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01/19/2005: "American Idol: An American Rite of Passage"

If everything in life were as enjoyable as American Idol’s casting call, the world would be a better place. I understand past contestants—successful contestants, mostly—have had a combined 23 chart-topping singles; I’m still not sure there’s any redeeming value in this. But the rejects. My God, the rejects. They’re so bad, they’re good.

Watching tonight’s season premiere—watching Americans come out in droves to sleep on floors amongst strangers, hope in their eyes, frogs in their throats—it occurs to me the whole point of this show is not, contrary to popular belief, to win. No. It is to get on TV. And it is to lose. And not just to lose, but to lose in horribly embarrassing fashion. Half of the auditions I’ve seen this evening have ended with the judges laughing at the contestants. Most of the rest have ended with the judges just sort of feeling sorry. But every one of the auditions, both good and bad, have ended with the contestants believing they’ve just put on the performance of their lifetimes—real multi-platinum, award-winning, world-touring, t-shirt-selling stuff.

Now, make no mistake: There have been good auditions. They’re not in the majority, mind you. And based on the commercials in the weeks leading up to this episode, good auditions clearly weren’t the point anyway. But there have, indeed, been a few good ones here and there. Give credit where credit is due.

Still, in the words of Jimmy Pop Ali, most of the contestants sing like amputees: They can’t hold a note. They can’t carry a tune.

I refuse to believe these people think they belong on stage with the likes of, say, Justin Timberlake. Deep down, in their heart of hearts, there’s just no way they can believe that. It beats all reason. Yet the passion with which they sing—their body language, the faces they make—defies their inability. These people walk out of the audition room crying, talking about the future successes they’ll have, and how they’ll stick a big fat thumb in Paula Abdul’s eye. These people, who no one would ever accuse of having actual talent, believe they’ve been eliminated because, in the quest to crown the next American Idol, many “good people” will have to be turned down.

This isn’t a reality show. It isn’t a talent contest—not for those without talent, at least. No, for them, it’s a rite of passage.

It’s often said that Hollywood is akin to American royalty. If this is so, I’ve got to believe average Americans of the stripe who audition for American Idol—in spite of their obvious lack of talent—only audition because it puts them in their place. It justifies their station in life. For most of these people, American Idol no longer even seems to be about the American Idol competition; it seems to be about getting on TV and acting like fools, not for it’s own sake but for the sake of taking part in a modern American narrative. Somewhere along the way, they get wrapped up in the moment. They buy into their own hype. They forget that even the Monkees knew better than to believe they were actual rock stars.

Then they get rejected.

And then they start to cry.

I don’t know any of these people. I could be dead wrong on this. It’s just an observation. But as far as I can tell, most of these people who go home crying probably get over it. They abandon their Hollywood ambitions. They re-adapt to the lives they’ve always led. And they move on—no lesson learned, necessarily, but none the worse for the wear.

I think that’s the point. They’re not in it for the chance at success. They’re in it for the rush.

They wouldn’t know what to do with an American Idol victory if it slapped them across the mouth.