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Simon cowell Arrives on a jet ski, his face distraught. Her cheeks are flushed, her teeth dazzling. his new Netflix The show, he tells us, is his last chance. “If I can’t do it properly,” he says, “I will have to accept that I have lost everything I had before.” It was very simple in their heyday. You can just grab some guys off the side of the road, hit on them and topman their wardrobeSend them to a recording studio in Sweden, and get a top five hit. Yes, after distraction they were often doomed to the Butlins circuit, or got jobs as fork-lift drivers or OnlyFans models or. celebrity big brother Competitors. But god it was easy. When did all this go aside?
Simon Cowell: Next Actwhich launches today on Netflix, follows the pop mogul as he attempts to put together a new boyband. But don’t let the breezy, talky documentary fool you – this is your standard x factor Riff. It’s full of the producer-orchestrated drama and storytelling style that made that show Saturday night viewing 10 or 15 years ago, but which now feels trite and out of date, like something offensively said by Louis Walsh once. He even surrounds himself with lower-wattage versions of Nicole Scherzinger or Cheryl: It’s like little mix songstress camilleAnd another songwriter who looks like Jason Schwartzman with a ponytail. He has even pulled Pete Waterman out of the closet he was locked in for the last few decades.
However, the sense of fatalism of racing against the clock is different from what Cowell now displays. I believe him when he says he thinks it may all be over. x factor Years before his “comfort” stopped creating real superstars In 2019. Britain’s Got Talent And its American counterpart still exists, but in that marginal, vaguely nefarious way that somehow kept the spotlight on WH Smith for years. And gone is the flashy pop entrepreneurship that made Cowell’s name (before shaping the careers of talent show artists including One Direction and Leona Lewis, he’d foisted the likes of Robson & Jerome and Westlife on the unsuspecting public). He’s a man who’s out of time, botoxed toward oblivion, and suddenly he realizes that everything everywhere must come to an end.
But Simon Cowell: Next Act There is only a pretense of straight talking. It often reminded me of Netflix’s recent Victoria Beckham documentary, which eschewed anything interesting or crazy in favor of brand polishing and fake sincerity. Cowell and his team are in crisis mode in the opening scenes of the series when only 160 people applied to audition for his new boyband – a sharp drop from the times when thousands of people would descend on Britain’s convention centers for the chance to be judged by Sharon Osbourne. As a result Cowell becomes involved in a tragic Gen-Z press attack. He joins TikTok, takes part in promotional interviews with many influencers, sits with them Diary of a CEOSteven Bartlett. It would make more sense for him to use some of his connections – maybe get Zayn Malik or Jade Thirlwall on the blower. Then again, it seems all those bridges were burned years ago.
Early on, the show leaned toward its slightly outrageous energy, with a man from the noughties humiliating himself to get the attention of teenage Pip-Squeaks. But this soon wears off: the boys eventually succeed with fabulous haircuts and moldable warbles, and Cowell returns to his position as philanthropic king-maker. The “is it in the past” thing was just a plot point, a quick injection of suspense just like the old days. even one direction Liam Payne Meeting a grisly end at the age of 31 – which happens to be in the middle of filming – isn’t dramatic enough to stop the Cowell train from roaring by.
However, Payne’s death changes the tone of the show. This happens in episode three, the screen dramatically goes black, in that reality TV shorthand that says “something bad is about to happen”. Cowell halted production. He takes six days leave. Upon returning, he questions whether he should continue the project. His decision to keep moving forward plays out like the punchline of a very dark joke. “I can’t take this opportunity away from them,” he says. Cowell has vowed to try to make these boys stars – he can’t possibly pull it back now, can he? They believe what a terrible thing it is to do to them.
To try to avert further disaster, he hosts an emotional get-together with 30 or so boys, as well as their parents, for a chance to join Cowell’s final band. He insists that they ask him any questions and share any concerns they have, and he will answer honestly. The questions we look at are not particularly probing. An aspiring musician asked Cowell if the boyband really had a chance of success. “It’s 50/50,” says Cowell. A parent asks Cowell what he would say to his son if he were in the same situation. Cowell’s answer is informative. He begins by saying that, first of all, he will consider it if he thinks his son can hack it. “Honestly, do I really believe my son can handle it when you become famous?” he asks. “Your life changes. There is no privacy.” Then a change happens. Cowell, practically in mid-sentence, starts talking about their Son in place of his sons. “They will be taken care of. I have always prided myself on caring about the people I work with – veracity Care – and if we move forward with the boys, it will be with my full trust and support. If you have concerns about anything, call me.”
The difference here is that the person Kovel very skillfully distracts is Kovel’s son. No Be in the same position as your sons. Historically, the terrible paradox of the bands that Cowell brought to success – as well as those brought to fame by his contemporaries such as Louis Walsh or Simon Fuller – was that many of them were working-class strugglers who had few other opportunities to advance professionally. Many came from the north of England, had different accents, or were born into broken homes. Some had pre-existing industry connections, or practical guidance that matched their ambition.
In these moments there’s no real sense of what Cowell is asking of these starry-eyed teenagers and their parents. If they really feel best about what he’s telling them, then let it go. “He must have felt a lot of pressure,” an 18-year-old boyband candidate named Hendricks tells his father after Payne’s death. His father responds benignly: “Once you’re in the spotlight, and have all those people looking at you all the time, it can get you down from time to time. You just don’t know, do you?” It’s a simplified explanation of what happened to Payne — as well as a very paternalistic piece of fence-sitting that pretends to be sinister, but not so much so that it seems like he’s interfering with his son’s decision-making. Because, after all, Simon Cowell: Next Act It’s a platform, an opportunity, a chance to do something extraordinary. And that is, perhaps, the most illuminating thing about all this. It’s irrelevant whether Cowell is done or not, because there will always be a pipeline of dreamers without money or resources who will weigh the risks of talent-show fame and decide to bite. Shame on Liam Payne. Because after all, what is the alternative?
‘Simon Cowell: The Next Act’ is streaming on Netflix