the worst kind of dysfunctional

I am alternately amused and embarrassed by my enthusiasm over this season of American Idol. But more than following some very talented young people and seeing them bloom on network television, I am writing because AI's creators have allowed the show's flaws to become a reason to watch. And I don't mean the endless string of really bad performers paraded out each year in the initial weeks of the show. No, that might actually be some of the best train-wreck footage this side of actual train-wreck footage. I am speaking of the severe and painfully obvious dysfunctional behavior of the shows host and judges.

Like the worst stereotypical bad families, AI has all the required roles: Randy Jackson plays the loud, sign-throwing, dawg-calling oldest brother, who acts as though he is oblivious to all the family's troubles despite frequently feeding into them with his faux soul attitude. Paula Abdul, perhaps the most heinous offender, comes across as the manic-depressive momma, always cutting off those who disagree with her, inciting the mob to do her bidding, looking like she just hid her "special flask", and annoyed that she isn't the prettiest woman on the block anymore, yet has to give feedback to so many more gorgeous, younger women. And what feedback! The epitome of constructive criticism (this is where the sarcasm really takes hold), she lets everyone know how wonderful and deserving they are, never able to be "real" as she and Randy always pretend they are, and ultimately sounds as insincere as...well, as a record executive. Maybe sitting next to Randy all these years is what has made her so awful. Then there is Simon Cowell. Simon is the successful, smart and experienced businessman who comes home and gets badgered left and right by his harpy of a wife, to the point that he finds himself quietly storing away all the rage and indignation of the situation. He begins overstating things rather than speaking simply and plainly. He says "I'm just being honest" when we all know he's being honest, because we all know that's all he has, his honesty for these people who trudge through each year, thinking they're the next Christina Aguilera or Stevie Wonder, when actually they are the women who do Christina Aguilera's hair, and the men who shine Stevie Wonder's shoes. Simon is left to wallow in all that pent up anger, and sometimes he gives away hints of how strong it has become, with sideways glances at Abdul that would decimate the former failed pop star if her eyes met his, which they will never do, because she must live in constant fear he's going to one day leap up from that judges' table and slam her face into the acrylic dance stage behind them, or merely put a gun to her head and blast her empty skull across four rows of eager, screaming Constantine bait.

And then there is Ryan Seacrest. The Nth degree annoying neighbor.

Seacrest is so awful, at once the school guidance counselor and the robotic sardonicus, he falls back on a clearly broken relationship with Simon, trading insults almost every week. But Seacrest's barbs seemed dipped in a most foul and venomous poison, so much so that I am very curious to know how he's kept his job. If I spoke to my employers that way, I'd be on the dole again.

Assuming Simon maintains some control on the production side of the show, I would hope he'd sit everyone down in a meeting when the season ends and clean house. But maybe he likes being belittled and shouted down week after week. Maybe he's a glutton for punishment.

I suppose, listening to that many dreadful singers every year in hopes that a Next Thing (big or otherwise) will appear, that you might become sort of dulled by it all. It's a shame no one wants to listen to the one guy from whom they could learn the most.

Controlled Burning, OUT.