They came, they saw, they slammed it.
Welcome the hell back “American Idol”! It’s been a long journey there, and now that it’s back, with all the fun-stealing demons exorcised, we can all find reason to stay home again.
Heck, last night’s made-over “Idol” was so good, I may never go out again.
OK, admittedly I/we/they all had great misgivings about the two new judges who were going to replace the irreplaceable Paula and irascible Simon.
I mean, let’s be honest here.
The last two newest judges, Kara and Ellen, together didn’t add up to one Paula.
They were like entertainment Ambien. Of course, fans thought that when the producers broke what wasn’t broken, it could never be repaired.
Wrong.
Jennifer Lopez and Steven Tyler are not and will never be Paula and Simon. They didn’t do the brother/sister love/hate thing — and didn’t try to. And that was great.
They did something completely different. They were themselves — two superstars fully engaged and absorbed. And not with themselves, but with the contestants. Perfect.
Look, I’ll be the first to admit that I didn’t think two superstars of this magnitude could get out of the way of their own egos long enough to even notice anyone else. But I was as wrong as the people who voted off Daughtry.
In fact, the instant chemistry among the three judges was so right, they couldn’t have created it in a lab.
Everything that made us fall in love with “Idol” in the first place was back: The heart (Lopez), the soul (Randy Jackson) and the Crazy (Tyler). But it was back in a whole new way.
And now that Nigel Lythgoe, the genius behind the show, is back, he brought with him his credo about what had made “Idol” the show it was: The simplicity — and the soap.
“Idol” was never, and will never really be, a show about singing.
It’s really a show about singing for your supper or else you won’t eat.
The more down and out, miserable and depressing your life has been and the more you struggled for your dream, the better chance you have.
Last night they hit depression jackpot, too. There was the kid who beat life in a wheelchair, the throat cancer father who brought his singing daughter, and finally and most touching, the homeless Bronx boy with the voice of a modern day Johnny Mathis.
Cry? Are you kidding me? They don’t need car and Coke commercials — they should just have Kleenex ads.
I personally went through more boxes in one night than during the entire flu season.
Yes, I laughed, I cried, I loved it — especially when the Dawg showed up dressed like Master of the Hounds in the English hunt clothes and slimmed-down belly.
Speaking of downsized, it was also a pleasure to see that they kept the wanna-not-be’s who looked like strippers, monks from outer space, Michael Jackson, cars, and clowns who’d escaped from Cirque du Soleil down to a minimum.
That whole thing was so wrong — I mean, seriously, it’s not “The Price is Right.”
The judges’ comments were fair and they were having a great time.
The laughs were genuine.
Then there were the contestants. No, there wasn’t a “Pants on the Ground” guy yet — although the Japanese guy who said he started doing Michael Jackson impersonations in utero was almost there. See what happens when you start imitating people before you’re fully formed?
Then there was the happiest kid in the world, and the most annoying, who was like the nightmare kid you had to hate in high school. Unfortunately I love her voice. Damn.
And right there, that’s what made the magic return. As Lythgoe always said — it was the simplicity of the idea that made “Idol” work. All the window dressing dumbed it down — and brought it down.
Now if they only ban all group dance routines, the stairs, and the horrifying arm waving in the audience, they may even get back to Super Bowl numbers.