24 chosen in ‘Idol’ nail-biter
It will be February 2009 before America again experiences suspense like it did Wednesday night. In the next 12 months, our nation will choose a new president; endure triumph, tragedy and, as seems likely today, a recession; crown Academy Award winners; and live through the Olympics gymnastics competition. Perhaps none of it will compare to the drama and tension on Wednesday’s “American Idol.”
The episode is known to the “Idol” crew as the Green Mile, comparing the walk each contestant must take to hear his or her fate to the fabled last walk of those on death row. On this one harrowing night a year, “Idol” has constructed an hour of television in which drama is stripped down to its essentials and held steady in the blistering glare of the klieg lights.
There is no singing to distract from the angst on Green Mile night, no touching video packages -- we simply spend an hour watching as, one by one, each contestant rides an elevator, trudges across a vast auditorium floor and sits alone before the judges to hear whether, having emerged from 100,000 to the top 50, they are about to be tossed back into the anonymous swamp where they have previously toiled or enter history as one of Season 7’s 24.
As Simon Cowell tells one contestant about her singing career, “It’s safe to assume that if we say no at this stage it’s pretty much over.”
So with the stakes being their entire lives, we get to revel in the specter of a solid hour of people enduring the tensest moments they will ever know. “This is probably the worst day of my life. I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life now. Oh, my God,” is how one rejected contestant put it. Simply put, in contemporary society, there is no currency more valuable than fame. Power, money, sex, respect -- all pale before its white heat. And the Green Mile episode is the gateway to fame.
This is not some rinky-dink island relay-race show with a piddly after-taxes cash prize waiting at the end, or a crypto-soap opera partner-hunt dangling a very dubious shot at love everlasting. The prize on the line is the purest substance yet discovered, as testified by Clarkson, Aiken, Underwood, Daughtry, et al, who once sat in these seats. What could make for a better hour of television?
(Actually, making it past this point doesn’t quite guarantee a shot at anything yet. History has shown that many can parlay a stint in the top 12 into stardom, but 13th- to 24th-place finishes remain a guaranteed ticket to Palookaville.)
Notable in Wednesday’s episode were the different ways the judges strung out the pain. Paula Abdul played a mischievous game for the yeses, recounting each step of their journeys before breaking the news. Randy Jackson took the approach of asking each one, “How do you think you did?” and nodding as they delivered stammering pretty-good-I-thinks. Simon, while he had their attention, delivered mini-lectures, warning them to work harder in the real competition or they’d be out. Saving the most dramatic for nearly the last, the news was broken to Atlanta homeless boy Josiah Lemming that he was being sent back to live in his car. Despite some uneven performances, the news seemed inexplicable given the high endearment factor he’d built up during his substantial air time and given that a few barely seen, seeming nonentities like Jason Yeager slipped through into the guys’ ranks.
The elimination makes one wonder about one of the darkest corners of the “Idol” operation. Despite the appearance that the Green Mile occurs at the end of Hollywood Week, in fact Hollywood Week was recorded toward the end of 2007, and the Green Mile, sources informed me, was taped in the last few weeks, giving the judges and the “Idol” team a chance to scrutinize remaining contestants’ backgrounds.
Most contestants rejected on the Green Mile are simply told, “No, I’m sorry” without explanation, leaving open the possibility that some may have been dismissed after Lord knows what was learned about them. Is it possible that something came up on young Lemming, for instance, that led to his ouster? Or, just as likely, was it due to the stated desire of the show this season not to select Sanjayas and focus on finding the strongest possible talents? In the end, Lemming and the tie-wearing politician-singer Kyle Ensley both looked more like novelty candidates than genuine contenders. Perhaps with, just maybe, the strongest talent season in years, they picked the wrong year to be a little too quirky.
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richard.rushfield@ latimes.com