Hoff’s Time To Shine

Welcome back for another fun-filled 2-hour episode of “America’s Got Hoff!” Tonight’s episode saw krumpers, a slew of fine young men for Sharon to paw at, and a weak attempt at drama by the Hoff himself. How dare he try to out-tantrum an Osborne?!A dreadfully long intro shows us weeks 1, 2 and a bit of tonight’s episode. You know, if there’s one thing reality TV loves to do, it’s toot its own horn, cramming its made-up ratings down your throat until you’re like, “Huh. Maybe this IS a good show.” Don’t let them win, America! You don’t have to like the circus if you don’t want to! We finally are introduced to the great city of Chicago, home of Jerry Springer. Well, right off the bat this sounds promising. I’m hoping tonight will bring a great amount of hope-dashing and tear-filled exits. And perhaps a funky saxophonist.

Our first victim is Consuelo, who claims to be able to sing a combination of Gregorian chant-slash-blues-slash-gospel. Say wha-? Well, I can’t see how this will work out for her, but stranger things have happened.

Like being swallowed alive by a pattern boa constrictor.

She starts off with a holy-sounding chime ringing from afar, and bellows out a few operatic notes. As she wraps up the last note, a jazzy piano accompaniment kicks in and she starts singing the blues, only… in the same voice as the Gregorian chant section. Not very sultry, if you ask me. She’s got a terrible falsetto, and I think if she just took it down an octave or two she might be okay. But we have no such luck and the judges despise her. She sounds like a cat being skinned. Did Piers already say that about someone?

“You look like Hilary Clinton on acid,” says Piers snootily. Dammit! He should be writing for TVgasm!

After this genre-crossing delight we’ve got an adorable little group called Sideswipe, comprised of four buff young men who do a sort of a dancing/martial arts sorta thang. Hey, that’s cool, baby. Whatever you’re into. All I know is that I wouldn’t want these guys to be coming after me.

Especially if I lived in a musical.

They were here last year but had to back out after one of ‘em got a boo-boo on his ankle. Poor little lamb.

Let mama come and kiss it better!

As soon as they take off their shirts, they’ve got every horny old lady’s vote in the house.

“Yes please!”

They kick ass in many ways, doing all kinds of karate acrobatics and so forth. Their performance is, for lack of a better word, tight. Everyone just looooooves them and as they stand in front of the judges, I question whether this guy on the left is wearing a g-string under his pants or if he just has a smashing dick arrow.

Does it really matter?

Piers theorizes that they may just win the competition and I think, wouldn’t that be amazing? If a bunch of dancing fighters won “America’s Got Talent?” Or better yet! if it came down to A DANCE-OFF! Gets me tingly just thinking about it.

What better way to bring down the mood than to follow up with a Big Pussy?

Jason dreams of being a country star, but something about him seems actor-ish. He seems like a British actor trying to portray a Southerner. He’s got the home-grown politeness act down pat though, and as soon as he calls Sharon “ma’am” she gets all flustered and wet over him. Now, I may be biased because if there are two things in life I hate, it’s pussy boys and country music. But he sings an awful song that includes the lines, “I went skydivin’, I went mountain climbin’, I went 2.7 seconds on a bull called Fu Manchu…” I mean come on. Only the idiocy that is country music could wrap up those lyrics with a sappy message of hope that y’all can live like yer dyin’. NEXT!

Piers thinks it was bland (thank God!), and at that the Hoff gets all uppity, saying Piers is like a bad pastor (spot on, Hoff!) and starts ranting, “Who the hell made you the boss of this show?!” whilst doing his impression of a British person, which looks strangely like an impression of a stereotypically gay person.

“Don’t even go there, girlfriend!”

They let him through despite Piers. Dammit, that’s a hope fulfilled! NOT what I want to see here, people!

Next is an extremely enunciative gentleman named Terry, and he says that he’s been a ventriloquist for twenty years. A’ight, first of all: another goddamn ventriloquist?? Has this been making a comeback that I never knew about?? What the hell? Second of all: I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again… if you’ve been doing something for twenty years and still haven’t been “discovered,” you’re probably not going to ever get discovered. My money is already on the no for this dude.

“Just GET IN THERE! And I don’t wanna hear a PEEP outta you!”

Surprisingly enough, after an annoying beginning, he has his puppet “Emma” actually do an impression of Etta James’ “At Last” and I have to say, it wasn’t bad at all. I’ve never seen something like this done with ventriloquism (out of all the millions of times we’ve seen it on this fucking show) so it was very interesting. I was even… well… impressed. Don’t tell anyone, but it’s true. I mean, if this guy hadn’t accidentally picked up a book on ventriloquism when he was 10 (as he claims), he might have simply ended up as a trannie celebrity impressionist and been grouped in with all of the other trannies last week. What a shame that would have been!

After a moderately funny Ashlee Simpson joke where the puppet lip synchs to nothing, the judges all express their undying love and respect for this consummate performer and let him through to Vegas. Eh, they’ve let in people with less talent than him, so it’s all good with Snapp.

After the commercial break is little Francis, who seems to be a little Aretha. All she wants out of life is to belt her little heart out and inspire people.

Nice soft focus, editors. Way to hide her wrinkles.

Unfortunately, as she sings that Kelly Clarkson song that has led so many wannabe singers astray, she gets quite nasally and, if I dare use the term correctly, tone-deaf. How tragic for our young Aretha. Rancho-Dad Hoff emerges to let’er down easy and keeps telling her she shouldn’t cry because she did her best (true). Piers tells her to stop crying because if she wants to make it in showbiz she’s got to toughen up and just get better for next time (doubly true).

One of the most oft-used competition reality TV lines that I wish would disappear: “And it’s not just HER dream that comes to an end…” Also, they should seriously stop with the sappy slo-mo montages set to shitty music for the people who aren’t good enough (or bad enough) to even get their own profiled segment. Honestly, they used a fucking Celine Dion song earlier, and now they’re getting on with that awful “All or Nothing At All” song that’s been played to death and I just want to strangle whoever is choosing this shit.

Sorry. So um, yeah, now they give us one of those that focuses on the untalented children of America. It’s sappy. But capping it off is someone a little older, someone hopefully a bit more talented. Someone who looks like the grown-up version of that girl Jurnee Smollett, former child actress, but if she was an elf.

Remember this chick?

Meet her elfin doppelganger.

Her name is Butterscotch, and she describes her beatboxing as “a natural high.” All said with half-closed eyes and an uber-relaxed voice. Sure. Natural high. And organic beer makes me naturally drunk. She also brought a banana with her in case her voice gets dry? Has she ever heard of this amazing new drink called water?

Anyway, she beatboxes her way into the hearts of all of America as well as the judges by singing at the same time. She’s pretty awesome and really brings out the funky side of Hasselhoff.

Time to boogie!

There’s no way they wouldn’t pass her through. Yay! She didn’t even need her banana.

Now we’ve got a British guy named John England who dresses in a super-American glitter outfit and looks like Bill Clinton. Got it?

“Define affair.”

He’s dressed like Liberace but, unfortunately for him, does not have much of the same, um, pizzazz that Liberace possessed. When this guy plays the piano, he sounds like he should be playing in a schmancy penthouse restaurant in New York. In the 80s. It’s just lounge-y and boring, to be perfectly honest.

Next is a mime who talks an awful lot and is wearing my favorite animal print evar.

“Help! I’m trapped in an invisible box of bad patterns!”

He is full of outrageous claims, such as “I invented the Mimewalk, which became the Moonwalk” and “I am the originator of strutting, popping, waving, and breaking,” which is kind of funny because he looks to be about 31 years old. “Everyone in the world is literally being me,” he says. Uh, delusions of grandeur anyone? Also, nice misuse of the word “literally.” I’ll have to add that to my collection.

Not so oddly enough, the kind of dancing he does on stage is not unlike the kind you would see from any drunk 40-year-old at a club: bad, off-rhythm, and makes you cringe in embarrassment for the guy (or any of his family members. God help him if he’s got teenage daughters). He also sings, which is weird for a mime. I mean, a mime who still uses his voice is just… a dude wearing silly makeup.

After he gets booed off the stage, up comes Charlie, who says his style is derived from the “middle of Asia.”

Or the marshes of Louisiana.

If I were the host of one of these shows (God help America), I would have a rule that anyone who describes himself as “quite exceptional” and dresses like a young Colonel Sanders is automatically out. I don’t even want to hear your frickin’ banjo song, get off my stage.

What he actually does is sing a bluegrass song (unsurprisingly) and mixes in some humming that sounds like a didgeridoo. You know, one of those instruments used in “Crocodile Dundee Part 2.” You know, in the middle of Asia?

Anyway, enough of that bullshit. Let’s move on to Luigi, also known as Boy Shakira.

Separated at birth?

He says he does this act because he identifies with Shakira. “I have lived a lot of things that she has probably lived.” Hmm. Perhaps. She probably has grown up with a lot of identity and gender issues, possibly some trouble living up to her father’s expectations, that sort of thing. “I love her a lot because she’s real. She’s original, she’s authentic, she’s herself.” Ah, yes. Glad to see she’s inspired you to do the same. Be herself.

From the moment he comes on stage, Boy Shakira has total command of the audience. I say give him a prime time sitcom right now! As he starts his predictably zany act, the Hoff X’s him about three seconds in. However, the other two judges let him continue.

“shakeitshakeitshakeitshakeit!”

At least he really goes all out. I mean, we’re talking seriously vicious booty-shaking here. He even flips his head over a few times and I wonder how the hell he keeps that wig on? In any case, after his performance he spends the same amount of time thanking the audience for their applause, pacing back and forth around the stage as a true performer would do. I bet Shakira does that.

So the Hoff hates drag queens in general, I think. Maybe it threatens his manhood. Sharon LOVES drag queens in general. Maybe it justifies her wearing fake eyelashes. The most surprising thing here is that Piers lets Boy Shakira through to the next round. What? WTF is going on around here? I mean, sure it was a cute act and all, but you think this can win a million bucks? For his exit music, we are treated to slo-mo and the song “A Moment Like This.” CHRIST. Just STOP IT, man.

Anyway, Hasselhoff isn’t very happy about this outcome, and throws a little Hoffy-fit. He storms off the stage in a Hoff, but soon comes back after a producer asks him nicely. Wait, that’s it? I’ve had to watch commercials all week boasting a Hoff blowup just for THIS? That is so lame.

Luckily, the next group up is pretty cool. They’re an inner city after-school krumping group that’s straight outta “Rize.”

Strangely, out of the 10 people on stage, only about 3 of them do anything special, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers. I thought they were definitely better than Boy Shakira though. But Sharon and Piers give them a no. What is up tonight? This reeks of producer interference.

Pussy Alert!

Boo Freakin’ Hoo.

This dude is cryin’ about his woman and baby back home and says he’s struggling to provide for them, so he’s trying to make it as a singer. All with a country western cover of Aerosmith’s “Don’t Wanna Miss A Thing” rolling in the background. Gross. Sorry, but if your family is depending on you to put food on the table, shouldn’t you be, y’know… working? At a real job?

He gets up and does a pretty mediocre job, or so I thought. He was enthusiastic, I’ll give him that, but there just wasn’t anything spectacular about him to me. The judges disagree, however, and get all wet over him and put him through to Vegas. I say, “shmeh.”

The next contestants up are The Second Story Guys, who look to me like 30-year-old Backstreet Boy auditioners.

“Shop at J. Crew!”

However, when they come on stage, we realize why they’re called Second Story.

So they’re like the Backstreet Boys on stilts. I put my hands together and pray: “Are you there, Reality God? It’s me, O. Snapp. I’ve never wanted anything so badly in my life, Reality God, please, PLEASE let these guys lose their balance and go ‘whuh-whuh-whoooaaaaaaaa!’ and fall down!”

No such luck. Reality God must have been over at “On The Lot” shoving more cocaine up the host’s nose. No, these guys did a standup job, pulling off some truly amazing feats for being on stilts.

Well-coordinated and charismatic, they wowed the judges and speedily went through to the next round.

During the next montage, I spot someone who looks terribly familiar. Isn’t this the kid who did a balancing act with his dad in Texas?

Same?

Maybe not, but I thought so for a sec. Hey, ya know what we’ve been needing in this competition? A little more sex.

Cha cha cha!

The Hot Pink Feathers are a charming little burlesque group made up of the usual types of people who do theatrical striptease: a Pilates instructor, a bartender/waitress, and a neuropsychological testing technician. Total.

They come up on stage and Hasselhoff L-O-V-E-S them automatically.

The Hoff says, “Giggity Giggity.”

But he also realizes they won’t go far and X’s them pretty quick. As you may expect, they should not quit their dayjobs.

Next up is a band of boys called The Faultline and I just want to know, whatever happened to the Battle Of The Bands?

They do an a capella beatboxing version of “Some Kind Of Wonderful” and in truth, they are a pretty tight act. They gain the love of the judges and get to go to Vegas.

After a few more silly acts, we are introduced to a creepy-looking magician named Kevin James. You read right. Apparently he used to be a Copperfield choreographer and now wants to get some damn recognition of his own.

CREEPY

His act starts off a bit slow as he seems to be building a little body out of separate parts. When he goes to put the head on, he drops it and it goes rolling down off the stage. Yeesh. There’s nothing more humiliating than having to have an audience member give you your head back.

“Whoops-a-Daisy!”

But aha! This was all a ploy to distract us, because when we look back at him he’s got a real live man in there! Silly monkey.

Aww, so cute!

Good show, old chap, no one saw that one coming.

Which, of course, should lead us right into the Ass Man. No, really. He breaks things with his butt.

Do NOT try this at home.

And all to the tune of “Baby Got Back” by Sir Mix-A-Lot. I found it a little funny, if totally immature. I bet he wins all the ladies with this awesome skill. I also bet you can bounce a quarter off that ass. I only wonder, how did he come to realize he had this ability? Did he practice for years to perfect this craft? Or was he just sitting around with his stoner friends one day, giggle, and say, “I wonder if I can break things with my ass cheeks?” I’m going with the latter.

An apt follow-up is li’l 80-year-old Ada, whose husband died a year ago. She’s adorable and lovely and very short.

“Go Grandma, it’s your birthday..”

She sings in that old-fashioned glamour Broadway manner, and mixes it up with some comedy. She’s a fine old broad, and she even makes the Grinch in Hasselhoff smile.

Old Ma brings it on home and hits the spot in Jerry Springer. He’s such a softie! Piers says no, Sharon says yes, then Piers says, “After 80 years, your final shot at the big time rests in the hands of David Hasselhoff.” Well-said, my snarky man. Well-said. Of course, who’s a bigger softie than the Hoff? She gets through easily.

Alright, my children, we’re at the final audition. His name is Kashif and he’s soft-spoken, has sort of a lisp, and says he’s got some special moves. He’s kind of like a Pakistani Pedro.

“Maybe you could build her a cake or something.”

He comes out looking like an IT guy, with khakis, a button-down dress shirt and a somber expression. The whole time he dances he looks pretty serious and does a sort of Bollywood thing. I would love to see him wasted at a club. Now THAT’S entertainment.

He strikes me as kinda silly though. Maybe I just don’t get the Bollywood thing, but come on folks. He’s lip synching and gyrating his hips like THIS.

“ShWING!”

He even loses his beat a bit, but whatev’s. Apparently the audience adores him. Piers says, “You were one of the most extraordinary dancers I’ve ever seen in my life.” What? Are you shitting me? Oh God. The judges give it a unanimous thumbs up and I am left going “Wha-wha-whaaaat?”

What did you think about this episode? Was anybody else grossly disappointed by Hoff’s weak attempt at drama? See you on the boards!