When guilty pleasures go mainstream

I’m waiting for the second coming of Jesus. But since it didn’t happen on Monday, I’m not holding my breath. I’ll explain what I mean in a bit. For now, please don’t start an indignant letter-writing campaign against the sacrilegious heathen. Or do start one. What the hell.

I got hooked on American Idol relatively quickly in its first season; the combination of good singing, bad singing, inconsistent judges and a victim being voted out each week was the crack cocaine of reality TV, and I was its playground addict. My dental hygienist and I compared notes on #Idol# and couldn’t believe it had become television’s mega-hit. We were accustomed to fixating on programs that stoked our guilty-pleasure centers and enjoying them until they were canceled. But this one had become America’s favorite. Whether that was good news for society or not, at least it meant our guilty pleasure was sticking around.

And now — as my hygienist and I both agreed at my last periodic cleaning — it’s over. This year’s American Idol was the least talent-packed and most mediocre procession of its six years. And when the one outstanding talent, Melinda Doolittle, was passed over in favor of cute-but-average Blake Lewis, there was no reason to even watch the finale. But are my hygienist and I feeling depressed and deprived? Hell no! Another show has taken what I jonesed for on Idol and brought it to its feet.

Neither my teeth cleaner nor I can believe Fox’s So You Think You Can Dance? is becoming a hit. Granted, it is not the juggernaut in its third season that American Idol was, but it has captured enough of the public imagination to ensure its run will last longer than its quality (yes, Idol has made me cynical). But never mind the future: Right now, it is the Best Show On Television and has weekly been giving two nights of frighteningly ecstatic pleasure and pathos for this addict and his hygienist.

Unlike the insipid and overblown Dancing with the Stars, SYTYCD features young dancers so talented they take my breath away while they fight for their own by the end of some beautifully choreographed numbers. And while there were astonishing dancers on the first two seasons, this year the talent level is the highest it has ever been. And aren’t we glad about it?

Yes — except when the casualty who gets voted off is our favorite.

Let me tell you about Jesus for a moment. He was so poor he and his family picked grapes — literally (or as literally as we can believe from his “up close and personal” package). And the whole damn town raised the money to send this kid to dancing school. I’ve heard of towns raising the money to send kids to college — but to dance classes? That has got to be the oddest and most enlightened charity of all time. To determine that a child’s need for the arts was important enough for fundraising — in this age of NEA-slashing and Bush-level ignorance of art’s importance — is transcendent. And to top it all off, Jesus was great! He danced his ass off, and made every piece of choreography resonate.

And then Jesus left the building. And two weeks ago, his former partner Sara — a breakdancer who seemed to grow and adapt preternaturally to every style thrown at her — was also voted off. On Aug. 16, we find out who is “America’s favorite dancer” (as the show’s noncommittal slogan goes). It has come down to a Final Four announced on Monday: Lacey (who dances adequately but seems like she might throw diva fits off camera), Neil (an incredible technician who has improved radically and elicits endless tween-girl screaming), Danny (possibly the most startlingly good dancer of the group, but still a little aloof), and Sabra (who has only been dancing for five years, but whose talent tends to nudge anybody else off screen).

So Sara, the peripatetic B-girl, isn’t up there instead of Lacey. And the judges never accepted Jesus back into their hearts (though I’m told he will be dancing in the finale along with the rest of the top 20). But at least their replacements have real talent, unlike Idol’s Battle of the Marginal. So You Think You Can Dance? is delirious in its presentation of brilliance; the only possible improvement would be shorter cutaways to audience reactions. Because we know the audience. We are the audience. We are not elevated by the audience. But the dancers — that’s another story. Those who dance on SYTYCD and those who choreograph the often-stunning numbers — plus the occasionally inspired judges who speak in actual thoughts instead of glossy soundbites — elevate us and give us glimpses of greatness. Lofty as that sounds — especially for a Fox reality show — it has been happening weekly. And on Aug. 16, for two hours, television is celebrating the good instead of the mediocre.