Give me your tired! Your poor! Your huddled masses yearning to lunch on ketchup and pickles! The wretched refuse of your teeming Walgreen's express lane! Or so seems to say the regal opening check-in with the Statue of Liberty this week, a shot which will also appear on the cover of Exceedingly Clich Establishing Shots Weekly, available on newsstands now. None of these girls has even ever been to the Statue of Liberty. With the exception of one field trip in fourth grade, I've never even been to the Statue of Liberty. So unless the topic matter of this show has somehow morphed into America's Top Student In Mrs. Karpen's Class At Birch Lane Elementary, let's montage over to the mainland and make fun of Camille. Follow me!
Up in the ZoLoft, we check in first with that very Vice Bootee from last week's Catwalk Of Doom elimination ceremony. Nursing a self-righteousness hangover -- what I can only infer is the morning-after curse of those who go to bed while drunk with self-righteousness -- Camille stumbles around the ZoLoft in the early-morning hours. Ssssh! Turn it down, Camille! You'll wake my private store of unused Jensacia-sleeping-late jokes! Camille pulls off that sleeping-mask thing that is essential sleepwear for divas, the Elephant Man, and those brave NASA technicians hard at work setting up that new space station ON THE SURFACE OF THE SUN, confessionalizing, "I'm not eliminated." Congratulations. You're still in the running towards becoming America's Master Of The Obvious. She continues on, lapsing into an unfortunate bout of generic realitybabble (one word): "I'm continuing on this journey." Oh, you're continuing on the journey, are you? You feel that you and top modeling have a "connection," do you? We watch as Tyra does the booting of Catie, and Mercedes reminds us that there are six remaining girls -- fine, here they are: Sara, Mercedes, Yoanna, Shandi, Camille, and April -- as Catie takes her tearful (after such superhuman stoicism! I could hardly believe it either!) leave. There's a ridiculously quick pan of the rest of the girls, and as Catie exits, Sara actually has her hands cupped over her mouth in utter, total, I-am-watching- a-baby-carriage- fall-off-a- roller-coaster shock. Either that, or she's just trying to deflect attention away from the collagen porn lips that make the judges think she'd be perfect for a Hooter's calendar featuring "Our hottest racks, of ribs and otherwise."
Sitting in a confessional room she apparently brought with her and won't let anybody else use, Yoanna sits in the room with the huge green street sign featuring the words Fashion Avenue (get it? GET IT?) superimposed behind her and thinks, "confessional? Maybe we'll rethink this pink scarf ensemble thing for once. Y'know. For ONCE." What she says, however, is even more about her, if possible: "Catie being eliminated just goes to show me that the tables can turn any time during this competition." They then splice together four separate thoughts delivered by Yoanna on four different days in four different vocal registers, cobble them into some semblance of order using gauze and a toothpick, and patch them together with bubble gum until "Yoanna" "says" something like, "I really thought...that Catie...had what it takes...to be a top model," even though the sentiment probably began before the editing room as, "I really thought Camille was annoying and that Catie thought so, too. If Camille had what it takes, she'd be more like me, the ideal, scarf-donning candidate and most likely to be a top model. Oh, and I hate Camille."
“ 'I've changed,' Camille tells us. And you know, give her props. It's true. Before? Black tank top. Now? White. She's versatile enough to play either character in a live- action version of Spy Vs. Spy. ”
"I've changed," Camille tells us. And you know, give her props. It's true. Before? Black tank top. Now? White. She's versatile enough to play either character in a live-action version of Spy Vs. Spy. And they said her acting was crap! "I've made an effort to not talk over people," she promises, instead opting for the far more sly conversational gambit of never having allowed them to get a word in edgewise to begin with. "All I can do is be me, is be me one hundred percent." With the exception of the troublingly go-getter and mathematically dodgy "one hundred and ten percent," I simply can't envision a worse thing for her to be.
A shot of the Brooklyn Bridge (I can see my house from...oh, ever mind) swoops us over to a shot of the somewhat unappealing southern skyline (or, as I call it, "Downtown Hartford"), which I guess symbolizes that we're about to take a sudden, chaotic journey to the outer boroughs...of the soul. Back inside the ZoLoft, we discover Shan-Deee-Lite- From-The-Global-Village- In-The-Age-Of-Communication (whatever. Her t-shirts use all the good nicknames, so I end up with these hoary, arcane ones. And, anyway, that album rawks) on the phone with someone the subtitle believes is "Shandi's boyfriend." She kicks things off by telling him, "I'm wearing your dress," referring to a brightly-colored potholder that proves her boyfriend's identity once and for all as noted fashion designer and renowned color-wheelist Roy G. Biv. Roy, elated, squeaks out a pleased "Yaaaay!" Shandi shares with us that she's been dating this so-called "Eric" for two years, adding, "He's my best friend." Yup. Your high-talking, dress-making (or dress-buying, dress-sending, whatever...the fact that he's a dress-knower-about-er at all is more than enough information for me) Eric is going to be a lot of girls' "best friends," my dear. They end the quickly-montaged-through call with exchanged "I love you"s, though they've clearly edited out Roy's well-known tagline and corporate branding catchphrase he calls out at the end of every conversation, "Biv and let dye."
Better make sure you get a big enough cake to write, "Don't let the elevator door hit your bony ass on the way out," just in case circumstances should abruptly change. Yoanna strolls the streets of New York see-tay and just, y'know, happens upon a store which exists in the service of making delicious cakes and pastries. A Faterie, I believe such places are called in modeling lore. She tells us, "It's Sara's birthday, and I think it's sad, y'know, being away from your own home and not having a cake." Yoanna collects a bag with a big white box in it, and picks up the coffee she's bought while skimming off the top of Ken Mok's corporate card (because that's what you do when you pick up packages for the boss) and continues, "And plus, I wanted some cake, too!" She laughs like she's auditioning for a Revenge of the Nerds television adaptation taking place three hours after surgery for a deviated septum. A full-on gaffaw. Real ladylike, like. Back at the ZoLoft, Sara cuts the cake (she's twenty-three, for those fans of prime-number birthdays) and ruminates on the knotty nature of ironic reality show foreshadowing: "I don't think anybody wants this as badly as I do." Wow. She must really like cake.
“ Sara is sticking her stank foot right into an overhead camera. Hey, feet? Behind the fourth wall is not 'the market,' so you tell those piggies they can wee wee wee all the way home and out of my face. ”
"Dancers and models, we have so much in common. Our bodies are instruments." Just like all those mambo-loving football players out there, whose bodies are also instruments. "Tih-dzay," Tony continues on, letting the excitement of his television appearance wreak havoc with the integrity of his street-sounding talk, "I'm here to teach you guys all about movement." Shandi frets that she doesn't have much formal dance training. Sara frets that she's had operations on her knee. Mercedes has nothing to say, because if you say the word "lupus" over and over again placing equal stress on both syllables, you can actually pound out a pretty sturdy 4/4 time signature for yourself. Ah, the diversity of lupus. Once it was a debilitating disease. Now it's got a good beat and you can dance to it.
Tony asks each of the girls to step forward and "dance sexy." Sara gets in trouble for never looking up; Camille literally gets down on the floor and kicks it Jane Fonda Workout Tape-style; Yoanna seems pretty good but can't find the beat; and Shandi kicks ass in a way that makes Tony offer a "wow." And now they have to dance around Tony as if he's a male model, and Shandi kicks ass on that challenge as well. Tony tells us that the following day, the girls will be tested on their dancing ability, and then sets them free to Shandi's confessional: "No, I don't think of myself as sexy. I was repeatedly told, 'You're never gonna get married. You'll just be this old spinster with a bunch of cats.'" Hey! You leave half of my friends out of this.
Back at the ZoLoft, Shan-Divas-Live opens a package containing photographs from her boyfriend and some cat in a box, all of which she explains is "a piece of my boyfriend." She reads from a greeting card in which, apparently, he has asked if she's going to be on a show called Who Wants to Hook Up a Walgreen's Employee. Heh. Not bad. When you care enough to send the very best, go to Hall-Snark.
Sara is on the phone with her mom complaining about her knee and sticking her stank foot right into an overhead camera. Hey, feet? Behind the fourth wall is not "the market," so you tell those piggies they can wee wee wee all the way home and out of my face. She complains about her sore knee, and her mother smartly asks if she might consider going to the doctor, to which Sara replies that she thinks she might not so much go to the doctor. She says just a heat pack would do. Shandi? Could you point us to the correct aisle?
“ Of course Shandi's the prettiest after prolonged exposure, but I don't know... anyone else feel like this guy was hedging his bets according to what he thought he could get? In the rock group of those four girls, she'd be the bass player. ”
Oh, there you are. Shandi is putting up pictures of her boyfriend and feeling generally very lovey about things, until she gets on the phone with him and Eric unwisely kicks off the conversation by asking, "You remember a girl named Lauren?" He tells Shandi that he's going to the movies with said Lauren, "because her husband works at AMC as a general manager, so he's getting us free tickets." Suddenly, big fight. Like, in a troublesome, confusingly edited way, where all of a sudden he's screaming that this so-called Lauren has "a husband and a kid," which causes Shandi to be all je t'accuse! in her response, "So people never cheat on their husbands?" Eric unwisely takes the route of most ignorance, insisting, "No! They don't!" World-weary from the miles she has walked (back and forth on the runway always to end right back at the beginning, but she has WALKED! In heels!), Shandi asserts, "Yes, they do." Yes. They do. She starts bawling and stage-whispers, "I hate you," and she confides in us -- US!: "Going to the movies. That's like, our secret thing that we share." Yeah, well. Sister's got to start keeping some better secrets.
I mean, I love her and I totally want her to win still, but is anyone else starting to feel like maybe, just maybe, Yoanna is a tiny bit more the house pariah than Camille? Because, check it: it's nighttime in big bad New York town, and Shandi, Sara, Mercedes, and Camille are out at a club. Yoanna is, I guess, scarf-shopping on Fashion Avenue. April is renouncing the existence of Japan. The other four dance it up, and, according to Shandi, a guy with the haircut I had in 1996 (which, fine, is also the haircut I had in 2002, so shut up, but...nice middle part) approaches and tells them, "You four girls are the hottest girls in here." On a show about supermodels. Flanked by television cameras. And yet he still only aimed as high as Shandi. And of course she's the prettiest after prolonged exposure, but I don't know...anyone else feel like this guy was hedging his bets according to what he thought he could get? You know? A little bit? In the rock group of those four girls, she'd be the bass player. That's all I'm saying.
day. Back at the Cline Dion School Of Chest-Thumping Pantomime, Tony -- or, as he'd call himself, "Tzony" -- welcomes the ladies back and get the dance contest underway. Which I know is stressful, if only from the arcade intramurals of Dance Dance Revolution I have sucked at in front of people whose opinions -- not to mention, smooth grooves -- I value. Tony starts off by saying he was thinking about yesterday's performances, and notes that he didn't even remember April, urging her to "step up your game." Game, consider yourself stepped. We learn that he's going to teach them some choreography which they'll be tested on, the winner taking home a prize package that includes a year's supply of thinking that appearing on this show makes you a celebrity, and also the opportunity to hang out "with two music celebrities. Huge." Oh, my god! But what about her show in Vegas?
“ Now I'm not one to nit-pick (have you seen my Dance Dance Revolution seeding? It's rubbish! I only pick up all of those endorsements because I'm really hot and Russian). ”
Tzony snipes that Sara's positioning is bad, and she cops to her bad knee. And, we're off. The girls do the routine, which is filled with spirited walking and surprised-by-your-own-hands tit-grabbing. First out is Sara, about whom Tony confessionalizes, "She's more of a swimsuit type of model, like a calendar type of model." Like a Hooter's girl. Jeez. Check page one. Sara complains that she's sick of losing. Nothing to worry about, Sara. Almost done with that. Shandi's out. Mercedes is out. Yoanna is out, Tony telling us, "She can't seem to find the rhythm." Now I'm not one to nit-pick (have you seen my Dance Dance Revolution seeding? It's rubbish! I only pick up all of those endorsements because I'm really hot and Russian), but isn't the ability to dance in time a primary facet in finding the ability to dance? It's not bronze medal material, is all I'm saying. And me, I like Yoanna. And these two girls who are left? Well, I don't like either of them much. April wins ["and the fix is in, because I hadn't seen dancing that herky-jerky since the second season of Mr. Show" -- Wing Chun], and is allowed to pick two friends -- she goes with Sara and Shandi -- which leaves 50% of the girls winners. Sitting here with a cup of tea and a really dodgy cookie I decorated on Valentine's Day, I had as good a chance of winning this competition as they did. They get to meet stars of the record business. I get just a leeeeetle bit of botulism. And the people they'll be meeting are ODB and RZA from Wu Tang. Way in the back, Yoanna doesn't even pretend she knows who they are.
Yoanna's sublet on Fashion Avenue (does it also say "Madison Avenue" sometimes?) seems to have come to an end. She's slumming it in an ol'-fashioned confessional booth that looks like it was cribbed from The Real World Louisiana Territories. I'm saying it looks a mite old-fashioned, is what I'm saying. And crammed into that tiny room are (a) Yoanna and (b) Mercedes and (c) cameras and (d) us. Yoanna, always the crack-up, kicks it off thusly: "My impression of April is this." Then she does nothing. Mercedes cracks up. "It's the truth!" Yoanna insists in a hoity voice. "She looks constipated." Mercedes, who has lupus, tells us that April is "over-analytical," deeming this quality "annoying," and we're back in la confessional deux, where Yoanna continues on in an April impersonation, complaining that April talks too much. Which is also what she said about Camille when Yoanna was talking too much about how much other people seemed to be talking, not that I don't love Yoanna because I want her to beat everyone, including Camille, who I just want her to beat up real, real bad.
"Well, I have something I've got to tell you," Shandi tells Eric, and she announces kind of proudly that she danced with another boy at a club. Without pause or hesitation, Eric shoots back, "Did he touch your butt?" Excuse me? What a strange area to all of a sudden to be concerned with. Not, "Did he kiss you?" or even "Who the hell do you think you are, some kind of supermodel?" He volleys back that the whole thing is just "dripping with hypocrisy," and when Shandi tells him that she might not have mentioned that she has a boyfriend to this strange plot device -- er, I mean "boy" -- Eric hangs up on her. Thank you, reality television, for a Montana and Vaj relationship played out over one episode of hastily assembled footage, delivering the same emotional punch without ever making us look at Montana and Vaj. Well done. ["I just want to add in Shandi's clearly gay boyfriend's defense that the only response her could have to the news that Shandi was flirting with another prospect, without telling him that Eric was in the picture, is to hang up on her. He's justified there, in my view." -- Wing Chun]
“ Okay, enough with the global kangaroo court of the media viability of Tyra Banks. Seriously. While the nine people who watch this show are an educated group of viewers who highly prize television and its brilliance, there really are still only nine of us. ”
Mercedes didn't so much do the choreography.
April looks like "she has to go to the emergency room," according to Janice. Nigel, to the collective surprise of no one, thinks she was too clinical! ["If by 'clinical' he means 'herky-jerky and soulless,' I am right there with him." -- Wing Chun] Give him a second and I bet he'll also find a way not to like Yoanna's body.
Yeah, so they show Yoanna falling. "What the hell was that?" Janice asks. Tony says she didn't take her time. Tyra says she was off-beat. Nigel tells her she has "a gorgeous face" and leaves it at that.
Alone with the judges now, Janice thinks Mercedes is "capital I-T." Nigel hates Yoanna's motion, and he thinks he should be out. Janice thinks Sara is a "belly-dancing stripper," but Tyra thinks she'd fit in at a photo shoot with Tyra, which is clearly high praise. Tony loves April, but, seriously, Nigel thinks she's too clinical. You guys? I know it's the same girls every week, but it's also the same audience. Shake it up a little or just let Janice have her own planet already. Janice "wants to see an Asian girl win." Why, Janice? Do you know one? They all celebrate Camille's lack of attitude this week, but Janice worries, "But is that an act? Maybe it's like a multiple personality!" Hee. Everyone loves Shandi.
Which is why she's still in the running to become America's Top Model! And so is Mercedes. And Camille. And April. Oh, dear sweet Jesus.
Yoanna and Sara will please step forward. "Yoanna," Tyra says, "you were so all over the place and so unfocussed. And sometimes you only get one chance." Yoanna's perfect green eyes well with tears. Sara is "sexy," but the judges worry that it's the kind of sexiness that will only translate to men's magazines. Yoanna's bawling, even though Sara's just been pegged the porno star.
Because it's all about her this week, Tyra sees Yoanna's tears and bursts out, "I'm starting something new in my life, something that I'm putting myself out there for the world to put me in the position that you are all in now. So who am I to stand here and tell you that you have to leave when I'm starting something that the world is going to be criticizing me." Okay, enough with the global kangaroo court of the media viability of Tyra Banks. Seriously. While the nine people who watch this show are an educated group of viewers who highly prize television and its brilliance, there really are still only nine of us. Nine of us who watch Sara get booted, and all the girlies cry. Yoanna doesn't even go to get her picture, but instead turns around and hugs Sara, who is standing in the middle of the room unabashedly bawling. Tyra gives her a big hug, and Sara makes for the door in slo-mo. "This is my dream!" she voices over, and we cut to her face literally drooling mascara as she tells us that this is not going to stop her from making her dream come true. I've got a Photoshopped photograph you're being faded from that tells me how wrong you are.