SA IDOLS
Ben Elton recently parodied the whole Pop Idols phenomenon in his caustic, satirical, very funny book, CHART THROB and to be frank - I'm not surprised..
With Elton there is no escape: the character traits of the judges are all there in glorious Yechnocolour even if they are agglomerated morphs of the real individuals. Did I say real?
And that's the whole point of the book. There is no real thing.
The whole screaming match, as in SA Idols, is a bogus, contrived, ersatz, manipulated stage show that bears little resemblance to reality through meticulously staged and edited footage interspersed with Colin Moss voice-overs to help elevate the drama.
The simple mathematics relative to (even the SA version of) the event would place the judging panel in audition-service for years if they were to listen to every single applicant on the list, then ponder still further over their fate.
It simply cannot happen that way but that's certainly the way it's sold. After all, as Elton says: "It's great telly!"
Then one wonders at the theatrics of the judging panel themselves and the gossamer nature of the egos involved, ironically combined with rhino-hide attitudes when Gareth or Randall think they are being upstaged by a godawful singer or someone with enough chutzpah to bite back just a little.
What would really make great telly is a disgruntled contestant/victim striding up to Randall and planting a Mitchell's Plain knuckle sandwich in his condescending, overbearing gob. This who-knows-where-he came-from (or even gives a toss) working-man's clone of Simon Cowell, without any of the conceptual talent of the original, is about as entertaining as toothache on a Friday night. Attempting the sardonic vitriole is all very well but not when it comes out as petulant wank as it most certainly does in Randall's case.
Additionally: what, for example, is Cliff's claim to fame other than being an excruciatingly boring radio jock with a very tired style of delivery exacerbated by a nasal whine? His presence and behaviour on Idols is as predictable as teenage morning erections. Any spunky young gal with even half a voice engenders in him instant saccharin sentimentality and gravitas as he expounds lyrical on her potential stardom if her motives and passion are true. Which is rich coming from him when you can literally see the lecherous twinkle in his eyes as they rove over fresh, ripe young flesh.
Ben Elton recently parodied the whole Pop Idols phenomenon in his caustic, satirical, very funny book, CHART THROB and to be frank - I'm not surprised..
With Elton there is no escape: the character traits of the judges are all there in glorious Yechnocolour even if they are agglomerated morphs of the real individuals. Did I say real?
And that's the whole point of the book. There is no real thing.
The whole screaming match, as in SA Idols, is a bogus, contrived, ersatz, manipulated stage show that bears little resemblance to reality through meticulously staged and edited footage interspersed with Colin Moss voice-overs to help elevate the drama.
The simple mathematics relative to (even the SA version of) the event would place the judging panel in audition-service for years if they were to listen to every single applicant on the list, then ponder still further over their fate.
It simply cannot happen that way but that's certainly the way it's sold. After all, as Elton says: "It's great telly!"
Then one wonders at the theatrics of the judging panel themselves and the gossamer nature of the egos involved, ironically combined with rhino-hide attitudes when Gareth or Randall think they are being upstaged by a godawful singer or someone with enough chutzpah to bite back just a little.
What would really make great telly is a disgruntled contestant/victim striding up to Randall and planting a Mitchell's Plain knuckle sandwich in his condescending, overbearing gob. This who-knows-where-he came-from (or even gives a toss) working-man's clone of Simon Cowell, without any of the conceptual talent of the original, is about as entertaining as toothache on a Friday night. Attempting the sardonic vitriole is all very well but not when it comes out as petulant wank as it most certainly does in Randall's case.
Additionally: what, for example, is Cliff's claim to fame other than being an excruciatingly boring radio jock with a very tired style of delivery exacerbated by a nasal whine? His presence and behaviour on Idols is as predictable as teenage morning erections. Any spunky young gal with even half a voice engenders in him instant saccharin sentimentality and gravitas as he expounds lyrical on her potential stardom if her motives and passion are true. Which is rich coming from him when you can literally see the lecherous twinkle in his eyes as they rove over fresh, ripe young flesh.
He is almost as creepy as that wild-eyed Vodacom meerkat thing. Almost.
And Mara, God bless her. She lights up like a US incursion into nighttime Baghdad when a young black person, with a hint of something (or other - usually beyond my own powers of discernment), steps up to be evaluated. Lapsing into Kwaito vernacular, she praises up the Luther Vandross/Whitney Houston wannabees with words of wisdom and encouragement that only she understands. Conversely,with the same dismissive gestures often adopted by naughty little Randy, she scythes down stuttering aspirants like a shiny black combined harvester. And it may be my imagination but she seems a tad racially biased in her assessment of what's hot and what's not. Although being married to a whitey once upon a time, maybe she's just overcompensating. Who knows? At least she can sing. And if the judging panel outtakes are anything to go by - she's the only one.
And that brings us to Dave.
The only member of the panel who isn't trying to impress us with the proclaimed knowledge and wisdom of his compatriots. Dave is just - well, Dave. And that's truly refreshing.
I can watch and listen to Dave for a while, much more than I can stomach the others. But I can only take so much of the whole grisly package - the amplification of personal pain for tv gain, the dashing of dreams, the freak-show circus as the desperate hopefuls expose their souls only to have them shattered by the barbs and insults fired at them from the safety of the judges' desk.
Though many of the assessments may be true, I sincerely hope the failure of people in this comic cattle show only serves to fortify their resolve to make something of their lives (even if it isn't crooning in front of thousands of bubble-headed adolescents).
To have the balls to do what these victims do on public tv earns them my unswerving admiration.
God bless (in Elton’s words) “the singers, mingers, blingers and clingers”. They have something that most of us don't – courage (no matter how misguided in some instances).
To have tried and (supposedly) failed in the view of Randy, Gareth and crew makes them much bigger people than the self aggrandising tossers who sit in judgement of them.
And Mara, God bless her. She lights up like a US incursion into nighttime Baghdad when a young black person, with a hint of something (or other - usually beyond my own powers of discernment), steps up to be evaluated. Lapsing into Kwaito vernacular, she praises up the Luther Vandross/Whitney Houston wannabees with words of wisdom and encouragement that only she understands. Conversely,with the same dismissive gestures often adopted by naughty little Randy, she scythes down stuttering aspirants like a shiny black combined harvester. And it may be my imagination but she seems a tad racially biased in her assessment of what's hot and what's not. Although being married to a whitey once upon a time, maybe she's just overcompensating. Who knows? At least she can sing. And if the judging panel outtakes are anything to go by - she's the only one.
And that brings us to Dave.
The only member of the panel who isn't trying to impress us with the proclaimed knowledge and wisdom of his compatriots. Dave is just - well, Dave. And that's truly refreshing.
I can watch and listen to Dave for a while, much more than I can stomach the others. But I can only take so much of the whole grisly package - the amplification of personal pain for tv gain, the dashing of dreams, the freak-show circus as the desperate hopefuls expose their souls only to have them shattered by the barbs and insults fired at them from the safety of the judges' desk.
Though many of the assessments may be true, I sincerely hope the failure of people in this comic cattle show only serves to fortify their resolve to make something of their lives (even if it isn't crooning in front of thousands of bubble-headed adolescents).
To have the balls to do what these victims do on public tv earns them my unswerving admiration.
God bless (in Elton’s words) “the singers, mingers, blingers and clingers”. They have something that most of us don't – courage (no matter how misguided in some instances).
To have tried and (supposedly) failed in the view of Randy, Gareth and crew makes them much bigger people than the self aggrandising tossers who sit in judgement of them.
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