Simon says versus Trie's tsk-tsking

Dicky stands fretfully in the spotlight, his funky F4-like coiff and unsettlingly androgynous features making him appear like a Japanese cartoon character come to life.

After the cooing reproaches from the tamer judges, the mike comes to Trie Utami, her lips pursed, her fingers tapping lightly on her desk in a curious imitation of some dark tribal death march.

"Well, Dicky, to put it bluntly, you sucked," she intones solemnly, exhaling deeply and roughly adjusting her turban for dramatic effect.

"If we were giving prizes for howling at the moon, you'd win hands down, but we're not."

The stadium, galvanized by frantic cheering just a few moments before, is now deathly silent, save for a few muffled sobs from the chastened cheering section and the sound of Dicky's knees knocking together.

But she is not finished yet.

"Don't give up your day job, darling, 'cos you've got no future in singing, unless it's cleaning up Mariah Carey's dressing room when she stops in town.

"Now, haul your namby-pamby butt outta here before I come over there and swipe you one."

Did Trie, all 155 or so centimeters of her, really say that, you ask?

Not exactly: The songbird from Bandung, now a judge on the popular Saturday night prime-time talent show Akademi Fantasi Indosiar, may say kind of what she thinks, but it's carefully couched to leave the local Kelly and Reuben wannabes with their egos frayed but still pretty much intact.

In other words, she did not burst Dicky's bubble, but poked it a bit with some roundabout but no less cutting insights.

Of course, it was curtains for Dicky, who got the boot last Saturday night amid tearful parting messages ("God has another plan for you," one of the fortunate few said as way of cold comfort), sent packing to the music basement of broken dreams.

The next evening, on another private TV channel, it was time to up the ante, with Paula Abdul, Randy Jackson and Simon Callow sizing up the best that America thinks it has to offer on the musical front.

Well, we don't really tune in for perky Paula or blustering Randy, but all the nasty things that Simon says.

As we sat, spellbound, for another live evisceration, my Indonesian friend turned to me and said, "Simon could never get away with that here, you know. Indonesian people just wouldn't take it ... Why can't he say it a bit nicer?"

Simon's kvetching and unabashed meanness do not travel well in this part of the world -- except as a curious spectacle of "others" behaving badly.

But just as I reel at Simon's unmitigated efforts in public humiliation, I also find the cloak-and-dagger criticism of the local show hard to stomach. Trie, or her cohort, the sweet- talking Harvey Malaiholo, put the contenders in their place, but it was with a "we're-all-friends-and-we're-doing-you-a-favor-by- sticking-it-to-you".

For those of us raised in places where people like Simon do get to stand on their soapbox, even as we do our best to keep out of the fray, the softly-softly approach of suffering fools gladly can be just as bad as calling a spade a spade -- and a wretched crooner just that.

"Even if you had some chili stuck between your front teeth, it would be tough for me to say it," another friend said to me after lunch, trying to explain the phenomenon of connecting the verbal dots to decipher the intended message.

"I would have to say, well, that lunch was good, uh, did you have some chili and, oh, sometimes chili can get caught in the darndest places."

It's something I find at home, where I have to tread ever so gently if I do not want to send another into peripatetic shock whenever we discuss anything remotely "serious".

The worrying signs become quickly apparent: Breathing deepens, brow furrows and eye contact becomes a distant memory. We just don't go there, for both our sakes.

Whether it is in the workplace, at home or down at the supermarket when someone cuts in on you in line, eventually it's the individual's choice to say it like it is, like persnickety Simon, or pussyfoot around it like tactful Trie. You be the judge.

-- Bruce Emond