For the last two weeks, our great nation has been bereft of the pop cultural sensation commonly known and referred to as – sound of blaring horns – The Masked Singer. Children wept at the sudden absence, lovers cried and the poets dreamed…Er, alright those are some random lyrics from singer-songwriter Don McLean’s classic American Pie, co-opted to assist ye olde writer in waxing poetic about The Gong Show of 2019 (as I’ve annoyingly dubbed it) and its new lease on life.
In actuality, the two week absence of The Masked Singer had more to do with a little something called the World Series than such things as bad ratings or forced and mandatory rehab for one or all of the judges. Not only is The Masked Singer back after a temporary baseball absence, its ratings are just as healthy as always and its stature as a 2019 cultural curio is safe for the foreseeable future. The same, alas, cannot be said about two contestants that were booted off in last night’s two hour cheese extravaganza.
After a bark inducing performance by The Rottweiler singing Love Runs Out (this cat, er dog, has vocal chops to spare and my guess is that we’re dealing with a professional musician. My two cents from the Dog Pound. Woof-woof.), we were treated to The Ladybug belting out a rendition of Juice. Decent voice, but by sheer fact that she is going by the moniker of The Ladybug, I had a sudden desire to watch the much better performance of Oscar nominated Saoirse Ronan in the film Lady Bird; My wife reminds me that there is indeed a difference between a bird and a bug and that I really should stick to the matter at hand and just watch this never-ending show so that I can finish my review. I think that she might just be on to something.
Anyhoo, The Tree got into the action last night and performed the Aretha Franklin classic ditty, Think and I gave the performer instant points for the song title alone as one does not instantly associate the words think and Masked Singer in the same sentence (or even the same book).
The Flower followed in quick succession and then The Fox (singing the ironically titled Hey Ma, I Made It), The Thingamajig, The Butterfly, The Leopard and The Flamingo. But it was The Penguin and The Black Widow that got the old heave-ho last night ultimately and they stood unmasked as Sherri Shepherd (Formerly of The View and lately seen to good effect in Man With a Plan) and Raven-Symone (The Cosby Show, Raven’s Home), respectively.
Part of the cheesy fun of watching The Masked Singer is guessing along with the judges just who exactly resides under the gaudy masks. The reveals are never particularly shocking or world shaking; for example, we’ll never see Joaquin Phoenix standing revealed as The Asparagus or Paul McCartney as The Walrus (after all, wasn’t John the Walrus?). But it is just enough that, after a long and hard day of work, we can turn off our old grey matter and hook ourselves up to a life support system that includes a good bottle of Vino and enough OG Kush to send Neil Armstrong back into orbit and just bask in the inane fun of a show that (hopefully) realizes that it’s not a Merchant and Ivory Production but, rather, a giant piñata of uber-cheese that is not to be contemplated too much but enjoyed for the brain release that it truly is. And that my good compadres is simply enough.
James Byron Dean stormed New York City and Hollywood in the early to mid-1950s, revolutionizing …