American Idol: Results Show (3/21)

Eleven become 10...

by Frank Pittarese

"Last night, we lost ourselves in the sixties." Unfortunately, you found your way back. "Tonight, one of our finalists is heading back to reality." The kids are lined up in a row. Chris Sligh is a stone-faced dough-boy. Phil is wearing another bad hat, making him look like a giant special needs child. Stephanie is emotionless. Sanjaya has a big, fake pageant smile plastered on his face. Gina giggles without a care in the world. "The results are in. Is your favorite out? This is American Idol. "

Post-credits, the audience stands and cheers for Seacrest, who reminds us that last night was all about the British Invasion. He throws a cursory hello to the judges, and goes straight to the recap.

The Top Eleven met with musical mentors Peter Noone and Lulu. The only cool thing about Peter was that eons ago, he was in Herman's Hermits, and it's fun to say "Herman's Hermits" out loud. Lulu, however, was a fission bomb of fabulous. Paula dreamed of seeing Simon naked, instead of just asking Seacrest for the photos. Stephanie stood and sang boringly. Chris Sligh took a one-way trip to the Land of Hate when he sang from the audience and shouted out his new catchphrase, "Fro patro!" I can only handle one Taylor Hicks in my lifetime. Blake modernized a Zombies song, causing Seacrest to beatbox and dance like a metrosexual dork. Haley sang something, but it didn't matter because everyone was looking at her ass. LaKisha sang Diamonds Are Forever, which was more like Diamonds Are Whatever. Chris R. sang a ballad, proving that he can't really sing. But I still like him. Phil shouted the lyrics to Tobacco Road from various points of the stage, his strategy being that if he moved quickly, we wouldn't notice how awful he is. Gina had the stones to sing the Stones and got stoned for doing so. Jordin ruled the night with an excellent performance of I Who Have Nothing, while Melinda, suffering from a sad haircut, broke her hot streak with a song so dull even her formidable skill couldn't reel me in.

And what of Sanjaya? He won over the crowd by choosing a song that doesn't actually involve any singing: The Kinks' You Really Got Me. He also appeared to make a little girl cry. Except the girl? Not so little. She's actually 13. And the crying? Well, that was sincere, except the producers saw her crying at a dress rehearsal earlier in the day, invited her back, and gave her a camera-ready seat specifically to catch her weepery on live TV -- most notably during Sanjaya's performance. So much for the spontaneous tears of an adorable "little" kid. Bah.

Songtime. Peter Noone steps out to sing There's a Kind of Hush. Imagine you're shopping at an electronics store with your sixty-year-old dad. Now imagine Dad spotting a karaoke machine, and before you can do anything to stop him, he's singing and bopping around in public like a drunkard. Now imagine that he points at you and shouts into the mic, "That's my kid, everybody!" That uncomfortable, embarrassing feeling? That's what watching Peter Noone is like.

Ford Ad. Set to the tune of Sam Cooke's Another Saturday Night. The gang arrives at a laundromat, carrying their dirty clothes and detergent, then proceed to goof off while washing their laundry. They mug for the camera, peering through the clear dryer doors. A washer-cam spins around while we look out on the Idolers. They dance awkwardly in a 1960's style. "Melinda" cartwheels atop an entire row of washers. Blake, the scamp, overloads a machine with soap and causes bubble havoc. Everyone keeps singing, despite being up to their necks in suds. When I was in the third grade, there was a kid in my glass who was filthy, like Pigpen. The teacher used to give him clean-up chores (washing the arts-and-crafts supplies, etc.) just to get some soap on his hands. Maybe that's what this is all about. That Chris Sligh looks like he might be gamey.

Live again. The kids are sitting in the Chairs of Doom, and Everybody Loves Raymond's brother is sitting among them. He has a show on Fox and nobody's watching it, hence, this publicity-grabbing nonsense. Everybody Loves Raymond's brother is sitting between Gina and Chris R., acting very nervous, as if he might be cut from the show. He kisses Chris R. on the head. Blake holds his hand. The lights dim. Seacrest "eliminates" Everybody Loves Raymond's brother. Vaudeville lives.

Seacrest has the kids stand in groups as he works towards revealing the bottom three.

The first group is Phil, Melinda, and Blake. Are they kidding me with this? They are not our bottom three tonight.

The second group is Chris Sligh, LaKisha, and Jordin. Yeah, right. They're not our bottom three, either.

The third group is Sanjaya, Haley, and Gina. This bunch is possible, but Sanjaya gained some points yesterday, thanks to Weepy Girl. They're not our bottom three.

That only leaves Chris Richardson and Stephanie. They are the bottom two this week.

Who's going home? Ah...it's not that easy with this show. It never is.

Post-break, Everybody Loves Raymond's brother is sitting in the audience, holding up a sign that reads: CLAY AIKEN HURT ME. That's hilarious, man. Now I'll be sure to watch your show. When's it on? Oh, I missed it? Damn. My bad.

Seacrest talks about the show's upcoming charity event, Idol Gives Back, putting out a donation plea to Corporate America. Excuse me, but isn't this my time? Talk to Corporate America behind the scenes, Ryan. Anyway, he rambles about imagining getting ten cents for every vote cast, which at thirty million calls, blah, blah, my baloney has a first name. Look, I'm all for feeding the starving, but this show makes money on top of money. If they really want to be charitable, they should donate their effing cash and be quiet about it. But this self-congratulatory, "look at us, we're helping" crap is a little offensive, however well-intentioned it may be. To draw attention to your own good deeds...it's just tacky. Meanwhile, if you need to give, Fox, I could use some health insurance. Thanks.

Songtime. Lulu comes out and sings To Sir With Love. She's picked up the tempo quite a bit from the original version. It makes the song less touching and takes away from the emotional hook, but in fairness, she's probably sung it about seven bazillion times. It's a wonder she's not rapping it just to keep it interesting for herself. She looks awesome. Tight black outfit. Boobs on display. Her skin is flawless. Great voice. A little rougher than the original recording, but that was what, forty years ago? Diana Ross could take a lesson.

Elimination time. Stephanie and Chris R. stand side by side, holding hands. Her face says, "I know where this is going." His face says, "Step back, my dinner is making its on-stage debut." Based on last night's performance, either of them can go home and I wouldn't be surprised. Stephanie's votes are most likely split with Jordin's, and Chris R.'s are probably split with Blake's. Each set is of relatively equal value in terms of persona, so either of these lesser performers should go home before their more appealing counterparts. That's just how it works.

After thirty million votes, Chris is staying, and Stephanie is going home.

Flashback Reel. Stephanie, soulfully singing at auditions. Telling how her parents made her try out. Riding in a convertible. Getting through to the Top 24. Singing on her knees. Hugging Diana Ross. High-fiving Lulu. Blowing us a kiss. "This is what I wanna spend the rest of my life doing -- till I'm old and gray."

But she won't be doing it here.

Next week, the madness that is Gwen Stefani.
--Frank