What’s that, Paula? Four days left till nuclear holocaust?
Hewwo! I’m back with American Idol results! I’m live-recapping right now and typing my little fingers off. The bottom four are sent packing tonight, so I predict we’ll say “Au revoir, bitches!” to Spicoli (Garrett) and Ellen DeGeneres (Colton). As for the girls, I’m only sure about Amy Davis (girl, you’ve got a future career in being a trade show model), but she’ll be probably be accompanied by one of the older gals. America doesn’t like girls who went to their proms nearly a decade ago.If people could text their votes for political elections the way they can for American Idol, the voter turnout in November might be record-breaking. Of course, we’d have accusations of people drunkenly voting for the wrong person (“I think I voted for Nader!”). FOX is seriously hyping up Don’t Forget The Lyrics featuring Boyz II Men, by the way. Did any of you watch it after the results show? ‘Fess up!
I’ll spare you the montage of the Top 24 video shoots set to an asstasstic Daughtry song. The editors try to make it look like the Top 24 are superglamorous reality show contestants a la The Hills and Real World, but they’re being hounded by fake paparrazi. The producers have also taken a note out of tricks from The OC in trying to make it look like it has some indie credibility with artfully scrawled contestant name graphics that mimic Sharpie signatures on masking tape. There’s a lot of slo-mo action going on here, but the montage stops short of a shot of Princess Diana’s carwreck. Lame. When are montages not lame? When they involve Chia Pets, Sea Monkeys, or Food Network challenges involving craploads of sugar and precarious edible sculptures. Mmm, sugar.
Who would you rather take to a desert island?
Randy’s recycling his black and white striped cardigan again, while Paula’s looking rather somber for someone whose comeback music/dance video is about to debut. Simon opts for all-black as well, and Seacrest calls him “monotonous” in his introduction. It’s starting to feel like a funeral, people.
Historically, Idol eliminations tend to be hardest on the older women and the younger men. David Archuleta, the wunderchild and apple of the judges’ eye, is occupying the token “precocious youngun” slot. There’s really no room for Colton and Garrett when you compare them to David the Fetus. He blows them out of the water, and is the one Paula would select first to deflower. While there are two male contestants who are 29, the oldest females are only 25 (Joanne Borgella and Amy Davis). Amy is definitely going home tonight after her, but I have a feeling Joanne’s going to follow – you just can’t even think about attempting “I Say a Little Prayer” without knowing you can knock it out of the park a la Melinda Doolittle.
Welcome to The Bachelor: Idol Edition, where you get a microphone instead of a rose.
The guys file onstage in suits while the girls shimmy in assorted black and white outfits. I spy with my little eye four silly hats, including one on Garrett. It doesn’t help his look at all, except for shading his albino, hauntingly undernourished face. I’m thinking it’s a sign, since Joanne’s wearing one too, and she’s definitely at risk for elimination. Sometimes, I secretly want the infamous group performance to include a medley of songs from My Fair Lady just so they can wear those ridiculous outfits and outrageously huge trimmed chapeaus from the Ascot races. We’re treated to a medley of ’60s tunes including “Needles and Pins” by The Searchers, “When You Walk In the Room” and “A Rose in Spanish Harlem.” I’ve gotta say that Jason Yeager’s single solo line was better than his entire performance from Tuesday. We end the song with JAZZ HANDS and an amusing glimpse of Kristy/Kady/or Brooke trying desperately to tug their miniskirt down so that they don’t flash their camera during the final pose. I’m sorry, but I’ve been spending so much time analyzing the guys’ performances the blonde girls all kind of look the same to me.
Seacrest calls Garrett up and starts talking about how hard is is to say goodbye. I’m gleefully clapping my hands at this point ’cause I know the kid is about to get the axe. Instead of teasing us, Seacrest dismisses Garrett faster than a Russian gal administers a Brazillian wax. He just rips the strip right off! Unfortunately, Garrett hasn’t even bothered to shave his wimpy molestache, because it’s only grown more pronounced and skeevy in a few days. The kid is starting to look like a Hobbit playing a used car salesman. He seems to take the elimination in stride
It just sucks that your final performance wasn’t much better than Tuesday’s, except that your “hauntingly” pale face is now partially covered by a fedora. Why can’t all eliminations be this direct? It’s delightful. Go get yourself some Roscoe’s chicken and waffles, kiddo.
Safe from elimination, but not from being fashion victims.
After a montage of the women’s performances, Seacrest declares it’s time for the first female elimination. Kristy Lee Cook is called down to join him, but after making her sweat over her sickly performance of “Rescue Me” for a bit (“So…you were kind of teh suck last night…and you looked like you were gonna die, it’s unfortunate to get the flu during performance night, huh?…and I needed to someone to rescue me from your singing.”), he tells her to rest up because she is safe. Then we get a quick shot of Amy Davis’ face, right before Seacrest announces that Amy Davis has to pack her bags and go home. Yawn. Amy’s farewell performance only reinforces why American didn’t vote for her. The girl films well but her looks can’t compensate for her weak vocals. She kinda reminds me of the Pink Power Ranger from the first season of that show. I see trade show modeling in your future!
Oh my god! It’s time for Paula Abdul’s comeback video. The woman hasn’t released anything in twelve years – i.e. when David The Fetus was only five. “Dance Like There’s No Tomorrow” is a title that sounds directly borrowed from that quote “Work like you don’t need money, love like you’ve never been hurt, and dance like no one’s watching.” I wonder if Paula has the saying embroidered onto cushions scattered around her house.
A formal analysis of Paula Abdul’s “Dance Like There’s No Tomorrow”
Paula Abdul supports China and Coca-Cola.
While I half expect a boobapalooza, what ensues is more complex, with a few moments of artistic choreography and some subtle nuances. Sorta. We go from Paula singing as the personification of the scarlet letter to Paula vamping it up with a bendy microphone stand (it comes back whenever she hits it, like a boomerang or Bobo the clown) in a lace corset with Randy on the bass in a grand ole’ tribute to Marshall amps. I have a feeling this scene will be used in Guitar Center promo ads for Marshall products for the next year.
The scenes filmed with long, red sheets of fabric fluttering in the background are definitely a shout-out to Paula’s sponsor, Coca-Cola. It also functions as a symbol of the fight against AIDS, just in case drinking Coca-Cola really does cause some sort of terminal illness. It’s also considered a lucky color to Chinese and Vietnamese people, so perhaps Paula’s on the market for an Asian baby. It’s rumored that she and Emilio Estevez split up because she wanted kiddies and he didn’t, so hey, I could be right.
Paula makes a statement about the objectification of women in pop.
These segments alternate with dance sequences that show us that Paula’s still got moves. As for the song, it’s trying too hard to make her look young. At the very least, she doesn’t look like a sack of potatoes. I associate her so strongly with the ’80s and early ’90s, Reeboks, Trapper Keepers, and those plastic t-shirt clasps that you’d pull your hem through and make a little tail with. Oh, and Lisa Frank day-glo unicorns! You know what I’m talking about. Her backup dancers are barely legal. The dance pop tune isn’t super-catchy to me, the melody’s really lacking and just sounds like the Milli Vanilli of something a much younger artist could pull off. For what it’s worth, Paula Abdul is listed between George Michael and C+ C Music Factory as a notable dance pop artist. But hell, even Hillary Duff is catchier. It’s beat heavy. It’s…godawful, and there’s a whole lot of overproduction on Paula’s vocal tracks. And synth. And the sound of a million little inspirational necklaces being sold on QVC.
Random snippets of cheerleaders from the ’50s make no sense in the context of this music video, when juxtaposed with Paula and her posse. Is it reminding us subtly that Paula was born after the ’50s and isn’t as old as we think she is? She was born in 1962, smack dab in the era the contestants just did a tribute to.
Paula as George Washington Crossing the Delaware, in which the Delaware represents the 12-year-void that is her career.
The mid-air shots of Paula and her dancers represents the shattering of the time-space continuum every time Seacrest and Simon see eye-to-eye on something during the show, obviously. When those two agree, time literally stops and people freeze in their tracks. It could also represent the stalling of Paula’s career and the likelihood of her statements making any sense during judging. Or maybe she just really, really loves The Matrix.
Applause, applause. Simon even hugs Paula, as if to reassure her that she’s not too lame for trying to make a comeback. Ryan then calls Amanda and Joanne to the stage, announcing that everyone still seated is safe. Thanks, Captain Obvious!
The stylists must really hate you.
Amanda belted “Baby Please Don’t Go” in her trademark raspy voice, which is not everyone’s cup of tea, while Joanne attempted the impossible “I Say A Little Prayer For You” and fell short. Simon’s critique that Joanne’s performance of a cabaret version of a cabaret song doomed her, methinks, and Ryan quickly reveals that Amanda is safe. You need to keep a crazypants on board to keep things interesting, even though I doubt she’ll be the next Idol. Simon sips his drink and remarks how much he loves Coca-Cola while remarking that Wednesday marked Joanne’s worst performance ever. That’s all it takes. Joanne tries to depart gracefully, explaining that “Sunday..err, Wednesday” didn’t show her true colors. Sunday, huh?
Girl, get Botox injections to plug up those tear ducts ’cause God don’t like ugly criers.
Cut to the obligatory shot of girls sobbing and holding each other. Ramiele, stop blubbering! It makes you look super un-cute, and you’ll give yourself a headache. I’m sure there’s mega-editing, but it looks like the loser’s parents/family are ushered pretty quickly onto the balcony for the departed’s final song. Do you think they’re just waiting in the wings the whole time? I think the bottom two should be given the option of jousting, Gladiators style, for the safe slot. Well, only in cases where they’re virtually indistinguishable from each other. Anywho, plus-size Joanne will keep on singing and living the dream, somehow.
I say a little prayer for you, Ugly Hat.
Three down, one to go! Who’s leaving The Boyzzz Club tonight? Seacrest summons Chikezie and Colton. It’s no question who’s going home here. Let’s face it – America is not going to kick off the token brother on this show, and Chikezie does have a fantastic, distinct voice, just crappy taste in songs and outfits.
Colton sang “Suspicious Minds” and Randy and Paula felt okay with it, while Simon said the performance wasn’t relevant and a complete waste of his time. Randy thought “More Than Yesterday” was decent, while Simon believed it could’ve been filmed 40 years ago. But I think Chikeze can be molded and trained, while Colton just seems like a little kid playing in the sandbox.
And we’ll say goodnight to…Colton. YES. The little theme song that plays after the announcement is super anti-climactic, I must say. It doesn’t hold a candle to the DUN DUN sound effect from Law and Order. Time to go try out for High School Musical or be a body double on Hannah Montana. Paula encourages him and says that he needs to take the time to find the right songs and just go for it. Randy also tells Colton to keep pursuing his dreams. Stop being an enabler, Randy.
In the harshest reality check of the night, Simon takes this moment to advise Colton to get a good job, and to just enjoy singing as a hobby on the side. “I don’t believe you’ll make a successful career out of it,” says the Dream Killer, horrifying Paula and Randy. He’s kinda right. I wouldn’t even download his iTunes tracks for free. I can see Colton performing on a Disney cruise and having the time of his life. Do it!
Montage of the bottom four being led to believe they have a shot at the top 5. I’ll spare you the details, but it involves lots of hugging, crying, and quotes about wanting to change the world with a song. Oh, and Amy’s quote about how being on AI is the equivalent of having 100 Christmases on the same day as a six-year-old girl. I read a story about a little girl who wanted Christmas every day, and she got her wish. It turned into a nightmare, especially when people ran out of turkeys and coal lumps became more precious than diamonds, and firecrackers on the Fourth of July nearly killed people because they turned into candy canes mid-explosion. Imagine sugary shrapnel everywhere.
Colton’s swan song is honestly stronger than the other three, so the producers at least picked the highest note to end on. He’s fighting tears, and we pan to the other guys, with close-ups of Danny Noriega pouting like Santa cancelled Christmas. I can’t handle the sobfest, ’cause this ain’t summer camp where everyone promises to write each other letters and exchange friendship bracelets. If only they could somehow make this process deceptively joyful, like the release ceremony of old people in the book The Giver. The old people think they’re going to the equivalent of The Island where they’ll be pampered for the rest of their lives. You even get a party! But really, they’re just getting a lethal injection, Kevorkian style, and settling in the The Big Sleep.
You’re not real. You’re copies of people out here in the world who suck at singing.
Auf wiedersehen, darling Colton, Garrett, Amy and Joanne — we won’t really miss any of you. Who’s going to rock next week? Who’s going to suck and blow? Who will reveal that they calm their nerves by memorizing the philosophical writings of Kierkegaard and Nietzsche? Seriously, that’s less weird than singing the Teletubbies theme song to yourself, right?