Last time: Our heroes Ashley, Erik, Ikaika, Jacob and Trevor embarked on life as a pack of five. Despite the tiresome and unnecessary emphasis on Ashley's relationship woes in that same episode, there's no reference to any of it here. Bunim-Murray swept Shelli under the rug faster than Lou Pearlman can inhale a cheesecake.
The credits are tough to recreate in words. It's a bunch of split-screen images of the guys in "sultry" poses, which come off more like five kids playing Boy Band in their parents' living rooms. All five of them dance and move their hands in a nifty, yet alarming, combination: It's Madonna's "Vogue" video meets "Intergalactic" by the Beastie Boys, with a healthy pinch of dog-paddle thrown in to boost the asinine quotient.
Morning. The gym. Ikaika's such a loner, he's reduced to kickboxing with himself and his inner demons. A flesh-and-bone demon, like Jacob, would be a far more fascinating foe, but Jacob's too busy being sprawled on his back in bed, snoring and drooling. I guess Ikaika has a rule that he can only box against the conscious. An alarm buzzes; it's 10:17 AM, and the rest of O-Town tumbles out of bed. "Now that we're down to five, there's a lot more pressure on all of us," Ashley declares. Cut to a steamy shower scene, where Ash is rubbing his chest and soaking in a stream of hot water. The cameraman collects a twenty-dollar bonus for Ashley Angel, Hot and Wet, part III. Ashley's voice-over shares that, after the tension and stress of working to make the cut, everyone wanted to relax a bit and revel in the relief of making the Final Five. But "it was replaced with a whole nother [sic] stress," Ashley complains as he struggles to get ready for a trip to Trans Con. Certainly, it is tough to find enough time to observe standard personal hygiene AND dress oneself in the morning. But at least Ashley's trying. He shares that there's a performance in seven days, and O-Town has to knock people's socks off," but people constantly remind them how much they must accomplish in the meantime. Ashley skips off to the Man Van and leaps inside. "He's the worst wake-up person," someone says, so ineloquently that it has to be Erik-Michael.
The time is now 11:15 AM, and they're clearly late for something, as the guys are debating what web of deceit to spin today. "We'll say we woke up late," Erik says. Someone points out that it's bad to tell that to an interviewer. "We gotta give the truth," intones Erik. His enormous lips come with a built-in moral compass. Trevor recalls the alarm going off at quarter to ten, but he reset it to give himself and Jacob another forty-five minutes of sleep. Trevor tries with the numbers, he really does, but 9:45 plus forty-five minutes equals 10:30 -- an equation that fails to account for the alarm in their room that went off at 10:17. Oh, sure, I'm picking on Trevor, but I can't help preferring that people master basic math and clock skills. There's more conversation about how badly they all mistimed their morning preparations, and the Man Van pulls up to Trans Con at 11:30 on the nose.
Apparently, they're half an hour tardy. "You can't be late for an interview, period," Jay says in his own faux-confessional. He scheduled an appointment with O-Town that was meant to be a dry run for a real interview, and as the guys cockily roll into the studio lounge, Jay barely glances up from his cell-phone conversation. Erik extends a hand to him. "You're late," Jay says, ignoring the gesture. "We're over." Listening in his office, Lou puts his head down on his desk. "He said that to me too, once," Lou sniffles. Slaughtering Erik's strategy of honesty, Jacob decides to feed Jay a whopping fib: "Lou told us it was 11:30." Yes, blame the big boss, because what with all the television cameras, microphones and hidden equipment, there'll be no proof of Jacob's falsehood. It's the cleverest scheme I've heard since the Estradas said, "If we name our son Erik, he will grow up just like that wonderful actor." Jay, of course, doesn't buy any of Jacob's lie. And why should he? As he pretends to think they're on time, Jacob looks slovenly and hurriedly buttons his shirt, tucking it haphazardly into his jeans. Ashley jams his hands in his pockets and wonders how to give Jacob advice on Getting Dressed Inside the Home. Trevor picks lint off of his black sweater. "The primary lesson for this exercise is to be on time," Jay snaps. "If you're late for an interview...they don't reschedule and they're not gonna call you back time." Of course they won't. Their editors will have broken their hands for walking out and failing to produce the promised O-Town exposé. Ashley informs us that Jay has no patience for even a minute of tardiness. "He didn't even shake your hand," Ashley marvels to Erik. Ikaika looks grim, fingering his WWHD bracelet -- that's, "What would Haku do?"
Trevor tells us the pressure to perform is tough to handle. Don't worry, Trev, it happens to every guy at some point; it's not a big deal. And as far as the band goes, "I know everyone's committed to this," Trevor earnestly insists to the camera. "Like, definitely, like, 100%, but we've only had a week as five." We see TyJuan watching them practice, and he looks rather unimpressed. While the fifth guy sings center-stage, the other four pair off for fancy footwork. There's a spin-and-kick move where one dancer ducks and the other sweeps a leg over his partner's head. I root for a violent miscalculation, but no blood is shed. "I didn't think singing and dancing would be this hard," says Ikaika, the selective amnesiac who completely forgets his earlier struggles and utter inability to move with skill and grace. "Helluva lot of pressure," he adds. TyJuan sits skeptically in front of them, watching the guys wander aimlessly around the studio as they close out the song. I thought Trevor was supposed to be the best dancer, but right now he looks like he's doing the funky chicken. The amps squeak painfully, and I think it's as much a complaint as a technical glitch. "Especially during dance rehearsals lately, we haven't been gelling," Ashley tells us. Don't be downplaying the vocal rehearsals, people. Where's Mini-Lou in all this? I miss his squeaky self-important wrath. Maybe Lou figured out his tiny clone isn't a good ratings-grabber. In a landmark move, the camera crew corners TyJuan outside the studio and dupes him into confessional time, then drugs him so he'll let slip that his last name is...Jones. Just Jones. TyJuan's mystique shrivels up smaller than Lou Pearlman stepping out of the freezing Atlantic Ocean. "They have a show coming up in less than a week that they're not at the present time prepared for," says TyJuan Jones. I can't get past this. "Jones" doesn't fit TyJuan. I bet Mr. Jones wishes he was somethin' just a little more funky. But, when everybody loves you, I guess that's just about as funky as you can be. Just ask Raymond. There's more to come from TyJuan, who points out that this first performance is designed to help the band catch the eye of a major distributor. "No one's gonna invest money in trash," TyJuan says. Who is he kidding? Has he not heard of Jerry Springer?
Ikaika is walking around with all his friends. In other words, he's alone. We see him grab the phone to call Hawaiian pal Junior Mika, an O-Town semifinalist and Ikaika's roommate during the finals in the first episode. Junior first pointed out to a laughing nation that he and Ikaika are "two little pineapples." They're best friends; Ikaika makes it sound like they knew each other all along. "This trip did a lot of mental stuff for me," Ikaika tells him. "But not like I'm mental." He's right; what with the mood swings, the poor social skills and the obsessive relationship, Ikaika's clearly of sound mind. "You sound different," Junior says. "More...white." This appalls Ikaika, who's been overtly peppering his speech with anything-but-white colloquialisms like "bro," "man," "dude," and of course, "Malia." Ikaika's completely disgusted. "I don't wanna sound white, bro," he protests. In the confessional, we learn that sounding white is the worst piece of news he's received to date. Junior harps on the different cadence to Ikaika's voice, pissing him off and making him balk. "Maybe there's a bad connection, or a modulation that makes me sound different because I'm not sounding like a white guy ever," Ikaika whines. "I may LOOK like a white guy..." And if it looks like a duck and walks like a duck, then there's a leap of logic to be made.
The gang sits in Lou's office, different than his digs at the rehearsal studio -- bigger, with floor-to-ceiling windows and lots of people around to position Jabba's limbs so the blood flows. "This is where we keep it all happening," Lou boasts. He introduces Phil and Eileen, who'll be styling our friends today, and points out that marketability is a huge factor in the group's success. Ikaika grins, "I used to tease Backstreet Boys and 'NSync, and now I'm doing what they're doing." No, not really. BSB and 'NSync are making millions and singing with some degree of proficiency. O-Town is just some horny seven-year-old playing doctor; the other groups have been to med school, butchered a patient, interned in the ER and had twins with Nurse Hathaway. Jacob pukes up a quote about staying grounded and not letting anything go to his head. I hope he makes an exception for shampoo and a comb.
Wacky makeover music plays. It's time for Lou to groom the horses in his stable. "I'm here to get the mop cut," Erik says, trying to be charming but losing interest in the salon staff once he spies the candy dish. Jacob, meanwhile, has a master plan. "I want it white in the front, and every once in a while, blue on the tips," Jacob enthuses. Stylist Eileen stares at him, clenching her jaw so it doesn't fly agape and wondering if this moment is what 'rock-bottom' looks like. "Something that washes off, right?" Eileen asks warily. Jay points out they have a photo shoot the day, and Eileen jumps at the chance to tell Jacob he'll have to wait. Apparently, Jacob needs to save the Marge Simpson special for the third O-Town album, where the crumbling band switches to edgy alterna-rock with gender-bending attire, a Marilyn Manson attitude and an amphetamine addiction. Jacob kids with Jay, pleading, "Don't do this to me, Jay!" and rubbing the publicist's neck. Jacob, heavy petting won't turn your hair blue any faster. Cut to Ashley, Erik and Jacob in a corner, flipping their wrists and saying effeminately, "Guys' Night Out!" Jay catches them in what's evidently an imitation of him -- one that implies he's gay -- and Jay laughs, "Oh, sure, so it's okay to do it behind my back." Jacob and Ashley high-five, because gay people really ought to think twice before they open their big gay mouths and say goofy things that are, like, gay, and stuff.
The following montage takes us through a transformation: Five ordinary guys walk in, five ordinary guys with freshly cut hair walk out. Pure wizardry. Phil snips and clips Ashley's hair as edgy Image Modification music plays. Eileen rips a strip of hot wax from Jay's brows and then stuffs the Scarecrow with more straw. "Can you even dye my eyes to match my gown?" Jacob gasps. "Jolly old town!" Trevor watches the clippers shear his hair, and Eileen and her black rubber gloves massage chemicals into his scalp. The rude little trolls laugh at Jay and touch his newly smooth brow, much the same way they might rub a bald man's pate for good luck. Everyone's having fun, giggling, feeling oh-so-pretty. Later, they'll paint toenails, play truth-or-dare and talk about cooties and girls and how they copped some over-the-shirt booby action. The screen splits into a funky mirrored effect, giving an eight-way look at Trevor, then Ashley. Sadly, from the height and quantity of spikes, it appears that a porcupine has died atop Mr. Angel's head. "All the better to hang his halo from, my dear," cackles Lou. Ikaika strolls in late, greets a cold and irritated Jay and says he thought the appointment was just two people at a time. Jay rebukes him and Eileen rescues him by summoning him to her chamber of horrors. Ikaika sits at the sink and closes his eyes to contemplate how un-Hawaiian he is. "I wouldn't feel good if it felt like I was forgetting my roots," Ikaika's voice-over tells us. "This guy's roots? Forget 'em, they're gone," Eileen thinks as she begins the hair-coloring process. Sitting there with a tree of shiny silver bags hanging from his head, Ikaika begins speaking in third-person. "Ikaika's not going to change because I won't let it change," he says profoundly. Whatever, Siddhartha.
The Olive Garden's cooking is indeed full of surprises, in that just when I think it can't get worse, it amazingly does. ["I don't want to say that the kitchens of the Olive Garden are dirty. But I did get violently ill after eating at two different Olive Gardens -- in two different countries. You do the math." -- Wing Chun]
Strange things are afoot at the O-Town house: A cameraman is respecting someone's privacy. A scintillating kitchen-counter shot ensues, and it lasts for minutes. The Bat Phone is off the hook, the cord extending down underneath the counter. Malia's on the phone, and we all know what that means: aural sex. Ikaika promises to call her back if they get cut off. "You're not adding to a $400 phone bill," Malia pretends to protest. The counter is still front-and-center. Naturally, as soon as the phone card runs out, Ikaika adds more money to it. "What about my waxed eyebrows?" he grins. We still can't see him. The counter starts to blush slightly. Malia jokes -- and yet, not -- that she never thought she'd date someone who waxed his eyebrows. "I love you even though you're a pretty boy," she says. Still no attempt to nose in on Ikaika's privacy. The kitchen counter waves a "Hi, Mom!" sign and makes a rude gesture to depict what Ikaika's doing underneath it. To break the monotony, the editors show a slow-motion black-and-white clip of Malia's visit, as Ikaika tells us true love is the pinnacle of everyone's existence, so naturally he never wants to lose his woman. "I can't wait to see you," he tells her on the phone. "When you come off the plane, I'm going to have my eyes closed and you just tackle me, so when I open them you're the first thing I see." The producers scammed a ten-second clip of Ikaika's sleeping bag, but it's still tug-and-tickle time so that's all we get.
In an egregious oversight, unless Disney refused to pony up its own space, Trans Con holds its photo shoot at Universal Studios. The resident fashionista oohs and aahs over the racks of clothing, but to me they better resemble the 100%-off rack at American Outfitters. In the hallway, Ikaika encircles Erik and a bored Jacob with his arms. "We don't have the luxury of time, but the time we do have, we should practice until like 10 at night," he says. "Instead we're here making pretty." Jacob looks away the whole time. "I'm fucking hot," Jacob thinks. "Once my hair's blue, just watch out." To the camera, he marvels at how they've been a band just seven days, only have two songs in the can, and yet perform for the first time in a measly five days. Ikaika complains about this to Jay, then tells us, "We're not ready, not yet, and I don't know how to make us ready." I guess Ikaika's "Big Muscles, Big Fun, Big Success" strategy crumbled like Erik-Michael after three pull-ups. The picture of cool indifference, Jay breezes, "You're going to be what you're going to be." Ashley's not fooled. His voice-over pegs it as expert reverse psychology that makes them all bristle and resolve to be the best sex objects they can be. "But Ikaika takes offense to it," he says. Ikaika continues to bicker with Jay about photo shoots compromising rehearsal time. "I think what he means is we have to sing good in so little time," Trevor offers. Trevor didn't get the memo that Ikaika doesn't sound Hawaiian anymore, so bless him, he's trying to translate.
Ashley's in the makeup chair, pretending eyeliner is new to him. Trevor's hair is covered in mousse. It's time to take pictures -- not the nudie kind that Lou prefers, but actual promotional pictures for the so-called "music" O-Town will hawk. The guys throw open a door, with the front three smiling wide, and Erik and Ikaika in back feigning surprise. What a ridiculous scene. Erik looks like the universal weirdo from ninth grade -- the one who plays along with the fun kids like he's one of them, but who can't overcome the fact that he's really just a geek holding Molly Ringwald's used pink panties. Ikaika poses on stairs. Trevor gets photographed doing tricep dips. All five pile into a new Mustang convertible and pretend they're having the ride of their young lives. Flashbulbs pop. Cut to O-Town dancing in front of a black curtain. The photographers lie and pretend it's really well-done and special, as though it's a good idea to give O-Town false confidence in its talent.
After the shoot, everyone mills around aimlessly -- more so than usual. Ashley swoons at the ice-cream machine, but Ikaika has no money to lend him so Ranger Marc makes a comic show of passing out dollar bills to each of them. "Thanks Uncle Jay and Uncle Marc!" shouts Erik. "That's 'Daddy,' to you, Lips," Jay growls under his breath. Meanwhile, Ikaika calls Malia to say hello and gets her answering machine. "I'll see you very soon, and I can't wait," Ikaika says before hanging up the phone. Jacob would like to weigh in: "Ikaika hasn't moved here 100% in his mind. He's still back in Hawaii and can't wait to go home." Jacob figures Ikaika's doing a poor job coming to terms with "the truth," which is that he can't fly home on a moment's notice. In his infinite showbiz wisdom, culled from a fourteen-year career singing a harmony for "Happy Birthday" at friends' parties, Jacob explains that the sacrifices for fame are significant. In this case, it's dignity that went out the window. But Jacob would rather point out that the guys can't talk to their families at will and can't buck the company's orders because it "owns" them. Ranger Marc argues with Ikaika about his trip home; apparently, Ikaika made a mental leap no one else did. "I said you MIGHT go home," Marc stresses. What an ass. Marc's not yanking Ikaika's chain, he's pulling it taut, wrapping it around the kid's waist and hanging him from a flagpole. Ikaika tries to protest, saying Lou guaranteed them a trip home, but Jay counters by saying that all travel plans are subject to change based on the group's schedule and performance success. At their current rate, then, the guys can't expect to leave Orlando...oh, ever. "Ikaika doesn't realize the long reaching effects," Ashley says. "It's an attitude change, it's a mindset." Ikaika says he's worried about letting everyone down, but that "it's hard to just be myself in a business that doesn't care about you."
Man Van. Ikaika's sharing his woes with the other four guys. "When he said I'm not going home, it was like a bomb hit me," he moans. The others take a stab at reassuring him. "The best thing you can do in that kind of situation is just to not let it bug you," Ashley offers. Ikaika hisses, spits on Ashley and threatens to lop off a spike of hair if he doesn't shut his lame mouth. Viewers only see this if they replay the scene in very slow-motion. Ikaika actually admits his attitude sucks and frets that it'll bring the group down. Ashley figures this is just a growth experience they need to embrace. "It'll take us past being a group," he says, flushed with the idealism of it all. "It'll take us to being better people.
Must've been a rough night in Orlando. Jacob's passed out on his stomach across the lower corner of his bed, and suddenly, I really don't want to know why. Ikaika's on the phone, boosting that $400 long-distance bill into the stratosphere. His father Kimo urges him to tell America what he's feeling. "I hate it," Ikaika blurts. In confessional, he recounts telling Kimo he despises life in Orlando and says Kimo had no response. Ikaika brings up the money issue, implying that if he makes it big, his family wants to collectively suckle the udder of the Ikaika cash cow. We see a beautiful shot of green mountainous land, and Kimo's words echo -- literally -- through the peaks. "Tremendous things can come out of this because you have a gift, you have a wonderful gift," Kimo booms, with full reverberation in effect. "We hold these truths to be self-evident..." Cut to Ikaika staring wistfully -- and shirtlessly -- out the window. He's obsessed with the injustice, pointing out that it's not fair to reluctantly occupy a slot so many others would love to have. "I don't want money, money doesn't drive me," Ikaika says. "I feel dead." Kimo says Haku will arrive the day to "handle" things.
Haku's back in town, and boy, are we in for some good times. With his personality, I'll be able to stay awake for at least another five seconds. "My older brother has these big plans he has figured out in his head," Ikaika says. "Maybe he's come to give me words of wisdom." They hug, and Erik pops out of the Man Van to embrace Haku as well. When Ranger Marc isn't helming the thing, Erik or Trevor takes over; they must be the only ones insured to drive it. Strange choices. Ikaika tells us he'd never confront Haku, and tries to rationalize that this trip isn't because Haku is a selfish jerk, but because he sees his bummed-out little brother and wants to help. Sure, Ikaika. Keep pretending that every time Haku sees you, he's not thinking, "cha-ching!" Speaking of stupid assumptions about O-Town's future success, Erik wonders what would happen if someone decides to make dolls of each of them. "I'd definitely want Super Mike Grip and Pelvic Thrusting Action on my doll," Ikaika jokes. Simultaneously, Lou and Malia let out a wistful sigh.
Ikaika and Haku walk through an Orlando suburb and stash themselves atop a quiet log overlooking the water. Ikaika laments that he needs something to help him though this, because he's "fighting a losing battle for myself." Haku figures it's time for the reality check. He haikus, "Even as doctor / Happiness is not certain / It comes from inside." Haku explains that being happy has little to do with where you are or what you're doing. Instead, it comes from having a pushover little brother who'll agree to rake in enough dough to support you the rest of your life. "So, happy at home? / You were taken care of there / It was too easy," haikus Haku. "You are a man now / Soldier for the family / So do your part, man." Haku chafes my hide. Here's a haiku for you, idiot: Stop bugging your bro / What are you, a mob lackey? / Go get a real job.
I think there was a commercial break in here somewhere, but with this show, you blink and you miss 'em.
Ashley's showering again, and we're privy to it. So that's Naked Dripping Ashley 4, Rest of Cast 0. How kind of Bunim-Murray to remind Shelli what she's missing. Jacob explains that they're getting ready for an outing on Lou's boat, which makes them nervous because, Jacob says, "Lou has a reputation for keeping people out longer than they should be." Aw, that Lou! He puts the "D'oh!" in "pedophile." At the docks, Lou leads the five singers through a maze of boat slips, each one filled with a pretty nifty vessel. "What's going on, Whitey?" grins an employee. A defensive Ikaika breaks the kid's nose and wallops the brain matter out of him before realizing the kid was talking to Lou.
With Jacob and Ashley perched on the tip, Lou tinkers with the speed of his vibrator -- er, "his boat." It's a long, narrow cigarette-style boat that's designed for speed and aerodymanics, not aesthetics. Half of Lou's prodigious ass hangs off the tiny seat. In a cabin below, Ikaika's sprawled across a bed either napping, fighting nausea, or waiting for Lou -- well, it could be all three, really. But Lou's too distracted by Jacob's exciting idea for a game. "Let's see who can open their mouth the longest!" Jacob shouts. Lou quivers. Jacob, Ash and Erik stand facing the wind and try to hold open their jaws. Past the lips, around the gums, look out stomach, here Lou comes.
All my favorite people -- sadly, all the mostly irrelevant ones -- are gathered in the Trans Con studio. Ranger Marc, TyJuan and Raymond angrily await O-Town at 4:45 PM, meaning they're forty-five minutes late for rehearsal. Marc rants that he told them four times to be punctual, and they still didn't show up. "I can't make them do it," Raymond says. "They already got the gig. It's not an audition any more." TyJuan, a hot kettle of pent-up rage and frustration, quietly hopes the boys show up so he can scorch them with verbal fire. Again. Sadly, I'm starting to think O-Town is fireproof. Ranger Marc finally reaches Erik on the Man Van telephone, and the kid lies that they're five minutes away. "Did you drop Lou off?" Marc booms. The hell? Lou Pearlman's got limos, a high-speed cigarette boat and enough money to bankroll a young band, but he can't afford a damn Suburban all his own? Maybe the state revoked Lou's license on the grounds that his swelling belly is a steering impediment. Marc urges Erik to lose -- indeed, "lou"se -- the dead weight and get to the studio pronto. Erik hangs up and hears Lou whine about why the choreographers are angry with him. "I told them no earlier than five o'clock and everyone said okay," Lou explains. I'm struggling with this concept of Lou authorizing a boating trip that later gets the guys in deep shit with TyJuan and Ray. Perhaps if Lou lugged himself to rehearsal once in a while, he'd know what a fool O-Town is about to make of his company.
The Man Van rolls up to the studio well after 5:00 PM. "Punishment in A Minor" plays loudly as the five sulking singers haul their slacker asses into the studio and bend over for the impending whipping. "Did everybody have a good time?" brats Raymond in an excellent sing-song voice. Ashley bangs his head against the microphone. Jacob stares off into space -- no, he's probably staring into the mirror behind Raymond. Ikaika pulls the mic out of its holder and juggles it a bit. The left corner of Erik's weighty mouth, pulled down in a firm pout, skews his entire posture. His head's tilted to one side and he looks taxed in trying to pull it onto the horizontal plane. "I don't care who keeps you out," TyJuan says. "Lou Pearlman is the man, but Lou Pearlman doesn't go on stage with you." And we're all grateful for it. TyJuan scores points by thoughtfully covering his boss's ass: He tells the ignorant tenors that the whole débacle was a test. The hint was to stand strong and turn down Lou's invitation, especially after people warned them that Lou would keep them out, and especially after they did the math and realized it would mean six hours alone with Lou. "People say, 'So what? You'll get paid,'" TyJuan says. "I don't do this for money. This is my passion, this is my gut, this is my every inch of being. If you don't respect that, find someone else." TyJuan should be giving the R-E-S-P-E-C-T monologue to Lou, who's most responsible for wasting everyone's time. Sock it to him, big T. "You guys think you're the bomb already because you got the gig, but you're wrong," Raymond insists. "You ain't got nothing on Backstreet Boys. Right now you ain't nothin' and you ain't gonna be nothin' without all the people here." Ray, I love you man, but I gotta be honest: they ain't gonna be nothin' even WITH your help. Jacob tries offering a feeble excuse, something that blames Lou once again for their foibles. This time, though, he at least has a semi-valid point. But Raymond will have none of it. "We said not to get caught up in the sensationalism, or you'd lose focus," he chides. "You did it anyway."
Against all better judgment, the big performance is not cancelled, so week we're treated to the guys crooning in...a school gymnasium? To a bunch of fifth-graders? Ouch.