Okay, the premise: This show is a competition in which the contestants will vie for the title of "Sexiest Person in America." It's loosely (okay, totally) based on the website, hotornot.com. No singing, no dancing, just critiques of outer beauty. Except the judge this time isn't just you, the user, but ex-model Rachel Hunter, fashion designer Randolph Duke, and ex-actor Lorenzo Lamas. Could it be any more insipid? You know, it's possible to aim at fish in a barrel and miss. You hear me, ABC? So yeah, each week, thirty-two "hopefuls" will compete for a chance to be deemed hot by these C-list washouts and "launched to stardom." As if, as if, et cetera. Oh, but people cry. Bring it!
Some annoying reject from the Hollywood Host Academy tells us there are 290 million people in the United States. We should care? Oh, he has a point -- that tonight, "the search for the TWO hottest people...begins." Countdown to barfness.
More flame-colored graphics of orange-outlined toned bodies fly by, and then the host introduces himself: JD Roberto. He says that for months they've been searching the country. First, they divided the country up into zones. Then, they bored you to death with graphics of maps lighting up in different areas. Then, thousands of people in their living rooms shouted, SHOW US THE BOOBIES ALREADY! Thirty-two contestants in each zone, yawn. After the judges have at it with their bitchiest of comments, you have a shot. Or, as JD puts it, "the power to change our contestants lives will be placed in your hands." And it begins in Southern California. Land of the pretty.
A montage of sun-bleached Californians flies by, along with the obligatory homage to surf music/rip-off of Dick Dale. Wipeout. One not-so-hot guy asks that the assembled crowd yell "HOT!!" after he counts to three. He then testifies to the camera that they are all, in fact, hot. Mmm...sorry, hon. You're just okay. A face a mother could love, yes. But hot? Actually, I'm a horrible judge of hotness. My first crushes were Danny Kaye and Christopher Walken. I was a child in the '70s. I also had a thing for John Lithgow in The Hotel New Hampshire. Though when a Brad Pitt clone working as test-tube shot slinger in a bar in Las Vegas came on to me, honey, I was SO into it. Anyway, we get shot after shot of people lined up to compete. WE GET IT. Lorenzo says with a straight face, "This competition is going to be brutal. This is going to be survival of the hottest." Lorenzo? Die. Randolph Duke says that a smile can get you farther than big boobs. So, both should get you everything, right, Randy? A non-celebrity judge asks a contestant what makes her hot. She says, pointing to each area as she mentions it, her "brains, [her] beauty, and [her] booty." Really, I knew there were people like this, but I'm never around them.
Okay, here comes Joe, a guy who thinks he's hot, but totally is not. He says his tongue is his strongest attribute. Because he "can move it pretty fast." He smiles knowingly, but thank godfully does not demonstrate. Rachel Hunter, "super model," says forcefully, "That is really sick." Was she talking about the Michael Jackson 20/20 special? Because the vitriol she exhibited in that comment couldn't just have been wasted on some dweeb who said, but did not show, that he can wiggle his tongue really fast. I mean, Rach, hon, you were married to Rod Stewart. Who's "really sick" now, dear?