In all the recapping madness, I forgot to thank Miss Alli for her fill-in last week. Thanks, Miss Alli! Now I feel like Hilary Swank, except for the part where I spend the rest of my career trying to convince the world I can portray a girly girl.
Preeeee- EEE-ee-veee- EEE-EeEeEe- iooooouuuu- UUUU-sss-lyyy -eeee-EEEE- eee-EEE- EEE-eEy: that shit. We get reminders of all the bad auditions we've seen so far because our scarred minds had blocked it all out. Ryan narrates that tonight they'll be showing the auditions in San Francisco, as well as Los Angeles, Mecca of all fame whores. Auditions for American Idol are just part of the pilgrimage.
Credits. I never really noticed before, but you can actually hear stomping sound effects when the transgendered terminator strides off to destroy the world.
We start the evening in Los Angeles (Pasadena, actually, again), where Ryan seems to think it's "ironic" that the home of celebrities has never been a good place to find talented contestants. Somebody needs to strap Ryan down and show him 90% of what Hollywood produces. Calm down, Ryan -- that's not what I mean when I said "strap Ryan down." He tells us that 10,000 people came out to audition. Various people that we'll never see again, ever, declare to us that they're the next American Idol. We get the requisite montage of desperate young people sleeping outside. Somebody has a big sign on their tent declaring they are "Camp Diva." Unless they paid an underling to make the sign and set up the tent, and then slapped him, and then fired him, and then got drunk and passed out, I don't think so. The young women all struggle to skankify themselves without the benefit of a real dressing room. Those thongs don't just expose themselves, you know! Some of the women end up having to use the men's room to get ready. I have a feeling the men didn't mind much, considering that one of guys in there has light-up earrings.
The editors are spent, having had their first montage-gasm of the episode, so we cut to Ryan arriving to let the kids actually into the auditions for the first day. They all file their way into the Rose Bowl, and after their morning prayer (facing the direction of wherever the closest RCA office is), the screaming begins. And the editors are up and thrusting another montage at us already. I don't know how they manage to do it five or six times a night. Maybe that herbal Viagra stuff really does work. Kids audition and make it to see the judges.