So now that the eleven remaining contestants have cleared the hurdles marked "Auditions," "Hollywood," "semi-finalist" and "finalist," the next arbitrary plateau they have to reach lest they be branded gigantic failures is to make the top 10. That way they get to be on the tour! At which point they'll spend all summer dealing with Blake's hair products, and LaKisha's crying kid, and Melinda's Gayles, and Chris R.'s groupies, and Phil's blood transfusions, and Haley and Gina's jealous boyfriends, and Sligh's...oh, man. A whole summer stuck on tour with Chris Sligh. You think he's gotten tiresome now? Anyway, sorry, Ryan's trying to tell us something. The top 10 is what our Idols seek, and they'll have to brave 1960s Britain to do it. This is American Idol.
We'll start with what Ryan looks like, as we often do, and while the gray tailored suit is nice, I suppose, if you're going to a wedding, I am not in love with the many-shades-of-eggplant striped tie. Then again, maybe Ryan's just very Catholic and wants to wear his Lent colors. HA ha ha ha! Right. Like Ryan Seacrest has beliefs. As the top 11 parade across the stage, Middle America's very own flesh bazaar, we see that Haley is wearing hot pants, Stephanie has chosen to get into the spirit of the evening with some go-go boots, Gina and Melinda have gotten their hair cut, Phil isn't wearing a hat (dammit!), and Sanjaya has gone back to his original floppy moppet hair, but he's given last week's tangle of curls to LaKisha, who wears it proudly. Next we meet the judges, and Paula's glassy-eyed and seal-clapping, so I guess it couldn't last forever. I feel like she's going all Algernon on us, like if I tell her how articulate and awesome she's been for the last month, she wouldn't even understand it anyway. When asked about how the contestants should deal with their nerves, she slurrily suggests they picture Simon naked. Ryan, as you might expect, gets all giggly and weird at this not-at-all-pre-planned remark, while Simon's all lean-back about it, because everybody wants his bitch-titted fine self.
So there's a theme, this week. And it's "The British Invasion," or so Ryan tells us. Which means Britain in the 1960s. And because they think we're stupid but they don't think we're that stupid, the retrospectical montage begins with The Beatles. What Ryan's voice-over doesn't say is that we won't be hearing any songs by the Beatles tonight, because Michael Jackson sold the rights to those songs to a fourth-grader in exchange for a glimpse at his belly-button. (Too much?) So, yeah, it's "British Invasion" week without the Beatles. Next week, look for Disco Night without Donna Summer or the Bee Gees. Instead, we're left to marvel at the awesome power of Gerry and the Pacemakers and The Searchers. And, okay, the Stones and The Who, and Dusty Springfield, and Shirley Bassey are awesome, and I'm sorry if this is your chosen musical genre and I'm just being an ignorant moron about it, but come on. The Beatles! Do the theme right or don't do the theme! Your season can live without the Peter Noone ratings bump.