American Idol’s only equal within the carnival of culture is JK Rowlings’ Harry Potter. Both are juggernauts that have spellbound the public and created a mini-religion. What’s the secret? As a motif, both work within the realm of corporeal magic.

I disagree with folks who claim American Idol is popular because it traffics in humiliation. In fact, that’s the opposite of what the tribunal is about. Thirty four million people vote for their favorite Idolette each Tuesday night. There’s some sort of hormonal impulse that makes us respond with a devout fervor to the beauty, showmanship and glamour. Set these qualities within the magical realm of music — and well, it’s better than Jesus!

Fairy tales have enchanted the human psyche for eons. They remind us again and again that we all long for a secret life that might exist just over the rainbow. And American Idol seems to promise that the secret life might even be in the Technocolor world of Fame, Fortune and Universally Acclaimed Beauty. All the Idolettes have to do is sing. The veil will part. The tests they must tackle will be shown to them. The techniques they must hone will be told to them. All this must be done before they can take off into this new place where the hum-drum becomes sparkling, glittering, immortal.

American Idol becomes a mythic journey of the soul in its quest for self-realization.

Of course, it always helps to have a little razzle-dazzle under your belt, even if you’re unaware of your own powers. Harry Potter had it, but didn’t know it until he was challenged by Simon Cowell — oops — I mean Voldemort.

Idolette Nadia Turner had so much charisma she seemed to shimmer. As with the young Diana Ross, you’d come into the room just to see what she was wearing. The beguilingly fuckable Mario Vasquez had this same shimmer. As did our baby Babs, Mikaila Gordon. Now with seven Idolettes left, and nothing but a dim glint of charisma surrounding Constantine, only the voice of Scott Savoll conveys a legitimate pathos. Without him, all the magic leaves the building.

Magic has a formula — and the formula can’t be faked. First you need charisma. Like talent, either you have charisma or you don’t. And a lack of charisma is fatal. In the film Amadeus we see — even as a child playing the piano blindfolded — Mozart had more than talent — he had the power to enchant. Salieri, on the other hand, was bereft of the divine spark. Even after a long lifetime of prayer and practice, he could not produce even one gold immortal note.

Nadia had this power to enchant, to put the dragon of our critical mind to sleep, and to delight us with her beauty and model-elegant form — although the singing chops were never really there. We will miss her magic. Her shimmer.