Simon Cowell is gone! The era of cruelty on "American Idol" is over, consigned to the past like so many discarded black V-necks.
One month into the new season, the verdict is in on the new crew of Steven Tyler, Jennifer Lopez and (still and always last, regardless of seniority) Randy Jackson, and it's a kinder, gentler judging panel.
Except it isn't.
Sure, the judges have softened the edges of what traditionally has been an often bluntly cruel process of whittling down the auditioners, presumably to underline the transition to a post-Simon "Idol" regime. Unfortunately, their initial niceness is going to backfire horribly now that we've reached the second stage of auditions. By refusing to show their claws early, they've all but guaranteed a bloodbath in the Hollywood rounds. And the first Tinseltown episode on Feb. 10 was proof.
Three hundred twenty-seven people made it through to Hollywood, suggesting that when "Idol" says that this year is showcasing "the most talent we've ever had," the folks behind the show presumably mean in aggregate. The previous record came in season two, with 234 Hollywood competitors. Last year's total was 181, a little more than half of this season's Tinseltown crop.
The killing floor went into action this past Thursday during the first Hollywood episode. The numbers were slashed by a solid half, leaving only 168 dazed cattle standing after a single round of cuts. That's a mere 13 fewer contestants than last year's entire contingent of Hollywood-bound singers.
But all those hopefuls are still competing for just 20 slots in the voting rounds, which is itself fewer than the once-standard 24 semifinalists. No matter how nice the judges were to put so many through, they'll still have axed 307 golden-ticket holders by the time the semifinalists are selected. So all the judges have done is delayed the inevitable while herding the victims into a single pen.
It's OK to be tough
Clearly, the judges tried to be plenty nice early on, often to the point of failing to do their actual jobs. (Hint: It involves judging people.) Their leniency during those initial audition rounds meant letting through quite a few marginal singers. It also led to some folks being given a pass seemingly out of pity, whether because of their tragic backstories or simply because they were crying right there in the room in front of the judges.
It was an effective audition strategy. So effective, in fact, that it seemed as though the mere threat of making an auditioner upset was too much for the judges to bear. Without exception, every single time there was a 1-1 split decision and the power rested firmly in the hands of the final judge, that judge has always voted yes. It didn't matter if that judge was Tyler, Lopez or Jackson. After much agonized hemming and hawing, not one of them (based on what was shown) ever had the guts to pull the trigger.
It's possible that the reluctance to be the bad guy stems from the changes in the culling process. In addition to the usual audition and Hollywood rounds, a Las Vegas round, where the top 60 hopefuls will compete by singing Beatles songs, now follows. The 40 who survive will then be cut down to the 20 semifinalists. Perhaps the concern was that eliminating too many people too soon wouldn't leave enough for Vegas.
Or maybe it's just easier for the judges to reject people in Hollywood when they're distanced from the stage and out in the dark, rather than when they're all palling around in a cozy audition room. It's the same principle that makes it so tempting to break up with someone by text.
A more cynical mind might even suggest that, with questions about the show's viability in a post-Cowell era running rampant during the auditions, "Idol" has adopted a last-call mentality. It might explain why they've been stingy with the "You're not ready yet, but try again next year" deflection.
Upholding reputations
But it's hard not to think that there are other factors involved. Both Tyler and Lopez have a lot to lose if they're viewed as the "mean" one. When Cowell was a judge, he could afford to be as sharp, cranky and just plain unpleasant as he liked. (So, to a lesser extent, could ex-judge Kara DioGuardi.)
He was a behind-the-scenes player whose public profile before "Idol" was zilch, and he risked nothing by saying on camera the dismissive things he (supposedly) might say to a wannabe pop star who walked into his office. If the audience had turned against him right from the start (instead of embracing him as a roguish straight-shooter), he would have lost nothing as he headed back to his old job.
Neither Tyler nor Lopez have that luxury. They're both established celebrities with public personas and worries about damaging their brands. To take on the role of the negative judge would be to risk alienating their pre-existing fan base. If the audience were to turn against Tyler or Lopez, that could very well poison their other, presumably more important, careers.
Jackson, as always, remains a nonentity, a beta dog so eager to curry favor from stronger personalities that he simply echoes back whatever he thinks will make the alphas let him feast on their reflected glory. He's adapted to the change in personnel by shifting from being Cowell's lieutenant to deferring to Tyler and Lopez.
This particular pickle could have been avoided if just one of them had bitten the bullet and been willing to tell some of the singers that they just weren't good enough. But nobody did, and as they reduce the largest number of Hollywood hopefuls ever down to the smallest number of semifinalists ever, the judges are going to have to crush a bunch of people.
Which was precisely what they had hoped to avoid by letting everyone through.
Marc Hirsh is a writer in Somerville, Mass.
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