Image by Getty Images North America via @daylife

Gary Coleman has died. He was 42. He suffered an intracranial hemorrhage after a fall in Utah earlier this week and had been on life support since Thursday.

The back alleyways of Hollywood — not to mention the back pages of the gossip rags — are filled with tales of child stars whose adult lives go off the rails. Unable to accept a diminished career once they grow out of the cuteness that made them famous, the punishing life of an out-of-work actor or perhaps unprepared to control a child-like id that was once given everything it asked for — some child stars grow up — or into — wreckages of adult lives, scarred by drugs, criminality, or some combination of the two. And we’re not surprised when their story ends with an untimely obituary and an eventual coroner’s report.

But that wasn’t Gary Coleman. The diminutive, apple-cheeked child star who played Arnold Jackson on NBC’s massively popular “Diff’rent Strokes” wasn’t a drug addict. There aren’t any tales of debauchery, no grainy footage of him robbing a convenience store, no inquest report into a death caused by a life of misadventure.

Gary Coleman just grew up. He accepted it. Unfortunately, the rest of us didn’t. He tried to make the best of it, but we wouldn’t let him.

Born in 1968, Coleman suffered from a chronic kidney disease that attacked his auto-immune system — it necessitated daily dialysis treatments and two kidney transplants during his life — and the medications he took stunted his growth at an early age. At a perpetual 4′ 8″, Coleman always looked younger than he was, but had the delivery and comic timing of a more mature actor. The combination — he looked like a child and sassed like an adult — brought him fame and fortune as a child star during the surprisingly long run of “Diff’rent Strokes” (1978 to 1986). But as Coleman became an adult (he was 18 when the show ended), work dried up. People only loved Gary Coleman the child.

He sued his parents and former manager in 1989 for misappropriating the vast fortune he’d earned as a minor — and he won, but it wasn’t enough. He filed for bankruptcy in 1999. At different points, he supported himself with work as a mall security guard in Los Angeles and a video arcade manager.

Throughout the ’90s and ’00s, Coleman popped up every now and then in a sitcom or a TV movie. Sometimes he played himself. Sometimes he played a character — but even when he did, he was just playing himself — or a parody of the unfortunate turns his life had taken. Being “Gary Coleman” was the only work he could get. Audiences would laugh when he showed up, but we didn’t laugh with him anymore; we laughed at him — at what he once was and what he didn’t become and how he looked and how his life had fallen apart. He played along, I assume, because he was getting paid.

He certainly played along in 2003, when an alternative newspaper suggested — and then supported — his candidacy for governor of California in the free-for-all recall election. It started as a joke — and people treated it that way — but Coleman saw it as an opportunity. He told The New York Times:

I want to escape that legacy of Arnold Jackson… I’m someone more. It would be nice if the world thought of me as something more.

But we didn’t. We all wanted Gary Coleman, the chubby-cheeked kid who tossed out zingers and comebacks on TV. We wanted to hear him say “Whatchoo talkin’ ’bout, Willis?” over and over and over again. What’s it like when the world won’t accept you as you are, but only as you once were?

It’s the wrong kind of attention, and the evidence tells us Coleman didn’t like it. He hit a woman in 1998 and was charged with assault when, as he told it, he refused her an autograph and she began to make fun of him and his career. And in 2008, after marrying and moving to Utah, Coleman and his wife argued with a man in a bowling alley who tried to take Coleman’s picture. Coleman said he tried to drive away and accidentally hit the man — the man said Coleman tried to run him over. He pleaded no contest to disorderly conduct and reckless driving and settled a civil suit out of court.

By this point, anger had taken over Coleman. Arguments with his wife resulted in a handful of arrests for disorderly conduct and domestic violence.

Unlike other child stars whose celebrity lives fall off a cliff, Coleman didn’t die from drugs or wild living or an out-of-control ego. He just grew up — an unfunny fact of life we never fully accepted.

Lee DeWyze, the last "American Idol." (Image by Getty Images North America via @daylife.)

Tonight we watched a venerable and successful TV institution come apart at the seams. It was louder than Dan Rather’s “courage” and more colorful than his sweater vests…

The implosion of “American Idol” happened not when raspy-voiced paint store clerk Lee DeWyze took home the crown at 10:07 p.m. ET (does anyone at “Idol” know how to bring a live show in on time? “SNL” has been doing it for 35 years… surely the technology exists). It began two hours and seven minutes earlier, when the curtain went up on this crazy olio of schizophrenic, unwanted nostalgia, mismatched singers, awkward pauses and aimless, forced glad-handing.

Besides. Lee needs the “Idol” title more than runner-up Crystal Bowersox, a woman whose talent is immense and who will surely enjoy a nice career for herself on adult contemporary rock stations and the stages of regional music halls around the country. That Lee’s rags-to-riches story outstrips his vocal range is OK; I don’t begrudge him for winning. He needs the boost… And frankly, if he looked like he was going to vomit before the winner was announced (and he did)… can you imagine what he’d do if he actually lost?

No… “Idol” finally collapsed under its own weight when it planned this bizarre sideshow that surely made judge Simon Cowell silently think his departure from the show couldn’t come soon enough. It was as if “Idol” finally succumbed to immense weight of pressure, expectations and fame — and just stopped caring. Unable to match the zeniths of hype it once easily scaled, it instead just gave up trying.

Everything about it was wrong:

The comedy? Dane Cook’s comedy career has always mystified me, but apparently “Idol” producers think he’s at the cutting edge of wit (a notion, by the way, that is easily dispelled by even the most cursory of Google searches). This lightweight hack, who makes Adam Sandler look like Mark Twain, sang a painfully rambling and unfunny compendium of Simon Cowell’s greatest insults as a tribute to the departing Brit. He was backed up by some of “Idol”’s worst auditioners, the targets of Simon’s derision and scorn over the years — basically, a freak show of delusional morons. And yet, these delusional morons stole the mic and managed to upstage Cook, who can’t even command the starring role in his own comedy bits.

The music? Who is the “American Idol” audience? I have no idea anymore, as the show looked more like oldies filler on PBS between pledge drives. The Bee Gees, Joe Cocker, Hall & Oates (full disclosure: I adore Hall & Oates, but I can’t pretend they’re contemporary), Alice Cooper and Chicago all took the stage. Eighties rock almost-was Bret Michaels, apparently air lifted from his hospital bed with an aneurysm-be-damned glint in his eye, was there. Alanis Morrisette and Janet Jackson — the cream of the ’90s hit parade — also showed up.

I guess The Spin Doctors and The Gap Band were busy…?

What do all of those artists have in common? Not a damn thing.

Funny, for 14 weeks now, “Idol” has trotted out one theme after another and tried to shoe-horn a passel of young singers into those themes, no matter how ill-fitting they were. And yet, tonight… the theme was what? It’s like the crew just gave up. In past years, the acts were booked on the “Idol” finale because they represented a part of the final two contestants’ musical personality — I remember Bo Bice being tickled pink to be singing alongside Lynyrd Skynyrd and Carrie Underwood swooning at the thought of performing with her idols Rascal Flatts. But tonight? Desmond Hume’s ability to withstand the babbling fountain of light made more sense than this parade of clashing soft rock stars.

Interesting side-note: One of “Idol”’s lasting contributions to American culture may be its unique ability to defang rock ‘n’ roll. Following last year’s finale appearance by KISS, Alice Cooper took to the stage tonight to wave his cane and chant the chorus of his biggest hit a few times. Remember when KISS was dangerous and Alice Cooper represented the dark excesses of rock? In 4th Grade, a kid I knew got in trouble for bringing a KISS poster to school — its depictions of busty women and demonic hell-fires brought scandal to the halls of Furnace Woods Elementary. And the schoolyard was filled with rumors of Cooper’s on-stage terrors and various chompings of rodent heads and things of that sort. Today, they’re just cartoonish shells, funny men prancing about in makeup, leather and spangles for a laugh — simple “theatrics,” in the words of “Glee.” “Idol” may not have started that downward path, but it sure puts the period at the of their laughable life sentence.

(And did you notice the way “Idol” neutered Morrisette’s “You Oughta Know” — changing “Will she go down on you in the theater?” to “Will she go down with you to the theater?”? Somewhere, Ed Sullivan is laughing…)

The banter and camaraderie? Paula Abdul returned to fete Simon and to spout some more heartfelt nonsense while displaying a sense of comedic timing that rivaled Dane Cook’s (and I’m being generous to Cook). Past champions of “Idol” returned to sing a song in honor of Simon, and Kelly Clarkson looked like she’d rather be testifying before a grand jury. The current season’s top 12 returned to sing those painful mass-choreographed medley numbers that make liberal arts college a cappella groups look like high art.

And through it all, Ellen Degeneres sat mute.

What happened to Ellen? Simon has said he’s leaving because he can’t hide his boredom anymore… maybe Ellen should join him. As the season progressed, she’s had less and less to say, as if, at some point, she just gave up on the season and decided to limit her quips to: 1. I really liked it; 2. It wasn’t your best, but I still like you; or 3. You sure look pretty.

The woman is a professional comedian and Emmy-winning host of her own talk show — and yet she’s acted like the guy in the meeting who just wants to make sure he agrees with whatever the group thinks after its been decided and can collect his pension in 20 years. I expected humor and zings and playful tussling with Simon. Instead, we got a better-looking Donny Trump.

(Although, to her credit, she sat stone-faced during Dane Cook’s travesty; she’s an actual comedian… what he did was probably insulting to her on a level we can’t even understand.)

The totality of it all was sad, really. All season, “Idol” has struggled under whispers that it was getting boring, out-of-touch and maybe even a little lazy. It was unfortunate, because the final two contestants — Lee and Crystal, truly among the nicest and most humble of “AI” contestants we’ve ever seen — deserved better.

Instead, the show just gave up on itself and trotted out a finale that looked like they were making it up as they went along.

Dear “Glee” executive producer and creator Ryan Murphy:

You have a Broadway talent like Idina Menzel on your show and you make her sing an acoustic version of a fucking Lady GaGa song?

You owe me money.

Sincerely,

matthew

Image by Getty Images North America via @daylife

What’s more surprising about last night’s “American Idol” performance finale …

1. That the normally steady, almost stoic, Crystal Bowersox dropped her emotional guard at just the right moment and gave some of her most vulnerable and connected performances of the season?

2. That the normally idiotic, pedantic and condescending judge Kara DioGuardi was actually correct when she pointed out the above? or…

3. That the normally insipid, saccharine and unlistenable AOR single the “AI” champion is forced to sing and release has been dropped this season in favor of a cover of an actual, successful song?

I’m voting for all three…

Let’s take them one at a time:

1. Last week it looked like the fix was in… That while fans and critics (including yours truly) have been saying for weeks that Crystal is clearly the most talented performer “Idol” has seen in years (perhaps ever), the show was putting all its showcraft, staging and power behind the upstart Lee Dewyze, the humble paint store clerk whose rags to riches story would fit the “Idol” fantasy factory more perfectly. Add in the fact that Crystal seemed to be in cruise control the last few weeks — delivering solid, but not inspiring, performances — and you had the makings for an upset.

My brother, in an e-mail, likened the inevitable final showdown to the 2008 Democratic nomination battle (yes, this is what my family discusses):

MamaSox is the Hillary Clinton of “Idol;” the presumed favorite and a strong contender with a strong base… but she never expanded her base. Lee’s the upstart Obama with a trajectory that has slowly overtaken her. It’s not so much his humble roots, as the fact that he’s clearly grown and people love that and there’s this sense of building momentum, which people like and it becomes self-fulfilling.

But those theories got blown out of the water last night, as MamaSox reasserted her control of the show. “Idol” did its best to slow her down — really, executive producer Simon Fuller? did you really make Crystal sing Alannah Myles’ “Black Velvet”? It’s a terrible song; overdone, over-used and evocative of a musical period we’d all like to forget. Judge Simon Cowell put it best when he said he was “almost allergic to that song” having heard it done so many times — and poorly — in eight previous seasons of “Idol” auditions. Still, Crystal made it work, using her vocal alchemy to turn that piece of coal into, if not quite gold, at least costume jewelry.

Crystal early on admitted she’d never watched “Idol” in the past and that she never really wanted to try out for it — but with a son to care for, she finally thought she’d take a shot at winning the record contract that “Idol” dangles in front of contestants. She has the voice, the musical chops, the humble personality — but her strictly practical motivations for entering the competition, coupled with a fish-out-of-water look in her eyes during some of the show’s more teeny-bopper/up-with-people moments made her seem alien to the proceedings… almost aloof sometimes. But for a woman who once excused her emotional distance on the “Idol” stage by saying “I have a lot on my mind,” Crystal finally put all the parts together and got over her own self-restraint for her last song, Patty Griffin’s “Up to the Mountain,” which had enough country, soul and churchy-grit to win over a wide swath of fans, while also displaying just enough vocal pyrotechnics to show off a bit, but not too much.

Lee, who had just stumbled his way through U2’s “Beautiful Day” should have started packing up his locker at that moment. Lee’s story now matches that of a Cinderella story NFL team. Like last season’s New York Jets, he got hot at the right time and rode a wave of momentum deep into the playoffs… and than ran into Peyton Manning in the championship game and got hosed.

2. Kara DioGuardi is moronic and patronizing to all the contestants. The fact that she was right last night about Crystal only makes me hate her more.

3. No more tepid, uplifting pseudo-joyful “Idol” song for the eventual winner! If Crystal wins, her first single will be “Up to the Mountain” and Lee’s will be “Beautiful Day” if he wins. What a wonderful, delightful, very special slap in the face to Kara, who co-wrote last year’s God-awful “No Boundaries” (yes… “co-wrote”… it took three people to write that piece of crap).

Of all the changes “Idol” has made this year, that has got to be the best — it means the winner will release a decent song this summer, and it means a professional blow to Kara DioGuardi, of which I’m always in favor.

Like a college student who slept in a few too many times, I was walking down the street to my final exam studying someone else’s notes in a frantic attempt to cram as much last-minute knowledge into my head as I could.

And that’s because I am a “Lost” dropout.

Somewhere between Ben moving the Island and the flashsideways alternate life stories, I stumbled off the path. Once a dedicated follower of the show, life got in my way — and “Lost”… well, she was a demanding mistress. With its intricate plot lines, inexorably slow emotional reveal of character motivations and perversely pleasurable system of treats and rewards for the most dedicated of viewers, the show necessitated – no, demanded — fetishistic devotion on a deep and uninterrupted scale.

But I was weak…

Maybe it was dinner with a friend… or a late night at work. Did the Tivo simply not work one night? Maybe I just got tired and went to bed. Whatever it was, I missed an episode. Not wanting to watch the show out of order (ironic for a show that reveled in jumping through time without warning), at some point last year I vowed not to watch the next episode until I got caught up. But I missed the next week, too… And the next week. And with three episodes to speed through, I didn’t want to hear about anything happening on the show until I was back in synch with its ever-shifting present… so I skipped a fourth episode.

And then it just snowballed…

Banning anyone from watching or discussing the show in my home until I got caught up, I somehow ended up a year and half behind.

So yesterday, I spent every waking moment reading episode summaries and peppering my wife with questions (lucky her: maternity leave let her get ahead of me in episodes…). From Zap2It to EW.com to WashingtonPost.com to About.com — I read obsessively… We even DVR-delayed watching the two-hour recap so I could keep reading someone else’s descriptions on my iPhone in one hand while I prepared the next-day’s baby bottles with the other…

But I didn’t make it.

Like the college student above, I finally took a deep breath, accepted my fate and sat down for my final exam knowing that I hadn’t read the last chapter.

It didn’t matter… well, it did, but it didn’t.

The finale last night was emotionally satisfying — and while I still have questions (did the flashsideways lives really happen? Why did Ben do the things he did? Where were Nikki and Paulo?) — I found its final message — the importance of searching not for rescue but redemption, connecting not with the world you think you lost, but the world and the people you have with you now — to be important, complex and bafflingly deep for a television series.

But I also spent those two hours ruing the way I frittered away my devotion to the show, the way I betrayed its quiet demands for fealty and intimacy with earthly pursuits and selfish desires.

I was happy during those two hours as I once again got wrapped up in the spiderweb of plot intricacies, but also chagrinned as I was reminded how rare a treat this show was — and how much I missed (and missed it) during my accidental interregnum.

Some shows gain dedicated followings because of the amazing acting… or the gripping plots. Maybe it’s the clever writing, the buoyant elation of laughter or the catch-in-the-throat drama, or simply the desire to close the door on real life for a few minutes and escape to some other reality. Lots of shows have some of these elements. But “Lost” hit them all. Every time you tuned in, you were rewarded.

And even when your devotion to the Island wavered, as mine did, its dedication to you didn’t.

Thanks, Jacob.