American Inventor
ABC
Thursdays 8 p.m. / 7 p.m. Central
They never disclosed their names, but the couple in the shuttle to LAX last February gave away nearly everything else. Pittsburgh natives who currently resided in Florida, they were leaving LA that morning after being cut from a reality show called American Inventor. My boyfriend and I, both reality TV fans, eagerly bombarded them with questions about the show and their experiences as participants.
And for the most part, they answered.
But spooked by reams of non-disclosure agreements, the couple refused to tell us what their own invention was, revealing only that it had something to do with dead bodies. We pulled up to their terminal first and our friends the inventors waved goodbye and left our lives forever. My boyfriend and I were psyched. We couldn't wait to see this show. Based on what we'd just heard, it sounded awesome.
ABC's American Inventor finally premiered a few weeks ago, and, as it turns out, we were completely wrong.
That the producers of American Idol created American Inventor is obvious. The first two episodes of Inventor have been just like early-in-the-season Idol audition episodes, only the unstable, out-of-touch-with-reality singers humiliating themselves on national TV have been replaced with unstable out-of-touch inventors. The shows' formats are alike, with contestants appearing before a panel of judges who critique their submissions before voting on whether to send them home or on to the next round. The similarities even extend to American Inventor's panel of judges itself, which includes a Simon-style British mogul (Peter Jones, a multi-millionaire telecom entrepreneur) and a lone, emotive woman in the Paula Abdul spot (Mary Lou Quinlan, founder and CEO of a female-focused marketing firm). Randy Jackson is replaced here with two judges: New York-based marketing executive Ed Evangelista and inventor Doug Hall.
But the specifics of the show's endgame — or even what will happen in round two of the competition — remain unclear. According to the show's website, the program aims to find the next great American invention, "with wide consumer appeal." There is a lot of talk of a million dollar prize for the winner, but no one mentions that this "prize" is really an advance on future royalties, and that the winning product will be wholly owned and licensed in perpetuity by ABC and the show's producers. A better name for the show might be American Invention, since in the end, the creation is what matters and its creator is ultimately sent packing.
The clever overall concept is, disappointingly, squandered by American Inventor. The inventors and inventions at the heart of the program, while largely underwhelming and often idiotic, are not to blame for the program's unwatchability. What makes the program something to be endured rather than viewed, are its insufferable, patronizing judges — especially the despicable Mary Lou Quinlan and Doug Hall.
Doug Hall, both in appearance and bloated ego, bears a striking resemblance to Wallace Shawn's character in the Princess Bride. The average American home, we are told repeatedly, has at least 18 products in it which were invented by Hall, although infuriatingly, just what these mysterious items are is never revealed. According to the show's website:
Dateline NBC described Hall as "an eccentric entrepreneur who just might have what we've all been looking for ... the happy secret to success." His signature dress includes bold shirts, blue jeans and bare feet. But under the carefree clothes and playful attitude is a life member of MENSA and the world's leading expert on how to measurably increase your odds of success with ideas, innovations and inventions. He's a one-of-a-kind straight shooter who helps people reach beyond their comfort zones to achieve more than they dreamed possible.
He's also an insufferable asshole who seems to categorically hate inventions that aren't his. And, he's a sadist who takes great pleasure in pretending to like a contestant's creation and giving every indication he will vote in their favor, only to crush them unexpectedly a moment later with a sudden and devastating no-vote. The most egregious example of this was perpetrated on Kyle, a 14-year-old inventor who appeared in the premiere episode. Hall spent several minutes raising Kyle's hopes by saying things like "I love this kid! He reminds me of myself at that age!" and effusively praising his invention, a clever portable window air conditioning unit, designed to keep dogs cool in parked cars. After a long compliment-filled wind up, Hall abruptly voted against Kyle's invention, crushing the young contestant and making him cry.
Once the sobbing Kyle had left the room, the other judges urged Hall to go apologize for being so harsh. After much prodding, Hall finally padded out to the lobby on his zanily bare feet to comfort his latest victim. Smashing Kyle's face against his trademark kooky Hawaiian shirt in an awkward hug, Hall explained to the teenager that he was doing him a favor, and someday he'd be thankful that nothing was handed to him and he was forced to work hard. Poor, humiliated Kyle nodded and glared through his tears as violin music swelled, indicating to viewers at home the emotional significance of the event. It was a profoundly cringe-inducing moment, and when it became clear seconds later how satisfied Hall was with himself following the encounter, it became even worse. Plus, what kind of douche lists his lifetime membership in Mensa in his bio?
Mary Lou Quinlan is the Paula Abdul of Inventor, and sometimes she is as kind and generous with praise as her notoriously easy to please counterpart. She also tends to tear up in classic Paula style, waxing emotional about contestants she deems "the embodiment of the American Dream" or "what this competition is all about." Those moments, however, are infrequent, and usually lack the slightest hint of sincerity.
Quinlan spends the majority of the show with her face scrunched into a fake, patronizing, little grimace of a smile. She sits at the judging table, kindly, indulgently squinting and fake-smiling at the contestants parading before her, as if she was visiting an orphanage for grossly deformed, disease-ridden children and watching as they performed a dance routine for her. She seems to regard contestants who appear poor, or red state-dwelling, or blue collar as marvelously quaint and fascinatingly backwards, Fresh Air Fund kids that she could use her beneficent powers to send to camp. It is maddening, and the far too frequent swells of maudlin orchestral music that punctuate the "touching" moments make it even worse. The few times that Quinlan deigns to vote yes on an invention, she taints the victory by saying patronizing things like "That's wonderful. You truly are the salt of the earth."
Just as Hall seems to hate inventions that he didn't invent, Quinlan tends to hate inventions by women. If scantily clad young women are involved, forget it. When two busty young ladies came in to present (and model) the bow-themed lingerie they invented, Quinlan had a huge meltdown. This self-proclaimed expert on what women want railed against the two before her, dismissing out of hand their protestations that women want to feel sexy and might use lingerie to spice things up with their partners. Her voice dripping with condescension, Quinlan repeatedly called them "sweetie" and "honey" throughout the exchange, which ended when she dramatically stormed out of the studio. She quickly returned with her long, black coat and made a big show of using it to cover the lingerie model. Huffing and puffing in an extended demonstration of offended disbelief, Quinlan, in the end, squandered any earned righteousness when, as the women were finally leaving the room, she shrilly yelled after them that they couldn't keep her coat.
In another instance, Quinlan alone voted against a woman's edible snow globe craft kits (they made it to round two despite her no-vote), and when the mother of a mildly retarded child who had invented a behavior modification system, complete with videos, books and puppets appeared before the judges, Quinlan couldn't dismiss her fast enough.
Hall was an enthusiastic supporter of the mother's invention, and it was at this point in the premiere when the loathsome Hall and the loathsome Quinlan first began to argue. Their bickering rapidly devolved into frequent bouts of sniping and swearing at one another and the rest of the episode was dominated by their fighting, silent seething and eye rolling. Their ugly behavior was so distracting and obnoxious that it overshadowed the rest of the competition.
The other judges made far less of an impression. Peter Jones has a most impressive background as an entrepreneur in the telecommunications industry and Ed Evangelista is supposedly some sort of marketing guru, but so far, they have distinguished themselves only as the guy with the English accent and the guy with the New York accent, respectively. All together as a panel, the judges lack rapport or chemistry and they don't seem to have a clear idea of what they are looking for or what qualifications a contestant should meet if he or she is to earn a pass on to the next round.
The judges are capricious. Sometimes a pathetic sack who went broke developing his product is praised for his dedication and single-mindedness and makes it to the next round, in spite of a middling invention. When this happens, the horrible maudlin music swells and Mary Lou's eyes well up with the benevolent, self-satisfied tears of someone who just made a dream come true on national TV. "This is what it's all about," she, or perhaps Ed Evangelista will say with quiet conviction as we see slo-mo montage footage of the elated schmoe out in the lobby, pumping his clenched fist in victory or lifting his long-suffering wife in the air and twirling around with her in his arms.
Other times, though, a similarly pathetic inventor with a similarly asinine or merely so-so invention will share his own story of woe and bankruptcy with the judges only to be met with coldly pitying stares and skeptical questions. "Do you really, honestly think this is a good idea?" judges will ask, shaking their heads in disbelief when the inventor before them maintains that, yes, he knows it is. No-votes come quickly and unanimously in these cases, and they are often accompanied by advice to give up on the invention in question, as it will never succeed. In extreme cases, judges are so non-plussed by inventions that they become angry. Mary Lou's delicate sensibilities were grievously offended by a few inventions, particularly those involving the bathroom, bodily functions or young women (see lingerie example above).
It is difficult to imagine what invention could possibly please all four judges enough to win this competition. After watching two episodes of American Inventor, the only invention that could please me is a TV-proof box in which the loathsome Mary Lou Quinlan and Doug Hall could be locked and thus prevented from ever again appearing on the air in any capacity. If that doesn't have "wide consumer appeal," nothing does.
— Alissa Rowinsky Wright (alissa@flakmag.com)
