I know that talent is talent, and that there is that notion that the Philippines is a petri dish for entertainers of all shapes and sizes, whether to supply Broadway or Caribbean cruise ships. And the word "talent" itself should be reassuring, unlike "reality search" which is really nothing but the pointless manufacture of more showbiz perishables. Maybe competition is secondary and the real point is the variety of presentation, the smorgasbord of the genuine, the willing, and the desperate. For all we know, the profusion of such shows may yet produce an entire generation of singers, dancers, and people who can chew razor blades (Enough of the know-nothing cuties, the Big Brothers, the Starstrucks, and all the reality-search products that shall soon be exposed for what they truly are: empty tin cans).

But there's an inherent wrongness, if not injustice, in the whole thing. It's oranges and apples and grapes and jackfruits and lemons. What's the basis of comparison between a ballet dancer and a guy who can husk coconuts open with his teeth? Between a family of high-flying gymnasts and a limbless boy who can paint with his mouth? Between a drum soloist and a guy who makes his poodles dance the hula (Attention, PAWS)? Unless you're exceptionally talented–and there have been exceptions–you'll never stand a chance against an ensemble, with heavy costumes, fancy props, high-decibel performances.

Subtlety, singularity, and suggestion have no place in the Philippine aesthetic. Ours is symbolized by the jeepney: it will not be content to have just one or two horses on the hood; it has to be twelve or more. It will not be content with just the color red; it should be shiny, screaming-for-blood red, with some robots or naked chicks spray-painted on the side. It will not be happy with a regular muffler; it must have the one that sounds like a bazooka installed in an F1 engine. It will not be content with an ordinary "beep-beep." Its horn should honk "haa-ha-haa-haa-ha-ha."

And then there are the judges and the comments. From the four shows, Audie Gemora is hands-down the best judge. Unlike the rest who simply sneer, snicker, and register dumb shock, he takes no one and nothing for granted. Whether it's someone who eats broken glass or a guy who squirts milk through his eyes, Gemora takes pains to briefly deconstruct the performance and even suggest points for improvement. The rest are just condescending snobs. Kala mo naman ang gagaling. What these judges do not know is that every time they say something rude and tactlessly dismissive, not only personal feelings but entire families are hurt. Those contestants are not residents of Forbes Park or Ayala Alabang. Each time someone chews razors and swallows snakes onstage, there's always someone dreaming of getting out of a slum hellhole, or wanting to send their kids to school, or just simply a better, more dignified life.

The next question is: up to when? Like all things in popular culture, they're just all fun in the beginning, then ultimately they hit saturation point. Right now, they are adding up into one noisy, messy, exhausting, retina-burning, teeth-grinding whole. At one point, surfing through the channels has the same effect as listening to your hyperactive little nephew banging on the kitchen pots and metal basins while lighting matches and blowing into a New Year's Eve torotot. Showtime, especially–here is where everyone's screaming, gyrating, somersaulting, getting thrown in the air, set ablaze, writhing on the floor, all wearing frighteningly heavy makeup and costumes of De Millian proportions.

And then you ask yourself: isn't it too early in the day for these things?

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