Television

LOS ANGELES – The tens of thousands of hopefuls who lined up last summer to audition for American Idol have been trimmed to just five aspiring pop stars, whose fate will be decided by the whims and loyalties of the more than 20 million people who tune in each week to the most-watched show on television.

MICHAEL BECKER/Fox

Judge Randy Jackson enters the American Idol set to the applause of an excited crowd.

Determining the winner is about the only part of American Idol left to chance. That was made clear during recent visits to Stage 36 in Television City, near Hollywood, where each Tuesday and Wednesday on Fox, American Idol creates hopes and dashes dreams.

From the placement of local sorority members along camera sightlines to the instructions to audience members about when to stand and how to wave their hands, American Idol is as scripted as a reality show dare be.

"At the end of every performance you will stand on your feet." That is one of the commandments offered by Cory Almeida, the indefatigable warm-up man who instructs the audience for 15 minutes before each performance and during commercial breaks.

For the audience members who stand in the mosh pit, the area immediately in front of the stage, special instructions are required. "When you are applauding after a performance, we need your hands above your head," Mr. Almeida said. "Otherwise we can't see that you're clapping."

The most striking thing about encountering the sparkling American Idol stage set is how much smaller it seems in person than on television. If the camera adds 10 pounds to the average actor, it seems to add acres to a stage set.

The audience, too, looks expansive on television, but the hall includes only 12 rows of seats, four at floor level and eight in bleachers.

Each broadcast begins regardless of whether host Ryan Seacrest is on his mark (he usually is), whether the audience is sufficiently enthused (it usually is) and whether judges Randy Jackson, Simon Cowell and Paula Abdul are in their seats. Which, on a recent Tuesday, only two of the three were.

Fifty seconds to air, and Ms. Abdul was missing. Thirty seconds to air, and the lights again went down, and the audience was quieted for the "cold open," the introduction by Mr. Seacrest.

Fifteen seconds to air, as the stage manager, Debbie Williams, began the countdown, Ms. Abdul scurried into the auditorium from the green room.

That scene is replayed many times each night, and not just by Ms. Abdul. During most commercial breaks the three judges leave their seats, sometimes chatting with the executive producer, Nigel Lythgoe, at other times floating toward the audience to greet guests or sign autographs. Not infrequently they disappear backstage, cellphones pressed to their ears, only to emerge with seconds to spare.

A mystery to at least one frequent viewer of American Idol is just how the show manages to draw so many homogeneously attractive, well-dressed women to pack the mosh pit, where they produce high-pitched squeals that could probably perk up the ears of dogs in the San Fernando Valley.

The answer: They are recruited.

In early April it was the turn of the women of Alpha Phi, a sorority at the University of California, Los Angeles. About 25 members trekked to the studio one Tuesday, said Rachel Lorack, a member from Half Moon Bay, Calif., and another two dozen were to attend the following week. Last week it was the Delta Gamma and Delta Delta Delta sororities.

The perk is a recruitment tool for some sororities. "We sometimes talk about this at rush," said Courtney Lauwereins, a member from Laguna Beach, Calif. "Join Alpha Phi, and you might get to go to American Idol."