Life has been getting your poor blogger down of late, darlings, and last night’s AI did nothing to help. Can you say worst audition episode of this or many seasons? I knew that you could. And kittens, had I only known, I wouldn’t have blown my wad on Elphaba and Co. in the last post, you know? Because Mr. Wicked was the only worthwhile thing about San Fran. I couldn’t even be assed to figure out names, so let’s just dive in and do the quick and dirty, shall we?
Mr. Wicked – Lovely voice. Kinda almost there with the look, thus can be spectacularly transformed around week six or seven. Set Simon’s gaydar to tingling such that the “theatrical” code came out. Yep, this one’s a keeper. And his first concert was Paula Abdul. Blowing Kisses in the Wind. Great, great song. I liked this one.
Enough of the good vibes because Kara Diodonotmakemehurtyou was ridiculous here, and really all throughout this episode. Y’all, I don’t know if I can with this one. I maybe could get past the Shredded Wheat top (And were those grommets holding those strips together? Really?) Perhaps, I could even get past letting dubious “talent” like prom dress girl through, because, as we’ve established, every Hollywood Week needs its redshirts. But the constant Simon baiting? And trying to bite on Paula’s moment with Mr. Wicked? No, you don’t get your hand kissed. He didn’t see you floating around on a wire and caterwauling about how waiting for him was like blowing kisses in the wind, whatever that means, now did he? Here’s a newsflash for the new judge. This show is not about you. In fact, I think that’s the reason why I most hate her, nibblets. Our intrepid trio, whatever their faults, never lose sight of the fact that this show is not really about them. It’s about the kids that they are there to ridiculously puff up only to later eviscerate for our viewing pleasure. But this one? This new one? Let her speak. Let her finish. Kiss her hand. Give her that book on anatomy and physiology. Come hug her, kids. Yeah, no. So much hate for this new one. Why is she here?
Aaahh. I always feel better after a heaping helping of hating, don’t you?
Hair Monster – I know I gave some free passes last week to the sob story contestants, but at least, they could really sing. Hair Monster gets no such pass from me. He has a pleasant voice, if a little bit strained when he really tried to do a few runs. And his mom is gorgeous and I’m sure she loves him very much. But I’m not crying for you and you’re not cute enough to make up for the fact that you are a studio musician at best. He might make it through to the group sing during Hollywood Week, but I can’t see him in the chair getting the pass through to Top 36, can you kiddies? Maybe he’s got a little something something going on that we don’t know about, but he will need to bring it much harder than what he showed last night if he hopes to advance.
Prom Dress/Jesus is for the Kids/Rectum Singer/Rubik’s Cube – Darlings, I really don’t think I have the strength. Nobody else in this episode even registered, neither the good nor the bad. The “good” were fair to middlin’ at best. And Jesus is for the Kids? Hate to burst your bubble, but your kids? Not that cute. I guess the apples really don’t fall far from the tree. I actually would’ve loved to spend some more time with that red haired girl who sang Aretha (Although another 16 year old, show? When will they ever learn?) or the pretty, hippy boy with what seemed to be the best voice of the night. But I guess we were just too busy getting all up in that crazy beat boxing boy’s ass, weren’t we? And a lovely waste of time that was. Kiddies, I admit it. I’m cranky and was already pissed off that we were only getting an hour last night, but you have to admit that SF severely underwhelmed. When even Ryan can’t bring on the warm fuzzies, Idol is having an off night.
Oh well, onward and upward, I suppose. I still have hopes for S8. Maybe the crazy bald contestant will follow through on whatever threat he lays down and kill Kara Diogettostepping. A ratings booster and an immediate fix to the show. Don’t let me down, Crazy.
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