How far we’ve come. 
   Back in the ’70s, aspiring stars were given the chance to perform on TV, then informed of their ineptitude by the sound of a gong. 
   These days, they get repeatedly insulted by an arrogant Brit until they burst into tears. That’s entertainment.
    Sadly, of course, that is entertainment—at least on the Fox network, which recently brought us Tonya Harding pummeling Paula Jones into submission on “Celebrity Boxing.” 
   “American Idol: The Search for a Superstar” is the latest reality show import from the UK, where it was an enormous hit under the name “Pop Idol.” 
   The premise is simple: Over the summer contestants compete in a sing-off, with viewers deciding, via call-in votes, who moves on to the next round. The eventual winner nabs a record contract and management deal.
  If this sounds strangely familiar, that’s because it’s nearly the same concept as the WB’s “Popstars,” which launched the girl group Eden’s Crush. 
  But "Idol" has an added factor--cruelty. 
  In the two-part premiere, thousands of wanna-be Britneys and P. Diddys in seven cities appear before a panel of judges, UK record executive Simon Cowell, ’80s pop star Paula Abdul, and music producer Randy Jackson. Their job is to whittle them down to 30 finalists.
   (Speaking of whittling, the premiere—stretched over two nights and 150 minutes—could have desperately used some.) 
   As the parade of contestants—and exposed navels—begins, so does the humiliation.
    “That was terrible,” says Cowell to one earnest young woman. When Jackson recommends voice lessons, Cowell interrupts to note that her voice is beyond help. She thanks them all and begins to sob.
   Of course, watching people croon wildly off-key while flailing spastically around the stage is an undeniable guilty pleasure. It’s what makes the so-called talent portion of beauty pageants worth watching.
    But the post-performance massacres on "Idol" simply aren’t necessary; isn’t that what we’re supposed to do, in the comfort of our living rooms? 
    When a few of the contestants fight back, we feel like cheering. One woman informs Cowell that he can “kiss my natural-born black ass.”
    Bravo.
   At a few moments, “American Idol” strikes a chord of inadvertent honesty. One heavyset woman concedes, voice quavering, that she doesn’t think she’ll make it because “I’m a big girl.” 
   And indeed, when she is rejected, her singing ability never comes up. Instead, as Cowell delicately puts it, “You don’t look like an American idol.”
   It’s pathetic, but obviously valid: How many homely female singers make it in the MTV era? Talent is only a small part of the equation.
   In the case of the show’s blandly attractive hosts, standup comic Brian Dunkleman and talk show host Ryan Seacrest, talent is clearly no part of the equation. The duo, who serve no apparent purpose, occasionally interrupt the proceedings with patter far more painful to endure than any contestant’s tone-deaf warbling. 
   Why can’t Cowell rip into these two?
   The highlights of the premiere came whenever Abdul—determined, as if missing the point of the program, to be kind to the poor saps getting booted off the stage—clashed with the callow Cowell.
    He insists he’s just honest while she’s being patronizing. She says he’s simply rude. 
   Note to Fox programming executives: You’ve got your next “Celebrity Boxing” lineup right here.
   Over the next few weeks, “American Idol” should morph into an entirely different program. Since viewers determine the outcome, the judges will cease to serve any useful function (though they’ll continue to offer cutting commentary).
    At this point, the identities of the 30 finalists are indistinguishable—a mass of pretty faces with solid if unspectacular voices. With the unpleasant voices and imperfect figures weeded out, "Idol" should resemble less a public stoning than a lengthy episode of “Star Search.” 
   In the end, the winner may be determined by what Cowell refers to as “the X factor”: a certain indefinable star quality. 
   But whether viewers will stay interested really depends on how compelling all the finalists are backstage—with the sniping, the backstabbing, and all those qualities that make MTV’s “The Real World” so much sleazy fun after all these years. 
    In the end that will prove to be the real X factor.

June 14, 2002© 2002 Media Life

--Dan Jewel is a senior editor at Biography Magazine in New York.

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