Glorified Karaoke
By Gavin Miller – May 2008.
As a general rule I try to avoid watching anything with the word Idol in the title. Unfortunately, whilst flicking from channel to channel on the hotel television when I was on holidays earlier this month, I had the unbearable misfortune of chancing across American Idol on Fox 8. The very first thing I saw was a finalist saying this: “Tonight I am going to sing a Tina Turner song called Proud Mary.” I immediately started looking around the room for something to throw at television. (If you require an explanation as to why this sent me into an almost incurable rage, please do a Wikipedia search on Proud Mary before you continue reading.)
Sure, I should have just changed channels, but there was something about the way Paula Abdul looked so dazed and confused which made me want to keep watching. Ten minutes was all I could stand. There was just so much to hate about it. The audience screaming, Beatlemania style, whenever a contestant hit a half-decent note. The dissection of each performance as if this made-for-television gagfest was actually something more than a glorified karaoke competition. The way it was all so drawn out. The fact that the contestants seemed to actually believe their own hype. And don’t even get me started on that Ryan Seacrest tosser. The most entertaining thing about it was trying to pick what Paula Abdul might be on. (I am told that the correct answer is ‘One Of Last Years Contestants’.)
‘Tis the season to vague out in front of some reality TV, and being the sucker for punishment I am I decided to watch a Big Brother eviction show. I could have driven to Margaret River in the time it took to watch the whole thing. It should not take two and a half hours to update me on what’s been happening in the house and then boot someone out. One hour is plenty, thanks. It’s reality TV, not an installment of The Godfather. At least this year the producers tried to mix things up a bit and go for housemates with more varied backgrounds and life experiences than casts from previous years. Pity they’re all turning out to be just as boring as the housemates from any other year. The midget was the only one I found even slightly interesting to watch and when she broke her leg and got wheeled away a few Friday nights ago I officially stopped caring. New hosts? Who cares! It’s the same old mindless crap, only this year it’s being stretched out even more than before, and the ratings are already reflecting how much the audience isn’t enjoying that idea.
Most of these reality TV shows are all about manufacturing celebrity for it’s own sake, and anyone who wants to be a celebrity for the sake of being a celebrity is a misguided moron who needs a big slap. If you have a friend or family member who says “I just want to be famous!” please slap them hard next time you see them and tell them it’s from me.
I have a friend who is a TV newsreader here in Perth. Let’s call her Dixie, which also happens to be her real name. Dixie was grocery shopping one day when a complete stranger walked up to her and removed a box of breakfast cereal from her trolley. Dixie asked this person what the hell they thought they were doing, as you would. “I don’t think you should be eating this cereal, it’s not good for you” was the reply. Dixie politely explained to this complete stranger that the cereal was actually for her children as she put it back in her trolley and relocated to another aisle as quickly as possible. Clearly, this stranger figured that they actually knew Dixie personally by virtue of the fact that Dixie is on the television five nights a week. In fact, the stranger thought they knew her well enough to offer nutritional advice.
Sure, if you do great work and celebrity follows, then good for you and good luck dealing with it without becoming another Britney Spears or Ben Cousins. The point that these Idol wannabes seem to miss is that celebrity is more often than not a very uncomfortable state of being. Celebrity is the worst part of the job. Ask Ben Cousins how much fun it is to be tailed by a throng of photographers whenever he leaves the house.
The sweet justice that befalls so many of these manufactured reality TV celebrities is that they end up in the worst possible scenario. They achieve their hollow goal of being famous, without having the benefit of being rich. A lot of celebrities – and by celebrities I mean visually famous people as opposed to overly opinionated FM radio presenters like myself – buy themselves a big house with the first big cheque so they have somewhere to escape the constant attention. If you never get the big cheque you will have nowhere to hide when the flashbulbs start going off. But hey, you wanted to be famous, right?
I hope none of the Big Brother housemates get a car this year. They don’t deserve anything. Give the car to a volunteer fire-fighter or an underpaid nurse. As for the major prize for winning Idol, last time I checked it was a record company contract. What’s the second prize? Having your gizzards removed via your nostrils? Don’t these losers realize that winning Idol almost certainly means that it will be the record company, and not themselves, who gets to sit back and count all the money? Part of me feels sorry for them, and another part of me thinks they deserve it.