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American Idol: The Early Favorites

                                      

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American Idol: The Early Favorites

I’m no stranger to missing out on network TV cultural phenomena. Sure, I caught a few episodes of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, but West Wing? 24? I’ll content myself to reruns of Croc Hunter, thank you very much. But when the pasty face of Miss Generica Kelly Clarkson started infiltrating the electric blues and hot pinks of my TRL, I had to get to the bottom of it. I’d seen some commercials and some news headlines; from what I could tell, a snarky Brit and a washed-up pop star were spearheading some strange form of cultural warfare aimed at capitalizing on mock populism and every American’s desire to be on TV. American Idol! It’s what Amurrica needs in this Post 9-11 (cue screams of horror) climate: Something we all believe in! Something we can rally behind! Something we can purchase, even if we can’t hum the tune of that song!


Of course, I attempted to leave my preconceptions at the door when I sat down to watch my first episode of American Idol: Season 2. It’s a good thing too. I was swept up in the after-effects, the big picture, the overall significance of the show, but I had Never Actually Watched It. And that’s the real moneymaker – watching. Fuck buying the album or the tie in promotional gifts – the dollars are in the ratings. A beautiful synergy of product and promotion if there ever was one. But what keeps people watching the show? Surely it isn’t that bleached-blonde butthead host Ryan Seacrest, or “special correspondent” Kristen Holt (billing herself as “the girl who fell” from last season). The smug disinterest of industry exec Randy Jackson? The mock-pained expressions of indecision from Paula Abdul (methinks she includes Botox in her nightly prayers)? No, not even the icy standoffish Simon Cowell, armed with dreaded Hyperbolic Condescension, keeps this giant afloat. The reality (as it usually is with Reality TV) is YOU keep it going.


Not You Watching. You Performing. You Trying Out. But not You Succeeding In Going To The Next Round In Hollywood. Forget those people. It’s those awful failures, those butchered renditions of “I Will Always Love You” that we love. Yes, those terrible train wrecks, the hopelessly hopeful pleas to the judges, the tears, the shattered dreams (“Want to see more bad auditions? More judges putdowns? Then click here, friend! ” the show’s website proclaims as its top headline). Simon’s insults just confirm what we already know. That girl sucked! For shame! She purports to deserve our treasured attention? Throw her to the wolves, bring on the Clorox commercial!


Television is an inherently voyeuristic medium, and reality TV has been hugely successful at playing up this aspect. Humans are social animals. We love to watch other people. We constantly measure ourselves against them, reforming our self-image through comparison and contrast with others. TV wouldn’t exist but for this trait; it sifts through the detritus of mass culture and brings us The Most Important. If it’s not important it’s not on TV, and if it’s not on TV it’s not important. It explains the hunger for Americans (Westerners really; reality TV is immensely popular in Europe as well) to get on TV – it determines if we matter or not.


Back to the show. And the losers. We hate them, really; we envy them. They’ve realized their dreams while we sit motionlessly on the couch. Sure, they won’t make it to superstardom, but they’ve achieved fleeting immortality as a feature of the Talking Picture Box. Our dreams have come true for them. Our only recourse, our only reserve of power is to judge them. The viewers are the real judges; we have merely ceded representative power to Simon, Paula, and Randy (“THEY’RE STILL YOUR FRIENDS” the show’s website shouts). They enact our voyeuristic fantasies for us, wielding the power of fame or infamy over the heads of thousands of young people. Each fulfills a role. Randy is the husky masculine force, whose interest is obviously piqued by tight shirts and short skirts. Paula appeals to our sensitive side – she occasionally attempts some harsh criticisms, but she goes to mush at the first sign of a crushed ego. Simon is the ultra-rational overseer, breaking things down quickly and decisively. How we aspire to be like him, to snap to judgment so rapidly and accurately! Rarely do the other judges overrule Simon; in fact, they often fashion their own attitudes towards the contestants after ascertaining which extreme he’ll fix upon. Worst Ever or Star Material? Simon holds the key, and it’s no wonder why contestant after contestant addresses him in furious antagonism or embarrassingly obsequious thankfulness after their tryouts. It’s why Simon succeeds and Anne Robinson, former host of The Weakest Link, fails. When she slammed contestants for their stupidity, she came down on viewers who didn’t know the answer as well. Simon’s on our side – everyone agrees with him, so he’s a star.


And the winners? Well, I’ve only seen some preliminary rounds. From what I can tell they’re mostly skinny white girls with adequate but unremarkable singing voices. Sort of like the last winner, Kelly Clarkson. Few gimmicks make it past the first round (Wizard costume? No. Yellow pimp suit? Sorry. Ironic tryout from Austin hipster? Please.). It remains to be seen if my personal favorite, the powerful diva-esque Frenchie Davis from New York, will make it in this climate. Keep watching, America – like you’d do anything else.

【作者: xiaoxiao66000】【访问统计:】【2005年12月14日 星期三 23:47】【 加入博采】【打印】