Recently I’ve become a fan of “American Idol,” that weekly talent show with the dysfunctional family of judges. I started watching when there were seven contestants left, and now they’re down to four. So my allegiance is relatively new and still tenuous.
Yet, I can see why America embraces this show. There are the contestants, culled from a much larger number of star wannabees, who might be the girl or boy next door. Because they could all be someone you personally know, they represent everyone’s fantasy of becoming famous.
Then there are the judges: Randy, Paula, and Simon. I’m not sure what credentials each has to be on the panel, but I hope they have produced musical shows or managed other singers or in some way have experience that relates to their current job. Otherwise, their opinions are as cheap as salt.
I like Simon best. He is no-nonsense, even brutal in his assessment of each singer. At the same time, when he gives a thumbs up it means something. Paula is a ditz; her saving grace is that when the other two members are too negative she usually comes up with something soothing to say. And Randy? Anybody who uses the term “Dog” to refer to most of the contestants — as in, “Hey, Dog, I really dug it!” — leaves me in left field.
The MC, Ryan Seacrest, moves the proceedings along, especially when the judges take too much time muttering among themselves. He’s pretty good at making sure every contestant gets the allotted time and then improvising when things go awry, as they sometimes do since the program is offered live.
I think this is its best feature. When I was young, a lot of programming was live and the spontaneity of it was part of the charm. Today, almost everything is rehearsed and filmed in front of a live audience for replay later. It often seems stale. “American Idol” combats that feeling, and I’ll finish this season as a faithful fan to learn if Katherine, Taylor, Chris, or Elliott wins. Hey, Dog, all of you are great
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