Last night was the first round of Semi-Finals. Twelve people sang. Based on America’s votes, only three will survive tonight’s Results Show. “Is your favorite through? Take nothing for granted,” says Seacrest. Except that as far back as three weeks ago, thanks to this show’s endless pimping and shady “support,” we could have easily picked at least two of tonight’s three winners. But what do I know? I’m just some fool on the internet. This is American Idol. We can’t send people to inoperative rescue stations!
Results Shows are pretty quick and painless. There’s some recapping, some filler. More recapping, some more filler. It’s all about maintaining steady control on the fast-forward button. Don’t be too eager…that’s right…just hold back…wait for it…and press! Okay, stop. Try again…you’re getting it now. You can watch this whole show, all the meaty parts, in seven minutes or less.
Here’s the drill. Nine people go home tonight. The three that remain are the girl with the highest number of votes, the guy with the highest number of votes, and the gender-unimportant person with the second-highest number of votes. It’s easier to digest it you don’t think about it.
What did the judges think of yesterday’s performances? Some were good and some sucked the monkey joint. Okay, that’s covered!
Group Sing. The boys and girls stumble across the stage like there’s an earthquake happening, in an ill-advised attempt to sing “I’m Yours” by Jason Mraz. Harmony must be a state of mind, because it is absolutely not a state of sound. The Spencer Pratt guy does the White Boy dance. Danny Gokey mugs for the camera. They put Alexis Smith out in front of all the other girls because we’re meant to love her and vote for her. Casey Carlson bops around spastically and at least four of her brittle bones shatter on the spot. Jackie Tohn (oh my God, you guys, do you remember when she showed up wearing that gorilla suit — to prom?!?) is have a fucking blast up in here. I don’t think Tatiana is at all aware of the fact that she’s sharing the stage with eleven other people. Anoop!!
Casey Carlson sang a Police song while trying to sexually attract America by acting like the Cat Lady from The Simpsons. Casey is going home.
Stephen Fowler forgot his lyrics in Hollywood, remembered them last night, and offended the very gods of creation by having the effrontery to sing a Michael Jackson song. Stephen is going home.
Alexis Smith sang some Aretha in her undergarments while her baby sat outside, offering hugs to passers-by in exchange for food. The judges think Alexis is It. And America, being a nation of lovely little lemmings, voted for her. Alexis is in the Top 12.
Jackie Tohn (you guys, remember that time in homeroom when she accidentally glued her face to her desk?!?) and Ricky Braddy, who never had an honest chance, are called forth together. Jackie stumbled hither and yon while singing Elvis. Ricky did some Carpenters and everybody took a snack break because who the hell was he, anyway? Jackie and Ricky are going home.
Michael “Oil Rig” Sarver and Anoop “Big Bang” Desai get summoned as a pair. Michael sang that Bo Bice song or whatever in a performance that was all middle-aged tomfoolery. Anoop sang some drippy ballad from the semi-recent past and it didn’t matter because he was Anoop and he was awesome. Anoop, alas, is going home. Michael is in the Top 12.
What time is it? Filler time! (I would have accepted “Party time! It’s our vacation!” but I don’t expect all of you to be up on your High School Musical references.)
There’s some lame American Idol attraction at Disney World where you can sing on stage, but only if you make it through the audition process. Seriously this is how the thing works, because what makes for a better vacation than suffering disappointment and/or embarrassing in the House That Mickey Built? All seven Idol winners showed up for the opening. Name them, quick, and the devil will grant you a wish!
This is all a preamble to the very random introduction of Irish Carly and Australian Michael from last season. She was the one who’d had a recording contract in her past that we were supposed to ignore. He was the one who the judges loved until they got a taste of David Cook’s flavor, then there were like, “Go back to Down Under, Mr. Vegemite!” They look like Dracula and his wife, but I don’t know which is which. After a tedious performance of “The Letter” (you know, “Give me a ticket to an air-o-plane…”), they transform into wolves and vanish into a sudden fog.
Ann Marie Boskovich was boring and forgettable throughout eons of time. She sang “Natural Woman” and the judges acted like she peed in Aretha Franklin’s coffee. Brent Keith was hot and looked like Spencer Pratt and sang the classic spiritual “Hicktown.” The judges were like, “Oil Rig Guy is better than you.” I was very curious to see Brent’s nipples. Stevie Wright was a bubbling cauldron of vocal turbulence. The judges hit her with a stick. All three are going home.
That leaves Danny Gokey and Tatiana del Toro. Who’s kidding who here? Seriously.
Tatiana is barely able to keep her crazy beans trapped inside the Tupperware container that is her brain. She twitches and fidgets and can’t get out three words in a row. Danny, who’s wife is still dead, if you can believe it, is Joe Cool, because he, like we, fucking knows how this will turn out. Part of me, the part that enjoys a well-told story, is thinking, this is going to be one hell of a twist. We’re all waiting for Tatiana to go home, but what if it’s Danny? What a wonderful and horrifying punchline that would be, and kudos to the producers for delivering it. But will they deliver it? Are you high, dear reader?
Last night, Tatiana sang Whitney, and the judges were like, “That’s nice, but you’re not insane enough.” Danny sang some Mariah, and the judges were like, “You are an amazing person who has triumphed over your unique personal tragedy with spectacular results. If you like, we will award you the season win right now. Just meet us in the alleyway in half an hour. Would you like a kidney, too?”
Tatiana is going home. Danny Gokey is in the Top 12.
Looks like I called it. Tonight’s winners were Gokey, Oil Rig, and Alexis. I wish I’d been wrong. I’d have liked to see Anoop up here, and some wicked part of me wouldn’t mind Tatiana hanging around to gum up the works, Sanjaya-style. But with any luck, the Wild Card round will see at least one of them (Anoop!) return.
Next week, another twelve contestants perform, including some hot slice of ass, that dueling-pianist guy, at least three girls I have never seen before, Jasmine “Mo’Nique” Murray, stupid Pretty Goth with his stupid black nail polish, and Nick Mitchell, Disco Assclown.
Back to the season guide.