Carla Gypsygirl's Blurty

Review: Australian Idol

The world of “Australian Idol” is one where anyone could be famous. As I walked to the studio audience entrance last night, people already in the queue squinted to see any vestige of celebrity that might be attached to me. I was disappointed that my presence did not result in screams of “It’s Carla Gypsygirl!” As we waited to be admitted into the studio, anyone who happened to walk or drive by was analysed and stared at. Hushed voices around me announced, “Look…that must be Ricki-Lee’s sister!” (girl walking by wearing large hoop earrings and Ricki-Lee’s face on a t-shirt); “Definitely Casey’s parents” (a middle-aged couple sheepishly passing by, dressed in black and holding a giant “CASEY SHINES” poster); “Look! Look! Peter from Big Brother!” (guy with brown hair in an orange t-shirt); “Where’s that guy in the nice shirt?” (stocky guy working for the studio wearing a floral shirt, useful for giving us head starts at getting seats).

“I feel like I’m lining up to audition for the show,” my mum said. She was totally right- the women of the audience had done their make-up like they were going out to a special dinner, and everyone was decked out in their best clothes. I felt like I’d been flung headfirst into one of those rotating clothes stands at Supre- there were sequined singlets, side ponytails and squeals of excitement everywhere. My parents felt a bit left out, so I helpfully made sure I pointed out every single middle-aged person in the queue for them.

Just because “Australian Idol” is the pinnacle of pop culture TV at the moment, that doesn’t mean that seeing the show live is a matter of froth and ease. Oh no. We were all swiped with those metal detector thingies by boofy men in suits, had our mobile phones and cameras confiscated, and had to wait for an hour before getting into the studio. I was so scared that I began to be suspicious of myself for secretly being an international threat. And just as I was beginning to think that I should just stick to watching reruns of “Pride and Prejudice”, I was dazzled by the lights and smoke inside the studio. There was a shiny stage, rows of seats, cameras everywhere, and I was entranced by TV Land. Like, me and baby brother Zac almost won the best sign competition (our sign’s the one at the top of the page), but were beaten by a little girl who cut out pictures of the Australian Idol contestants and whacked Beatles hairdos on them! Don’t these people appreciate wit and style? We became fans of James and Andrew G (they were soooo funny)- especially Andrew G, as he was the one who pointed out our sign! I was supposed to say hi to some of my mates if I got on TV, but I forgot about it and managed only a weak smile. Limelight was having a dizzying effect on me, and I missed the anonymity of my couch.

Watching the show live was a bit like watching a pantomime- “the cast” (as the director called them) constantly popping out from the strangest of places; screaming children; mock fights; slapstick humour; and of course, singing! The singing is better live- you can hear more depth in the contestants’ voices. The audience isn’t as hysterical as they make out on TV, though. I have a feeling that they just stick a mike under excitable teenage girls. But then again, I was sitting in front of people with “MEDIA” tags around their necks. Maybe professional journalists don’t laugh at things, and don’t want to win Shannon Noll CD’s.

We left the studio making the exact same comments that we make at home, like about who we thought was the best, and who was going to go, and who wore cool clothes, and which of the judges were annoying. Though my mum has a brand new appreciation of Andrew G that wasn’t there before. I left wondering how a show of people singing on a stage could become so ridiculously massive. Then I came home and watched the show again on TV, and saw all of the contestants making goo-goo eyes at the camera, and I was in love with them again. TV’s a funny thing. The show is so much more dramatic and exciting on screen. That sick feeling in my stomach always returns at the end of the verdict night…OH MY GOSH, RICKI-LEE JUST GOT VOTED OUT! NO!!!