LAST EDITED ON 04-09-05 AT 11:38 AM (EST)

Official American Idol Summary, Finals Week 4

Wicked Sound of Music, making the audience Les Miserables

So here we are, me writing and you reading my first (and perhaps last) ever RTVW summary. A couple words of explanation before you invest your time here, just so you know what you're getting into: If I seem overly snarky, it's because I’m a teacher (which means I’m very skilled at pouring my derisions on anything you do) and a professional musician (professional in the sense that I play for pay, even if it ain’t how I make most of my living) with a desperate need for an outlet for my snark (which means I learned everything I know about summary writing from Landru—please refer all complaints to him). If I seem overly harsh on Dweeze, it's because he's a Cardinals fan and they deserve it these days, what with the Pope and all (and besides which, I'm not allowed to make fun of True in this capacity unless she lets me). If this summary seems disjointed, it’s because I wrote it at 10-minute intervals over the past 4 days, for reasons I won’t bother you with, k? So let’s just get this party started before it sucks any more life from me than it has already.

We begin, as usual, with Ryan Seacrest in a sweater brought to you by Spirograph. Are you like me? Do you think "Seacrest" sounds like a toothpaste? Let's try this out--every time you hear his name in the next week, say, "Mmmmm. Minty Fresh." Go on, you'll feel better, you really will. Oookay, after the usual bit about nine remaining contestants, the pressure, and other such brakage (I’d footnote Landru here, but I don’t know the right HTML code, plus I’m not sure if this requires MLA or APA format, and besides, his head is big enough anyway, so we’ll just “All hail” him and move on, shall we? Hail yes, we shall), we segue into the opening theme, featuring a creepy humanoid figure which seems to change gender every 2-3 seconds (which I’m sure is just some subliminal code for Seacrest--"Mmmmm. Minty Fresh." See how fun that was?) The man himself emerges, noticing all the signage and claiming that it will take 2 hours just read them all, seeing as how they’re filled with big words such as "cow" and "dogg." He reminds us of the story thus far: last week, Jessica was boobed booted, the third contestant and–displaying his ability to recognize gender from a long way off–the third girl in a row. thank YOU captain obvious, which will here and forevermore be abbreviated as "tYco."

There’s the introduction of our usual judges, who have nothing whatsoever to do with this competition anymore since America never listens to them anyway because they say the same things about each contestant regardless of how the performance actually is. No really, someone should invent an American Idol version of "Hi Bob"–take a drink every time Randy uses the words "keepin it real" or "dawg" or "pitchy", Paula says "inspiration" or "improved", and Simon gets booed. My thinking is: that way you’d be drunk 15 minutes into the show, with the following benefits: Simon’s metaphors would start making sense, the performances would become more tolerable, and you’d watch the show on a level playing field with Paula.

So we cut to a behind the scenes look of the contestants playing "Guess the Theme." Ryan tells them that this week the theme will "challenge them vocally," at which the camera, always searching for the irony of the moment, cuts to Anthony trying (and failing) to look ponderous. The first two clues for Guess the Theme are: Prof. Henry Higgins and the King of Siam. Constantine buzzes in, but is disqualified for not putting the answer in the form of a question, so we’re given another hint: Annie Oakley. "Ok, next clue?" says Anthony, final proof that they removed part of his brain when they did the throat thing. Now were you like me at this point, reaching for something to throw at the idiots who could not recognize any of these three names? Annie Oakley, I’ll grant you, is a little obscure, but the King of Friggin Siam? You have GOT to be sh!tting me. Ryan eases their anguish with a gimme: the Phantom, and the light bulb finally pops over Carrie's head. Yeah, like that happens a lot, I know.

Yes, kiddoes, for the first time ever, it’s Classic Musical night on American Idol, and I realize I picked the wrong week to stop sniffing glue. You see, I was involved in a number of musicals when I was growing up, enough so that my sexual orientation was seriously questioned innumerable times (yeah I know. Good thing I’m such a manly-man now that I haven’t caused people to wonder about my gender for years and years), and I know that at least 3 times tonight I’m going hear something that I love butchered and forever rendered excruciatingly painful to my memory. I can only hope that the agony is delayed a contestant or two, a hope which is dashed immediately with the introduction of Scott.

Now growing up, Scott was too busy being served by TROs to get any culture, so he asks for help from his mom, who tells him about the the story of Don Quixote (or, as my students and Mr. Rogers like to spell it, Donkey Hotay). He says it kind of fit his life, which I can see–he probably imagined his babymutha was a windmill or something–so he decides to sing "Impossible Dream" and I’m ready for butchering #1 to commence.

Scott comes out wearing a suit from David Byrne. Someone needs to tell him the baggy hip-hop look just doesn’t work in pin-stripes. Speaking of which, you know what the biggest problem with Scott is? He really wants to be doing hip-hop, and in this competition they actually require the contestants to, you know, sing. Notes ‘n all. Imagine that. What he needs to do, with your help O Voting Public, is quit this competition right now and go find some Russell Simmons-type sleazebag who can turn him into the Next Big Thang. Literally. I mean really, he’s twice the man Marshall Mathers is, right? Again, I mean literally. What he needs is a good handle, which I understand has been giving him trouble. In fact, I have right here in my possession the Top Ten Rejected Rap Names for Scott. I’ll ignore the witty banter so that this summary doesn’t approach Landru-like proportions (too late, I know) and get right to the list. Here we go:

Tongiht’s Category: Top Ten Rejected Rap Names for Scott:

10. Vanilla Ice Cream
9. Puff Pastry Daddy
8. Busta Notes
7. LL Tepid S
6. Eminenima
5. WD-40
4. 32 Cent and some Pocket Lint
3. Flusher
2. Ludafisk (that’s for my friends in Minnesooooota. How ya doin dere, MataSwami? And yes, L-boy, I know it's spelled Lutefisk, and we all know how important spelling is when coming up with a good rap handle.)

And the #1 Rejected Rap Name for Scott is.... (drumroll)--
1. MC HammerYoGF

Props to Sheila for contributing #4 on that list. Have some corn tonight in her honor. No really. Go get it out, right now. After all, everybody here IS familiar with corn, right? Ok, this being a summary ‘n all, I suppose I better get around to reporting what actually happened on the show. So, back to the song.

Scott, your first clue that this was going to be wretched was in the title. And I don’t mean the "Impossible" part, even though it was obviously beyond your meager abilities. "Impossible" is actually a pretty good word, considering. It reminds me of KimPossible, who is a friend of mine and heading to London this summer all thanks to me, big Woo Hoo! I myself like to believe in Six Impossible Things Before Breakfast, and I also happen to like the Mission: Impossible movies; they’re very cerebral. No, your problem, Scott, was in the "Dream" part. And when I say "Dream," I mean the kind that involves Robert Englund and lots of quaint little devices borrowed from your local dentist’s office. Your little Dream there will keep me up for weeks, weeping and whimpering in a fetal position like Dweeze after the ‘85 World Series. Thanks so much for that, pal.

So, let’s hear from the panel:
Randy: It was a’ight, a sh!tty song, but ended with a bang. Not a bang-bang, though. (Sorry, the Sh!tty-Sh!tty Bang-Bang joke is just too easy there.)
Paula: Oooh, I’d take that Bang. You know I’m never one to refuse a good Bang. You seem to pick songs the reflect your life, and we all know you don’t have to sing good songs, just pick them. After all, no one knows better than me how to disguise mediocre talent by picking good songs. Oh, and? Always listen to your mutha. After which, you can go b!tch-slap your GF, I suppose.
Simon: I thought it was more of a tap than a bang. See, I’ve never read T.S. Eliot, having spent too much time making millions in the music industry, so I don’t know that the opposite of "bang" is "whimper," otherwise known as what Dweeze was doing in ‘85. No, Scott, your performance was ordinarily extraodinary, which, if you think about it, is a pretty moronic oxymoron.

Ryan tells people to vote for Scott, and they flash the number on-screen as a special service for the hearing-impaired, who will be the only people voting for Scott anyway. And so we head to--

Commercials: A story of four guys making a documentary for Coke by heading out into the unknown before disappearing in the woods around Burkittsville, Maryland; Seacrest ("Mmmmm. Minty Fresh"—ok, I’ll stop now.) hawking AI dvds for Cingular with William Hung (speaking of Sh!tty Bangs); Women’s Rogaine for those who don’t think the bald=sexy look crosses genders; trailer for Sahara, which I liked the first time I saw it, when it was called "Raiders of the Lost Ark"; Mazda, featuring Creepy Kid saying "zoom zoom"; a "dramatization" (lest you think this might actually happen) of UPS delivering during Noah’s Flood; and Fox for Nanny 911, which I have not seen because it doesn’t have Jo Frost, who could put ME on the naughty step anytime.

And we’re back with Constantine, who’s excited by this theme, because he’s an actor and he scores a lot. Heh, I kid: he actually says he’s seen a lot of scores–so I guess he likes to watch. He chooses "My Funny Valentine" from Babes in Arms, which was also sung by Frank Sinatra in Pal Joey, a personal hero of his (we’ll assume he meant Frank and not Joey). Yo Contantine–if you want to be like Frank, you gotta do more than watch, knowwhutimsayin? You’ve got the bling on the pinky down, and you look like you want to keel someone when you sing, so that’s good. But, it don’t hurt to have friends who, you know, hurt people (Scott might help you there). Could do a lot for your career. Just sayin.

Ok, I gotta admit that I was all ready to rip Constantine’s vocal performance. I don’t get his appeal, really I don’t. It’s all Greek to me. He constantly and routinely (constantinely?) compares himself to Bo, and suffers from it, because Bo Knows Rocker, and has better hair (honestly, all you out there who dig men, help me out–would you REALLY want to run your fingers through Constantine’s oily mane?). But I’ve heard this song a number of times, including the aforementioned Sinatra version, and this gap-toothed kid absolutely knocked me out. I found myself listening to it several times as I went through the videotape, just for pure enjoyment (I know, I’m sick like that. I used to get involved in musicals just for the fun and gender ridicule, remember? Deal with it.) He showed us that you can take an old standard, jazz it up, and make it your own. I only wish the rest of the contestants had paid attention.

Let’s hear from the judges:
Randy: Keeping it real (*drink*--the Hi-Bob thing, remember?), this is the best you’ve ever sung. I didn’t know you had it in you. You got a real future ahead of you touring night-clubs, dood.
Paula: You had me at "Funny." This wet spot under my chair ain’t Coke, baby. And you’re the perfect inspiration (*gulp*) for why more straight guys should subject themselves to years of gender ridicule and be in musicals.
Simon (sucking on the back of his hand again–prolly in response to Paula’s multiple orgasms): You’ve grown in confidence, your vocal gets a 7, your pout gets a 9 and a hawf, and you hair, about 3.5 pH.

Ryan wants to know who the real Constantine is, and why he continues to fight evil when he’s already been damned to hell. After the obligatory Rent reference, we turn now to--

Carrie, who wants to stretch herself (mind out of the gutter, Goth) and do "Hello, Young Lovers" from The King and I. Now, I have to wonder, out of all the possible and even familiar Rodgers and Hammerstein songs to choose from, why in heaven’s name did she have to pick THIS one? She does it well enough, I suppose, in her idiosyncratic, oversinging sort of way, but it’s such a horrible, horrible song, especially when wrapped up in flour and countrifried like this. Ick, ick, double ick. And? I can’t help but think as I watch her and all that hair (was she even wearing a dress under it?): this is what JonBenet would look like all growed up. *shiver*

I was going to leave it at that, but I have to add one more thing. Is it too much to ask for her to show a little more personality when she sings? How is it possible that someone who looks so perky can be so blah on stage? I mean, c’MON. We’ve seen more emotion from Terri Schiavo. Even the Pope has looked more lively lately.

Judges? Randy: Boring song, but you sung it well. (tYco)
Paula: You look stunning, the performance was elegant. Your hair reminds me of the glorious big-hair 80s, back when I was a has-been for the very first time. The audience was swelling with you. (Now if THAT isn’t code, I need some more lessons.) You are a well-oiled machine. (Heh. She said "oiled.")
Simon: You sang well, but song was mind-numbingly boring. (tYco) But it’s been a while since I’ve used an incomprehensible metaphor, so I think I’ll throw out a silly reference to Washing Powder to make my point here, because heaven knows I can’t cast about for anything more recognizably connected to the phrase "old-fashioned," like avacado appliances or anything.

Carrie tells Ryan that she learned this song by listening to it in her sleep over the past week, which I guess explains a lot about her soporific performance. Ok, I have to interject for a moment here to say that I’m appalled by how many contestants revealed that they never heard their songs before this week. I mean seriously. It’s not like any of them chose Pirate Jenny from The Threepenny Opera or anything (you want the Lotte Lenya version, for those of you playing at home). Did I go to the only high school in the world that did old-fashioned, maudlin musicals? Did these people never join a glee club? Do they not live near a Blockbuster? Don’t have TCM on cable? Did they never even attend a wedding, for Pete’s sake? Their cultural vacuum is jaw-dropping, to say the least.

Commercials: Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, which I’m sure is going to destroy another novel that I dearly love; Lowes, which makes me wonder: do they have any idea who is watching this show? I mean really, Women’s Rogaine and Lowes? Somebody better get their smarmy @ss fired over that one, and soon; Gillette Venus, with too much footage on the dolphins and not enough on the legs, although plenty on the boobage, which is connected to a woman’s razor in ways I don’t want to be made aware of; Wendy’s Mozzarella Chicken, with a futile exercise in hyperbole; Mercedes-Benz, for men who want um....attentions from women they barely know (yes, I know I co-opted that one from Crazy People; let them sue if they dare); Tim Horton’s Toasted Chicken Club, which our friends from Canadia must be giggling over, since we stoopid Americans seem to have totally missed the point and appeal of Tim Horton’s; and Fox for House, where people from Kramer’s OverEmote-A-Disease class find work these days.

And we’re back to learn that tomorrow night is Fantasia night on American Idol, and I’m entertaining a fleeting hope that we’re gonna see some whales flying to the Pines of Rome. Moving onto Vonzell, who doesn’t talk 2 seconds before my worst nightmare flashes onto the bottom of the screen. For years, I’ve been dreading the moment when someone on this show would actually sing The. Worst. Song. Ever. Written. and it’s about to come horribly, horribly true. I don’t even need to tell you what the song is, or even which K’nish, who sings like buttah and would go on to play a gender-bending Nebish/Schtickholz in what is perhaps the worst, most self-indulgent musical film evah, made it famous. No, you already know what I’m talking about, don’t you. Yes, you do. And you don’t want to be reminded of it. So let me help you out and give you something to make the song more, uh, palatable. The next time you hear it, think of these alternate lyrics, and have a good giggle on me:

People. People who eat people. Are the yuckiest people. In the world. With children. Kneading other children. And yet eating the grown-ups fried. Hide all the meat inside. Tasting more like children than chicken.

You get the idea. Please see Shakes for any and all recipe requests.

As for the performance, well not bad, I suppose, but I think, taking the cue from Paula here, she should be eliminated, if not hung, drawn, and quartered, just on the basis of the song choice alone. And Vonzell, hon? Don’t pull your hair back any more. You're cute, but your Vulcan ears are too much for the geeks like Nailbone in the audience, and trust me. You *don’t* want them swelling with you.

And the judges?
Randy: That was brilliant, and I’m going to say that a girl might actually win this year because we can’t have a 4th girl voted off in a row since we’d lose half our audience, dawg.
Paula: Barbra is Barbra, Vonzell is Vonzell, Simon is Simple, Randy is NotMichaelsBrother, and I’m a part-time 80s HasBeen, full-time lush. Glad we cleared that up. What a bold choice, to hit the high E-flat that even BarBar won’t attempt. (Uh, Paula, it’s because she has some sense not to go up where the sun don’t shine, and she’s not in a competition where the audience goes all Pavlov in response to long, high screeching notes. Honestly, I think they give the Idol audience some experimental psychodelic drugs or something. I have no other rational explanation for the whole toss-the-panties-at-Clay phenomenon.)
Simon: Good but not great. It left me cold, clinical, and clammy. (Not that we could tell the difference.)
Vonzell blows her trademark kiss, as we move on to

Anthony, who gives us another "O lordy, please let it not be so" moment when the song is announced, "Climb Every Mountain" from The Sound of Music. Another song bites the dust. Yes, folks, he seriously is going to attempt to sing something originally intended for a Mother Superior. Well, one thing is for sure–he has confirmed TechNoir’s obvervation that, "if there was ever someone born to be a female impersonator, he's it." She wise, the Tech.

This performance was so unbelievably bad that words fail me. (Hard to believe, I know. I'm usually such a reticent guy...) Fortunately, he spared us for a good while because the first part of the song was too low in his range for him to be heard, his voice not having changed yet, apparently. Or maybe he already has a mind toward his future destiny, per Tech, and has already been neutered. Or spayed. Whatever. Anyway, I can’t help but think, as I’m watching him and his robotic movements, that he could make some money this summer: slap some gold metallic paint on him, and he could double for C-3PO at all the Episode III shindigs. And the best part? He wouldn’t have to sing at any of them.

Here come da judges:
Randy: Keeping it real? (*swig*) I think the Russians must not love their children too, because they foisted you on us, dawg.
Paula: I’m paid to say something positive no matter what, and I’m trying real hard to find something here, but you gotta give me something to work with, you know? It’s not easy being so perky when there was absolutely nothing to compliment, so I guess I’ll have to say that you made me pay attention to the lyrics because that’s all I’ve got, hon. Sorry.
Simon: Hideous. (Best. Response. Ever.)
Ryan: All right, we know where this is going, and I feel empowered by my Sweater courtesy of NUMB3RS to cut you off, so let’s let America decide.

Commercials: AI sponsor Ford Focus, which is hard to recognize without the AI PuffNStuff characters pimpin the ride; XXX: State of Union, which I liked the first time I saw it, when it was called Mission: Impossible; the AOL as Tuna Sandwich metaphor, which I actually understand now that I’ve spent this past week wrestling with AOL on my parent’s computer and I can verify that AOL definitely stinks big time; some artsy-fartsy thing for Kohl’s, proving that people who go to film school shouldn’t be allowed to slum it by making commercials; Maybelline mascara, which always cracks me up because they flash the words "dramatization" on the screen when the model applies it, like she needed a Stanislavsky moment to find the emotional center of someone putting on mascara; Charmin, which answers the eternal question of just what bears in the woods DO use to wipe their @sses; something utterly forgettable from KFC; and some new skeevy show on FOX (ok, that was redundant) starring Pamela Anderson’s boobs (is it me, or is a girl with two volleyballs in her shirt more of a turn-on?).

And we’re back, with Nikko "Jack" Smith. (Well, he is Ozzy’s son, innt he?) He remembers seeing West Side Story when he was 10, or about the time his dad was putting Dweeze into the fetal position with his 2 for 23 performance, so he decides to pull out "One Hand, One Heart" for tonight. Well, one good thing is, I don’t have to worry about him ruining this song for me, because about half a million "Friends of the Bride" have already done that. Here’s a hint for all you intending to get married out there. Do you remember those weeks of AI before the semi-finals, you know the ones where they drag out all those people who have neither talent nor a clue? This is what your friend sounds like to us. It does NOT put us in the right mood to share your Special Moment of Joy. It makes us want to recite the latest divorce statistics and tell our favorite Scott Peterson stories very loudly as we wait in the receiving line. So do us all a favor and hire a professional, or better yet, just elope and let us skip right to the party. Drunk people are less critical; just ask Paula.

As for Necco’s performance, all I can say is that, well, he dressed sharp. There was a part toward the end of the song when I suddenly said, "Dayum, that’s not bad!"–but alas, his lips weren’t moving. Um, Necco, when choosing your back-up, you gotta find someone who won’t overshadow you, someone who will make you look good by contrast. This word of wisdom brought to you courtesy of Geo. Bush the First.

Judges?
Randy: You always keep it contemporary. In other words, I gotta praise the arrangement, because the performance otherwise sucked.
Paula: You’re the comeback kid. (*glug glug*) This is one of my favorite songs from my favorite musical because I used to sing it at all of my friends’ weddings back before I was an 80s Has-Been.
Simon: The big note at the end wasn’t enough to make us forget just how much your dad broke Dweeze’s heart in ‘85, not to mention the years of therapy besides.

Ryan: I love it when we get to the end of the show and we’re running out of time, because I have free rein to cut off Simon and I can be disillusioned for a moment that I actually have some cajones. Meanwhile, it’s time for more

Commercials: Burger King, featuring the King of all Creepy Humanoid Figures. I mean really, I hope the person responsible for this ad campaign, which is destined to give me Impossible Dreams of the Englund variety for years and years, is subjected to all manners of Jack Bauer-like torture while being forced to watch Paradise Hotel reruns around the clock with his eyelids propped open a la Clockwork Orange. Only then will I begin to feel some satisfaction. The same goes for the person who dreamed up the “Lime in the CokeUNut” thingamabob, which pierces your brain like an awl and which–probably not coincidently–shortly follows this BK spot and features the same ubiquitous journeyman actor; trailer for Fever Pitch, which I liked the first time I saw it, when it was about a British soccer team; Mischa Barton for whothehellcares, she’s totally hot; Bernie Mac, another show I’ll probably never watch, because his eyes seriously wig me out so much I can’t pay attention to a damn thing he’s saying, so I honestly can’t tell if he’s funny or not; a teaser for my local news, which certainly can’t compare to Landru’s local news yet nevertheless tells us about a HS basketball scandal and possible forfeiture of a state title, which probably means that everyone involved will be playing for Cincy’s Hugs and Thugs next year, just my luck; some more forgettable local food-chain spots; Jessica Simpson–proof and hope to all AI contestants that you absolutely do not need an ounce of singing talent to make it big in this biz–for the buffalo-pizza-made-from-tuna thing, and the OC, another show I don’t watch because it’s on opposite Survivor, even though it does have Mischa on it, and she’s totally hot.

And we’re back. (Whew.) With Anwar (Menachem evidently is on keyboard) and "If Ever I Would Leave You" from Camelot. But first he has to Educate us about the musical with an introduction that is so flat I’m suprised Randy didn’t complain about it being pitchy. Now don’t get me wrong. I like Anwar, for several reasons. For one thing, I AM Anwar in the Be The Idol game elsewhere on this board. For another, like Anwar, I’m a teacher, and we gotta hang together. And third, he’s Tech’s favorite, and as those of you who frequent OT know, she is never wrong. But honestly? I hope he wins this thing, so he’ll have enough money to buy a personality.

As he sings, his voice pinches a bit, and if I squint my eyes and imagine him with some shades, I could be convinced he’s Stevie Wonder, which is not necessarily an insult. Beads in his hair would help there. He does a good rendering of another song that I hear too much at weddings, enough so that I have to be restrained from bursting out, "Ok, just LEAVE her already, dammit." I notice also that Fantasia has bequeathed him her bounce.

And the judges go "doot, do doot, do doot, do doot do doot" </Lou Reed>
Randy: Welcome back. Your dreams were your ticket out. Good to see you showcase your voice, rather than your wardrobe, which was Necco's mistake.
Paula: You are technically the best singer on the stage. (Well, technically, Paula, he’s the only singer on the stage at the moment, but we getcha.)
Simon: You seemed very comfortable, which is another one of my trademark comments that could be construed as either a compliment or an insult because I like being ambiguous, in many, many ways.

On now to Bo, who used a Ouija board to choose "Corner of the Sky" from Pippin. He recognizes that musicals aren’t his thing, and he knows he doesn’t have to be great, just not suck the worst. Bo, no need to worry. Your performance is just that–not great, but doesn’t suck. Plus, the Ouija didn’t fail you—it could have directed you to the Major General song from Pirates of Penzance or something, which, while I would have paid decent money to see you sing it, would have guaranteed your exit this week, my friend. And I’m glad it was you singing "Corner," personally. If Trach boy had done it, his doctor probably would've been flooded with lawsuits, if he/she hasn’t been already. A piece of advice, though—lose the Fruit Roll-up shirt; there are too many people like Glow-pop in the audience, already eager to eat you up as it is.

Judges? Ruth? Samuel? Bueller?
Randy: I’m in your corner, youz one of the DAWGS (*chug-a-lug*)
Paula: When you pick songs, it don’t matter; you can cross your toes, you can cross your legs, not that I personally would know anything about that.
Simon: You’ve had two bad weeks. This was messier than Paula’s chair after Contantine.

Commercials: the AI dvd again; Veet razor kit, showing someone way too perky in the morning; trailer for Amityville Horror, which I liked the first time I saw it when it was called the Amityville Horror; Papa John’s meatball pizza, the kind not made by an Apprentice; something forgettable by Benadryl; that stupid Smiley for the Great Satan itself, Wal-Mart; promos for local re-runs in syndication; and a reminder that tomorrow will be Fantasia night on Idol.

And we’re back with Nadia, who’s a little nervous about this Fantasia thing–if she’s given two buckets of water to carry, she’s afraid someone will mistake her for a broom and go Medieval on her @ss with an axe. She chooses to sing "As Long As He Needs Me" from Oliver, a song which, she explains, is about loving a person right or wrong and, if she had actually watched the musical she was performing from, being beaten to death because of it. Then she adds how much this reflects her own life right now. Um, hello? Remember, this was sung by a ho, Nadia. And did we mention the beating part? What, did Scott help you pick this one?

Ok, I liked her slinky outfit, but not her Medusa-like mane. Maybe she’s got this Ancient World thing going, since two weeks ago she modeled a style first made popular on SPQR Brush Helmets. The singing wasn’t bad, to be fair, but I’m glad this night is over with only a few minor casualties.

Since the live show is thankfully out of time, the judges only give a quick “nice job” before Simon asks that Ryan not choose Musical themes anymore. I can’t snark that, cuz I’m totally there with ya, dood.

Real quick on the results show, since I always think this is one of the poorest excuses of television ever invented. Only the last 2 minutes of a football or basketball game drags so much time out of so little content. So I’ll give you the Cliff Notes version: much to my dismay, Fantasia doesn’t involve a single Dancing Hippo (well...nah, too easy); instead they bring back some unwed teenage mother (an issue debated in my all-time favorite AI thread here, which reminds me, I need to remember to consult Misto's mother for sex advice). She sings something totally ordinary but with lots of bouncing and trademark yeah-yeahs. The director here makes an interesting choice—positioning the camera so we that we mostly see a blinding light instead of her face. Make of that what you will. At least she's not wearing her taco. She gives the current idols some advice, telling them to just "act ugly." (Nope. Not going to say it. Again, way, way WAY too easy.) Ryan informs us that Reuben Studdard and Kimberley Caldwell are also in the audience, although Reuben is so big the camera only has room for him. Or else Kimberley has become invisible.

After the commercials (sorry, I'm all commercialed out; insert your own filler here) we see this week's Ford Focus video, featuring everyone talking to the hand. Finally we get to the whole point of this dragged-out business: the bottom three, which I’m sure you are aware are: Vonzell, Necco, and Scott. The fact that Anthony is not in this list is the first great travesty of the night (well, after Fantasia), and the fact that Necco goes instead of Scott is the second.

So, how do I sum up my feelings about this business? With another TTL: Here are the Top Ten possible alternate titles for this summary:

10. Jesus Christ, are these people supposed to be Superstars?
9. Fiddler Made a Goof
8. Miss Sungwrong
7. Ryan and the Amazing BlacknWhite DreamSweater (Dream in the Englund sense, of course)
6. Sweeney Todd (No really—wouldn’t you love to see more than a few of these guys in the barber’s chair? Which reminds me... “People. People who eat people....”)
5. Bring In ‘Da Noose, Bring In ‘Da Funk
4. Urinetown (for a p!ss-poor performance)
3. Annie Get Your Gun and Shoot Me Now
2. Brigadon’t

And the #1 alternate title for this summary? (drumroll.......)
1. Titanic.
No explanation necessary there, I hope.

--Gothmog (“Mmmmm. Minty Fresh”) out.

Props to Wheezy who contributed uncredited jokes to parts of this summary, to Pooh for coming up with tYco, and to MCatt who pointed out Vonzell's Vulcan ears.