By M. Giant
Ryan brings us back up to speed by trying to sell the fate of the 28 male contestants still in the competition as of the end of last week's shows as some kind of cliffhanger. Fortunately he fails, because they're going to keep hanging for now. Instead, the female contestants wake up, travel, jump on hotel beds and generally act all overexcited. And then get to participate in the teaser reel hinting at the heightened drama when half of the Hollywood round is all girls, all the time. Chicks, man... you know?
After the credits, they all crowd into the seats of one section of the auditorium to await whatever's . Which, Ryan narrates, is pretty much the same as last week: contestants will come out onstage in groups of ten, sing something a capella and either make it to the round or go home. Strolling along backstage between a double line of blank-faced, motionless Amazons towering over him like the walls of a more colorful Death Star trench, Ryan adds that there are more girls than guys in this phase, which means bigger cuts from the judges. Sure, that seems fair. And then they wonder what it's going to take to get a female winner again.
The first line includes recovering anorexic Mariah Pulice, who sings a few lines of Sara Barielles' "Gravity" in too low a key to amaze anyone. Angela Miller from the New York auditions makes a speech about girl power and remembers to hit the big notes. Victoria Acosta, the mariachi singer who came in off the river for the San Antonio auditions, sings "Killing Me Softly" because of how as a mariachi she tells stories. Angela, Victoria and a couple of randoms move on, but Mariah is done and pretty sad about it, although her sister promises to make her come back year. I don't know why not -- everyone from this year seems to have been in it last year.
The cuts continue in a rapid-fire montage, eliminating "funny girl" (Ryan's words, not mine) Ashley Smith from the Charlotte auditions; Ann Difani, the nominee who will now have more time to spend with the Arkansas Razorbacks; and the chick who sang both a country song and "Superbass" at the New York auditions. Whoever is left after they're gone had better be good.
After the ads, Ryan's narration tries to trump up this "head-to-head" thing between two "country girls" who just happen to be in the same group of ten. One of them is Rachel Hale, the one who smiled so much at the Long Beach auditions that she seemed in danger of splitting her head and the other is Janelle Arthur, the one who used to play a young Dolly Parton onstage. While Rachel sings, Nicki gushes into Keith's ear about how relatable she is, because there's no point in turning the other way and wasting any kind of insight on Randy. Janelle Arthur claims to be the American Idol because she's a "dreamer y'all," and then also sings pretty well. After that whole line has sung, Janelle and Rachel are asked to step forward and both make it through, and then Ryan has the nerve to not even apologize for wasting our time with that "head-to-head" nonsense. More lines sing and more girls get through. Of course, more also don't, but that's not the point Ryan's trying to make right now.
The day must be flying by, because when we come back it's already 4:30 PM in Hollywood. Candace Glover, who earned a standing ovation from some of the judges in Charlotte (and a remark from Nicki that she wanted to skin her and wear her, both of which I'm sure she'll hold in her heart forever) comes out and blows the roof off the place. The only standing ovation she gets is from one contestant who doesn't look like she's exactly stingy with them, if you know what I mean. We'll be catching up with her later. is Megan Miller, the Miss Greater Baton Rouge who had to do her first audition on crutches. There's some allegedly suspense-building editing about how much Candace and Megan both want this, but Megan's luck -- or sympathy -- has run out. Maybe come back year in a wheelchair.
Isabelle (just Isabelle now) is the girl from the New York auditions who had more talent than confidence. She's still good here -- and a little more confident -- so she's through. And as the day winds down at 4:30, we're reintroduced to the wonder that is Kez Ban. Yes, that is an American Idol contestant, not a bounty hunter from Star Wars (the expanded universe). Ryan reminds us how "interesting" she is (read: "butch") and chats with her a bit backstage. She asks for thirty seconds alone and out of the way right before getting to sing, and Ryan promises to make it happen. Of course there's some miscommunication and she's herded out with the rest of the cattle. She interviews, "I have no expectations. If I go home, I still had fun. If I don't go home, that's even scarier." And probably not just for her. Fighting a cold, she croaks out "Nights in White Satin" as best she can. Her line of four also includes Briana Oakley, the bullying victim from the Long Beach auditions. Keith makes noises about difficult decisions, but then lets them all through anyway. Ryan says that makes a total of 76 going on to the group round, including a couple of women I don't remember from the New York auditions, even though Ryan clearly thinks I should.
"Oh, group night's fun, I used to be in chorus!" Kez Ban says excitedly, clearly unaware of what's in store. Fortunately, the pre-commercial teaser is here to straighten us all out on that.
And thus, when we come back at 8:30 PM, the 76 survivors are having a brief celebration before getting herded into the auditorium to be briefed on the group round. Word has leaked from the boys' Hollywood round, so not everyone is totally shocked to hear that the producers will be assigning everyone to groups. Some of the contestants make some obliging, stereotype-reinforcing antifeminist remarks to the camera, and then we're racing through the shots of fresh new groups trying to quickly decide which song from a list of twenty each group will have to sing, arrange and choreograph to perform the morning. Kez Ban is giving "California Dreamin'" a hard sell with the three Plastics she's been thrown in with (including Janelle Arthur, which just goes to show how anyone standing to Kez Ban looks like a Plastic), but they don't all seem on board. Crazy Zoanette Johnson is in a similar fix trying to sell "Say My Name" to three Midwestern-looking white girls (including Isabelle), while a group that includes Britnee Kellogg -- who got booted in Vegas last week -- quickly settles on a country song. Britnee ends up trying to lead the group, possibly because she's a control freak and possibly because she's the only one who knows what she's doing. Then there's a montage of groups rehearsing with vocal coaches and we're back with Zoanette's group, the Poo-Snaps. Yes, the Poo-Snaps. I wonder which of them came up with that name. Zoanette displays some elaborate bitchfaces as they work on "Knock on Wood." She's already given up, seems like. Meanwhile, Zev Ban and her fellow Misfits, who took forever settling on "Be My Baby," are having trouble dealing with... well, Kez Ban. She's still being nutty and a blabbermouth and losing her voice to a cold and generally being Kez Ban. They get through a disastrous rehearsal with the vocal coaches, who instruct them in no uncertain terms to keep working on it, though Kez Ban bails to go eat while the other three plan a secret rehearsal the morning. Kez Banned!
Only a couple of hours later, hotel room doors are getting knocked on and young women are greeting the cameras with varying degrees of friendliness. At the bottom of that scale is Kez Ban, who welcomes the crew into her room with the heartfelt words, "You people suck" before proceeding to be weird some more. They all ride a bus to the auditorium and assemble for the group round. Randy will be sitting part of the day out due to commitments in the studio, so this will be just like every other round except with fewer time-wasting comments and loud pronouncements of the crashingly obvious. The first group is the Swagettes. They were apparently one of the first groups to bed last night. But that didn't stop them from putting together a pretty strong version of "Hit 'Em Up Style," with Candice Glover as the obvious standout. Several of the other contestants give them a standing ovation from the audience. All four make it to the round. So far this seems to be going well for everyone.
A country foursome going by "Raisin' Cain" comes out in cowboy boots and does a Dixie Chicks song in which the solos are way better than the alleged four-part harmonies. It's also very cheesy, to the point where the judges are openly laughing at them. Nicki busts out a Scarlett O'Hara accent to give them their props, then, after the deliberations, gives a bizarre speech by way of telling them they're all through. So far it's a sweep!
"Almost Famous" is a group of four girls who don't seem to have anything in common other than that they're all wearing something with leopard print on it. They picked "Somebody that I Used to Know," which has no harmonies, so they had to make up their own. Or, more accurately, Savannah Votion had to figure them out and teach them to the others as she went along. They go out and do it, and Nicki remarks to the other judges, "That's the remix," and in a way that's clearly not a compliment. One of them completely forgets the words and we normally don't get this far into the episode before that happens. Mariah takes the reins for this critique, which she does as usual by employing the Socratic method, asking them how they felt about it. If she ever asks me that, I'd be like, "Well, I thought it was good, but..." Seriously though, Mariah, quit being such a candy-ass. If you think somebody sucks, say so instead of trying to get them to say it. Anyway, only one of them gets through and it's Daysia Hall, the one who forgot her lyrics. They must have really hated the other three. All of whom seem pretty bitter, as you can guess.
There's a group called The Dramatics, which is just asking for trouble. And they seem to have gotten it. Backstage, adorable Mohawk girl Christabel Clack recounts the night's tribulations to Ryan, with some help from the editors. Things were going well at 9:00 PM, but by 4:00 AM, Janel Stinney seemed determined to keep rehearsing until she blew her voice out, even after her fellow Dramatics had gone to bed. The following morning -- the day of group performances -- they spent all this time looking for her ass, only to get blown off when Janelle "spotted" her mom and indeed every time Christabel tried to talk to her. Then, in the interview room, when Janelle gives a bullshit speech about how working with a group has taught her so much as a solo artist, the others can't even keep a straight face. Neither can the judges when the Dramatics hit the stage and Janel uncorks some of her oversinging. Christabel and a girl named Kriss Mincey end up walking away with it and the group ends up earning a standing ovation from Nicki that's so earnest it almost goes all the way back around to ironic. "I enjoyed you guys messing up the words more than I have enjoyed any other performance today," she says. Still not entirely sure if she's serious. Keith says he felt the opposite and asks Janel if she rehearsed a lot. "Yes," she says truthfully. "Together?" Mariah presses. "Yes," Janel lies. But they already know what's been going on and Nicki busts her. Janel gets all weepy about not fitting in, which is what Nicki likes about her. Oh Nicki -- I thought you didn't attend pity parties. You disappoint me. Keith explains that Nicki loved all of them he didn't and Mariah vacillated, so fuck it -- they're all going through. So yay, The Dramatics, I guess.
Then there's a quick clip of one group sucking so bad they get axed en masse, but then some individual members of other groups get through. Which happens. So we're moving on to "Urban Hue," which includes Seretha Guinn, the woman from the Charlotte auditions with the three-year-old daughter and the critically injured boyfriend. We're reminded of her inspirational story, which is never a good sign right before someone goes out to sing. They do a pretty shaky version of "American Boy" that the judges were barely able to endure. "That was so painful," Nicki says directly into the mic. The only one she liked was Tenna Torres, but the others totally let her down. After some discussions, Nicki says it wasn't unanimous, but Seretha is the only one in this group being sent home. And after her daughter gave Nicki that stuffed animal, too.
Randy has returned, looking like Grimace in a purple T-shirt, just in time to hear Zoanette and the Poo-Snaps. We flash back to the part of their rehearsal where Zoanette was all crabby, only to learn that she cheered herself up. I picture Zoanette as being generally exhausting in day-to-day life. They give a highly energetic performance of "Knock on Wood" in which Zoanette is completely nuts but only twice as crazy as the rest of them. The only one to get cut from this group is Lauren Bettes, so Zoanette and Isabelle and some other chick are safe for now. I know you were really worried about that other chick.
"Handsome Women" is a group of three young New York auditioners and one from Long Beach, none of whom I remember seeing before. They apparently had a rough night. One of them, Liz, complains to the camera about their lack of progress and then spends the morning looking for her group while they wonder where the hell she was during the group breakfast and rehearsal they had planned. They end up shit-talking her in the interview room, well past the point when she's wandered in. Although I guess if they were really going to make an effort to be discreet in the first place, maybe they wouldn't have done their bitching in front of video cameras with little red lights glowing on the front of them. Liz joins them in front of the camera and they're like, "Welcome." Then they hit the stage and -- oh, now I remember Shira Gavrielov, who mumbles her lines off key through that mail-order-bride accent of hers, causing the judges to visibly wonder if this is actually happening. The others are better, but not by much, except Liz. "Wow," Randy says to sum up once they're done. Yes, he's back. Liz is the only member of this group to get through and not everyone else in the group takes it so well. In fact, Shira hijacks a microphone and comes out onstage by herself and demands an explanation from the judges. They babble some lame explanation rather than saving everyone some time and telling her, "You suck." So chalk up another bitter, deluded exit.
At 7:45 PM, a group called "For You" takes the stage. Under interrogation from Randy (who, obviously already knows the answer and is just getting it from them on-camera like he's James Lipton or some shit), they admit that they originally picked "Total Eclipse of the Heart" and switched to the damn Gotye song this morning. That still should have given them more rehearsal time than the groups who sang first this morning, but the editing hints that they threw it together in two hours. Whatever the case, they feel better about it than they did the first song they picked, so when we get to hear them sing it, it's clear that the first song they picked didn't go well at all. They're so shaky on the words they've written them on their hands, Sarah Palin-style, and even parents are cringing as they watch from the balcony. Randy's back to put the hammer down on people who don't know all the words, so of course he does. But two of them go through anyway. "Why did they let me through? I totally botched that thing," Stephanie Schimel says. She is probably not your American Idol.
Ryan tells us about an epidemic of people writing lyrics on their hands and the editors corroborate that with a montage of girls using their meathooks for Teleprompters. It's obvious and lazy and not fooling anyone, and the worst part is... it doesn't work! They're still blowing the lyrics. Nicki holds up her hand to the camera so some waggish editor can superimpose the words "They Suck" on her palm as though she wrote it there with a wobbly whiteboard marker. The last of these groups to attempt this technique, the "Dolly Chicks" includes one member who wrote words all the way up to her elbow. This is the group that includes Britnee Kellogg, who had the weight of the group on her shoulders and had to deal with one of the four of them (the one whose forearm is covered in ink, not coincidentally) heading to bed at the decadent hour of 2:30 AM, causing Britnee to have a meltdown. The three of them called it a night at 5:20 AM, only to reunite at 7:00. For their actual performance, it's not much of a surprise that three of them do well and one of them, Haley, stumbles through it. Should have practice more or at least graffitied yourself more legibly. Nicki calls her out for going to bed early and being disrespectful, with all the arm-reading. Still, Haley is among the three group members who get through, while Brandy Neely from the Chicago auditions gets the boot for no reason I can see.
At 8:30 PM, it's time for an update on the last group of the day. The Misfits, which consists of three Plastics and Kez Ban, are apparently dealing with Kez Ban's persistent absence, not just late last night, but also at breakfast and on the bus to the auditorium. They seem entirely prepared to cut her loose, not that I can blame them. Even backstage, she's twitching and dancing and doing weird dances while the other girls look on in confusion. When they finally sing, it turns out that Janelle Arthur is the only one who can actually do so, even though each of them gets a chance. Kez Ban does a big, weird finish, getting another standing O from Nicki for some reason. Nicki loved all of them, especially Janelle and Kez Ban. And it's the end of the day, so the judges are like, "Fuck it," and send them all through. At least that's the only explanation I can think of for all of them making it. Either that or they're so exhausted they've lost track of what kind of competition this is and are keeping Kez Ban purely for how many points her name is worth in Scrabble.
Check out an interview with Keith Urban, find out what past runner-up Crystal Bowersox thinks of this season and look back at the best and worst judges ever with our friends at Wetpaint.
M. Giant is a Minneapolis- based writer with a wife, a son, and a number of cats that seems to have settled at around two. Learn waaaay too much about him at Velcrometer, follow him on Twitter, or just e-mail him at m.giant[at]gmail.com.
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