Tuesday. We open with a clip show recap of the series thus far, for the benefit of any recently lapsed Amish folks who have discovered the joys of Circuit City. They cheered. They cried. And cried some more. And cried some more. Rejection is just so much fun to watch. Twelve are left. They've moved from a "tiny studio" to a "massive Hollywood soundstage." Except for the part where they actually moved. Who will win? Who will lose? Who will care?
Credits. We return to the new and improved stage. It looks like the stage for the Oscars mated with a stray set from Babylon 5. It has wings, and eaves and lights and stuff. What? If you want room descriptions, read theTrading Spacesrecaps. It's about twice the size of last year's stage. The seal is still there, but it's now encased in the floor. Ryan "Leathery Gay Manorexic Man" Seacrest comes out to the Seal to greet the cheering audience. What? Yeah, I've run out of nicknames, too. The crown cheers. They hold up signs, some of which I'm pretty sure aren't for Clay. At least one or two. Ryan makes a joke about tanning cream, which doesn't make it any less necessary for him to stop using it immediately.
Ryan introduces the twelve finalists, who file onstage. I'll save the sartorial comments for individual performances, other than to point out that Ruben is wearing yet another 205 jersey. Ryan tells Clay and Ruben that they aren't allowed to stage-dive. Clay does an exaggerated snap, while Ruben makes a great effort not to roll his eyes. I should mention that Ryan is wearing a faded coral t-shirt and a tan sport coat. Awful. Ryan then introduces Simon "Snotty Narcissist" Cowell, Paula "Brain-Damaged Cheerleader" Abdul, and Randy "Fat and Inarticulate" Jackson. I told you I was out of clever nicknames.
Ryan gives us the blah blah blah vote-cakes and reminds us that from here on out, the contestant with the least number of votes will be ejected on Wednesday. And every night will have a theme. Tonight's theme, just as with the first round of finals last season, is Motown. But there's a twist tonight: Ryan feeds us a clip show of the three judges telling kids that they picked the wrong song. Ryan says that the judges can't say that tonight because the composer of the songs is there with them. Well, hi there, Non Sequitur, how you doing? Non Sequitur gets so much work on the reality shows. They didn't say the kids picked a bad song. They picked the wrong song. And Burt Bacharach's involvement last season didn't stop them from criticizing Nikki McKibbin's song choice. Oh, whatever. Anyway, Lamont Dozier, prominent Motown songwriter/composer, is here tonight as a guest judge. Paula and Randy give him a standing ovation, and the crowd joins in. Simon sits, pouting oddly. He's probably jealous of the fact that he'll never, ever have as much influence on music as Dozier did in his time. And Dozier's important historical contributions to music won't stop me from pointing out that it looks like his features are slowly sliding off the front of his face. There's a joke about Lamont wearing one of Ryan's shirts because it's shiny. Shut up, Ryan.
We get a clip show off Dozier's history, as he plays "Heatwave" on the piano in his hotel room. He composed more than seventy top ten hits. He's worked with Diana Ross and Smokey Robinson. And they feel the need to tell us that he's worked more recently with Phil Collins, like that somehow eclipses all the other people he's worked with. The kids all hang out in Lamont's room. The good kids all care about Lamont, while the bad ones merely pretend to care. I'll leave you to decide which kids fall into which category. He gives each of them about five minutes of the time for the purpose of telling them they need to "feel" the song. He tells us that when the songs were written, the country was in a bit of an upheaval, what with the segregation and civil right battles and all. He says that the songs were a form of escape from all the troubles. He says that given our current march toward war, this is the perfect time to look at these songs again. And now, Lance Corporal Joshua Gracin, everybody! Oh, sorry. My mind got a little addled from the show trying to have it both ways. You'd think I'd be used to that. Anyway, the kids all jam out with him and practice for tomorrow night's group sing. When we return to the stage, Lamont is sitting between Paula and Simon. See, they honor him and everything, but they're not going to take the last word away from Simon. Let's not get all crazy here.
Finally, we move on to the performances. First up is Kimberley Locke. Kimberly grew up in the small town of Gallatin, TN. The "small town" thing is going to be a running theme tonight. I think every single contestant except Vanessa blathers on at length about how they grew up in these tiny towns where they were born in a barn and took a buggy and carriage to school, where they still use slates to do their homework on and blah blah blah. And everybody knows everybody else, and they're thrilled that their hometown boy or girl is on the fancy tee-vee and they all gather at the drugstore diner and drink milkshakes and watch them sing. Kim is biracial, if you care. She says that helped make her what she is. Bland and boring? Kim has a family, and they all love each other. They never fight about anything at all, ever. She's been singing all her life. Her music has been influenced by her local choir directors. An incredibly stiff choir director tells us that Kimberley performs with a lot of heart and charisma. Perhaps compared to you, Mr. Stiffy McBornWithoutJoints. Kimberley sings in choir and loves God. She blathers on about how "Somewhere Over The Rainbow" represents something about her journey, but I saw a rather fascinating paper clip on the carpet and missed that part.
Ryan introduces Kimberley onto the stage to sing "Heatwave." She comes out in a rather unflattering red pantsuit. It's sleeveless, so we all see her beefy arms, and the material that should have been used for sleeves is instead attached as panels on her waist, which somehow draws attention to her stomach and ass as well. It's almost like she's actually trying to look bigger than she really is. And it makes her breasts look ridiculously large. And it squeezes them together, creating that unflattering cleavage-as-ass-crack look.
And it seems that Simon's cracks about Kimberley's personality weren't code words about her weight. There's no heat wave here. A lot of noise, and a little hot air -- that's about it. Her voice is bland and a little flat. And she probably shouldn't have picked a song that has a whole verse that goes "Yeah, yeah yeaaaaah!" And the digital flames as background graphic -- yeesh! I can't come up with better snark for it than Simon did, dammit, so I'll leave it to him. Overall, it reminds me of the kind of performance you'd get from a cast member singing on Ally McBeal. And not in a good way.
Judges. Randy says she was good, but he's heard better. But she did her thang. The thang? It was done. Paula asks her how she feels up there. Great. Terrific. Paula agrees with Randy. She says that Kimberley looks beautiful, which should tell you exactly how unflattering the outfit is. Lamont tells her she did a good job and he loved her "energy." Wow, it really has been a long time since he worked with the Motown folks, hasn't it? Simon says, "I don't mean to be rude, but the song stunk." Paula invites Lamont to punch Simon, but he was only kidding about the song. He liked it, but he thought the flames made it look like Kimberley was "doing a Burger King commercial." Heh. Except that for all we know it was product placement. I wouldn't put it past them. Especially considering what they show during the other Kimberly's profile segment. Simon concludes that Kimberley's performance was okay, but not spectacular.
Ryan's still got his little alcove on stage right, and the drinking fountain stools have been recycled from the semifinals so Ryan can ask the kids mind-numbingly stupid questions and give the blah blah blah text-message-cakes. He brings up Simon's comments and calls him the "flaming Simon Cowell." Everybody laughs, because it's hysterical to insult somebody by calling him gay. Oh, wait -- I do that to Ryan all the time. I guess I'm going to have to toss my soapbox away. Ryan asks her a mind-numbingly stupid question about how it went. It went well. Mind-numbing. Ryan gives the blah blah blah text-message-cakes.
Commercials. When we return, it's time for Joshua Gracin. His clip show goes something like this:
From the halls of Montezuma,
To the shores of Tripoli,
We fight our country's battles
In the air, on land and sea.
First to fight for right and freedom
And to keep our honor clean
We are proud to bear the title
Of United States Marines.
Well, that's all I hear while it plays. They don't let you forget for a second that he's a Marine. And he married his high school sweetheart, and they have an adorable little daughter, and they traipse across a meadow, and if you were to cut Joshua Gracin, he would bleed apple pie. And freedom. I swear, his clip show is twice as long as all the other contestants' so that they can have half a dozen military folks tell us how great Joshua is, and have guys chanting marching rhymes about him, and show him and his family walking across that lovely, grassy, photogenic field. The freedom field. Considering the innovative ways the military has found to recruit, I wouldn't be surprised at all if Joshua's entire appearance in this competition is nothing more than a paid promotion by the Marines. They just got the equivalent of a free sixty-second ad on a top-ten primetime show.
Ryan introduces Joshua out to the stage to sing "Baby, I Need Your Lovin'." He's singing the countrified version of the song, which I suppose is probably better than a boy-band version of the song. He strolls around the stage and makes goofy faces as he sings. You know who he reminds me of? David Boreanaz. I think somebody else on the forums made that connection as well. It's like watching Angel sing, except better. It's just as cheesy, but the difference is that David is doing it on purpose. Joshua is dressed in his typical ensemble of a white untucked shirt and jeans, and that hideous medallion which may have been a gift to all the contestants from Paula Abdul. Can't she just stick to being her own fashion disaster? Must she inflict it on others as well? He gets purple abstract patterns as a background that look like the kind of thing you'd see behind the logo in an ad for Lifetime. Overall, he's got an okay voice with an absolutely cheesy presence. American cheese, of course. None of that fancy, stinky French cheese. Or freedom cheese, I guess.
Judges. Randy takes forever to tell Joshua that he liked how he managed to make his personality shine through in a Motown song that he wouldn't really think was suited for him. Paula is wearing the exact same medallion as Joshua, except dangling strangely from the side of her neck, because she's also wearing a pearl necklace. So that must definitely be the medallion she gave them all. Anyway, she loved him and his consistency. Lamont observes that Joshua is no Levi Stubbs, but he likes what he did with the song. Simon opens by telling Joshua that he's a Marine, so he needs to take that "silly necklace" off. He says Joshua would get beaten up for wearing that. I don't know -- that's typically the type of cheesy necklace that Chipster types go for. Simon says that he liked the performance, but he's heard better from Joshua. He adds that he thinks Joshua could stand to lose a few pounds, prompting boos and a million "dawg"s from Randy, who's all, "He's a Marine, yo!" Whatever. Joshua leans over and challenges Simon to a push-up contest. I think we've seen enough of Simon's arms to know that probably won't be a problem. The audience cheers as Joshua drops to the floor and starts doing push-ups, because, you know, civilians are utterly incapable of raising themselves up from the floor without the help of a crane or whatever. And he does, like, six of them. I'm about thirty pounds overweight and I can do six bloody push-ups, so whatever. Ryan has to come out and interrupt to give the blah blah blah vote-cakes because they've run out of time. Then, desperate to be the center of attention, Ryan starts doing push-ups of his own as he tries to introduce Charles Grigsby. Joshua hams it up by putting a foot on the small of Ryan's back and pushing him down. Ryan probably likes that.
Anyway, we cut from this capering over to Charles. He's from Oberlin, where everybody knows everybody, and he's their hometown boy and everybody loves him. Except for the Committee Against Corporate Music at Oberlin College, but their protests have been drowned out by the Organization For Multicultural Reality Show Representation, which is supporting him. Or that's what I assume is going on at Oberlin College. He comes from a large small-town family. He gets a small-town cake with his picture on it. He plays a small-town piano. He loves his small-town mom. He sang in the small-town choir. He works in a small-town grocery store, where everybody loves and supports him. He sings at work. He's smart and hasn't abandoned his job for the show. Small-town fans take photos of their small-town hero singing "Overjoyed" over the small-town grocery store's public address system.
Ryan introduces Charles out to the stage to sing "How Sweet It Is." He's wearing another "cute li'l twelve-year-old boy" outfit of a blue-and-white plaid shirt, blue jeans with the sandblasted front, and a white newsboy cap. He's okay, but not as interesting as he was in the semifinals. His stage presence consists of walking around the stage, bobbing his head like a parrot, and occasionally pointing to people. He can't seem to hold any of the notes steady tonight, but he's not unpleasant to listen to. It's just another charisma-lite performance among many.
Robot Randy says, "Yo!" and that it was good, but not the best he's seen from Charles. Charles insists that he's going to "bring it." He says it five times. He meant to bring it tonight, but he left it on the kitchen table when he was looking for his keys. Paula loved his pre-show profile and his small-town boss. She thinks he did a great job. Lamont says that "How Sweet It Is" is a hard song to sing, and even Marvin Gaye had difficulties with it. The audience laughs, because…I don't know. Lamont says that Charles "wasn't all there" for the song, but he did a good job. Simon says that Charles "got through it," and he should be glad his small-town boss didn't enter the competition, because…I don't know. Charles heads over to Ryan, who begs us not to send Charles back to his awful, terrible job as a stock boy because he'd just have to kill himself, and gives the blah blah blah text-message-cakes.
Commercials. I find it highly unlikely that you'd have to use intimidation to get Simon to endorse something vanilla.
When we return, it's time for Kimberly Caldwell. Kimberly's from Katy, Texas, which is another small town. Tiny. A little dot. ["Not so tiny that it didn't hork up Renee Zellweger." -- Sars] Kimberly's got a sister that she's very protective of. Kimberly's scary mom tells us that guys in Katy are afraid to date Kimberly's sister, because they don't want to deal with Kimberly. And perhaps they're afraid that hanging around Kimberly's scary mom too much will lead to creepy nightmares. It's the pageant mom combination of the overstyled hair (or likely a wig), the drawn-on eyebrows, and the plastic, shiny face that make her so creepy. And the drawn-on eyebrows are about an inch too high above her eye ridge. The overall impression is that she's a poorly manufactured android who may go berserk at any moment and start popping off people's heads.
Kimberly's been a desperate fame whore all her life, and mom's been a desperate fame pimp. She sang in shows in Branson, Missouri as a child. Man, that would screw anybody up. No wonder she's so desperate for attention and love. She doesn't want to have to go back to Branson. When she was fifteen, she gave up singing for a while. Scary Mom says that it was the unhappiest time of Kimberly's life, probably because Scary Mom made her miserable by constantly begging her to get back into performing. Kimberly started singing again at small restaurants, because she was broke. And she used the money to buy a truck. We get a loving, lingering shot of the truck. Why? Because it's a [product-placed truck]. Seriously, there's a commercial for [product-placed trucks] in the middle of Kimberly's profile. She loves her truck. She loves it so much that she wants to marry it. I bet you that's not even her truck. She also got a call from Melissa Etheridge. Perhaps things aren't working out so well for her and Tammy Lynn Michaels? Tammy's going to pull an Anne Heche eventually. I can just feel it.
Uh, anyway, Ryan introduces Kimberly to the stage to sing "Nowhere To Run." Kimberly's top half and bottom half aren't speaking to each other these days. She's got a black sleeveless see-through camisole as a top, and black wrist braces. Then she's wearing tan cargo pants. It's like she's dressed to be one of the sexy babes in the USO tour for our troops in the Middle East. It's a pretty good performance from Kimberly. Unlike Ryan and Nikki from Season One, Kimberly does a good job bringing the song down to a key she can sing without making it sound wretched. She's got the requisite cheesy head-bobbing and hand-pointing stage moves that seem to be all the rage on these shows.
Judges. Randy loved Kimberly's attitude and energy. Kimberly interrupts him (Look at me! Look! I'm Kimberly!) to give a shout-out to the audience. Paula says that Kimberly looks very comfortable onstage. Lamont says she was great. Simon concludes that she's the best so far tonight, which is probably true right now. The best singers haven't performed yet. Kimberly rushes over to Ryan so that he can give the blah blah blah text-message-cakes and so she can play to the cameras some more.
Before going to commercials, we get the [product-placed cola] clip show. This week's segment is about the kids' reactions to seeing the gigantic new set. It's big. They all celebrate the bigness of the stage. Vanessa makes a vaguely sexual statement about its bigness to Corey. I kill myself. The end.
Commercials. When we return, it's time for Rickey Smith. Small town? Check. Everybody knows and loves him? Check. He works as a "male secretary" (his sexist description, not mine) for the music department at his college. He couldn't afford to make the trip on his own, so the school's dean of students arranged to pay for his ticket. The dean, who is Montel Williams's long-lost twin, gushes over how great Rickey is. And since they're showing the school in this segment, he can justify Rickey's plane ticket as a public relations expense. Rickey has a sister, whom he calls "a dork." He says they're both dorks. They are. Sis tells us that Rickey sings to everything. He sings "feeding the ducks" while feeding some ducks. Wow, that's a habit even more annoying than the "Hercules! Hercules! Hercules!" thing. Mom tells us about Rickey singing to his dinner. Rickey gives us a sample of food-related singing. I'm annoyed with him already and we're only getting a couple of seconds of it.
Ryan introduces Rickey to the stage to sing "1 2 3." Rickey heads out wearing a black button-up sweater and white pants so large they could be used as a car cover. His microphone cuts off right at the beginning of the song for about two seconds, which spares me just a moment of his warbling falsetto. But only a moment. His falsetto isn't as bad as Corey's, but still. I don't know what it is about the falsettos on actual Motown singers, but they're not nearly as hard to listen to as it is to as Rickey's. Maybe it's that they have more control or stage presence or something. But Rickey's singing is just unpleasant to me.
Judges. Randy was impressed, dawg, and liked the performance. Paula says it was the perfect song for Rickey's voice, and says he looks great tonight. Lamont agrees and says that Rickey's voice was perfect for the song. Simon says that Rickey's obviously the nicest guy in the competition and that he "motored halfway through," which means…I don't know. Maybe he means he was a little mechanical? Simon adds that he's hating some of the cheesy profiles with the kids and ducks and "homeless." He wants boobies and bloodshed! He wants the Gallagher brothers! He doesn't really. He just wants to whine about it, but he wouldn't be caught dead to anybody really edgy. I mean, they had sex (Frenchie "Mae West" Davis) and violence (Jaered "Billy Budd" Andrews) available to them, and the show freaked out and dumped them. Rickey heads over to Ryan, who blathers on about Rickey's giant pants. Ryan gives the blah blah blah text-message-cakes.
Commercials. When we return, Ryan tells a sex-related joke about Britney Spears and Fred Durst that is definitely not for "general audiences." Also, it's a complete non sequitur, doesn't make any sense, and isn't even funny. Shut up, Ryan. up is Julia DeMato. Small town. Everybody knows her. ! Her mother is wearing more ugly hats. I had about a million jokes about her mom's hat fetish, but then I realized that when you see a woman of a certain age constantly wearing headgear, there's a pretty good chance that there's a reason that has nothing to do with fashion. So I figured I'd back off just a bit. Although I reserve the right to make fun of anything truly ridiculous, like this leopard-print newsboy cap. Julia takes us to the hair salon she worked at before making it on the show. She works on some customer who I hope is new to the salon, because if Julia had any hand in the way that woman's hair looks right now, she should have her cosmetology license revoked. There's a hysterical clip of her singing "The Star Spangled Banner," with some anonymous guy to her turning to give her a "What the hell is this shit?" look during her performance. Some guy at the salon says he's sure Julia's going to be a star and declares, "Eat her up, America!" Can we just chew her up and spit her out? Thanks. The mayor shows up at some school assembly with Julia and declares that if Simon is mean to Julia, he won't be able to drive through Brookfield and Danbury, CT without getting pulled over. You know how cruel those Connecticut police can be. He might be late to the cocktail party at the yacht club! How embarrassing! Julia ridiculously oversings "The Star Spangled Banner" some more. Her family throws her a big party. Whatever.
Ryan introduces Julia to the stage to sing "Where Did Our Love Go?" She heads down to the stage in a black camisole, pink miniskirt, and matching pink high-heel boots. And a choker that looks like it was made from a plastic Halloween spider-web decoration. And her boobs. The love went to her boobs. They're as prominent as ever, although she has the appropriate level of support this week, post-performance comments aside. Actually, I think she dealt with the boob issue the best that she could. They're big boobs. What else is she going to do with them? Anyway, her boobs show more life than her performance, which is probably why they end up the center of attention. She shuffles back and forth in place and sings lifelessly. There was never any love to go anywhere. I was more passionate when I enrolled in my 401k plan at work. The dead have risen, and they're singing Motown.
Judges. Randy says that this was his favorite performance from her. Her thing, needless to say, was done. Paula loves Julia's look. However, she thinks Julia needs to work on "giving it all" on the stage. Or, you know, giving any. Lamont says that the song was meant for Julia, which sounds like a compliment, but given that the song has a total of five notes in it, I'm not so sure. Simon agrees that Julia looks gorgeous, but adds, "Trust me; don't take any bows." Everybody pretends that they don't get it. Julia makes some stupid comment about Simon being mean. Simon insists that he's trying to help her. He says that she was okay, but he wasn't really impressed with her performance. Julia goes over his head to ask the audience what they think. They boo her. No, that would be funny. They cheer, of course. Audiences cheer everything. Except Ryan. Julia heads over to Ryan, who says he understands what Simon was talking about as Julia's dinners bounce her way over to the drinking fountain stools. Ryan hands Julia a little sign with a picture of herself on it to wave as he gives the blah blah blah text-message-cakes.
Commercials. When we return, it's time for Clay Aiken. I'll pause for a moment while some of you collect yourselves. Clay is from Raleigh, North Carolina, which actually isn't a small town. As a kid, Clay had a fetish for weird glasses. Like every other contestant, he was a precocious kid who loved to sing. These attempts to try to sell us on the personalities of each of the kids isn't really working, because they're all exactly the same. Clay's dad died last summer, so they play tinkly piano music to show respect. Clay tells us that the Y.M.C.A. is a really big part of his life. Hee! Hee! Hee! Oh, wait. He meant it in a non-gay-sex-cruising way. He runs camps for kids there. Many of the kids have disabilities. From what I can tell, they were all born with a disorder that turns them into three-foot-tall blurs. Somebody at the show didn't want to bother tracking down a bunch of parents to sign releases for a five-second clip. If you care (and recent polls suggest that you do), Clay's nickname at the Y.M.C.A. is "Gonzo." He looks more like Beaker to me, but what do I know? He lets the kids duct-tape him to the wall. And then they all run away to the strip club down the street now that Clay is helpless to stop them. Incidentally, Clay's hair looks completely different in every single shot of him. He's a special education major who put off his last semester to compete. If he doesn't make it as a singer, he'll teach. A thousand understaffed school principals shriek, "Teach, dammit!"
Ryan introduces Clay to the stage to sing "I Can't Help Myself." Clay has hopped on the arrested development train by wearing an untucked white shirt with stripes, jeans, and blindingly white sneakers. And he also has the tendency to do this strange little march-walk across the stage when he's not performing that reminds me of nothing so much as the younger Von Trapp boy in The Sound of Music. So, yes, this is the Broadway version of "I Can't Help Myself." He's toned down a bit on the overenunciations. And his voice is solid and clear. And he plays to the camera and audience pretty well, even though he does that following-the-camera-as-it-spins-around-him trick. I hated it when Justin did it, and I hate it still. And his smirking creeps me out. I know it's not out of smugness or anything like that, but that makes it seem even creepier. Everybody cheers. There are fifty signs for Clay. We see them all during the performance.
Judges. Randy three-names his praise for Clay and gives him a standing O. Paula praises him for his confidence and stage presence, and how he makes it seem like this show isn't a big deal. Lamont tells Clay he looks like he's already a star, and tells him he's very professional. Simon says that he thought Clay was very good, but also thought it sounded like Motown: The Musical. The audience boos, because they've totally supported Sam Harris's attempts at having a pop career after he won Star Search. Except not, and that's how he ended up on Broadway, where he's probably better off, anyway. Shut up, audience. Clay heads over to Ryan, who points out that everybody got up and was having fun during his performance. Of course, apparently they were ordered to do so by the producers, but there's no mention of that. Ryan points out that he and Clay use the same hairspray. Ryan gives the blah blah blah text-message-cakes.
up is Vanessa Olivarez. Like every toolish television announcer, Ryan overenunciates that Latin-ness of her last name. Vanessa, of course, will have no truck with that small-town bullshit. She's an Atlantan city girl. Vanessa is wacky! And sassy! Even the fourth wall is no match for Vanessa, as she drapes a feather boa on some poor grip guy who is taping her visit to some vintage clothing store. She's so zany! She's the type of person who has a mannequin in her living room and comes to your place to wake you up at three in the morning because she has a sudden urge to go to the beach to see the sunrise. Her family loves her and they love each other and Vanessa loves her little brother, so she wasn't able to escape all the schmaltziness of the other profiles. And she has a lot of dogs. And a pet pig! Named Bacon! Really! She's wacky! Vanessa works at a hair salon, too. That's also a recurring theme tonight. Kimberley Locke's brother worked at one as well, and she visited him there. Vanessa's friends at the salon are a lot more enthusiastic about her success than Julia's. I'm just saying. She's a hair colorist there. Try to contain your surprise. There's a wonderful shot of Vanessa as a kid wearing a multi-colored leotard outfit that just shrieks "1986!" at the top of its lungs. Her parents tell us that she's always had a zany sense of style. As she blathers out being who she is and yadda yadda yadda, we see her arrive at some destination, where a bunch of women have spelled Vanessa's name on their collective butts. Because, you know, that whole butt issue.
Ryan introduces Vanessa to the stage to sing "You Keep Me Hanging On." She's wearing a rather tame (by Vanessa standards) black dress with some lace trim and fuchsia floral print on the bottom. Of course, she's made up for all that conservatism with her hair, which looks like a street map of Morocco. It has winding parts all over the place, and between the parts, the hair has been gelled straight up. But her voice is great as usual. She's little off in parts, but she's stronger and more energetic than any of the other women so far. And despite her wacky persona, she doesn't really ham it up on stage during the performance.
Judges. Randy says she looked great, and was a little pitchy. But the thing? She did it. Paula agrees on the pitchy part, which I really don't understand, given the quality of the other women's performances, but whatever. She loves Vanessa's pig, whose middle name is apparently "Bits." Well, that's a useful observation. Lamont simply describes her as "very good." Simon says again that Vanessa reminds him of Bette Midler. He makes a thoroughly bizarre speech about how he sees Vanessa as an "entertainer," and that they're looking for somebody they think would have a long-term musical career. Meaning that he doesn't see Vanessa fitting that description. Because, you know, Bette was such a flash in the pan. Simon's comments, taken all together, just make no sense. They're not looking for an "entertainer"? Because it will take one to sell the crappy-ass music they seem to be coming up with for the winner. And neither Simon nor 19 Entertainment has done anything so far to lead me to believe that they're actually looking for long-term anything. There's certainly nothing in Simon's résumé of representation that has "long-term" stamped on it. The audience boos, mildly, unlike their vehement defense of Clay. Vanessa heads over to Ryan, who points out that Bette was pretty successful as far as entertainers go. He gives us the blah blah blah text-message-cakes. Ryan then asks Vanessa to read the cue cards to send them to the break. Vanessa melodramatically responds, "Ryan, I'm an a real artist, not a performing monkey [Shout-out! Shout! Out!] like you, so why don't you read your own scripts." Then she laughs and makes "I'm kidding!" gestures and anybody who thought she actually meant this is too stupid to vote for anybody, anywhere.
Commercials. When we return, Ryan has to reaffirm to everybody that Vanessa was reading a script. She's not really a big diva. Then Ryan asks us if we want to "feel a little Corey Clark." Good god! Ew! I just threw up a little bit in my mouth. In Corey's clip show, he sounds like he's stoned as he tells us that he sucked at school, like he sucks at singing and manners, and his teachers had to help him. He was in ROTC for a while, but couldn't hack it. Corey's parents were shocked to see Corey's idiot behavior on Glendale. In an attempt to make Corey even a slightly sympathetic human being, they tell us that Corey was really sad when his grandfather died. Because, you know, people don't normally care when their beloved relatives die, so this behavior is somehow special. It seems that Corey's grandfather accomplished quite a lot in is life. He even received an award from President Clinton. It's Corey's dad who explains all this, of course. Corey, sounding like he's fighting just to stay awake, says he had gotten all his publicity for almost blowing his chance to succeed, so now he has to change his ways. He goes to some elementary school and sings for the kids. Man, they really had to reach to make a profile for him, didn't they? It was actually a profile of Corey's grandfather.
Ryan introduces Corey to the stage to sing "This Old Heart Of Mine." He's dressed like he just came by from a basketball game in his sleeveless powder-blue shirt and white sweatpants. Sweatpants! He's on television in sweatpants! And he's wearing Paula's medallion, because he's a kiss-ass, along with some other crappy necklace. He's got his hair in cornrows, which is a definite improvement.
Yum, yum Bumblebee, Bumblebee Tuna!
I love Bumblebee, Bumblebee Tuna.
Yum, yum Bumblebee, Bumblebee Tuna!
Love a sandwich made with Bumblebee.
Oh, did you think I was kidding in my recaplet that I had given up suck for Lent? I've decided to replace all of Corey's songs in my recaps with commercial jingles from the days of yore. They're vastly more entertaining. And how can anybody stand that wretchedly unpleasant falsetto? He makes Rickey Smith sound like Jim Nabors. And he can't hold a note steady either. And his breath control and phrasing is awful. And he sucks. Shut up, Corey. The audience screams when he slowly spins around along with the lyrics. Shut up, audience.
Shut up, judges. They all love him. All of him. I hate everything. Idiot Randy says he didn't know Corey could sing so high. He seems to think that he sang lower in the semifinals, which just goes to prove that they aren't even really listening to him. Paula describes Corey's girly voice as "refreshing." Lamont compares Corey to Smokey Robinson. But sadly, it's in a good way, not in a more appropriate "you can't hold a candle to that man," way. Simon completes the delusion-fest by saying that Corey is great and he loves Corey's wild side. Of course, Corey doesn't really have a wild side. He has a stupid side that makes dumb decisions. The cynical part of me thinks that one of the reasons Simon loves Corey is because he clearly isn't very smart and will probably be easily manipulated. Which almost makes me feel sorry for Corey, but then he sings, and all is lost. Corey heads over to Ryan, who repeats the judges' lies and gives the blah blah blah text-message-cakes. And then he tells a joke about Simon masturbating. I think Frenchie singing while entirely naked on stage would actually add class to this show sometimes.
Commercials. When we return, it's time to double the awful with a performance by Carmen Rasmusen. She's from a small town in Utah. And everybody knows her. And she loves her parents. And she tells her mom everything. Carmen is like a character from a pre-teen book written in the '70s. Her family is all blonde and creepily wholesome. Of course. Oh, and Carmen yodels. We actually did see her in the audition rounds, but only for a second of her yodeling for Ryan. She goes to a school where everybody is blonde and has creepy smiles. She's also a dancer in some dance company. They go take dance lessons in New York. Her choir instructor loves her. Her English teacher loves her. She is the most boring person on the face of the earth.
Ryan introduces Carmen to the stage to sing "You Can't Hurry Love." Oh, Carmen. This is what happens when innocent girls try to look sexy. They overdo it and end up looking a little trashy. The shiny bright red lipstick is too much. Her whole face is too shiny, like they covered it with a glaze. She's wearing too much shiny blue eye shadow. And to make it even more amusing, her outfit doesn't match the look. She's just wearing a black blouse and red clam-diggers. Well, her singing is better than it was last week, although I'd be hard pressed to figure out a way for it to be worse. She's still got an awful vibrato, and there's still a strange mechanical echoing to her singing, and her voice breaks about ten times in the performance, and she's got no soul or passion or personality, and her enunciation sucks, and she sounds rather nasal, and she's terribly boring. But other than that, it's a great performance.
Judges. Randy thinks it was her best performance. Somebody in the audience screams in support. That's just fucking scary. That scream had more personality than Carmen's whole performance. Paula agrees with Randy. Lamont gives a bland "very good." That's the closest he'll get to actually telling somebody that he or she sucked. Simon says that her performance "justified [his] pick," causing a collection of blonde girls behind him to start shrieking. They all have make-up as bad as Carmen's. Those must be her friends. Ryan asks her if the performances are getting any easier. They are. Thanks for playing another round of Stupid Interviews. Ryan gives the blah blah blah text-message-cakes.
Commercials. When we return it's time for Trenyce. Yay! Trenyce! She's from Memphis, so she's another one of the small-town exceptions. However, she's still very close to her family and loves them all and has been singing since she was a child and blah blah blah. Trenyce has suspended her nursing school education to compete. Mom says she wasn't happy at first, but Trenyce said she'd go back to school if she didn't make it. And then she didn't make it. And then she got called back for the wild card round. She acts like she wasn't told in advance that she was coming back. She says her name and picture just showed up on the screen at the end of the Round Four show, and that's how she knew. They must have told her in advance. That makes no sense. Whatever. Then Paula picked her for the wild card slot. And then Al Green shows up out of nowhere to tell us that he loved her rendition of "Let's Stay Together." See? See? It's not just me. It's not! Did he come out of the woodwork for Justin? No. Okay, I'll stop now.
Ryan introduces Trenyce out to the stage to sing "Come See About Me." She heads out wearing a white bustier, a black dress that has some weird-ass mesh thing at the bottom, a silver belt, and a black newsboy cap. It sounds ridiculous, and it sort of is, but it's sort of pretty, too. Anyway, her version of the song played in my head for the rest of the week, which usually means I really liked it. Even though I often have awful songs (like Justin Timberlake's wretched "Cry Me A River") on eternal loop in my brain. Her voice is generally solid, though there are a couple of flutters in the end. She has tons of stage presence and charisma. Okay, she has a rather large mouth and prominent gums that cause her to look a little scary when she smiles. But I can get over that, and so can you. The audience cheers her surprisingly loudly for somebody who hasn't gotten much screen time. She gets a standing ovation from the judges -- except for Simon, of course.
Judges. Randy loved her, and praises her for bringing her own originality to the song. Paula says Trenyce reminds her of Diana Ross, and she can't imagine the competition without her. Lamont says she made the song hers, and thanks her for creating a new rendition. Simon begrudgingly congratulates Paula for championing her, and tells Trenyce her performance was outstanding. She heads over to Ryan. Does she treat the competition any differently because she's a wild card? What a dumb-ass question. How exactly would she manage a comparison? She manages to come up with a response about going out and having fun and whatever. Ryan gives the blah blah blah text-message-cakes.
Our final contestant is Ruben "205" Studdard. He's representin' Birmingham, yo! He calls his brother "a fathead." He's been singing all his life. His family loves him. Everybody loves him. He sang all the time. His brother used to beat him up in order to get him to stop singing. People cheer Ruben. He loves Birmingham. Birmingham loves Ruben. I think we've driven this issue so far into ground that soon he's going to have to get new shirts with one of China's area codes on them. Or whatever they have in the place of area codes. The governor of Alabama declares March 11 to be Ruben Studdard Day. Ruben is wearing one of those 205 shirts to a meeting with the governor. He says he's really "krunk" about the award. Wait a minute. Isn't "krunk" a made-up slang term invented on The Simpsons in order to make fun of made-up slang? We're through the looking glass, people. He jokes that there's no school on March 11 because of the holiday.
Ryan introduces Ruben to the stage to sing another version of "Baby, I Need Your Lovin'." He heads out to the stage in a black and gray "205" shirt. See, that's the formal version of the shirt. The red and blue one is the sporty version. The green and white one is the outdoor party version. Everybody gets up and starts clapping, because they were ordered to do so by the producers. You can actually see members of the audience looking over to the right to somebody for some sort of cue. If it weren't for the fact that these kids sign away pretty much all their rights just to be on the show, I'm sure they'd have been sued by now for the way things get manipulated. Anyway, Ruben's his typical self. I think he's good, but not as great as the judges seem to think. He's got some breathiness intruding into his singing. And he only sings the first half of the chorus, replacing the second half with extending, warbling "yeahhhhhhhhs," like he's run out of interest in the actual words. And he's still doing that reach out to the camera. Still, it's a pretty good performance. All the judges -- except for Simon -- give him a standing ovation.
Judges. Randy gives Ruben another standing O and dawgs him about making the song his own. Paula loves his voice and his personality. Lamont says Ruben did a fabulous job, and he loves hearing guys like him sing his songs. Simon takes about .37 seconds to praise Ruben and then spends the rest of his time pimping Kelly Clarkson's upcoming album. He's all class. I mean, it's not like they aren't going to take huge chunks of time in upcoming episodes to devote to pimping that album. But he does it in order to sort of mention Kelly and Ruben in the same breath in the same context, so I guess it is complimentary toward Ruben. Ruben heads over to Ryan and complains about the "little booty chairs" they have. Ryan gets up to let him sit on both stools, and then they joke about Ruben Studdard Day some more. Ryan gives the blah blah blah text-message-cakes. And after one more commercial break and clip show from the performances, Ryan reminds us that somebody is getting voted off, and the lines are open, and vote vote vote!
Wednesday. If you don't believe me about this show's ties to dark forces, check out Angel. Cordelia is possessed by the Melodramatic Announcer. Seriously, people. Anyway, Melodramatic Announcer melodramatically announces that somebody gets voted off tonight. And Charles is wearing yet another newsboy cap. And Ruben is wearing yet another 205 shirt.
Credits. Ryan rushes onto the stage to greet the cheering crowd. Somebody holds a sign up declaring love for him. I believe it's a girl, so she's shit out of luck. He tells us all that he's going to be breaking somebody's heart tonight. Yes, we just saw her in the audience. Oh, he means the voting-out thing. The kids all hang out on the left side of the stage on couches. Ryan introduces the judges again. People cheer. Ryan heads over to the kids. People cheer. Ryan slips again and tells us that more than 13 million people voted last night. I thought we had that fixed. It's 13 million votes, not 13 million people. And we were doing so well with that.
We get a clip show of last night's theme, guest judge, and performances. They start with Corey sucking. Shut up, Corey. Why did they pick him first? Why? Lamont said nice things. Simon said mean things. Josh challenged Simon to a push-up contest. People sang. Interestingly, the wild card finalists got the most praise. Except they don't show any of the praise for Clay. And it's bad enough that the producer made everybody stand up and cheer for Ruben's performance, but it's even worse when they play it back like it was some sort of mass spontaneous decision on the part of the audience. How tacky. Why don't you just crown him right now?
We return to Ryan standing in the audience. Somebody in the audience is waving a red piece of poster board around. I can only assume that there's something written on it, but you can't read it because whatever color they chose isn't black and therefore is totally illegible. Note to future audience members: The words need to stand out, not the thing you write them on. The person sitting to the person with the red card is waving a fuchsia card that is similarly unreadable.
Anyway, it's time for the group sing. Why sing something new, when we can repeat something again. All the kids sing "Heatwave." The girls sing the verses, while the boys sing that background counter-melody, or whatever it is. Eventually all the kids pair up with somebody of the opposite gender in a line across the stage. They pretend that they're five couples singing to each other, except for Trenyce, who ignores Corey utterly, and good for her. Also, I have doubts that they're actually singing. I see lip movements that don't match up to the song. Anyway, just like most of the kids, it's okay, but boring. Somebody has a sign up in support of Randy. Why is beyond me.
Commercials. When we return, it's time to start with the cutting people. We're back to the system of bringing out the three who polled the worst, rather than the three best. Everybody loved Ruben just a little too much -- including the voters. He's safe. Vanessa was zany and energetic. The voters apparently hate that sort of thing. She's in the bottom three. She looks a little disappointed. Clay kisses her as she heads out to the stage. Clay is safe. Like that's a surprise. Kimberly Caldwell got lots of praise, and the voters loved her. Rickey was meh, but he's safe. Julia is meh, and the voters agreed. She's in the bottom three. So the four people know that they're safe. That would be Trenyce, Joshua, Charles, and Corey. Shut up, Corey. And hold your head up! So that means either Kimberley Locke or Carmen is joining the other two at the bottom of the barrel. After these commercials.
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When we return, it's time to find out the third potential bootee. No, it's not Carmen. It's Kimberley. Kimberley gives Carmen a brief peck on the cheek and heads out to join the three. Ryan asks the judges what they think about this pick. Strangely, nobody seems to think there's anything at all unusual about Vanessa being out there. What are they on this season? I'm sure there would have been a huge uproar last season if Vanessa had ended up on the chopping block so soon. Simon snarks that he thinks there should have been five people in the bottom three, but America got it right. The audience boos him, because they don't want anybody to be eliminated at all and just want to see the kids singing every night forever and ever. Shut up, audience. Then Ryan reveals one of the girls who is safe until the round. It's Kimberley Locke, who claps and jumps up and down and cheers as though she has actually just won and didn't just narrowly avoid getting cut. She does realize that she's going to have to go through this every week, doesn't she? She totally ignores the other two women and heads back to the sofas.
So that leaves Vanessa and her black strapless dress and Julia in her hideous pink baby-doll camisole and jeans. One will be ejected. After this commercial break.
Yeah, so we're back, and no, it's not Julia getting ejected. It's Vanessa. Vanessa! In the first round! Vanessa! What is wrong with people! Carmen got more votes than Vanessa? Corey? What the hell? Julia actually looks more horrified by the news than Vanessa does, for which I give her a little credit. The audience boos. Julia gives Vanessa a hug and then trudges back to the sofa as if she were on her way to death row.
We get a final Vanessa clip show. She's wacky! Zany! Wild! And she has a big butt. And a pig! She tells us that she wants people to remember her for being fun, but for also having talent.
Back on stage, they don't bother with judges' comments, thank god. Vanessa thanks all the fans and sings the show out with another rendition of "You Keep Me Hanging On." She still kicks ass. Stupid people. Fine, vote for Corey. See if I care.
Oh, I'm kidding. Please don't vote for Corey. Please? I'll be your best friend. Please? Wait, come back! I don't think you're stupid! Dammit.