Idol 2008 has been a very lucky show, these past couple of weeks. After a rather grim start in the Sunday night ratings race, it was handed something Big Brother never really enjoyed: a second chance. Dancing With The Stars, which scored better than Idol on opening night, turned out to be an absolute stinker, and a large chunk of the mainstream demographic apparently only needed two hours of the rubbish to say a swift, "No, thanks." And where were these people going to go, instead? It certainly wasn't Doctor Who (that's on that boring, arty farty, government station, isn't it?), and 60 minutes - though, these days, a somewhat cheesy affair - is not the kind of trash they're looking for on a Sunday night (they keep that to ending every weekday with Today Tonight and ACA). No, no, they rocked up at Idol, a show that is, truth be told, not going so well, itself.

 

With a rather lackluster bunch who aren't anywhere near as good as we were assured they were (there's just "something" missing with them, and, as usual, the ones who are half decent are now being drained and distorted by the Machine), with a tired, aging format that's missing more than it's gained, and... well... Ricki Lee (I mean, really), Idol should be bloody grateful it got the ratings spike it did, last week, for no reason the show was in any way responsible for. The icon of the brand, and the fact that it was basically the only other staple choice - this is what got Idol that second chance. And the flipside of that chance was that those bloodthirsty Idiot Box Idiots would, after arriving, then make a decision actually based on the quality of this year's season. They've turned up, now - but will they keep coming back? Idol now has to keep the audience the death of DWTS handed it, and build on it - it has to, in order to save the brand. It must have seemed like the perfect time to roll out every bogan's favourite: Aussie tribute night. Oi, oi, oi, etc, yawn, etc.

 

The one thing timed awfully well with this second chance has been the realisation that the Celebrity Guest format works wonders for the show. Once, it seemed awkward and contrived - the guest having little to offer, other than a few well-rehearsed promos for their latest product. But, once upon a time, the judging panel - and I'm talking just in terms of mainstream TV chemistry, here - worked. Those days are long gone. So, now, instead of weakening the show, the past two weeks of special guest spots - Cyndi Lauper and, this week, Darren Hayes - has been a saving grace. I cringed, when I heard that Sony had marched Lauper in to promote her latest album only a handful of Darlo queens will buy, because I'm actually rather fond of Miss Lauper, and she is a real talent that deserves much better. But, because she was a real talent, she was a joy to watch, and she did, much to my pleasant surprise, behave rather badly, in terms of fulfilling her end of the corporate PR deal. She complained about the editing of the workshops scenes, she tried to give the kids some real advice - as opposed to the absurd posturing forced on them by insincere, untalented TV and Pop Culture execs and "personalities" - and she even told Dicko he was a typical marketing exec moron, and Kyle Sandilands that he knew nothing about music. Yes, yes, she was degraded by the experience for being ordered to use it for PR; but she held her head high, regardless, and she made it bearable for the likes of me. And all just in time for those disgruntled DWTS ex-fans to show up.

Many hardcore Idol fans were actually quite unhappy, when they heard that the trick would be repeated so quickly, by slotting in yet another guest spot for this week's Australian music special. But, as I've always reminded both them and you (whatever side of that line you fall on), these shows actually care the least about the people who care the most - a big fat whatever to the endless whining of the hardcore fans who patrol the official sites. It's why Big Brother gave a shit about me. It's like politics; and I had a voice that was finding a dangerous number of their "swinging voters", people who (unlike the hardcore fans) actually might decide not to show up, if their concerns were not met or if some bitchy blogger convinced them not to. With this audience in mind, Idol was smart in its decision to recognise a good thing, and bring in Darren Hayes who, with a career that (and I say this with sincere regret - regardless of the fact that I have never liked his music) has faded along with his arrival as the real Darren Hayes (Anthony Callea is on the same train), was no doubt more than happy to get the screentime.

The thing is, because these musicians know - somewhere, deep, down inside - what a low-point the Idol guest spot (if we're too be real) is for a career, they will actually throw themselves into it more. They must reconcile it, somehow, with their self-esteem, by making it mean something. They will cling to the delusion, and, by god, they will help those kids and make a difference! It wouldn't be hard. They would see, in those poor kids, symbols for the part of them - the artiste, etc - that was murdered by a record company and a dumb, vicious public. And, besides, performers are well equipped for delusion. It's a... um... skill of theirs.

Hayes, like Lauper, was a picture of sincerity. For all intents and purposes, he no doubt really did mean it. He was as "proud" of them as Cyndi repeatedly was, and he just loved all of them. All so special. I mean, really, just special, world class little entertainers. And, my sarcasm aside, that's actually a good thing - regardless of why they sit there and spout it off. If the guest judges will bring this with them - and they will - then thank Christ someone in that experience is actually nurturing their self-esteem, recognising how important it is to not be constantly thrashed around by the nasty drama of reality television. Karma lesson for Australian idol, thankyou - if you actually throw your ethics away, and happily rip your talent apart for the sake of ratings, you'll actually destroy any real talent they have, and you'll end up with a shit show that nobody wants to watch (especially once the nasty drama has worn thin - say, after about seven years or so). I can't say I think much of Darren Hayes - though, I've nothing against him, either - but good on him. I'm glad he was there. There's a distinct tension in the panel, this year - they seem confused, as to whether they're supposed to be the over the top morons they've always been, or whether they're actually supposed to start being real people. It seems all the worse for them, having these guest judges; the panel clearly go all coy, when in the presence of an actual musician. But it's all the better for us, and certainly much better for the idols. It's great. Shut all three of them up, please; they give nothing to the experience, anyway.

From which, tonight's most ridiculous moment came from Dicko. Here is a man that, after being washed up, post a rather abysmal attempt to break away from ten and be the biggest star his delusional ego could imagine, was reduced to an embarrassing, desperate PR stunt of... how ironic... Dancing With The Stars. When this failed to work, things got so bad, he agreed to sign on for a Four Corners special documentary that I really wish it was compulsory for every Idol fan to see. There Dicko was - by now, presuming he had basically nothing left - happily letting ABC film his volatile attempt to be treated for his life-long, quickly deteriorating alcoholism. There he was, telling Australia that he was a sick, unhappy man, an asshole of a husband who was totally hammered for nearly the entire Idol experience. We watched him try to battle his demons, until, not long before the end of filming, something happened. Dicko was given a second chance, and Idol - because, hello, Sandilands had not been the winner they thought he would be -  begged him to return. Every other person followed for the documentary - all nobodies - managed to overcome their illness. But Dicko's story didn't even get to finish. He became a text graphic, informing everyone that he had since been handed a contract to return to Idol - the show he had just spent the entire documentary blaming for his downfall - and that he had now made the decision to return to drinking, and had no plans to change what he no longer saw as a problem.

The only second (decidedly more mainstream-friendly) chance we would have to peek into the real story of this man, was for Denton's Enough Rope, only a week before the latest series of Idol would begin. What was amazing was that Ten must have now thought that this was a good idea - perhaps, presuming it would interest some of those in the very non-Idol demo - somewhat different to those blatant PR orders when Ten had previously welcomed him back to the fold, only to have Dicko add with a sigh; "Oh, there's just one small hitch. I've been filming this doco for ABC about how I'm an abusive alcoholic who was destroyed by Idol." Although, it goes without saying, Andrew Denton isn't really that dangerous for careers; in fact, he's quite a soft-cock, except for the few gutless times he proves how "hard" he is - basically with any interview where there isn't a PR deal that has brought the star to him through their management - and, certainly, Dicko was not making any of the confessions, in the same confronting manner as the Four Corners doco. But, he still made a few - including how he tortured his wife by falling in lust with his DWTS partner (which he painfully absolves responsibility for, in that vile male way where the cheating is claimed to be a good thing because it has brought them closer together than ever.... vomit). So, for anyone who didn't see it, you can read the transcript here (but I'll embed some of the video at the end of this article). It's worth it. It would be better if you could see the actual doco, but this still gives you the general idea of Ian Dicko Dickson. He's actually a real wanker. A damaged wanker, yes - but, a wanker, nonetheless.

So, you can imagine the look on my face, this evening, when Dicko had the audacity to tell the Aussie Shearer with the rugged voice ("rugged" being PR speak for "shit") that he had to lay off the booze. So says Dicko. Well, perhaps he'd know. But maybe he should take his own advice, before handing it out to others.

And the thing is, this was pretty much the only laugh the show got out of me, tonight. Darren Hayes' lovely comments were... well.... lovely and all, but it couldn't save a bad show. As it was, it was quite obvious that the show was in no way prepared to lose its demo-friendly Aussie Shearer (on Aussie night, of all things) and had decided to disclaim his performance, on the basis of him being "under the weather" (more PR speak for "can't sing"). Never mind that anyone else is told they are expected to deliver, with or without a voice (I recall one girl who could literally hardly speak, let alone sing, and yet was crucified for not dancing more!); Ricki was instructed to tell us, and so was everybody else. In fact, everybody had referred to his voice, but the man himself. And when the time finally came? "You haven't been able to speak at all, you were sick," spewed Kyle, as requested. But the man himself had a slightly different view; "I just wasn't speaking backstage, because I didn't want to do anything to my voice." Being told not to speak, so that it gives your voice the best shot, and not being able to talk because you're so violently ill, are two very different things. Hayes let the cat out of the bag that his rehearsal performance was less than impressive, but Dicko then showed what a great performer he truly is, when, realising the talent - as naive talent can do, mind you - was potentially uncovering the deception, he came out with his demo-friendly explanation. Why would a rugged Aussie Shearer be having trouble with his voice ("trouble with his voice" being PR speak for "can't sing")? Well, because he's been an Aussie larrikin, and has been out partying too hard, of course! "Yeah, I've been 'avin a couple, 'ay", smirked the Rugged Aussie Shearer. The audience roared laughing. Phew. Saved. By an alcoholic, over-partying celebrity monster, no less.

The rest of the performances were just as bad. My personal saving grace came with my favourite, Sophie Patterson, who was served well by her time with Hayes, who convinced her to give the Machine pressures the flick. Of course, the Machine doesn't really give a fuck what she does - she's pretty much toast, and it knows it. It'd be nice if this performance worked for her, and carried her a bit further; but, regardless, she is now nothing more than filler elimination - her function is to prolong the narratives of those who will hold an audience (something she is not), and they are quite happy to help her out the door. When it came time for the all-important voting numbers montage, despite almost every other performer singing off-pitch, they went for the weakest part of her performance, and the one note she wavers on. Everyone else, needless to say, was favourably presented. But, truth be told, everyone else was crap.

And I'm sorry, but that goes for Chrisylyn, too. I don't want to become part of any negativity online about the girl, because she is indeed a beautiful person and very talented - for her age, and all. But... well.... yeah. And Tom. Yeah, again. A big yeah, I'm afraid, to Madam Parker, who is going to have a harder time trying to pass off her lack of stage presence as "sweetness", as the whole thing goes on. And lest we forget Mark Spano - the "rocker" who omits the line, "If you got a problem with John Farnham, you've gotta problem with me", with a perfectly straight face. Yeah. And Tahn. Oh, dear God, Tahn. Yeah to him, of course. All of it, really. Just... yeah.

Of course, next week, I will be there to say "yeah" to all of it, all over again. Chances are, so will you. Ratings will tell, in good time, whether those swinging audience members join us, or if they, quite unlike us, more easily adapt to life without reality television. One has to wonder, though, if life with 60 Minutes - who, this week, ran with the alarming story of the increase in young women who act more like men than women - is any better.