedent, they say.

The exceptions cover such egregious wrongs that it's hard to imagine any reputable production company or entertainment attorney allowing them to go on. What would they have to gain after all? If the show is held up in court or bankrupted by a settlement, the company and the participants have lost.

Entertainment lawyers say plaintiffs who aren't celebrities have very little chance of winning in court once they've signed away their rights. Producers have sharp attorneys with iron-clad releases, and people enthralled with the prospect of celebrity are only too eager to sign them. Legal consequences are pushed aside. The only thing more popular than being a millionaire, it seems, is being a famous millionaire.

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