Let Glenn Beck Host the Emmys

Glenn Beck, a low-brow version of Rush Limbaugh on a bad day, held his rally on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial on Saturday. He said his mission was to reclaim the civil rights movement for white people, restore honor to America and help the country turn back to God. His detractors likened him to Father Coughlin or Elmer Gantry. Nevertheless, one prefers to think of the whole show as his audition to host next year's Emmy Awards.

That isn't to say that Jimmy Fallon, host of last night's TV-pats-itself-on-the-back extravaganza, did a bad job. He was actually amusing for the 15 minutes one could stomach the program. Instead, one needs to acknowledge that Mr. Beck is not a demagogue and agitator -- he merely plays one on TV.

And that act is wearing thinner and thinner. That he has to take his carny act on the road is a sign that the bloom is off the rose. It's part of the lifecycle of a career in entertainment. Washington, DC, isn't exactly the boondocks, but one can see that it's just a matter of time before Mr. Beck is playing the Ramada by the airport in Des Moines before much longer, the warm-up act for a Styx tribute band whose lead singer is a part-time accounting student at Iowa State.

So, it's a case of entertainment Darwinism, adapt the act or die. It is a certainty that Mr. Beck can't sing or dance, or he would have an album out or an exercise video out. At least, he would have appeared on "Dancing with the Stars," trying to out-two-step Tom DeLay. As for acting, he's rather one dimensional. He's hilariously funny, but he doesn't know it, so stand-up is out. With the decline and expiration of variety shows, any ability he has in ventriloquism, plate-spinning or juggling will go unnoticed. That only leaves, emcee of awards ceremonies.

The Beckerheads (as Keith Olbermann dubbed them) probably wouldn't object to a change. They are rapidly discovering, along with the rest of the Kool Aid drinkers of the Tea Party, that electoral politics is really hard work, and it requires more organization than they feel comfortable with. But watching TV and complaining, now that they can do. And look at the garbage that one this year. "Mad Men," a program about advertisers in New York in the 1960s who spend a lot of time drinking. "Breaking Bad," a program about a teacher who becomes a criminal. And Al Pacino won for playing Jack Kevorkian on an HBO movie, the fore-runner of death panels. Oh, the amount of bitching and moaning they could do from the comfort of their Barcaloungers.

So, in a direct appeal to Mr. Beck, this journal (which incidentally has God as an editorial advisor; he has never objected to anything written here, so it must be right) begs the Goldline shill to consider the Emmys for next year. Conan O'Brien isn't resting on his laurels.

© Copyright 2010 by The Kensington Review, Jeff Myhre, PhD, Editor. No part of this publication may be reproduced without written consent. Produced using Ubuntu Linux.

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