The Singing Bee

NYPress.com

HIVE MENTALITY
‘The Singing Bee’ is a terrible thing to waste

It’s easy to dismiss NBC’s ratings smash “The Singing Bee” as the kind of eye candy/ear Muzak that contributes to the decline of Western civilization. But make no mistake, this game show is a genius mix of the washed-up and the newly found. The brilliance begins with its choice of host, former ‘N Sync star Joey Fatone. Now a jolly, big-boned 30-year-old in an open collar and spiffy jacket, Fatone looks like a guy on his way to a first date who has stumbled into a sing-along. He awkwardly leads contestants through various challenges, all of which involve remembering the lyrics to hit songs, generally culled from the 1980s. Sometimes he’ll even dance. In 10 years that will just be creepy. Now it comes across more as a mildly pitiful effort at recapturing his boyhood. Indeed, memories and glory days are what make the show tick. Watching the contestants sing, gleefully off-key and with no inhibitions, one can imagine them back at their hometown karaoke bars attempting to relive some heydays of their own.

Lest the show turn maudlin, there are enough hilariously cheapo production values and under-rated background performances to fill a year’s worth of “American Idol” rip-offs. Four sexy dancers, known collectively as the Honey Bees, go into action with every downbeat. (NBC has given them their own blog, wherein they reveal the sweat and toil behind the boogie.) Veteran musical director Ray Chew leads the top-notch band and back-up singers. Bald and just slightly embarrassed by the proceedings, Chew is the Paul Shaffer of primetime.

Unlike its competition, “Don’t Forget the Lyrics,” on Fox there’s no false pressure or complicated rules. Joyfully, each episode has its own winner. No bothersome waiting for closure. Irritating contestants are never to return and likable ones stay happy memories. Winners walk off with meager earnings (50K max) and a trophy that must have prop departments across the land doubled over in laughter. Dismal confetti cannons signal the evening’s end and their intentionally amplified cartoonish pop let us know that the soothing power of crappy effects is not lost on this production team.

- Stan Friedman   September 5, 2007