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"This
Rant Will Self-Destruct in Thirty Seconds..." Attention freaks, geeks and double-jointed, web-toed folk alike ! Come a-crawlin' from the woodwork, the subway, or the rock under which you've been honing your unique social abnormality! Gather 'round The Gallows all ye pummeled mimes, armpit virtuosos and karaoke queens -- have I got a carrot-on-a-stick for you! Ok, so the Fox network soliciting the services of street performers may be nothing new to write home to your elephant-mama about, but their newest sideshow, 30 SECONDS TO FAME, is at least worth mentioning to that watercooler-comedian at work who thinks he's soooo damn funny -- or maybe even someone you know with real talent. Since the early days of radio, the "amature hour" has been a recurring staple. Ted Mack, Major Bose and Arthur Godfrey started many a gifted young artist on their way to stardom in their day, taking their cues from Vaudeville and ultimately paving the way for The Gong Show. 30 Seconds to Fame is a sort of amalgam of all it's precursors; a sort of Starsearch At The Apollo. On speed. The show slam-bangs all comers in and out like an unbroken bronc at an amature rodeo (What analogy did you think I was going to make? "Like a crackwhore on payday" ? Give me SOME credit ! ) The cut-and-dry synopsis of the show is that contestants have 30 seconds to do whatever it is they do. Their performance is judged by the audience, who's reactions are registered via hand held "zappers" and immediatly transmitted to an onscreen meter dubbed "The Eliminator". If the meter falls too low the contestant is -- to borrow the phrase that has become a part of our culture -- "gonged", and disqualified from the competition. No $25,000 dollar grand-prize for you this time, Harlequin- Who- Balances- On-A- Ball-and- Plays-Two- Flutes- With-His- Nosebreath Boy! To be totally fair, on the first episode real talent did win out in the end. A subway-singer with a tremendous amount of soul and a voice to back it up walked away with the prize-money, emerging victorious from a field of competition that included contortionists, comedians, fire dancers, magicians, rappin' grannies and other examples of people with just too darned much time on their hands. As the end neared, the field had been narrowed to this belting diva-in-the-rough, a very 80's "robot dancer/vocalist", and the world's one-and-only "bounce pianist". Yep, the BOUNCE PIANIST. (It's just funny to say !) This guy juggles a handful of balls, periodicly dropping them onto a keyboard at his feet to play upbeat standards such as "The Can-Can". Is it a skill or a fetish? No reason it can't be both I suppose.... Episode #2 featured a midget singing "Brick House" (and singing it well !) , a ventriloqist with a life-sized Frank Sinatra dummy crooning "New York, New York", and the inimitable Count Smokula the Jewish Vampire! Friends of Count Gore's Horror Host Mailing List, (and Nightshadows everywhere) know Smokula from his appearances on California's HORROR/KUNG-FU THEATER and the annual ATTACK OF THE B-MOVIE HORROR HOSTS. The ol' boy's Transylvanian polka music brought him precariosly close to getting the electronic equivilent of the dreaded Vaudeville "hook", but he managed to barely duck elimination. He made the most of his 30 seconds and capered off the stage with dignity -- but alas, not the twenty-five grand. Sometimes you aim for the jugular but go right over the audience's heads... Ah well; we do what we do for the love of it not the money, right? The smell of the Cheez-Whiz, the roar of the bill-collectors an' all that...? This is what being a performer is all about. It's wonderful and extraordinarily neccesary to now-and-again have a show like 30 Seconds to Fame to showcase the good, the bad, and the just plain ridiculous that still lurk just below the surface of the mainstream. Vaudeville is not dead, it just gets bored to sleep occasionally by focus-groups and endless rewrites. Sometimes you just have to fling the doors open and let the performers perform -- and encourage creativity for creativity's sake. Until next time, don't take any wooden carrots-on-a-stick, stick with your dreams, and don't quit your day job... Tap-dancing on my own grave and keeping all my balls in the air.
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