It’s certainly not because I have refined taste. If tasked with defending television as a medium, I’d probably trot out “America’s Next Top Model” as my first exhibit. I’ve watched the Magic Bullet infomercial so many times I could perform it as a one-man off-Broadway show. I’m hardly an elitist. So when I see a show like “Dancing With the Stars,” which seems to thrill everyone but me, I don’t feel superior, I just feel left out. But try as I might, I just can’t seem to invest in the show.
Watching Monday night’s final dance-off, the reasons for my distaste became clear. First is the “Dancing With the Stars” band. Instead of the original recordings to which they’ve rehearsed, the couples must dance accompanied by a band that, in top form, sounds like the best wedding band you could book on six hours’ notice, and at worst like your great-aunt Rose crashed your karaoke party. I’m also not fond of the judges, Len Goodman, Carrie Ann Inaba and Bruno Tonioli, whose critiques carry an air of snobbery that make them seem needlessly technical, professional as they may be.
Those are quibbles. The real issue with “Dancing” is the absence of real stakes. A show such as “Survivor” has regular people competing for a handsome prize ($1 million). “Flavor of Love” has regular people competing for a not-at-all handsome prize (Flavor Flav). But in either case, when the contestants are actual people, we can take at face value that they don’t just want what they’re competing for, they need it. It’s a financial windfall, a big break, a shot at love, things everyone wants. The prize on “Dancing”? A chintzy mirrorball trophy that would make a great addition to any shed, and bragging rights, insomuch as winning a ballroom-dancing competition confers them. I don’t want those prizes, so what reason do celebrities have for wanting them?
The answer, obviously, is none, so the show completely lacks suspense. But host Tom Bergeron tries to inject some anyway. On Monday’s show, in describing the night’s third and final “freestyle” dance, Bergeron spoke about how this round would be exciting because the dancers would be allowed to use “controversial maneuvers.” Imagine my disappointment when not one of the couples paused midway through its routine to perform embryonic stem cell research.
I will admit though, as curmudgeonly as I remained throughout Monday’s show, I did get one moment of unguarded delight. After performing his freestyle dance, race-car driver Helio Castroneves received thunderous applause. He jumped for joy, overcome with pride at his accomplishment. “I did it! I did it!” he said to Bergeron. “I know you did!” Bergeron replied, in that “You’re making a scene” tone of voice. The judges were less convinced that Castroneves had done anything. They savaged his performance. The term “flat-footed” was tossed around. But in that moment he so didn’t care. He was proud of himself.
I realized then that the real prize was the sense of accomplishment, and the appeal for the viewer is knowing that as soon as they’re finished watching Marie Osmond dance around dressed as a surrealist rag doll, maybe they could accomplish something too. And when Castroneves won that chintzy mirrorball trophy, beating out the far more deserving Spice Girl Melanie Brown, it provided even more flakes for our snow globes. Not only did Castroneves win, he beat a woman with extensive dance experience, using nothing more than his will and unbridled enthusiasm.
The world of “Dancing With the Stars” is some kind of perverse meritocracy in which people are rewarded not for being the best at doing something but for being the best at wanting to do something. I understand why people might want to visit that world for an hour a week. Not that I plan on doing it again.
