By Shack
In all the recapping madness, I forgot to thank Miss Alli for her fill-in last week. Thanks, Miss Alli! Now I feel like Hilary Swank, except for the part where I spend the rest of my career trying to convince the world I can portray a girly girl.
Preeeee- EEE-ee-veee- EEE-EeEeEe- iooooouuuu- UUUU-sss-lyyy -eeee-EEEE- eee-EEE- EEE-eEy: that shit. We get reminders of all the bad auditions we've seen so far because our scarred minds had blocked it all out. Ryan narrates that tonight they'll be showing the auditions in San Francisco, as well as Los Angeles, Mecca of all fame whores. Auditions for American Idol are just part of the pilgrimage.
Credits. I never really noticed before, but you can actually hear stomping sound effects when the transgendered terminator strides off to destroy the world.
We start the evening in Los Angeles (Pasadena, actually, again), where Ryan seems to think it's "ironic" that the home of celebrities has never been a good place to find talented contestants. Somebody needs to strap Ryan down and show him 90\% of what Hollywood produces. Calm down, Ryan -- that's not what I mean when I said "strap Ryan down." He tells us that 10,000 people came out to audition. Various people that we'll never see again, ever, declare to us that they're the American Idol. We get the requisite montage of desperate young people sleeping outside. Somebody has a big sign on their tent declaring they are "Camp Diva." Unless they paid an underling to make the sign and set up the tent, and then slapped him, and then fired him, and then got drunk and passed out, I don't think so. The young women all struggle to skankify themselves without the benefit of a real dressing room. Those thongs don't just expose themselves, you know! Some of the women end up having to use the men's room to get ready. I have a feeling the men didn't mind much, considering that one of guys in there has light-up earrings.
The editors are spent, having had their first montage-gasm of the episode, so we cut to Ryan arriving to let the kids actually into the auditions for the first day. They all file their way into the Rose Bowl, and after their morning prayer (facing the direction of wherever the closest RCA office is), the screaming begins. And the editors are up and thrusting another montage at us already. I don't know how they manage to do it five or six times a night. Maybe that herbal Viagra stuff really does work. Kids audition and make it to see the judges.
Speaking of which, we cut to Randy Jackson arriving at a hotel while talking on a cell phone, because that's how you know somebody's important, even if all he's doing is ordering a pizza. Simon Cowell, however, is late, and Ryan -- inexplicably dressed like a tour guide for a gay safari -- harasses him. Simon ignores Ryan, as you do. And Paula, it seems, is still "under the weather," so it's just going to be Randy and Simon in Los Angeles.
After a clip of an aspiring...ventriloquist, making me feel like I'm in the waiting room of a talent agent in 1953, we open with our requisite awful audition. Jimmy Lin will rock you. Or perhaps just terrify you with his gravelly voice and wild gesturing. Jimmy, just because they put you up on the big monitor at a Lakers game once doesn't mean you can be a star. Nargiza can't sing and doesn't know the words to "Age of Aquarius" anyway. "When the moon is in the separate house"? Being an embarrassment to hippies is a definitely a special kind of embarrassment. Daniel is like that one girl auditioning in Bring It On who can't get through an entire line without starting over and trying it again.
In an interview, Simon tells us that he and Randy were in a bad mood by the time they got to Los Angeles, because of all the sucking. And here's some more! Nicole Crook is a seventeen-year-old single mom with a macramé shirt, who can't sing. Her rendition of "Fever" makes Madonna's sound inspired. She's not an embarrassingly bad singer; she's just dull. Simon tells her she was "dreadful," and that there was "nothing there." He asks how Nicole thinks she did. She says she thinks she could have done better, but that she thinks she's a good singer. Simon says she's not. Nicole does the whole "I Don't Care What You Think Because It's Just Your Opinion And You're Mean" song and dance of the Oblivious Fame Whore Who Doesn't Understand Who Butters Her Bread. Simon tells Nicole that he's just being honest with her. Randy agrees that Nicole's singing is bad, and says she should never sing again. Nicole says she really didn't think she was that bad. Yeah, hon, that's why you're on that side of the audition table, not the other. Outside, Nicole cries to some woman who asks her why she's listening to "those morons." Nicole whines that she gave up time to come here, and they insulted her and she doesn't think she's that bad. Well, Simon and Randy both gave up time to listen to you and I gave up time to recap you and we all think you suck, so shut it and go away. And put on a decent shirt, dammit. You'll catch a cold.
This cuts to a montage (who's your daddy, Avid? Say my name! Say it! Aww, yeah! Smash-cut me again, baby!) (I've totally lost it) of people crying from getting rejected and Simon and Randy saying nasty things. We get a clip of Neva -- a.k.a. Gilda Slice on our forums -- and her very special rendition of "Fame." It's the black scarf and the little jump that does it for me. They call her terrible. Randy says he thinks the dancing was bad, too. Some girl is rejected. Outside, her father -- the reigning king of Cluelessia -- declares, "Simon just doesn't like young girls. That's your problem, Simon." Some girl is called musical wallpaper. It could have been worse, dear -- he could have called you a "musical wall border." A woman consoles a rejected girl, declaring that Simon and Randy "don't count." Anything to get her back in the car. More people whine. Randy wonders yet again if this is all turning into a joke. Gee, I don't know. Maybe we should ask Gilda.
Commercials. Awww, little Seth is finally going to have sex. Unfortunately, it's not with you. Sorry.
When we return, people are either sucking or worrying about sucking. Some girl in an audition walks like a robot Barbie doll, for some reason. Everybody makes a big deal of the fact that nobody has made it to Hollywood so far, although we have no context to know how long the auditions have been going on or anything. But it doesn't matter -- they're just getting all dramatic before introducing Bao Viet Nguyen. His parents are Indo-Chinese refugees who fled to America. Bao's dad gets all teary-eyed hoping that his boy is going to make it. They give Dad subtitles, even though his English is perfectly fine and comprehensible. They really should consider giving Paula subtitles instead. Inside at the auditions, Bao wears a brown shirt with vine patterns and goes for complete and utter honesty as his gimmick -- he sees himself as a "businessman," and wants to make a lot of money for himself and his employers. Simon asks what he's going to make all this money with. "My voice, my talent," is Bao's response. He starts singing "Lately," and he's pretty good. There's some ornamentation, but not too much, though he closes his eyes way too much for my liking. Yes, I don't like it when they make too much eye contact, but I also don't like it when they sing with their eyes closed. I can't be pleased in the eye area. Just deal. I probably won't be happy unless a singer shoots laser beams out of them. Simon and Randy both like him, and he's invited on. Out in the audition area, Bao celebrates with way too many "Whassup!"s and gives a big speech about his parents being boat people and blah blah blah.
But enough of those American dreams -- let's see some American sucking! Naomi wants to wake up in a city that never sleeps, which will be in any city where her terrible voice goes wailing across several blocks. For unexplained reasons, Naomi has a dog with her. For totally obvious reasons, the dog starts whimpering during her singing and crawls away, tail tucked between its legs, to hide somewhere.
Ryan narrates that the end of the first day of auditions is near, and that they've only invited six people to Hollywood. The last person to audition is Matt Rogers, a bulky Chipster with thinning hair, along with a mustache and a goatee. In the confessional, he tells us he's ready to be the Idol. He says he qualifies, first of all, because he's American. He says it in this sarcastic tone that could be either just a mocking of the concept or ambiguously racist. He clearly has a sense of humor, though he's not as funny as he thinks he is, so you can't be sure. As part of his "humor," he tells us he has a "baby face" (maybe Baby Huey) to bring in the "younger viewers," and thinning hair to bring in the older viewers. He says he has a thin waist for the skinny people, but a bulky body for the non-skinny people. Does he want to sing to us or date us? Outside, we meet Matt's older brother, who calls him a "blockhead" and tells us Matt's a "football player with an unbelievable voice." Inside the auditions, Matt tells the judges he's an ex-football player who was in a past Rose Bowl, and that he used to be fat, but is no longer so fat. He sings "Just Once" by James Ingram. He has a big voice that's pretty good, but not as good as he probably thinks it is. The held notes aren't as steady as they should be. But nevertheless, given the "quality" of the talent they've found here so far, he's good enough for Hollywood. He celebrates out in the hall with his brother, singing some opera music that sounds better than what he sang in the auditions.
Commercials. When we return, it's the second day of auditions, and there's plenty more sucking to endure. Tomomi wishes she were Charo, and you can reach her by "hairplane" if you so desire. But not on this show, because she's rejected. Randy introduces the contestant -- Jasmine Arteaga -- in an interview; we first meet Jasmine coming up the escalator, when we discover that she is a dwarf. I'm not going to call her a "little person," because as with some of these descriptions that are allegedly more sensitive, it's actually a rather condescending term, and I've known a couple of dwarves in my life who have recoiled from it. I suppose if Jasmine herself emails me to say "Yo! Don't call me a dwarf," then I'll change terms. Actually, I'll just call her Jasmine, so it won't even matter. Jasmine tells us that it means so much that she gets this chance to audition. Jasmine has blonde hair and no eyebrows and is wearing the same torso-revealing ugly-wear endorsed by her taller counterparts. And she's got white nail polish, which just goes to show that a physical disability doesn't have to prevent you from looking tacky. Some woman who may be Jasmine's mom or just a friend (she's not identified) tells us that Jasmine's done more things than her sisters ever have, and that her sisters suck and can't do anything right and were sold to the Russian mafia as child prostitutes. Jasmine heads into the auditions, and Randy and Simon kind of treat her as though she's an actual child and not just short. It's just this slightly condescending tone of voice they have here, like they need to be a little nicer to her, for some reason. Simon asks her why she wants to be American Idol. She says she's different, and she likes to sing. Well, that's a change from the others, all right. She's going to sing "I Turn to You" by Christina Aguilera. She has a pretty good voice, but almost no sense of phrasing or flow. It sounds like she's just singing a bunch of words that have no connection to each other. And she's got a bit of vibrato. Nevertheless, she's good enough to make it to the round. She celebrates out in the hall, and tells us all that Simon was really nice to her.
Draeh Hancock wears an old-fashioned pink sun dress (well sort of; I don't think the old ones used to show as much cleavage) and has a matching flower in her hair. I hear the flower-in-your-hair thing is the new neck-flower from the first two seasons, which I think is a slight improvement. Draeh tells Ryan that she wants to bring some old-fashioned sound back into the competition, and to be the American Idol. Wait, she wants to be the American Idol? Well, it's a good thing she showed up at these auditions, then. Simon asks her in the auditions what she'd want to do with the pittance she'll make if she wins. She says she wants to buy a pink [product-placed car]. Aww, how sweet of her. She's so old-fashioned that it's like going back to the advent of television programming, when the stars of shows would suddenly break out into product testimonials because they hadn't yet developed real commercials. Randy even repeats the name of the [product-placed car] because he knows how you're supposed to say it several times so that it registers with the consumers. She's there to sing "Almost Like Being In Love." Again, she's one of those people who is sort of singing, but also sort of talking. I'll give her props for choosing to end notes rather than letting them drag on, because god forbid you don't fill every available second with your singing. But sometimes she's cutting the notes off abruptly, and that's why she sounds like she's talking. Simon says that he thought she sounded great and looked perfect, but has no idea what will happen to her in the round, because she's so retro. Randy agrees. But they both invite her to Hollywood to see what happens.
Rodrigo Cortes is really hot. Rodrigo Cortes knows that he's really hot, which is why he has a shirt with tight-fitting short sleeves to show off his biceps. His singing is okay, but he overenunciates, and, unlike another famous overenunciator that this show has managed to make a household name, he doesn't have much by way of personality or stage presence to make up for it. Seriously, every time a word ends with a "t," it's like another whole other syllable, given how much effort Rodrigo has put into pronouncing it. Afterward, Randy asks Simon what he thinks. Simon says it wasn't bad. Randy asks if it was good enough. Rodrigo supplies himself that it was "great enough." Then he covers himself with lighter fluid and sets himself on fire, which is a much smarter thing to do in these auditions than to presume to tell the judges that you're better than they think you are. Simon declares that it was merely okay. Rodrigo -- who is hot, but not very smart, like, at all -- rubs his hands together as he prepares to blast Simon, not even noticing that the right words would probably get him to the round. He declares that "good" was better than he expected from Simon, and blathers on about how he wants to reach people and put smiles on their faces. Oh, Rodrigo. You could probably do that. But not with your singing. Simon asks Rodrigo what he would do if he won and earned a million dollars. Rodrigo says he'd give $100,000 to charity, then put $2,000 into investments (snerk) and give even more to charity. Confronted with Rodrigo's complete lameitude, Simon decides to pass on inviting Rodrigo to the round. How sad. Hollywood's the only place where "hookers and blow" can ever be the correct answer to a question in an interview, and Rodrigo missed it. Randy agrees. Rodrigo can't believe he's being rejected. They tell him to go. He starts singing "My Girl." They tell him to go away. Outside, Rodrigo cries and whines that one question turned everything around. Oh, cheer up, Rodrigo. Your disastrous audition put a smile on my face. One down -- three hundred million to go. As he leaves, he whines that Simon's question is going to haunt him, and that when he's famous someday and has a million dollars, he's going to shove it in Simon's face. See, if he had said that in the audition room, he might have made it to Hollywood. Rodrigo's rejection leads to a montage-gasm of other hot guys getting rejected. It seems that so far (however far that might be), no guys have been invited on to Hollywood on this second day. A couple of guys seem to think that it's because Paula's not there. Because she totally overrules Simon and Randy. Idiots.
Commercials. I like to imagine the faces of the folks responsible for the ACT and the SAT every time I see a commercial for The Perfect Score. I'll bet they're priceless. Although you'd have to have been raised in a bank safe-deposit box to think that these kids are actually going to succeed.
When we return, Ryan tells us that a pattern was emerging at the auditions. No guys were making it -- just hot, lithe, young women. You can see why Ryan would be concerned. No only are there no guys, but he's not going to be the prettiest person on the stage anymore. In an interview, Paula says that one of the nurses at the ward told her all about Simon and Randy's escapades, and that she finds it a bit "unusual" that they had turned the auditions into a girlie show. After another montage-gasm of girls getting invited to the round, Simon declares Paula's observations to be "rubbish" -- they picked the successful auditioners based on talent. "Pretty" is a talent, right? Simon adds that the guys were all dreadful, which we see more of through the sexy help of montages. One guy is so awful that Simon can't even think of a response. He just tells him to leave. These other guys we've already seen. There's the guy singing the dumb part of "Blue Moon." And there's Michael Recon, the guy who sings "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" so badly that he must be a faker. He sounds like he's got a goat stuck in his throat. And the goat has a kazoo stuck in its nose. Neither Simon nor Randy responds to him at all when he's done. Michael realizes, "I guess that's a 'no' then."
Outside in the hall, Ryan reminds us that no guys have made it through today. Except that he leaves the "today" part out and makes it sound like no guys have made it through in Hollywood at all, which will come as a surprise to Bao and Matt. Some guy insists that he'll be the first guy today voted through. If not the first, then the second. If not the second then the third. If not the third, then the fourth. How about we settle on "not if you were the last guy on earth" and just leave it there. This guy -- who goes by the name of Gtoe (which from my web research is either a model of bicycle or the acronym used in place of "greater than or equal") Washington III -- can't sing. He wears glasses and bobbles his head around in order to confuse us into thinking he's Stevie Wonder, but he sucks and nobody's fooled. They tell him to stop after two whole lines, and reject him. He whines because he picked a hard song. Yes, that's a smart way to approach an audition -- pick something you're not even sure you can sing right. They argue some more, but Gtoe is tossed out on his Gear.
up is Jefferey Dingle (hee!). In the confessional, Jefferey Dingle (hee!) tells us that he can be the American Idol because he can sing and stuff and be an inspiration for all the kids who survived the schoolyard teasing. Or something like that. Jefferey Dingle (hee!) heads into the audition, and somehow Simon manages to say his name and keep a straight face. Jefferey Dingle (hee!) is going to sing "Desperado" for them. Jefferey Dingle (hee!) is pretty good, but a little reminiscent of Justin Guarini with his style of crooning with way too much ornamentation. And didn't Guarini sing this on the tour? Simon and Randy both like his singing.
Meanwhile, Gtoe is doing what rejected contestants do best -- deluding himself and causing a scene. He says that they're all going to regret rejecting him. The producers are all, "Yes, yes, we'll add you to the list of people we'll be regretting at some unspecified date in the future. You're below Frenchie, but above Nikki."
Inside, Jefferey Dingle (hee!) is getting the thumbs up from Simon and Randy, and invited to Hollywood. He celebrates and rushes out of the room.
Out in the waiting area, Gtoe is telling us again how we're all going to regret not waiting on him Ghand and Gfoot and letting him be our idol and blah blah blah. Then Jefferey Dingle (hee!) comes out to celebrate, and Gtoe's entire Ghead looks like it was replaced by a giant sour grape. Gtoe whines outside the hotel that it's obvious that they aren't looking for a real R&B or pop superstar because they picked somebody who wasn't him. Inside, Jefferey Dingle (hee!) celebrates with his family. Gtoe's just mad that somebody with a dumber name than his made it. Gtoe's delusional dad (Gtoe Washington II?) declares that Simon and Randy "robbed" his son, because, you know, Gtoe was entitled to be famous, and the show has cruelly taken that away from him. Now we know where Gtoe got his delusions from. After Jefferey Dingle (hee!), a few more guys make it the round. In all, twenty-five people were picked from the Pasadena auditions.
Commercials. I caught half an hour of Ryan Seacrest's new show. How sad are you when you have to rip off a show concept made famous by Carson Daly?
I just love it that our local news affiliate has the gall to wonder out loud why America's kids are getting fatter. Those fat kids are keeping your kids in polo ponies, dipwads. Ew! Tru Calling commercial! DIE, DAMN YOU! WHY WON'T YOU JUST DIE!
When we return, we're in San Frantrolley. I mean, San Francisco. Sorry, they started with the requisite trolley shot, of course. Paula Abdul has finally "recovered" from her "flu," and is back to judge some more talent. Sadly, her pink and yellow blouse, combined with a white hat, indicates that she still hasn't overcome her color blindness. It's an American tragedy. There needs to be a telethon. Outside, Ryan harasses a trolley worker to find out if the judges are going to discover any talent here. The trolley worker says they will. And after the camera stops rolling, he answers Ryan's other question. ("Sorry, this trolley doesn't go to the Castro district.")
Our first auditioner in San Francisco is named Michael Garcia, who wants us to know that he has "gusto." Apparently there's a definition of "gusto" that means "an inner ear disorder that causes you to go tone-deaf and flail around like a salmon having a seizure." Or that's what I take away from his attempt to perform "All That Jazz." I'm betting he's a faker, too. How could he not be? He's wearing a shirt that exposes his belly button. And he's singing about his breaking garters? Come on. Simon pulls out the "ghastly" for the occasion. Michael pretends he doesn't know that he's bad, and starts singing "Fever," so we all really, really know he's a faker, right?
Ryan tells us that we're now seeing some contestants who have been rejected in rounds but didn't take the hint. Ryan makes a stupid joke here, but I'm choosing to ignore it. You're welcome. Some guy got rejected in Los Angeles. Some girl is auditioning for the third time. One woman tells us she was rejected in Los Angeles and told she wasn't what they were looking for. So she decided she needs to figure out what they're looking for so that she can be on the show. God, listen to what she's saying. She doesn't even care about singing or anything. She just wants to be on the show. So apparently at the Los Angeles auditions, she had long, straight hair. She claims that she was in the shower and just decided to cut it all off and dye her hair. Except, according to a clip we see, her original long hair looked about as real as Ryan Seacrest's smile, and I don't think it was "cut" so much as "unfastened and put back on the dresser." And then there's the whole ridiculousness that she's been deprived of fame because of her hair. Ryan tells us that Victoria Elliot here is a prison guard who came back again to audition, and brought her "best friend and adviser," Sir Jack, and his stupid, fuzzy hat. Although he's apparently spelled "Jac," and she's now called "Victory," but I'm not humoring any of that shit for a second. Nor the "Sir." Good god. Ryan asks Victoria what she's worried about most, and she says she's not concerned too much about the judges. It's Jack, apparently, who's on her case all the time. So, of course, she brought him with her. And who the hell is he? Are they fucking or what? What's the point of hanging around a control freak all the time if you're not at least having wicked sex? He claims that he "trained" her. Yeah, they're totally doing it.
We cut to the audition, where Victoria is performing "Doo Wah Diddy." The original version, not the 2 Live Crew version. Although that might have been fun. And by "performing," I mean "growling her way through the song horribly with rather lame, pre-planned gestures and snapping." The judges don't know what to say, so Simon turns to their new favorite word -- "affected," which is this season's "karaoke." Paula and Randy agree. Simon observes that Victoria didn't even seem to be opening her mouth all the way as she sang. Randy agrees. Victoria offers to sing another song. They don't want to hear another song. Paula says that Victoria sounded too "cabaret," and they all reject her.
Victoria leaves quietly and tells Jack that they said no. Then we have an editing cut where Jack is suddenly pissed and all cussing and such. Then they cut again to Jack telling Victoria in some hallway that "they didn't get it. It's [her] job to make sure they get it. It's [her] destiny." Damn, I think he's going to pimp-slap her right out here in the hallway in front of the cameras. She says she tried to get back in, but that they wouldn't let her. Why would they? Jack says she has to make them. How is she going to do that? So they go around bugging the producers for another chance and got rejected. So they engaged in another popular fame-whore pastime, creating a scene. Security eventually tracks them down and orders them to leave. Jack orders Victoria to sing as they leave, and she spins a silk purse into a sow's ear by butchering "When I Fall in Love" as they go. God, she's bad. The sad thing is that she's not a faker. She really doesn't realize that she's not that good. Victoria says that they all missed out, and asks the camera if we all think that sounded like cabaret. She says she didn't think so. I didn't think so either, but we're probably both heading in opposite directions with the comparison.
Commercials. When we return, we see the folks in line, including a girl holding a giant poster of herself, which is this entire show in a nutshell right there. We meet some gimmicks looking for some attention -- a guy dressed like a cowboy, a Ken-doll car salesman in his suit and tie, and an adorable tiny barefooted surfer who likes smoothies. All three of them have one thing in common -- they can't sing. The song choices are "I Think I Love You," "Drops of Jupiter," and "Ain't Goin' Down Till the Sun Comes Up." I'm not going to tell you which one sang which, because it's more fun to mix and match. They're all rejected.
up is Marisa Sobecki-Engle, whom I hope is rejected just so I don't have to type that name out ever again. Oh, wait, she does make it. We're having a brief montage of folks who made it. Dina Lopez is , and she made it, too. The two girls sound almost exactly alike. I had my back turned for a moment and didn't even realize we had changed performers. Then Anahita comes out and sings "I Surrender" as though she has an airhorn where her nose should be. Simon responds, "So do we!" in response to her singing (in reference to the song title, of course).
up is Katie Webber, a perky blonde cheerleader who several scarily keen-eyed forum posters and emailers with frightening memories have noted is a reject from the second season of Popstars. She's wearing an ocean-print torso-revealing shirt that has given her an unfortunate look that she has one breast that goes all the way across her chest. I believe they call it a uniboob on the forums. She chooses "I Wanna Dance With Somebody," notable for being the worst (but most entertaining) song choice ever during the semi-finals of the second season. I find her to be duller than dishwater, but the judges love her. Simon accurately observes that Katie is one of those people who is probably good at everything she applies herself to, but is never really "great." He thinks she could make it to the top ten, but won't win. But that counts as a yes, so Katie's off to Hollywood.
Ryan tells us that they know when they started looking for the "Ruben" that they'd eventually stumble across the "Keith. But this time, he was hung." I'm sorry, they bleeped out "butthole" but left in a penis joke? This is our intro to William Hung, a young man with a hideously patterned blue shirt that looks like it would have been "hip" for curtains back in the '60s, and his hair is combed just perfectly for family portrait day at Sears. He tells us out in the waiting area that he's originally from Hong Kong and has been in the states for ten years now. He's studying at the University of Berkeley. He says it's "odd" for him to audition, because he's a civil engineering major, but says he wants to sing for a living.
Aaaand, that's not likely. Well, except that he could probably survive for a while as a novelty act. His choice of music is "She Bangs." Oh, what can I say? He's gotten more attention than some of the folks who actually did make it to Hollywood. He can't sing, of course. But it's the rest that makes the audition. He sways his hips back and forth like he's doing the hula. His hands kind of fly around on their own, miming various things like washing a car, playing volleyball, ordering somebody to stop, and performing a magic trick where you move a Nerf ball from one hand to the other. It's like his arms are doing something else in an alternate universe while he's singing to us here. And wherever his arms are, they appear to be having more fun than the rest of William's body. Randy holds a paper in front of his face during the whole performance in a vain attempt to keep from laughing. Simon finally cuts him off, tells William he can't sing or dance, and asks him what he wants Simon to say. William says he tried his best and has no regrets. He adds that he's had no professional training. The judges chuckle, and the captioners let the deaf know that the laughter was done "[sarcastically]." Just in case. I do sometimes wonder if deaf people actually watch this show, and what they think of it. So William is rejected, and he leaves with his cute yellow backpack. Awww. Well, we'll always have those fifty montages before the end of the season.