Bill Maher is having an acid flashback in the audience, that's the first thing you notice. The second is that LaKisha is high throughout the entire hour. On marijuana. Those two things are number two and number three on the list of awesome, awesome things about this episode. The first most awesome thing is LaKisha's singout, which is triumphant, cheeky, strong, and fabulous. I can't remember liking her this much in a while. Also, it means Blake is safe. Ryan, Paula, and Simon all flirt with Jessica Alba, which is uncomfortable three different ways at least. Ryan also flirts with Uncle Nigel; the gambit works and Simon kisses his ass all night, with Terri Seymour looking on with lockjaw and a bottle of pills at the ready.
Barry Gibb does a scary speech like a movie with trolls or armies in it, and then does an even scarier thing -- performing in a hall of mirrors where he's impersonating somebody impersonating Jimmy Fallon impersonating Barry Gibb -- in very tight pants. Ryan does some seriously worthless filler in the Farmer's Market, then calls it worthless filler: apparently, some common people like one person, some commoners like another contestant, some are undecided. Fascinating. Pink shows up for no damned reason whatsoever and gets her beer gut all over my beautiful life, vomits on herself, then masturbates to Bumfights.
Sanjaya, Syndrome and Phil will all be on the tour, but I still want to go this year. Pimpmercial is a Hard Day's Night homage; everybody on Earth looks good filmed in black and white, or running from tweener crowds. An endless Bee Gees medley showcases Blake's harmonies, Jordin's joie de vivre, Melinda's total lack of interest in the other Idols or the audience, and LaKisha's total 420 still happening. We see that they all had things happen to them and pictures were taken throughout their lives; then, they refuse to stop the group hug for Ryan to start killing them off one by one. This activates his serious OCD stagecraft thing and he almost kicks Jordin in the head, it's great. Jordin's safe, and Melinda's safe, and that's boring; Simon says LaKisha's going home, and then she does. Awesomely. Way to go, lady.
Blake grits his teeth inside a false smile; he's wearing a faux-tuxedo t-shirt, evoking something new but not trying too hard. It's not all that flattering. Melinda and Jordin are glowing, LaKisha might boot. Ryan's in gray-on-white with a matching tie; Bill Maher is having an acid flashback in the audience. This is American Idol. At first I thought LaKisha was getting a gimp eye or having a stroke or something, her inability to look at anything, but I realized soon enough that she was stoned off her ass. That's awesome. A bunch of people I don't know, some girl that looks like a Peldon sister or possible Casey from Laguna Beach, the judges sitting in random chairs pretending to be each other: Simon claps like a seal, Paula rubs her collarbones like they're nipples. Amazing. Ryan sticks his foot in it about how Simon's breasts are larger than Paula's, then backtracks and eats a bunch of shit, and then they all talk at length about how they want to fuck Jessica Alba, like the liars they are. It's weird. Miles to go before you sleep, Butterfly. Nigel and Ryan flirt cutely about how they're the only ones that know who's going home, and then Ryan and the judges stare at each other for an infinitely long time. Ryan tells Simon how wonderful he was last night; he was, he always is. More awkward silences and nobody knows how much he means it, and Ryan gets really sincere, like an Africa amount, staring down at him, there are nervous chuckles, and then as we're going to the recap package from last night Simon says quite clearly, mic still live: "What! I like him!"
Then there's some scary music like Lord Of The Rings and Barry Gibb sounding like that movie and talking about how the kids have to take a magical ring to the fires of Mordor or some shit, and then we watch Blake doing some vocal entendres, pissing off Simon, and then singing the best thing ever. LaKisha and Barry negotiated a working relationship, Simon retaliated by refusing to awkwardly kiss her some more. Her songs were okay, the second one was better. Oh, to have "Stayin' Alive" as your singout song. Jordin sang that we didn't know what it was like to love somebody, then rocked all over the damn place but the judges hated it. Melinda, we're told, was supposedly not that great the first time, but then she pandered egregiously in the second round in a totally adorable dress. Simon loved it because Melinda smells like so much money.
Ryan visits the LA Farmer's Market where he talks to bunch of women with their breasts all in different places. Nobody's opinions are that interesting, and Ryan basically force-feeds them to the people anyway. At one point -- this is the most awkward episode from start to finish in the history of this show -- he asks a lady, "How deep is your love?" in a strange voice, and just as the woman begins to be fully creeped out, he goes, "...For Jordin?" Nope, still creepy. Some other lady calls him "Brian" and there are little kids who give less than a single flying flip about American Idol, some people were not impressed with Blake, other people were. Blah blah. More fun is made of Paula's clapping style; a German lady loves LaKisha. The little kids find a way to care less: the little girl, when asked who should win, replies "The Lakers." I love that kid! Another old lady tells Ryan that he's adorable and she doesn't care what Simon says about him. There's a temporary hollowness in Ryan's brash exterior: he cares, even if the lady doesn't. It's all so worthless but Ryan fixes it: back onstage he fully goes, "You can tell we have a lot of hour to fill tonight." Straight-faced he says this. There were 45 million votes last night: glad they didn't come with money attached this week, or a bunch of people would die of AIDS, or something. And I think Pink is coming at some point.
Pink is the most rugged, powerful, impressive argument against individuality that I can imagine. Pink is like, you can SAY you don't care what people think, or that you conversely admire people that don't care what people think. And then God hands you Pink and is like, "For real, though?" Every couple years he pulls her out of the fridge and goes, "Smell this." Pink is the expired milk of God, and He wants you to smell her. Beer sweat. Jalapeno poppers, off-brand lubricant, and tennis shoes that have been left out in the rain by an anonymous person. Snips and snails.
Go to the tour. I totally would this year, actually, and not just to stalk Blake. Ryan, I know you're reading this: send me five tickets to the Austin tour. In return, I will say nice things about you on a nearly constant basis, how about that? ["I knew you had an angle!" -- Joe R] We see all of the people on the tour: Melinda's barnstorming "Have A Nice Day," Sanjaya's Little Crying Girl, Gina singing "Paint It Black," Sligh sucking, Syndrome sucking, LaKisha refusing to leave until she tells you something or another, Chris R missing the point entirely, Jordin causing you to weep real tears, Phil going down in a Blaze Of Glory. Blake, reinventing. I want to get Blake and Thomas Dolby together in a room. And then I want to break out the tequila.
Pink will now be singing "Since U Been Gone," in essence, while wearing that strips-of-cloth outfit from The Fifth Element, black with gross white sheer netting between the strips. You can almost make out her testicles, slowly descending. Her heels are like eight inches, easy. She's still got a nose ring and it still looks like a zit; she does a shantih shantih move at one point, it's vile but she does grow some extra arms, so that's interesting. Everybody onstage shows a lot of hustle, but only the backup singers are actually making sounds. It's -- oh, that bit was nice. This song isn't so bad, really. And I will be making out with the drummer post-haste, so that's another point in her favor. God, Pink. Pink makes me feel like I've been injected with narcolepsy, in a restaurant where they don't wash their hands. She does some Jordin emoting at the end, and is very pretty for a second, then it goes away again. I had no idea she was stunningly beautiful: she is solely to blame for this oversight. Then she breaks a beer bottle or something tacky. Gets into a custody battle or is arrested for drunk and disorderly or goes on E! to talk about her creepy bisexual vibe.
Stupid commercial about the dad scaring the boy dating his daughter because women are property and that's the only way American fathers can possibly deal with the fact of their daughter's sexuality, by acting horrific and blustery and weak. Just because something happens in real life all the time doesn't make it any more okay. Let's keep rising, please. The pimpmercial is really well done: it's Hard Day's Night with them singing "You Really Got Me," a song I don't really care for, but you know who looks good in black and white? Yeah, everybody, but you know who looks especially delightful in black and white? Blake Lewis. How did you know? Also Joe R, whose strange doppelganger in a Sligh wig is among the tweens chasing our Idols. Only the car is in color, like that little girl in that movie, and then at the end somebody's blue jean jacket is also in color. They do the fakeout with the newspapers, they do the "climb through the car" trick, they rock out for awhile and it's very cute. This is my favorite one this year, I think, by a long shot. Ryan agrees, telling them it was some of their "best work." He's so real.
Out in the audience, a lady from Phoenix is so gorgeous and won ten thousand dollars; Ryan compliments her on spending it on a lovely hairstyle. The Challenge this week: "What happened two weeks ago on this stupid show?" Carrie went to Africa. The pictures go like this: Ruben being smarmy, Carrie being a robot, Bo looking mentally compromised. Speaking of: Paula's boobies jiggle madly as she taps the table and Simon finally makes her stop. I don't think I've ever typed the word "boobies" before. Well, on a calculator. Not, like, in a document. The judges are all very funny and giggly and warm; then there's the threat of a medley. Melinda takes center stage first, of course, with the three others in back in order of height, looking delicious. She sings about "emotion taking me over" but her mic is not alive until they kick in with their harmonies. Blake's a wondrous harmonizer, buddy, even when he doesn't know the words. Maybe he's stoned too. It's quite good really; they don't usually harmonize that well on this show because it's not a skill they need to win. I got static for saying this was the best Top Six a while back, but I do stand by it: the show gets less amateur every year as it believes more and more in its own credibility as a pop culture product. When you get these ratings you're allowed to raise the bar. ["Also: this totally is the best Top Six ever. That's not even worth arguing." -- Joe R] My favorite Bee Gees song, "Too Much Heaven," is up: Blake gets the camera, then Melinda. The harmonies suffer. I love this song so much, but you had to know that. The very concept of too much heaven, of being denied paradise except in the act of connection. Love as a process of timeless salvation; love as the pass that puts you at the front of the line, every time, forever. I mean, man. I love me some Barry Gibb. "I can see beyond forever/ Everything we are will never die..."
Ryan asks Melinda why she persists in being only merely amazing, rather than doing whatever is on the level above that. Like where the rainbows shooting out of her ass would become real, actual refracted-light rainbows, in this scenario. Melinda's like, "My goal in these proceedings is to be consistently wonderful. Apparently I need to up my game. Does that sound right to you?" They talk about how the Top Three are going home week, a part of the show I've never really cared about one way or the other, but really, all of them are going home, in actuality, if you think about it. Also this week, they relate, they went to see a sneak of the new Fantastic Four movie, meaning yes, a commercial inside the commercial inside the commercial that is this show. We're not recapping that except to note that: the Silver Surfer looks bollocks, the Thing still looks bollocks, Jessica Alba is still someone I admire but not someone who should be in that movie, and yes, even I would sleep with Jessica Alba, because she is physically ridiculous. But my birthday resolution was No Having Sex With People Just Because It's Funny, and I'm sticking to that. I'm trying to grow? Like as a person? Blake refers to himself as "Johnny Torch" (nope) and LaKisha calls herself "Lady Unh!" It takes them a while to get to the bottom of that: she's imitating the sound of Jessica Alba grunting as she moves things around with the invisible powers of her mind. LaKisha's pretty cool, you know. They talk about how they're the Fantastic Four, and that's actually a nice little synergistic coincidence. Lady Unh!
Back in the theater, the stars of the film are in the audience. Well, three of them; Jessica's chair is empty because duh, she's invisible. The Invisible Woman. I have doubts, and always have, regarding the wisdom of taking the most attractive person in the universe and then casting her as a person whose main power is how you cannot see her. I do question that. Ryan pretends some more that Jessica Alba is his fantasy and like, he has to have met her before now, I don't know, when all Ryan is saying is lies, why nitpick the logic of the lies. She's wearing a pink and brown '60s print and looks boombastic, but she could be wearing actual Pink and she'd still be the hottest thing on earth. Jessica takes Ryan's mic and gets very Dakota Fanning for a while, which is spooky, all about how she wants us to go see the movie multiple times. Madame, I shall not. My friend Aaron liked the first one, so I might see that. But none of this Silver Surfer madness, I cannot do it. She starts to digress about how she loves American Idol and Ryan's like, "You're done, Alba." He then gays up about how cute she is with blonde Susan Storm hair, and she's game: "You like blondes, huh?" Reed Richards fully goes, "Yeah, right." This whole time, by the way, Ryan's been petting Reed Richards like a long-haired housecat, which I mean, so would we all. Reed Richards grins up at Ryan and thinks about how sometimes, very rarely, gaydar translates across the Atlantic, and this is one of those times.
Blake is from Bothell, WA, LaKisha's from The Regrettable Flint, Michigan, Melinda's from Nashville basically, Jordin's from Glendale, AZ. Which is hilarious but only if you're from Arizona: basically, Glendale is a Jordin Factory, full of old people. There's literally not a single person in Glendale between the ages of 18 and 60. I don't know where they go during those years. But for Jordin's 2.5 kids/racially harmonious family, they're all single children. Melinda and LaKisha are from single-parent families; we already know about how wonderful and marvelous Blake's dad is. Jordin laughs about how she looked the same as a child as she does today. The irony is so very thick and heavy, but it's Jordin, she's not going to understand why that's funny. Melinda talks about her invention, by way of a Mickey Mouse obsession, of the Afro Puffs. It's the cutest thing: tiny little Doolittle, rockin' rough and stuff. Blake was apparently born with that wonderful smile. LaKisha...is a disaster, kind of, at this point. She employs the phrase "nappy fro" several times, earning my enmity and Imus's; she babbles about how she used to talk in school and then her mom would hit her; I don't know what else she was said because we're fast-forwarding. I can't. Jordin talks about her total ADD and how at one point she was assigned a seat between two filing cabinets, to shut her up. That's my girl. Blake also was trouble, of course, even getting kicked out of choir a couple of times. That explains it: I do love the bad boys.
Conversely, Doolittle never did anything wrong in her entire life except for one unfortunate hairstyle involving beaded braids coming down her forehead like Boy George. They talk about who in their families inspired them to get into music, blah blah, the usual. LaKisha again is troubling talking about how her mom was not supportive and it was actually her grandma. LaKisha's mom sounds kind of like a dick, tonight. Blake's family is all about the music, but Jordin's a musical black sheep in hers. "It's just a gift," she says simply, and there's no way to spin the naïveté of that, so I'm not going to try. LaKisha then finds my one remaining nerve and commences jerking it back and forth, talking about how "everybody has a story," but "honest to God," nobody knows what she's been through. Which I'm sure all those statements are true, but the fact of your saying it means a bunch more stuff. That's a victim stance and it makes me very angry. Not what's happened to you, but what you did , and what you're doing now, and what gives you meaning, what evokes your passion, what obstacles you're going to be overcoming . "Everybody has a story"? If that's true, complete the fucking thought: the only story you're responsible for is yours, and nobody else is responsible for it but you, so it's not currency. It's a story. It gives your life meaning and informs your existence, but it doesn't make you special. You're already special. Being mistreated doesn't make you special: it's about what you did then. Nobody owes you a damn thing, ever, except for you, and when you bait-and-switch yourself out of that power, you're not hurting anybody but you. And nobody fucking cares. And you did that, to yourself, for no reason. I lost a LOT of respect for LaKisha here. She gets it back by the end, with her stoned self rocking out, but dude, stop pushing my buttons.
American Idol is the biggest thing that's ever happened to LaKisha; she's made it far enough that her life and her daughter's life will be substantially better as a result. That's wonderful, and it's beautiful, and it's so big you can't contain it, but you can't be forced into your crisis like that. You have to choose to grow, and that's a decision almost nobody's strong enough to make, so good luck to her in her future ventures. Doolittle is like, "The awesome thing about American Idol is that my whole career is a process of having great big dreams and then making them come true. So now I'm on this ridiculous show, out of billions of people, and it's coming true. By my calculations, therefore, my dream is going to involve becoming an astronaut, or possibly Julia Louis-Dreyfus. I'll let you know." Blake's thoughts are content-free; Jordin starts out on an even keel, talking about how she's basically the same age as this show so it's a big deal to her, and the weird inside-outside effect of being on the TV is weird, and people are actually watching her, on the TV, and that's literally all she's ever wanted in her life is to be on this show, and that's when she pretty much loses it. It's big. She is just wonderful, this girl. Ryan's enchanted, of course, and on stage you've got Jordin still looking nervous and Melinda pretending to be nervous, and even his apologies seem extra sincere this week as he kicks to commercial again: "It's the network, it's not my fault, BRB."
During the commercial, a big group hug has broken out onstage. Ryan's not unsympathetic, but he does need to keep things moving. They flatly refuse to line up onstage for him for the results, and he finally says, heartbreakingly, "We have to." After a beat he's like, "Fuck it. Lights down, now." He asks them to shuffle around so we can see LaKisha, and they open up for her and finally drift apart. Everybody comes off really well in this moment, for some reason. You can tell Ryan's caught between two things here, and loves them both. It's nice. So: LaKisha's "Stayin' Alive" lacked energy and was weird; her "Run To Me" was an improvement but left her vulnerable. Melinda's "Love You Inside Out" was solid, and her "How Can You Mend A Broken Heart" was a crowd-pleaser. Blake's "You Should Be Dancing" was corny, different, and/or terrible; "This Is Where I Came In" was unnecessary, unoriginal, tuneless, and/or the thing that made me believe again. Jordin's "To Love Somebody" was a hit, though her "Woman In Love" caused Randy to call her -- "Shocker," Ryan vamps -- pitchy, Blake and Ryan and I all loved it, Paula loved it, Simon told her it wasn't that great. But Jordin's safe. She scoots off to Suffragette City with a harried wave to the audience. Ryan segues to discussing America's Big Band or whatever it's going to be called by noting that Barry Gibb thought they were excellent as a group, like they should be a band. How great would that be? The tagline: "We'll give you the stage -- do you have the chops?" Needs work.
Now Barry Gibb. This should be weird. He comes out of the FANT ASIA lights in tight jeans and a black shirt and...my exact hairstyle as of this moment. I'll be getting it cut tomorrow, actually. And then he sings and well, this is embarrassing. This is like watching Jimmy Fallon and Justin Timberlake pretending to be Barry and Robin, but it's actually happening. It's not a joke or a skit, it's actually all too real. I don't know how to describe it, other than: exactly like The Barry Gibb Talk Show, but real. I hate the words of this song, I said before -- he's singing "To Love Somebody" -- but it bothers me less when it's him, because he's old and weird. Perhaps his pain does signify in ways that a younger person couldn't get away with claiming. You couldn't possibly know what it's like for me to love you, because you haven't loved, because only I can possibly love this deeply, because I am emo. I've got boy trouble, kids: You can tell by my sudden desire to slap Barry Gibb, a man I would normally carry across this great nation in my arms, if he only asked. I could turn on a dime right now, seriously. The magic has left the room and all we've got is aging disco hipsters now. What I wouldn't give for Bublé right now. Never thought I would say that.
LaKisha's pot haze, Doolittle's sparkling joy, Blake's futuristic message of hope. Melinda's safe, of course, and so...LaKisha and Blake. One of them is going home this week, the other's probably going home week. I have no illusions about that. Although apparently I am not the only fan Blake's got, so maybe I'm just feeling solipsistic and in love and I'm underestimating his voting block. You Don't Know What It's Like To Love Blake Lewis The Way I Love Blake Lewis, I guess is the name of the mistake I'm making there. I don't know how on earth you're supposed to love him otherwise. I don't see that he's leaving us a whole lot of options, but again: don't universalize your experience. Everybody's got a story. Randy says the words "I don't know" approximately eighty-seven times, about which one's going home this week. Finally Ryan's like, "Soooo you don't know?" Randy shakes his head: "I really don't know." Heh. Simon's like, "I don't know, but I could guess." Randy and Paula are like, "Or shut up, you could also do that." He guesses LaKisha, the baa-ing sheep in the audience perform their function, Simon's like, "Um, one of them is going home either way, so it's not me you're booing, so much as fucking logic. Shut up." They're all like, "Logic! Boo!" Paula goes on and on about something or another I don't get, rising above adversity, and how even their bad performances were somehow good, because life is exhausting. That's like as close as I could get to figuring her out, this time.
Blake is safe. Lakisha's going home. They hug hard, and his family goes wild. They say sweet things with their mics live. You know, I would have thought Blake was the stoner here. I mean, he IS, but still. We remember her cute braids and tangerine top at the auditions; singing that song I don't understand about how she's not going, in a great dress; Ryan talking over the package with his mic live. LaKisha on video talking about how sometimes other people have more confidence in her than she has for herself, which: ouch. LaKisha on stage fully chats with Ryan, ignoring the video, and performing a sheer act of will to avoid crying. There are lots of awesome shots of her onstage, Sanjaya kissing her hat, Tony Bennett kissing her, Simon kissing her on the lips, which is still awesome. Lots of mentor-hugging. Her insane breasts on Tony Bennett week, dancing around with J. Lo. Jordin's on the side doing the smile-cry and there are tears on LaKisha's face. "Be very proud of yourself," Ryan orders, and she nods. "I am." Jordin cries and cries, stoned Kiki sings "Stayin' Alive," and the lyrics, buddy: "Been kicked around since I was born," "I know I'll make it anyway," "You do your time as a victim..." Things get very literary very quickly; she's an okay sort.
You can see her pull strength from the lyrics themselves, which is a really neat thing to watch a person do. "Ah (ah) ah (ah) ah (ah) ah (ah), staying alive..." This is far and away the best singout I've ever seen on this show. The magic that's here sometimes; the grace she just stumbled into, in the nick of time; climbing in stereo, delighting in disco. I mean, it was really affecting. The confidence in her smile at this strange, crazy time. Lady Unh! That wicked cleverness, that sly wit, those moves. Melinda sings along and dances, Blake does something off-camera, like hugs her or something, and then she fully goes crazy and starts wandering the audience, slapping hands triumphantly, singing stronger and stronger and better and better. Her life and her child's life are going to be substantially better for this. Not just staying alive, now, not simple survival: something better. Her options multiply now, starting now, at the beginning of her story. Think about this, seriously. The hugeness of that. She soars on a sea of upturned smiles and cheers; there are a thousand people screaming, and they're screaming for her. She's more beautiful than she's ever been.