From whole cloth, a hit

Why oh why are they messing with the formula? The season premiere of “Project Runway” consciously discards the typical first challenge of creating a garment out of everyday objects and instead offers the contestants a wealth of fabulous fabrics with which to reflect their core design self.

OK, but it’s nowhere near as fun as watching someone tear the leather off a divan. And the outfits are, not surprisingly, fairly predictable. And much less was revealed about the designers than if they had to disassemble lamp shades.

Tell me, Tim Gunn; tell me, Heidi Klum: Why fix it if it ain’t broke?

Perhaps I speak with the passion of the newly fallen. I came late to Bravo’s “Project Runway,” and I have no excuse for my lateness save ignorance and an outdated, pig-headed resistance to reality TV. But now I am a TV critic, so I am watching everything and, frankly, I cannot believe how fabulous, and unnervingly addictive, “Project Runway” is. I sit down to watch an episode of a previous season on DVD and, bam, there’s three hours gone while deadlines fly by and dinner simmers to scorched nothingness. Because I have to find out What Happened Next.

Who thought of this show? They should get the first-ever Nobel Prize for television. Combining the best aspect of reality TV -- truth is always stranger, and more disturbingly ambitious, than fiction -- and the survivalist cunning of a really good spy serial, “Project Runway” is essentially “Mission: Impossible” for fashionistas. To save the world, host Klum intones, you must construct a prom dress out of whatever you can find in a dentist’s office. And next thing you know, a perfectly presentable frock made out of dental floss and spit cups is waltzing down the runway.

OK, maybe not a dentist’s office but certainly a supermarket, an apartment, a hardware store. In Season 3, the contestants had to work in teams to create formalwear for the reigning Miss USA and design complementary outfits for a gal and her dog.

And the people, oh the people -- they that dwell up in the steeple. According to the story line, contestants are culled after thousands of interviews conducted across the country by co-host/mentor Gunn and a panel of judges. Maybe that’s true, or maybe the producers and a casting director join in, but however it’s done, the results have been amazing. Not only do they find the requisite picturesque mix of saints and sinners -- A mother of four who wears jodhpurs? A guy with tattoos encircling his neck? -- but also the truly talented. Even the designers who get the boot early manage to scrape together a garment that could certainly strut down Melrose if not a catwalk in Milan. Sometimes using only shower curtains and a duvet cover. How is this possible?

Drama is provided, of course, by the reactions and interactions of the designers, most of whom have poignant back stories, personalities that quickly become irritating or endearing, and few self-esteem issues. But while catty comments, calculated maneuverings and sometimes surprising judgments spice up the proceedings, it is the weekly art-from-air magic that enthralls the viewer, offering a glimpse into the rarefied world of fashion construction. Please, “Project Runway,” bring it back!

Because even though I can’t imagine whipping up a little number for myself out of coffee filters (there are not enough coffee filters in the world, for one thing, and I need what is available for coffee), it is nice to be reminded that fashion isn’t a force completely beyond our pedestrian grasp. The thrill of “Project Runway” is watching the artisan at work; like a chef, he or she takes ordinary ingredients, available to all of us, and with them makes something extraordinary.

Only remember, a little too much ruching, a few too many clean lines, and you’re off the show.

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mary.mcnamara@latimes.com