After tonight, three become two — and two become finale. Then finale becomes everlasting freedom from the weekly exercise in lethargy that this show has become. Who knew we had it so good back in the days of Chris Sligh? Vonzell Solomon, anyone? Exactly. This is American Idol. “Feel that shimmy? That’s your hind legs trying to outrun your front.”
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Last night, Shania Twain stopped by to mentor the contestants to all-new heights of tedium. Tonight, she has good sense to stay away (unless I fast-forwarded through her). Instead, we’re treated to an hour-long commercial for country music. It’s enough to make a viewer miss the starving Africans and shack-dwelling families of “Idol Gives Back.” Country-fucking-music. Oy. This is American Idol. “Anyone who says money can’t buy happiness doesn’t know where to shop.”
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Last night, the contestants performed a series of Elvis classics because they wanted us to know, in case there was any doubt, that although they’re certainly more interesting than watching paint dry, they’re far less interesting than inhaling the fumes of said paint. Because at least, in that case, you might hallucinate a unicorn or a magical fairy. In reality, we just got Adam Lambert. Close enough? Maybe. This is American Idol. “Darling, I can tell you now…your father went through life with an open fly.”
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Last night, the ten remaining contestants (mostly) snoozed and/or screeched their way through a series of R&B/soul hits — after being mentored by the “artist” known as Usher, who was hired because Sisqó was too busy. Tonight, another lukewarm body goes home to fade into delicious obscurity. This is American Idol. “Jimmy want a rib! Jimmy want a steak! Jimmy want a piece of yo chocolate cake!”
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