The Next Act is made by Cowell’s company and lists him as the executive producer, so we can assume he put his own name in the programme title. In an attempt to make the show feel fresher than month-old milk, he has thrown in a fly-on-the-wall element, in the style of the recent Netflix shows about the Beckhams and suchlike. Watch as Cowell has his hair cut into that strange flat-top, gets hooked up to a vitamin drip (with product placement for the company that supplies it, along with the hotels he stays in), or sits down to a lunch of precisely half a toasted crumpet, prepared by his personal chef. We’re supposed to be charmed by his eccentricity.
The series features a bit of Eric, Cowell’s son, and a lot of Lauren, Cowell’s fiancée. Her role in the relationship is to keep up a constant stream of encouragement and reassurance, telling him that he’s brilliant and that she will always be there to support him. At times, she behaves more like his carer than his partner, soothing his nerves as he frets in his various homes, which are decorated in the black-and-cream palette beloved by the ultra-wealthy.
There is something curious about the show. Cowell launches the project, announces the auditions and then learns that a grand total of 160 people have applied, of whom a third aren’t eligible because they’re outside the age range. It’s an enormous flop. Cowell is not relevant to today’s kids, most of whom were in nursery when he formed One Direction.
And yet they don’t scrap the idea. There is a crisis meeting at which Cowell’s digital strategy consultant suggests they promote it on TikTok. What? A digital strategy consultant is only now suggesting they market a teen show on social media? There is no way on Earth that people paid to do this can be so stupid. It feels as if we’re being played somehow.
