“All of these faces came to this stage with a dream,” says Little Ryan. And I can assure you that no part of that dream involved boring America to tears with bad covers of tired old songs your own grandmother doesn’t want to hear. But don’t worry. Tonight’s episode might be good. Ha! Have you ever seen this show? This is American Idol. “You don’t have to go to college. This isn’t Russia. Is this Russia? This isn’t Russia.”
Busy week gets a special recap, folks — so this one’s a two-fer. First up, Tuesday night’s performance round. Then, zippity-zap, your results immediately thereafter. Because why put off till tomorrow what you don’t want to do at all?
Musical powerhouse, world-changing artist, and ace vocalist…Jamie Foxx? Yes, Jamie Foxx is back up in here to mentor the Idols on a subject he knows nothing about, despite what Ryan keeps trying to tell us. Singer? Bah. I sing playing Rock Band. Can I mentor Idol, too? Okay, well then can I have Tim Urban’s phone number?
Jamie and his creepy-crossed doll eyes wants the Idols to raise their performance levels, so as an incentive, he’s gone out and had t-shirts made. Because to hell with winning the season, getting a recording contract, and launching a concert tour — Jamie Foxx might give you a goddamn t-shirt! What else do you need to feel good about yourself? One style says “CONTESTANT” across the chest. The other says “ARTIST.” Jamie will judge each Idol according to their performance, dole out a shirt, and duck quickly because I am about to kick him in the teeth. Shut the supernova fuck up, Jamie Foxx. Could you be more of a tool? Is that even a possibility on this plane of reality? Man, this dude is a crotch. I am not even dealing with that t-shirt crap.
Oh, and if it even matters, tonight’s musical theme is “Songs from the Movies.”
Dweezil is up first, singing “A Kiss from a Seal” by Batman or whatever that fucking song is. Fuck me, is this episode a rerun? I swear I saw this mess last year. And the year before that. Anthony Fedorov, is that you?!? Jamie gets all up in Dweezil’s face, like he’s gonna tongue his nasal cavity. Something about how if you can sing with a complete douchebag in your personal space, you can sing anywhere. On stage, Dweezil, still covered in Jamie’s man-scent, screws the pooch. Off-key in places, painfully high-pitched in others. The whole thing makes me uncomfortable, and I say that having sat through a whole season of Danny Gokey. The judges are like, “Kinda fail, Dweezil. But we like you anyhow.”
Big Mike is singing the Free Willy theme tune. It’s a blubber vortex. Jamie tries to get Big Mike to dance with him because: stupid and a little gay. Then they smack each other. T-shirts are being exchanged. I don’t understand any of this. Perhaps I suffered a head injury earlier today. That would explain it. Big Mike and a choir sing the song like they’re in church. Well, the choir sings, and Big Mike just says a few words and moans a lot. He’s quite the dullard, this one. The judges are just…no. Not having it. And Simon wants to know if the song is “about a willie.” Hee! British people are funny. They call underwear “pants” and vaginas “fannies.” I try not to call vaginas at all.
Duet. What?! Yes, a duet. Crystal and Dweezil sing “Falling Slowly” from Once, a film which I know nothing about and will probably never see, but I’m sure I’d cry if I did because I can be a big woman in that regard. Steel Magnolias? I’ve never seen the last 30 minutes of that movie with dry eyes. The duet is fine. These two make a good pair, even if the cameraman is running around them in literal circles like a crazy person. The judges love them, but this performance isn’t part of the voting process, so suck it, Crystal and Dweezil.
Casey James is up next, singing “Mrs. Robinson” from The Graduate. At rehearsal, Jamie loses his holy mind and starts ordering Casey to seduce him or toss his salad or whatever fucking Scared Straight shit is happening. Apparently, everywhere Casey goes, somebody tries to rape him. At performance time, Casey sits on the floor and sings like a less hep Jason Mraz, while looking like Evan Dando auditioning for the lead role in Jesus Christ Superstar. Got all that? It’s okay. A little too ukulele-sounding for me, in its Earth-child-ness and hippie love vibe — and Mother of Pearl Bailey, please get a fucking haircut already. But at least the performance doesn’t hurt the ears. The judges are begrudgingly on board, and positively convinced that Casey wants to bang Kara. Methinks they’re barking up the wrong tree, but who am I to spread rumors?
Crystal Bowersox is singing the awesome “I’m Alright” by Kenny Loggins from the awesomely overrated Caddyshack. Jamie keeps pushing those t-shirts. He’s like those skeevy guys who stand outside concerts with their low-rent, knockoff shirts that turn to powder after the first wash. “Five dollar! Five dollar!” I hate you, Jamie Foxx. Crystal, as is her habit (and when she’s paying attention) rocks the balls off this song. So…yeah. Winner of the night.
Duet. Casey and Big Mike sing “Have You Ever Really Really Really Really (x12) Loved a Woman,” the song which made Bryan Adams dead to me. Casey is just getting by because this is in his wheelhouse. Big Mike sings the part about child-birthing — and a hearty up your ass to everyone who’s ever voted to keep him in this competition. I hope you get jock itch in your mouth. Thank you.
That was Tuesday.
This is Wednesday — in a single paragraph, yo! I ain’t even tryin’ to play…
Fantasia Barrino comes out dressed like Rhianna in a fat suit. Ford Video, in which the Idols play Chinese firedrill with their advertorial vehicle. Heads up: Tonight’s three survivors get hometown visits next week. If you live in their cities, hide your children now. Now! Casey is safe. Daughtry sings some lousy, generic song of his (or theirs). He’s still hot, but will always be the David Cook of his season in that “rocker” doesn’t mean “special,” America. Wake up. Dweezil is safe. Big Mike and Crystal are in the Bottom Two, if that’s indeed the statistic with which we are dealing. Bon Jovi comes out and sings something not found on “Slippery When Wet” and therefore, I’m not interested. Richie Sambora looks like an old, droopy tit. Really. Results: Crystal is safe. Big Mike is going home. There are flashbacks, but I’m limiting this to a paragraph and my patience is wearing thin.
Next week: nobody sings about their wives or their babies! And peace shall come upon us…