Starry Eyed

The Jakarta Post   |  Fri, 02/20/2009 6:15 PM  |  Entertainment

They sing, they dance, they laugh, they cry: The young stars of Idola Cilik 2 (Little Idols) elicit a resounding “aaaw” every time they take the stage and send fans into a frenzy. As RCTI’s second-highest rated reality TV show (after Indonesian Idol), the children’s talent contest is beamed into 20 million living rooms nationwide. Maggie Tiojakin watches the budding talents at work.

“Patton” Otlivio Latuperissa is halfway through his chorus when suddenly his microphone goes dead. It’s a deafening, embarrassing silence. Standing in the spotlight, facing 400 spectators who have come from all over Indonesia to cheer him and the other contestants on, plus millions more tuned in at home, the 11-year-old suddenly bursts into tears.

The art of a polished public performance is a skill that takes years to perfect. Patton’s emotional reaction to a technical glitch is hardly a surprise, considering his young age and the huge pressure he is under during his last solo performance of the week.

“It’s OK, Patton,” says Dave Hendrik (Om Dave), a TV presenter and a member of the resident panel of commentators. “This is a valuable lesson for you, and you must use it to your benefit.”

He speaks from the panelists’ table across from the stage, which is hemmed in by the various contestants’ support sections. True to their name, they keep up unrelenting chants for the duration of the show.

Fellow commentator Ira Maya Sopha seconds Om Dave’s consoling words. Mama Ira, who was the country’s most famous child star in the mid-1970s and early 80s, addresses the performer as calmly as she would her own son.

“Patton, you have to be brave,” she says in a soothing tone that has the audience nodding along with her in approval. “Don’t be frightened: these things happen. It’s alright, son. Why don’t we start over, ya?”

Later Ira says she has been criticized a couple of times by the show’s executives for being “too accommodating” or “too nice” in her comments, although she feels her “maternal tone” is often what gets the children through mortifying slip-ups.

“These children are under a tremendous amount of pressure,” says Ira. “And because I know what it’s like from my own personal experience, I give my comments in a way that I feel is best for them.”

Duta, the lead singer of popular band Sheila On 7, agrees. Known on the show as Om Duta, he says “with children, you can’t be as straightforward as you would with adults. You have to talk to them in their language: firm but easy to understand.”

With just a few weeks left until Idola Cilik 2’s grand finale, the show’s creative team is already looking ahead to the next batch of wannabe child stars, with plans for open-mic auditions in a number of cities in the next few months. The show’s instant popularity among children and adults surprised commentators and executives, who had set out to appeal to the younger viewer segment only.

Modeled after Indonesian Idol, the show’s viewers decide who gets to leave or stay via SMS votes (at the end of each week, the contestant with the lowest number of votes is sent home). In the middle of the show, host Oki Lukman (Kak Oki) announces “temporary results” by reading from a list that contains current percentages of votes for each contestant – a heart-stopping moment for the competing children.

As the results are tallied on screen, the boys pile up on a red sofa, their eyes fixed on a flatscreen TV backstage (the girls are still on stage, after finishing a collaborative performance with guest star Bunga Citra Lestari). The television set, connected to a pair of large speakers on the other side of the room, flashes with images of their past performances. One by one they point at each other, smiling and giggling.

“Abner,” cries Andryos “Debo” Aryanto, “Look, it’s starting!”

Abner Mekry Korompis, a 12-year-old farmer’s son from Manado who has performed at social gatherings since he was 9, is considered the favorite to take the grand finale this coming March. In a green shirt and black vest, the boy with the belting vocals leans back on the sofa without so much as glancing at the images on screen.

The boys mutter “oohs” and “aahs” as Kak Oki reads the results, standing just 6 meters from the dressing room: Patton leads, closely followed by Abner and “Obiet” Panggrahito, who are vying for second place. “Cakka” Kawekas Nuraga, on the other hand, a young guitarist-slash-singer who is best known for his pretty face and love of Japanese pop culture, remains in the bottom five.

“Don’t worry, guys,” the ever-positive Obiet, an 11-year-old Yogyakarta native, says to his friends. “These are only the temporary results.”

When the final report cards are distributed, “Agni” Tri Nubuwati, a tomboyish 10-year-old from Yogyakarta, has to pack up her dreams and head home, leaving eight contestants in the race. A day later, Cakka’s father, Tunggul, says by phone, “the [contestants] are very supportive of one another. The competition is healthy and it is a morale booster for them to do their best on stage.”

Naturally, each contestant has a shared understanding of the stage: a place where the “magic” happens, as well as some living “nightmares”.

In his last solo performance of the week, Debo carries five long-stemmed roses onto the stage, clearly hoping to wow the audience and commentators with his sleek jacket and tie and soulful performance. He drops to his knees, rises to his feet, tumbles to the front of the stage and sways in a melodramatic cascade that sends his supporters into a near stupor.

But Om Duta has a problem with the hand gestures of the little boy from West Java.

“When you do this” – Duta says, moving his hand to and from his chest repeatedly – “it seems a little distracting to me.”

The criticism ignites a heated debate among the panelists, choreographer (Uncle Joe) and voice trainer (Kak Ucie).

Om Dave giggles, saying, “Why should a performance that good be debated?” Winda Viska Ria (Kak Winda) – an actress and finalist in Indonesian Idol Season 1 – also defends Debo’s performance, arguing “[the gesture] is his realization of the song, which is a form of his commitment to it”.

Moments later, Johan Jafar aka Uncle Joe draws the audience’s support when he dismisses Om Duta’s evaluation as “a mistaken observation”, leaving Mama Ira to head to home base: the stage itself.

“We do it all the time,” says Ira of disagreements among panelists. “But, in the end, we always kiss and make up. I love my fellow commentators: We’re like a family. And, in that sense, we also love each other.”

Asked whether the commentators’ suggestions and criticism have any effect on the contestants’ self-esteem, contestant Oik, an 11-year-old girl from Semarang, admits, “It can get really scary when they start to say something about my performance, but so far they’ve been really kind and supportive.”

Despite the show’s success, Idola Cilik has been criticized in the media for exploiting the children. Their performance of adult-themed songs leaves some observers uneasy, as does the heart-warming, sympathy-gaining tales of contestants from poor families. While the latter can be partially explained as the unavoidable effect of “going public” by performing on a national show, Ira offers her opinion on the former.

“Before you judge us, I think it’s better for all of us – commentators, parents, everyone – to ask ourselves where the root of the problem is,” she says. “When we were auditioning, most of the children who came to the audition can’t sing the old children’s songs we used to sing, like “Balonku” or “Disana Senang, Disini Senang”. They only know Britney Spears’ songs. So what can we do?”

Ira points out that all the songs performed by the children have their lyrics changed to give them a more “universal theme”, whereby love is easily understood as something platonic between family members or friends.

“I don’t think we can criticize this show after only two years, because we’re still learning as we go,” Duta says. “At this point, I believe the show brings a positive value to the children performing in it and those who are watching it at home.”  

At the very least, one performer has gained some hard-earned experience. Half sobbing through the last bridge of the song, Patton raises his head and brings his microphone close to his lips, as his voice once again fills the studio. The audience cheers his name and the commentators nod approvingly as the little boy stands tall once again, a smile on his face.

Young or old, the show must go on

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