There she goes: Miss America pageant driven to CMT by us know-it-alls
By Beth Teitell
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Video killed the radio star, so the song goes. But who bumped off Miss America? You did, apparently. Well maybe not you - you may be a very nice person. But I certainly did. And others like me.
Or so I’ve learned from a certain judgmental - sorry, but it’s true - vice president of programming and development for the schmaltzy cable station that agreed to take in a homeless Miss America pageant, the Country Music Television channel. “Our audience is by and large not a cynical audience,” Paul Villadolid told the Gannet News Service. (And it’s not a big one, either. The channel averaged 324,000 prime-time viewers last year.)
“What is it, the rube audience?” one of my friends asked.
“It’s remarks like that that are part of the problem,” I said.
We sophisticates allowed ourselves a small laugh at the expense of the CMT-loving simpletons. This Saturday night, while we’re challenging ourselves with “Frasier” reruns or perhaps a figure skating competition, the CMT crowd will be tuned into the pageant. And what a doozy it should be.
In an attempt to fend off obsolescence, the Miss America pageant is losing the cheesy reality-TV elements of the past few years (which were a miserable failure, garnering only 9.8 million viewers on ABC last year). Instead, it’s returning to its roots, bringing back the beloved state sashes, the retro gowns, the Miss Congeniality competition.
Heck, the pageant is even expanding the much-mocked and much-beloved on-air portion of the talent competition, and you know what that means. “Marimbas,” I snickered.
“And tap dancing,” my friend added.
But at the same time we were slamming the pageant I started to feel - oh, don’t let it be true - a hankering to watch the parade of states and to hear the dulcet strains of “There She Is” one more time.
In fact, now that Miss America has moved on to a more appreciative audience, she seems more appealing than she has in years, when she was all tarted up, putting out like some desperate floozy with ever-sleazier come-ons (we’re wearing jeans! And bikinis! We’re having a humiliating civics quiz!).
I called my husband at work. “Do we get CMT?” I asked.
“Why would I know that?” he said.
Now, practically desperate to watch the show, which I haven’t seen in years, I was poised to call Comcast when my friend grabbed my hand. “Get a hold of yourself,” she said. “Flipping by Miss America on your way through the dial is one thing, expanding your cable package is another.”
I put down the phone and gave some thought to what she’d said. “You know what you are?” I asked. “a cynic.”
Kenny Chesney, here I come.
