there's funny, and then there's just cruel
A new season of gawking, uncomfortable silences, anyone? Of average Joes and Josephines who are neither Cockers nor Bakers? And a few scant individuals with some discernable talent...welcome to the fourth go-round of American Idol.
Fact is, in the last year the few reality TV shows I have watched have worn thin on me, and I'm pretty disgusted with the direction of the business...and let's be clear, it's nothing more than a reason to sell Nyquil and Oreos, for there is no artistic value to be found in these countless iterations of embarrassing question marks (Who Is My Daddy? Which Midget Will I Marry? Why Are All My Friends Assholes?). Yet American Idol starts off as one of those mostly-trainwreck shows where I cannot pull myself away for those first weeks when the worst are as celebrated as the best, if not more so. However, the lesser entrants into this ongoing triviality can frequently be divided into two categories: those who cannot sing worth a whit but whose self-image grandly exceeds their limitations, and those who not only cannot sing but have such a seething inability to take criticisms that they come off as potential stalker material.
I'll say it this way: if I were Mark McGrath (of Sugar Ray fame), who had the dubious honor of being the first in a string of guest judges on Tuesday night's kickoff show, I would have turned to Simon Cowell and asked, "Hey, you ever worry about any of these mothers?" There were at least four individuals Tuesday night who should have garnered more security-induced concerns than Ryan Seacrest-level cleverness.
And when you come right down to it, there's funny, and then there's that queasy, unpleasant cruelty to be found when someone just doesn't get that they've failed miserably, and the judges just sort of stare, or worse, get so caught up in their own giggling asides about how bad someone is that the "singer" slinks away almost unnoticed (this happened on Wednesday night's follow-up). In some cases you want to pat these poor kids on the shoulder and say, "It probably wasn't meant to be, but hey, at least you don't have to miss anymore classes." And in some cases, you want to take them (and more often their parents) by the shoulders and shake them like a shabby doll in the jaws of a doberman.
Don't get me wrong, I'll be watching next week. It's that kind of trainwreck.
Fact is, in the last year the few reality TV shows I have watched have worn thin on me, and I'm pretty disgusted with the direction of the business...and let's be clear, it's nothing more than a reason to sell Nyquil and Oreos, for there is no artistic value to be found in these countless iterations of embarrassing question marks (Who Is My Daddy? Which Midget Will I Marry? Why Are All My Friends Assholes?). Yet American Idol starts off as one of those mostly-trainwreck shows where I cannot pull myself away for those first weeks when the worst are as celebrated as the best, if not more so. However, the lesser entrants into this ongoing triviality can frequently be divided into two categories: those who cannot sing worth a whit but whose self-image grandly exceeds their limitations, and those who not only cannot sing but have such a seething inability to take criticisms that they come off as potential stalker material.
I'll say it this way: if I were Mark McGrath (of Sugar Ray fame), who had the dubious honor of being the first in a string of guest judges on Tuesday night's kickoff show, I would have turned to Simon Cowell and asked, "Hey, you ever worry about any of these mothers?" There were at least four individuals Tuesday night who should have garnered more security-induced concerns than Ryan Seacrest-level cleverness.
And when you come right down to it, there's funny, and then there's that queasy, unpleasant cruelty to be found when someone just doesn't get that they've failed miserably, and the judges just sort of stare, or worse, get so caught up in their own giggling asides about how bad someone is that the "singer" slinks away almost unnoticed (this happened on Wednesday night's follow-up). In some cases you want to pat these poor kids on the shoulder and say, "It probably wasn't meant to be, but hey, at least you don't have to miss anymore classes." And in some cases, you want to take them (and more often their parents) by the shoulders and shake them like a shabby doll in the jaws of a doberman.
Don't get me wrong, I'll be watching next week. It's that kind of trainwreck.
posted by scn at 6:46 PM
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