Can Real Talent and Reality TV Coexist?

Every family has a black sheep. That slightly, um, different relative who pops up from time to time. I had an aunt who carried a 10-gallon purse from which she could produce any given "necessity" at a moment's notice, from an Army surplus field dressing to a bottle of Georgian hot sauce made in a wash tub. She was always just idiosyncratic enough to make everyone laugh. But inevitably she'd launch into a story about her wild weekend in the Adirondacks with a male model. And Mom would turn red and usher her out of the room.

Have We Seen This Before?
In producer Simon Cowell's family of talent-based reality shows, America's Got Talent—which is back for another go on NBC—is that off-center aunt. Last summer's premiere season was entertaining, many times off-color and often downright strange. In fact, it reminded me of a bunch of old TV shows all rolled into one cockeyed free-for-all.

On one hand it was similar to Cowell's own American Idol since it involved contestants gathered from all around the country being judged by a three-member panel—Baywatch hunk David Hasselhoff, singer Brandy and journalist Piers Morgan (the requisite heartless English guy who the masses love to hate).

And it was also a kind of variety show spoof in the style of The Gong Show. The judges manned blatting rejection buttons and the acts onstage ranged from the truly talented to a contortionist with a guitar, a hip-hop granny and a guy balancing a stove on his face. The hopefuls all dressed up in their fancy costumes each night and sat in the audience waiting to be called out, like contestants used to do on Let's Make a Deal.

The point is, the concept is potentially very fun and entertaining. And that's what 70 percent of the season was. Lots of fun acts that were in equal measure either astonishing, endearingly cute or flat out quirky. The various talents were displayed and winnowed. And then winnowed again. And again. Finally, a deserving $1 million winner was chosen.

Aiming Lower
But if anybody believes that today's TV industry will rely on America's love of cute and quirky to pull in the ratings, they've probably already purchased a nice bridge or two. Unfortunately, the producers also selected a number of acts for their obvious risqué potential. Besides a bevy of shirtless males, there was, for instance, a Snow White look-alike who stripteased down to her very skimpy underwear ("It's just like a bikini, only sparkly," she cooed) while the ogling male judges wrestled with Brandy to keep her from stopping the show. (The young stripper removed even more in her next appearance.)

Then there was the sword-balancing Siberian transvestite who wore nothing but a brief loincloth, angelic wings and dabs of glittering makeup. The judges sent him crying from the competition, but producers kept bringing him back for several more audience-titillating "second chances." He wound up dressed in feathers and a boa to "Vana White" the giveaways at the end of the competition.

Stooping to Conquer
As the episodes piled up, that lowest-common-denominator-for-the-masses attitude intensified. The competitors became more contentious, the judges' advice became increasingly vapid or acerbic, and dapper host Regis Philbin was slowly shoehorned into the role of carnival barker. Which is probably why this summer will see him step aside and clear the stage for new ringmaster Jerry Springer. Springer, best known for his onstage talk show battle royals, is probably a good indicator of the new heights (or rather, depths) the series will now be reaching for. Instead of balancing lawnmowers on their chins, performers could be throwing them at each other. (Sharon Osbourne will also replace departing Brandy.)

One thing you can be sure of: America's Got Talent, like an entertaining but bawdy aunt, is once more making her way to your house. Your family will have to decide if you'll welcome her into the living room with open arms or cordially slam the door in her face. After all, she may be amusing, but do you really want the kids around when she swigs from the whiskey flask strapped to her thigh?