Carnival Entertainment
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of their total wager {Nevada Gaming Almanac, 9) While the player has a chance to
win, it is statistically more probable that she will lose. Casino patrons, in essence,
are playing at rigged games.
But the outstanding fact of casino gambling is that the players know the odds
are stacked against them, but play nevertheless. This is, to an impartial observer,
incredible. One can imagine the soul-searching needed to risk one’s hard-earned
money on an even-odds wager, or an educated investment. How, then, is it possible
that millions of rational Americans trek to their local casino to gamble at games
that they know to be unfavorable?
The answer is deceptively simple. According to the conventional wisdom,
players no longer gamble at casinos for the chance to legitimately make money,
but because the gambling experience itself is entertainment. The casino is no longer
a poor man’s stock exchange. It is, instead, the place where anyone can engage in
a mix of role playing and dramatic social interaction. The point is not to win big,
but to play big—deep play, rather than solid earnings, is what players are supposed
to take away. Players are forthrightly discouraged from seriously believing that
they can win. In its mission statement, Harrah’s Entertainment, one of the world’s
largest and most respected casino companies, stated “if a customer plays at a
Harrah’s casino for any reason other than the fun of it, that customer is playing for
the wrong reason” (Harrah’s Entertainment, 4). In other words, players should not
expect to win.
How is this related to carnival games, where a large part of the excitement is
the pretense that “everyone wins a prize?” Part of the allure of casino gambling is
the intangible, non-gaming elements—the Parisian ambience at Paris Las Vegas,
the erupting volcano in front of Mirage, and the faux Old West style that seems to
be the default for smaller, non-Strip casinos, at least in the Am erican West. It is no
accident that Steve Wynn described the Las Vegas Strip as the “world’s biggest
carnival pitch.” There is little to distinguish the games at Mandalay Bay from those
at Lady Luck. So casino operators use a hook to get patrons inside. For some
casinos, the hook is a 99-cent shrimp cocktail; for others, it is a white tiger habitat.
Whatever the hook, it always serves a single unswervable purpose—to pull in marks.
In a sense, themed casinos recall one variant of the American carnival— world’s
fairs, which made representations of other cultures accessible to Americans. Themed
casinos permit patrons to “visit” an exotic locale in a relatively safe manner, as did
world’s fairs like the 1893 Columbian Exposition. Of course, the casino mark will
not literally believe she is in Venice or New York City and not a casino; she will,
however, willingly suspend her disbelief and allow the casino to do its best to
convey the essence of Venice or New York. The themed casino resorts of the Strip
allow visitors to negotiate a potentially menacing “Other” that is simultaneously
safe and exciting.