Super Bowl XXXVII: Halftime Show

My father and a hiking buddy of his have a traditional anti-Super-Bowl party every year on Super Bowl Sunday. They drink some good wine watch slides of their hikes in the Rockies and don't watch the Super Bowl. Not watching the Super Bowl has become something of a tradition these days — this whole feature is based largely on that premise. Other networks give us programming that is either woman-friendly (High Fidelity on Comedy Central, a Michelle Pfeiffer weeper on CBS), gay-friendly (Bravo's two hours of "Fire Island", and two hours of "Gay Weddings"), or both (ESPN's Figure Skating).

Of the entire Super Bowl, perhaps nothing is not watched as much as the halftime show. For the past few years, several competing channels have had halftime alternatives for the explicit purpose of not watching the halftime show. Last year NBC gave us Playboy Playmates on "Fear Factor." This year, in the middle of a "Fear Factor" marathon, NBC has given us the "Saturday Night Live Weekend Update Halftime Special." So is this year's halftime show worth not watching? Absolutely.

Straight from the middle of the road comes pop/country semi-diva Shania Twain. We haven't heard much from her in the last few years, and for good reason. She looks like a cross between a Raiders fan and an extra from a bad hip-hop video as she sports an atrocious black and silver outfit with a brassiere covered in diamonds. Her first song is "Man, I Feel Like a Woman," an interesting choice given the overwhelmingly male demographic of the show. Don't worry, guys, she's sporting enough cleavage to keep you interested. I wonder which lucky fan got the free electric violin tossed into the crowd. Her next song must be a new one ... wait, did she just say "I wish that I could grow a beard?" The song seems to be about going up and lo, Shania is raised above the crowd in a giant crane. One can only hope she's headed for the exit.

I never thought I'd say this, but thank God for No Doubt. Of course this is not their usual edgy underground audience, so they'll play a familiar tune from about seven years ago, "Just a Girl." I'm beginning to sense a theme of female empowerment or something. "I'm just a girl ... at the Super Bowl," Gwen shrieks, sounding more perplexed than excited. To top it all off, up come the punk-rock cheerleaders. Somehow this concept doesn't seem as clever as it was when Nirvana did it 12 years ago. Oh great, they're all falling over. This must mean something. It must mean No Doubt blows.

To top it all off we have the king of the middle of the road, Mr. Sting. He looks more like he should be at a soccer game — they do call it "football" across the pond after all. Speaking of which, they must have trouble finding Americans to play at the Super Bowl. Did we really need a French Canadian singing "God Bless America" before the game? And now we get this old limey. Clearly there isn't enough bare female flesh on stage, as Gwen joins Sting in singing "Message in a Bottle." This is an odd choice, though Sting doesn't have many uptempo songs in his repertoire. Perhaps it's a cry for help, women and Brits surrounded by a sea of drunken American men.

Time was, it was a big deal to play the halftime show at the Super Bowl. Last year's show was only notable for the well-intentioned but misguided tribute to the victims of Sept. 11, 2001, thankfully absent this year. This year's show was notable for absolutely nothing. The stage was tiny, the artists were mediocre and the fireworks at the end were thrilling only in as far as they signaled an end to the pain. That's television worth not watching.

— Nicholas Coleman (ncoleman@wesleyan.edu)

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