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.

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.

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.

"I'd like to thank Simon Cowell for rescuing me from a life of unimaginable horror having to work for a living..." (Image by Getty Images North America via Daylife)

Rabid Crystal Bowersox fans (and, admittedly, I lead that pack) better brace yourself:

“American Idol” has picked its winner — and it’s not the MamaSox of our dreams.

If last night’s “Idol” had one clear message for us (other than that the producers desperately want Casey James to lose) it’s this… and it was unmistakable in its clarity. “Idol” is going to do everything it can to make sure Lee Dewyze takes home the crown.

The evidence was stark:

1. In picking songs for the remaining three contestants, the judges (particularly Ellen Degeneres) saddled Crystal with “Maybe I’m Amazed,” a very nice but somewhat slight song from Vegetarian-in-Chief and former Wings frontman Sir Paul McCartney. MamaSox sang the hell out of it, and it was nice to see her stepping out of her mic-stand-and-strumming-guitar milieu to focus completely on showcasing her voice — which is even more elastic than I’d realized. But, like I said, it’s a nice song… but not a showstopper. Crystal did everything she could with it, but ultimately, you can’t build a lasting cathedral out of Play-Doh.

2. And while Crystal walked the stage alone, Lee was given a somber chorus of black-clad background singers who emerged dramatically from a blinding tunnel of white light behind him halfway through his version of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.” So, beyond even the show’s producers setting him up with an arresting bit of stagecraft and choreography, judge Simon Cowell gave him a drama-drenched song to sing — one that is usually the Hail Mary last resort of contestants who know they’re just a few votes away from slipping back into obscurity. To his credit, Lee made the most of it — no doubt he’s got talent — but it just seemed like Simon and the producers were giving him every tool he needed to close the show in stunning fashion.

3. It’s become clear whose backstory the show’s producers have glommed on to. Lee’s victory in two weeks would be the fitting culmination to a Hollywood rags-to-riches story to rival that of Lana Turner having a Coke at the counter at Schwab’s (which, Wikipedia tells me, isn’t even completely true! We’ve all been living a lie!)

How many times last night — and in previous weeks — has host Ryan Seacrest referred to Lee as “the paint salesman from Chicago”? Yes, Lee was an hourly employee in a paint store before he tried out for “Idol,” and, yes, his music career was… nascent, to be charitable. But the way the show repeatedly recites his humble beginnings before, with Solomon-like wisdom and Buffett-like foresight, the judges plucked him from the depths of soul-crushing obscurity and imbued him with power and confidence and be-knighted him on a pedestal of national TV fame, you’d think they’re just polishing up the story for the eventual press-releases they’ll put out rather than simply introducing a guitar player.

I half-expect next week Seacrest, his face cast in mysterious shadows, to solemnly intone, “Ladies and gentlemen… he was once a poor street urchin from the wrong side of the tracks, scratching out a feral existence based solely on whatever monetary crumbs he could steal from a subsistence living as (shudder) a lowly clerk in a retail service industry… a downtrodden and empty vessel of a schlub on whom life and Chicago had turned their backs… a friendless schnook who had to build his own guitar out of the broken pieces of used primer brushes and ate his meals from whatever leftover condiments he could slap together and stuff into an unhygienic, broke-down paint mixer… his clothes crudely stitched togther from worn out drop clothes thrown at him by angry, violent customers demanding a pound of his flesh and store credit… let’s welcome Lee Dewyze!”

Can Crystal compete with that?

In New York, we had Elizabeth Hasselbeck turning on the waterworks and begging ESPN reporter (and quasi-reality-dancing-superstar) Erin Andrews for forgiveness for breaking the bonds of sisterhood.

Andrews, you’ll remember, was the victim of a peeping tom/stalker who videotaped her naked in hotel rooms and posted the videos on the internet. That man has been convicted, but Andrews has since endured bizarre death threats while she’s appeared on ABC’s reality hit “Dancing With the Stars.”

On Tuesday, Hasselbeck, whose intellectual weak spot has always been a moving target, decided it was time to blame the victim and noted that Andrews, who dons the same style of sexy, flashy dancing costumes that every other woman on the show wears, is just asking for trouble by prancing about in those costumes and really should be dressing more like… well, like Elizabeth Hasselbeck, I guess:

“In light of what happened and as illegal and as inexcusable as it was for that horrific guy to go in and try to peep on her in her hotel room… I mean, in some way if I’m him, I’m like, ‘Man! I just could’ve waited 12 weeks and seen this – a little bit less – without the prison time!’”

I don’t have a PhD in Women’s Studies — but I don’t think you need one to know how idiotic that is.

Twenty-four hours later, Hasselbeck offered this tear-stained apology, prompted by her 5-year-old daughter and moral compass, Grace:

The scary part of Hasselbeck’s mea culpa (beyond the look-at-me nature of it, guaranteed to ensure that a stupid, but fleeting, moment on “The View” garnared a second-day story and more press attention for a woman who revels in political victimhood) is Sherri Shepard’s comment at the end: that the ladies of “The View” should compile a blooper clip of their biggest gaffes. Let’s see… there was the time Hasselbeck asked Stanley Tucci what his wife thought of his acting a few months after she died… the time Whoopi Goldberg asked Sir Ian McKellan when the next Harry Potter movie was coming out even though he’s never been in a Harry Potter movie… the time they all laughed when Sofia Vergara joked about being raped… The list goes on and on…

Over on the West Coast, Ellen Degeneres, who still hosts a daytime talk show — you remember it? it’s the one where she’s allowed to talk and be funny instead of just sitting mute and idle — was forced to apologize to America’s corporate ant overlords.

Earlier in the week, she created a spoof commercial for the iPhone. Her ingenious comic conceit? That typing on the iPhone’s small virtual keyboard can sometimes be complicated for people — you know, just like every tech reviewer in the country has written for the last three years.

So, apparently, Apple wasn’t happy and complained… to somebody… and Ellen felt compelled to beg for forgiveness:

Here’s the scary part: apologize for what? For teasing a multi-billion dollar corporation? For saying what everyone’s been saying for three years? Since when do comedians have to beg forgiveness for teasing corporations?

All around… a weird day on daytime TV. I’ll stick to my “King of Queens” reruns, thanks.

Can we crown Harry Connick Jr. the new "American Idol"? (Image by Getty Images via Daylife)

TV critics, music fans and, apparently, a bored-looking Rob Reiner have been crowing since January that there’s something wrong with “American Idol” this season…

Tonight we found out just what the show’s been missing: Harry Connick Jr.

Finally! Somebody added some life to a season that’s always been dancing precariously close to the the precipice of sleeper cliff.

As this week’s mentor for the Idols (it was Sinatra week, natch), Connick didn’t settle for serving up the usual empty gestures of other “Idol” mentors: a few bland platitudes about “being yourself” and “really making the song your own” while making sure to look into the right camera while you hawk your latest unlistenable CD (looking at you, you ungrateful little Usher). Instead, Connick coached the contestants, composed new song arrangements for each of them, performed on stage with each singer, led the band, joshed around with the judges, cracked wise a few times, busted Casey James’ chops, called out Shania Twain for being lazy and even introduced the show.

If anybody “won” tonight’s show, it was the crooner from New Orleans, who, once again, proved himself to be among the funniest, most versatile, amiable and likable guys in entertainment.

It’s too bad the contestants had to go and ruin it.

Well, that’s not entirely true (except for Casey James, who was excruciatingly bad)… it was just that nobody really seemed at home swinging to a Sinatra beat.

Lee Dewyze came closest, ambling his fashionably wrinkled voice through a “That’s Life” that seemed genuine and enjoyable for him. His has been an amazing transformation this season, from deer-in-the-headlights scared to potential winner right before our eyes. While I normally pooh-pooh theme weeks such as this — ones that force the contestants to go so far outside their comfort zone of mainstream music that it seems unlikely anybody can really excel — it’s performances like Lee’s that make me rethink that position; he adapted and stretched himself and came out strong.

Crystal Bowersox was very nearly his equal tonight, bringing a jazzy “Summer Wind” to the stage that started off quiet and interpretive and leaning a bit toward free-form… and then segueing into a brassy finish that was expected, but welcome.

While it wasn’t a water-cooler moment for Crystal like she’s had in earlier weeks, it did show something I love about her — a transformation that’s been quieter than Lee’s, but no less dramatic. Where once she seemed withdrawn and shy — almost like performing was painful for her despite her immense talent — Crystal now seems to be enjoying herself. And she’s getting a little sassier with the judges — she’s the only one left who will stand up for herself when Kara and Simon start spouting off with conflicting theories of what would make her a star. Her money quote tonight, in response to criticism that she was too indulgent and quiet: “I don’t feel like I should just sing really big notes because I’m on ‘American Idol.’ And somewhere, Siobhan Magnus weeps.

Still, it wasn’t a great night overall for “Idol” as the “kids,” as Connick called them, tried their best to adapt to an unfamiliar set of rules. Some adapted better than others, but nobody hit it out of the park.

Some, however, did strike out.

The big loser for the night? Other than Nancy Sinatra –who now looks like this — it has to be the aforementioned Casey James, who, without a guitar on which to solo, had to actually sing — and do nothing more than sing. And, it turns out, that when vocal phrasing and tone and emotion mattered more than your dexterity with a Stratocaster, Casey fell a little short. (Surprising, because he’s fared better at this before.) His version of “Blue Skies” was more than flat, it was painfully awkward. And without a back beat to lean on, Casey’s body was a lost as his voice — he shuffled about the stage with unsure steps, seemingly so uneasy with the entire situation that he just couldn’t wait to get it over with. Even Aaron Kelly — who probably just imagined singing more loves songs to his mom (ick) — fared better.

Say goodbye to Casey James and his flowing golden tresses.

But let’s have Harry Connick Jr. on each week, please.

"American Idol" contestant Siobhan Magnus tries on a classy pose. (Image by Getty Images North America via Daylife)

I’m not ashamed to admit that I let out a yelp of joy when Siobhan Magnus was eliminated on last night’s “American Idol.”

I know it seems strange — perhaps even unseemly – to revel in the dashed dreams of a teenage girl, and, indeed, I haven’t felt this level of animosity in a long while  — not since I was consumed with a hatred for Claire Danes in 1994 have I felt this bile-filled.

But there was just something about Siobhan that rubbed me the wrong way; the self-aware quirkiness has always been an act, I suspect. The proof? No matter how much she tried to present herself as a march-to-the-beat-of-her-own-drummer individual, she had no real sense of her self, as borne out in her “Idol” performances, which were a mish-mash of styles and tones and looks, veering week to week in a grasping attempt to find a quirky niche that would succeed. For all her machinations of self-possessed individuality off-stage, she was always reaching to find a personality that worked for her on stage — and desperately tried a new one on each week (or had one suggested to her by the “Idol” stylists and vocal coaches.  Her quirkiness feels like a facade that masks empty space; a look-at-me approach just for the sake of being looked at. And that pisses me off.

Plus – she’s only an OK singer.

Yes, she can sing – and with practice and experience, maybe she’ll find a style that works for her. But in this competition, she found a gimmick that brought her early platititudes (screaming out big notes at the end of every song with that arm-extended, head-cocked pose that made her look like a mannequin in a Forever 21 store at the mall) and she rode it into the ground. Her voice is a strange enigma – it only seems to expand to dizzying proportions when she’s belting it out at the top of her lungs; when she’s just singing at a normal pitch (that is, all the other parts of the song), her range is quite limited, which, you’d think, is the inverse of how it should work.

In cowboy terms, her voice was all hat and no cattle. I’m glad to see her go.

Kristin Chenoweth -- "Glee"'s crutch? (Image via Wikipedia)

As always, last night’s “Glee” left me bewildered… but in a good way, if that’s possible.

After an off-week (am I the only one who thought the Madonna-themed episode was too gimmicky and forced? Apparently I am, given the scuttlebutt that producers are considering doing another one, and more music stars are rumored to be lining up to have episodes focused on their music…) I’m happy to see “Glee” returning to (mostly) normal.

But something just felt a bit off for me about this episode…

Despite its propensity to veer dangerously close to after-school-special melodrama, the emotional quadrangle of Finn, Kurt, Kurt’s Dad (Burt) and Finn’s mom (Carole) was a welcome development — and gave the show some new and interesting dramatic arcs now that Quinn’s pregnancy has all but been forgotten about (wasn’t that a major plot point, once upon a time?).

And while we’re talking about Burt Hummel, can we take a moment to laud the acting depth of Mike O’Malley? The comic actor who rose to prominence as the fictional uber-Boston sports fan “The Rick” in a series of ESPN commercials and starred in more failed sitcoms than you can remember (and I’m counting “Yes, Dear” in that list despite its six-year run) turns out to be a decent actor with some surprising chops. In a show with more scenery-chewing than a Mamet marathon, O’Malley classes up the joint with some understated line readings and humble demeanor. I want Burt Hummel in every episode from now on.

Back on track now… The exploration of Finn and Kurt’s family relationships — and Kurt’s unrequited love for his fellow glee club (sorry: show choir) cast mate — gave Kurt one of his finest musical moments (“A House Is Not a Home”) and more dimensions to his character beyond just being, as Sue Sylvester puts it, the “gay kid.” Watching Kurt see his father bond with another boy over sports (“I hate Duke like I hate the Nazis,” says Burt) was a welcome addition to the show’s dynamic…

But the episode’s other major plot — Mercedes’ quest to lose weight to fit in on the cheerleading squad — had me scratching my head.

1. It was paint-by-numbers predictable.

2. It didn’t fit Mercedes’ personality.

3. It lead to the show’s biggest disappointment, a full-group number of Christina Agiulera’s “Beautiful” — a song I detest with all my might. “Beautiful” is the antithesis of what it purports to be about; a paen to inner beauty and strength sung by a woman who — at least at the time of her recording of it — used vocal gymnastics and sexual provocation as an ego-gratifying siren call of the most superficial order. Or maybe I’m biased because I once had an executive at AOL — a grown man, no less — tell me that he cried when heard Aguilera sing it live. Either way, Janis Ian it ain’t.

My other worry about last night’s episode was the heavy reliance on guest-star Kristin Chenoweth. Don’t get me wrong — she was fantastic, just as she was the first time. She can drop throw-away jokes with the best of them, dominate every scene she’s in and sing rings around mortal humans — her Barbra-licious reprisal of “A House Is Not a Home” blended with “One Less Bell to Answer” was one of the season’s more arresting moments.

But did it seem like the show was leaning a little to heavily on her? For a show about high school glee club kids singing pop songs, last night was a lot of adult singers and dramatic, adult tunes. It was good television, to be sure, but was it gleeful — or “Glee”-ful? Lea Michele had one line… and special guest Jonathan Groff didn’t even get that.

This worries me — that the show is in danger of becoming too self-aware. “Glee” caught fire because it was a fantasy world filled with hilarity and snark and guilty musical pleasures — balanced, occasionally, by real drama. But if it strains to be too “important” and dramatic, it’s in danger of losing its cartoon fantasticality. And that would be a shame.