I’m normally not one to watch classic television. Growing
up, I always hated when my favorite kids’ channel Nickelodeon
transformed into Nick at Nite and old re-runs of “The
Honeymooners” or “Bewitched” came on. But
there’s one old-time show that I’d sit through any day,
and that’s “The Judy Garland Show.”
In one of the messiest shows on television, Judy Garland would
grace the stage of her own 1960s variety show, mingle with guests
and show off her amazing voice.
My favorite thing about watching the old clips of
Garland’s short-lived show is waiting to see if she’s
wasted or not. Some days she’d be “heavily
medicated” (for those of you out of the loop, Garland died of
a drug overdose in 1969); sometimes she’d be perfectly
coherent. But it’s the anticipation of the drunk-or-not
“Wizard of Oz” star that makes the show such a classic
for me.
That same anticipation is what makes me love “American
Idol.”
I used to hate the show. I mean absolutely hate it. For me, it
was just a bunch of talentless rejects butchering my favorite songs
with karaoke performances worthy of a trashy local dive bar. Of
course, that’s until I saw “it.”
See, a few weeks ago I tuned in for an episode of
“American Idol,” and there she was: America’s
favorite nice girl, Paula Abdul. But there was something different
about her. Something, to me, that was a little off. And
that’s when I saw it. In the glazed-over eyes and sleepy
expression of one of my favorite childhood role models, there it
was: the spirit of Judy Garland, drunkenly smiling back at me.
I’m not saying that Abdul’s a lush or a pill popper,
but let’s just say one of the reasons I tune in every week is
to see one of the judges, and it isn’t the catty Brit or
everyone’s favorite “dawg.”
I know it sounds weird, but I think the reason “American
Idol” is so popular is because people like to see things go
wrong. America loves a mess. And there’s really nothing
messier than the way this show has been going lately.
I’m not talking about those William Hung-esque contestants
who try out at the beginning of the season ““ the ones who
clearly have never sung a good note in their lives and dress like
they fell asleep in the lost-and-found bin at Marshall’s.
Sure, those people are entertaining, but it’s not nearly as
exciting as when someone really talented falls apart on stage.
I get chills every week just waiting in anticipation for people
to go for those Christina Aguilera/Whitney Houston-style big
finishes. For their voices to crack and for them to belt out a
really flat note as their faces are transformed into pure tragedy.
And then for Simon to finish them off by burning them with one of
those “pack your bag, loser” comments that completely
devastates their egos. I love it.
And all the contestants have these tragic stories that brought
them to the grand karaoke stage. The stories get worse and worse
every year. Last year’s winner, Fantasia, was just a single
mother trying to make ends meet. Her rough times are tame compared
to this year’s Bo Bice and his past struggles with the law
over possession of crack.
Scotty “The Body” Savol garners the sympathy vote by
not only coming from humble roots, but a history of domestic
violence for throwing a cell phone at his ex-girlfriend. And you
know it wasn’t one of those fancy tiny little flip phones,
’cause that creep looks to poor for one of those. It had to
be one of those old-school big, chunky computer phones. Poor Scott.
He’s been through so much.
Or how about Anthony Fedorov, who had some crazy throat thing
when he was young and almost wasn’t able to speak again for
the rest of his life. The world might have never been introduced to
his moving renditions of Backstreet Boys songs. We only have God to
thank for that one.
And then there’s my personal favorite, Vonzell. The girl
was a postal worker. It doesn’t get any worse than that.
Of course, a new idol is eventually going to be crowned, and our
favorite band of misfits will probably fade away as their fifteen
minutes of fame draw to a close. Or who knows, maybe this time one
of them will stick around for a while.
Then again, maybe Paula will make a comeback with her own
rendition of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”
E-mail Scott at jscott@media.ucla.edu.