America’s Got Talent – More monkey business, not much spectacle

This time we venture to The Golden State and San Francisco for the “Wow.” And in so doing, I have a question. You see, I was born and raised in California and I’ve taken plenty of lumps for proudly proclaiming such. That’s okay, I have big shoulders and I can take it. But do we have to go overboard? Is it necessary to capitalize on the freaks and weirdos who are a very small contingent of the population in the 3rd largest state in the union? Why? Why is there this need to do so? Entertainment for the rest of the country, I gather. *sigh*

So let’s get right to the heart of the matter, because everyone’s wondering what’s up with Howard Stern. Well … not much, folks. He’s rather tame and collected on the show. There’s not much to tell, truth be told. Maybe this is the Howard Stern were going to see going forward on America’s Got Talent. And if it is, I’m curious if NBC thinks their getting their money’s worth. I think it’s still too early in the game to come to any rush judgements. Let’s give it a while longer, shall we?

Meanwhile on the talent hunt front, we got a little bit more bang for our buck on the program than Night #1:

• David Garibaldi and the CMYKs with their Beethoven painting was rather nifty. But you have to wonder: Will the act going forward improve and give us something different? Because I just can’t picture it. They may have blown their entire wad just getting to Vegas.
• Student Cristin Sandu, 17, and his balancing act was rather interesting. But it doesn’t bode well when he had to justify to Howie Mandel there’s more to come if he makes it through. (He did with no thanks to Howie.)
• And Turf the Street Performer can contort and dance pretty well.

But the rest of the gang that advanced? Pretty mediocre stuff. Nothing spectacular. Nobody of note. There wasn’t anything really special … well, except for “Mr. Special” from Encino, that is. And he wasn’t all that special — just your typical man on a mini bicycle. With a trumpet. In a bird suit.

The dance troupes were the same old same old who pranced and jumped and jaunted on stage. What more can they do? Because that can get boring real, real quickly. (I’m in Howard Stern’s corner when it comes to them.)

The rest of the show contained jugglers who juggled and impressionists who impressioned and singers who sang and comedians who yucked it up. But that was about it. No real spectacle.

The Vegas performer Kotton Kandy in his boas and hot pinks and purples was the only” performer” close to a spectacle. And only visually at that.

Which leads me to a final question, one I’ve been holding back until just this very post: Do we really have to wade through all the flotsam and jetsam to get to the good stuff? And not only the freaks and weirdos, but the a golden suited gang with a lead little person plus an orange-helmeted Bozo nose with green face paint, too?

Yes … yes, we do. Translation: It’s gonna be a long, long season …

Notes:

• Howie comes flying out of the bright, blue San Francisco sky on a jet pack to usher in the show because … well … why shouldn’t he?
• I understand Nick Cannon about as much as I understand Greek yogurt.

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