Globalization invades Who-ville.
Jim Carrey, what happened to you? You’re a whore for peddling your new Fox movie, but hey, you appear to hate it as much as I hate drawn-out results shows, contestants who channel Alvin and the Chipmunks on downers, and doors handles on doors that are meant to be pushed, not pulled opened (amirite?). Yay for massive conglomerate parent companies! We have to synergize backward overflow, American Idol!We’re treated to a Horton intro of excited Whos needing the elephant to get off his fat ass and fix their antenna, ’cause Seacrest is looking fuzzy on the TV set. Really. And then we’re supposed to ooh and ahh over Nigel shelling out some more bucks for the opening special effects, since it makes last week’s stuff look like the first episodes of South Park. It’s a bit creepy, actually, and looks like rejected snippets from the intro of The Sarah Connor Chronicles.
“WHAT?! We’re being compared to unborn fetuses by pro-lifers?!”
Seacrest enters to announce that over 29 million votes were cast, and over 28.99 million of them were rendered null by the show’s super-secret producers superdelegates. Our judges look appropriately subdued, as they know we’re in for an hour of cross-promotion and delayed results that could actually be delivered faster than those on a pregnancy pee-stick. Paula is dressed up as a Reynolds Wrap aluminum foil packet you can stick in the oven with your potatoes and veggies.
They plump when you cook them!
Our special guest of the night is Jim Carrey, who regrets he wasn’t offered Stranger Than Fiction. Our Method actor is dressed as Horton the Elephant tonight, and it seems like he’s off some sort of medication or perhaps on speed/cocaine because his foot/paw is jiggling frantically. Horton the Corporate Whore admits that Fox is doing the movie and stresses that he’s contractually obligated to do this. “You like to point out the elephant in the room, right?” Yeah, well, there’s nothing demeaning about giant floppy ears, giant paws and humongous feet. Jim Carrey threatens to poop his pants on national television, to no avail.
The man was thisclose to working at the steel mill.
Because the Top 12 Lennon and McCartney Tribute/Trainwreck was so popular, next week is also going to be Beatles Week! Oh, and because they couldn’t get the licensing for any Ace of Base songs. But it’s time for the Happy Happy Joy Joy Goup Sing, which starts with a country-infected version of “All My Loving” where Michael Johns tries to harmonize with Carly, but then forgets the lyrics like Fetus did on Tuesday. And then he tries to repeat it with a flat-ironed version of Kristy. It’s cheesier than that new Taco Bell stringy cheesy melty crap burrito that they keep plugging in the commercial breaks and full of awkward staging and blocking.
Two A-holes adopt an Asian baby.
Somewhere, Donald Trump is gloating that his Miss Universe pageant choreography is more well-rehearsed and slutty. Greasy lovechild Castro runs up the stairs to kick off the second part of the medley with “I Feel Fine” and scampers back for some attempts at group line dancing that show us exactly how uncoordinated some of these people are.
Totally owned by the kids from Barney .
I must say, Chikezie has a spring in his step that I haven’t really seen lately, probably ’cause he realizes he can quit school now. Then again, anyone looks happier than Jim Carrey right now, as we switch between shots of our Idol hopefuls and the world’s saddest Elephant-who-is-deathly-allergic-to-peanuts. We get various arrangements/trios of our Top 12 while they warble through the rest of the songs. Fetus “Can’t Buy Me Love” but he can apparently buy multiple popped collars while David H. kicks off his national plea with “Help, I need better PR control!” Now with harmonies gone to hell! Isn’t there a fleet of old Beach Boys/Beatles who can help these people out when they’re hacking melodies to jagged bits? No?
Why has God forsaken me?
I see back-to-back commercials with the following messages: “Everybody is sunshine” and “Everybody is dead.” One appeared to be a Claritin commercial followed by something that went straight to DVD. What the heck was it? Seacrest is right when he says we’re looking down the barrel of a gun, ’cause I want to eliminate my face/cognitive abilities. First round of agonizingly slow reveals of the bottom 3 would not be complete without an acid flashback of Tuesday night’s performances and the thinly veiled threats between Simon and Seacrest.
“You know why I remind Simon of Kelly Clarkson? ‘Cause they handed her my failed song for her debut album, maybe?”
I’m big on MySpace.
Brooke and the tear that saved Hilary.
“Your hair will never be as awesome or abundant as mine. XO, The Ghost of John Lennon”
DOWN GO THE LIGHTS, ON GOES THE FOG MACHINE AND DRAMATIC MUSIC FROM THE MOMENT OF TRUTH.
Carly, Michael, Jason, and Syesha, please stand up.
Carly picked the right song, and is safe. Durr.
Ol’ Reliable Michael Johns is asked to take a seat.
Castro knows his vest makes him invincible. America voted to save him, and being safe another week means another week that he can ditch the orphans he was supposed to build homes for in Honduras with the Aggies’ Men Club.
Syesha wishes she was a nihilist as Seacrest tells her she’s in the bottom three. Hey girl, at least you found love and a fiancÃ©e. After Simon affirms that Syesha deserves to be in the bottom three, it’s time for something completely different. Each of the three bottom-dwellers will sing for their life over a glass tank filled with pepperoni-loving piranhas and sharks that shoot lasers. LASERS. And won’t know who actually gets the boot for another 45 minutes, but every performance could be their last. Ever.
It’s pretty forgettable, but I still think Syesha has a great voice and presence. She just needs a better song arrangement than what’s being done to “Got To Get You Into My Life.” Also, was I dreaming when the band finishes up the song and she throws in a trill/run anyway? Seacrest then guilts America into voting next week when he says Syesha could be in serious trouble and it’s all their fault if she’s put into the chopper and sacrificed to the Gods of Fox and Ford. Yeah, well, everyone should send me five dollars ASAP or I’m going to put my adorable itsy-bitsy hamster into a blender set to “Pulverize.” It’s all up to you, America. No biggie.
Speaking of Ford, we get an extended metaphor/music video of American Idol as a political race. One with huge voter turnout and fewer insinuations of race/gender discrimination and crazypants advisers. They chant “Going the Distance” by Cake through a montage of black cars, boxing gloves, and dead babies.
Still not cooler than POGS.
What my life would be like if it weren’t for Idol.
Now THAT’s what I call demeaning!
And now for some more filler and talk about how Idol changes our lives and saves the dying economy…at the “Horton Hears a Who” premiere. Glamorous photo shoots that involve mirrors and smashing guitars! Giving interviews and producing rambling, unintelligible answers! Being exposed to a world that involves ethnic folks! Marveling that people now know your name! Meeting Jim Carrey in a totally spontaneous manner! Gee golly willikers, this sure is grand. There’s no sign of the pro-life groups protesting and using the phrase from the book for their own purposes. Fetus and
Ramiele should be their poster children!
“A person’s a person, no matter how small!”
Being contractually obligated to wear elephant ears for the rest of your life: Priceless.
Results Part Deux. Chikezie, Amanda, Kristy, and David Cook stand up. Chikezie’s “She’s a Woman?!” performance was the most memorable/unexpected of this week. Seacrest douchily makes him come down to the stage for the nanosecond it takes him to announce that Chikezie’s safe.
Amanda is safe, and is starting to look much more sedate/approachable lately.
Just one? It’s not even a best friend.
David Cook, this week’s co-darling of the judges (Simon’s fave anyway) has resorted to hiding his follicular issues with a hat from Hot Topic. He is obviously safe.
Kristy asks for her microphone before Seacrest chastises her for undermining him. You realize her complete lack of charisma would screw her over if she ever played Dungeons and Dragons. She takes a country/bluegrass dump on “Eight Days a Week” that’s so bad even country radion stations panned it. You’re screwed when that happens.. Amanda barely conceals her disgust for this song/performance and you know she just wants to talk some shit about it but can’t since this is a live audience and all. I really wish Seacrest would ask the contestants, “Who do you think belongs in the bottom three this week?” like they do on every other merit-based popularity contest.
But perhaps her midriff-baring shirt will save her! She’s dressed as a cross between Heidi, a German bar wench, and Cher from Clueless.
Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!
Um, someone took Simon’s advice to go country way too literally. She might as well have sung The Hamster Dance at this point. Which has very popular remixes, in case you’re wondering.
Seacrest wants to show us that if it were 3 AM, he’d be picking up the Idol phone. We’re taking some calls on the air, and a 12-year-old asks Jason Castro if he does 13-year-olds. She wants to also know which judge he’d be if he could be any of the Idol judges. Castro stutters and says he’s the most unlike Paula, although they both have long hair and mutters a bit about v-necks before Seacrest cuts him off. Heh. A six-time loser superfan from Illinois asks what tips the judges have for him for next season’s auditions. “Get another job,” replies Simon.
Kids ask the darndest things. A guy from LA who doesn’t understand the concept of tv versus calling Loveline and shooting the shit, asks a frustrated Seacrest how’s it going and what he’s up to. The caller asks why Seacrest and Simon don’t just whip it out and measure them on stage already. Or duke it out. Simon scoffs when Seacrest says he’s ready, ’cause he’s been doing hip hop kickboxing. Seacrest rejects a call from a Simon fan, and instead a British woman asks if Americans have naturally straighter teeth and more talent than Brits. Simon answers that Americans have got talent, but that the British Idol judges are better. BURN. Paula takes a swig of rum and coke.
Can you feel the McPheever? No? Me neither, as our former Idol sings “Something” accompanied by Canadian music producer David Foster. No one knows who he is, or that he produced the soundtrack for Whitney Houston’s The Bodyguard. McPhee would get dissed by the judges if she was actually competing right now, ’cause it’s a snoozer. I take a quick break to clip my toenails while she bores America in a silver sequined dress that doubles as a heavy-duty skin exfoliator.
The NAARP wants their communal hearing aid back.
For fuck’s sake, I’m Brody Jenner’s stepdad!
Who’s going to join Syesha and Kristy? Jim Carrey, now dressed as a disgruntled bum, joins the Idols on stage to delay the inevitable (that David H. is being sent home instead of Kristy, sadly). He hugs Brooke and Fetus so I know who’s safe for sure. Fetus, Brooke, David H., and Ramiele are summoned to the stage. I’d say Ramiele is in a bit of trouble too, after several weeks of lackluster, safe performances that haven’t shown much innovation or deviation from the originals. However, she is still Cute Overload 2.0, and will be safe for at least two more weeks.
Fetus is forgiven his “Don’t Forget The Lyrics” moment and given a lollipop to pacify him. He is further compared to the Messiah as we hear that America has voted to give him a chance at redemption.
“Please don’t beat me anymore, Daddy, I’ll do better!”
Brooke, capitalizing on being the only female to bust out instruments, is safe. Honestly though, her “Let It Be” was bland and weepy and overearnest, making me want to drop-kick a fluffy puppy or two just to balance out the universe.
Me love you long time!
We are left with Shorty Soy Sauce and the Spanx-town Stripper. They would make a great duo, don’t you think? We’d corner the tranny/white boy/fangirl market if they had their own sitcom or talk show. I’ve got nothing personal against Ramiele, although she comes off as so meek/twee in her interviews, reinforcing what tall people already think about little, pocket-sized girls and undoing all the work I’ve done to reverse that stereotype.
…and David H. is in the bottom three. Ramiele is safe. What’s this? Her family and…wait, her best friend? Who could that be?
Someone paid Hannah Mantana to wear this shirt. C’mon, iron-on transfers? TMTH.
Time for David H’s swan song, “I Saw Her Standing There (Next to the Guy I had to Service).” He looks so depressed as Seacrest asks him about how he feels that it takes a whole fucking hour before anything is revealed. He makes a stab at hoping that it doesn’t mean he’s necessarily leaving the show tonight, but that he’s just in the bottom three. Nice try, but you are most likely leaving since the timing of your last song works out perfectly with what’s left in the show. And your final performance will be freshest in our minds when we cut to a montage of your Idol journey coming to an end. Time to sing and make those faces that you do!
The face that launched a thousand shits.
I will miss his eyebrow waggles. I will not miss this particular performance, but David Hernandez is better than Kristy Lee by far. Didn’t this guy have a deal with Universal Records? Jesus tapdancing Christ, this is the most constipated results show ever. Seriously, give me back the extra half hour and I’ll spend it doing community service teaching paraplegic kids how to play Disney songs on a Yamaha keyboard and being a better human being. PLEASE.
Randy says it’s tough, but he thinks America got the bottom three right. Seacrest asks Paula where her head is, and she says it’s on her shoulders. You mean neck, right? Paula dodges the question and says she’s never seen a stronger season but that America pretty much got it right. Simon says SPOHHTTT-on. Syesha is spared the axe and runs back to the safety of the contestants. America has decided that David Hernandez is just too diverse of a candidate for the position of American Idol. “But he wouldn’t even be in this position if he wasn’t a gay stripper,” declares Geraldine Ferraro. “If he was a gay female stripper (of color), he totally wouldn’t be here.”
David H. flashes us two thumbs up, then one thumbs up as he swallows the rejection and embraces Kristy. This new set-up of singing your potentially-last-song before knowing if you’re eliminated is pretty awkward, as there’s no microphone to reach for and no big note to go out on. Just Seacrest shaking your hand and announcing next week’s programming schedule while you awkwardly shuffle your feet with your hands in your pockets.
To the strains of Rubben Studdard, we say goodbye to the most famous shirt ever ironed by Helen Keller. *Tear* We expect to see you performing on Rosie’s cruise soon — bon voyage, David Hernandez!
Two shirts diverged in a wood, and I–
I took the one less traveled by.