Wednesday. Through the door and into the house we go, as the disembodied voice of Rod Serling's great-great-grandson's pool boy tells us that this house is like no other house. Cameras, microphones, chess board, doodads, et cetera. Twelve idiots will soon arrive. (Technically, RSGGGPB calls them "daring strangers." Same difference.) Confinement! No contact with the outside world! Evictions! And, of course, the $500,000 prize at the end. Because this is Big Brother, where the motto is: Even We At CBS Will Not Pay You One Million Dollars To Let Us Watch You In The Potty For Three Months.
Same piano/drum-machine/fiddle theme as last year. The composer of this music got his M.F.A. from the back of Cracked, and it came with a free order of Sea Monkeys.
Julie Chen comes down the front steps of the house, wearing a midnight blue peasant-blouse-inspired top, which I could like, and camel-colored velour pants, which I could not. She is sporting both a sparkly choker and a chunky pendant. I think the pendant is the one of these necklaces that she meant to leave on the dresser. She tells us we're about to meet the houseguests, and in her most dramatic and hushed chirp, she points out that they have nothing in common except "courage." And fame-whoring, Julie! Don't forget fame-whoring!
Here's the ridiculous Let's Pretend You're Shocked When We Hand You The Key sequence. It starts with a quick-cut series of contestant shots, including at least one of Josh that makes him look both awkward and evil, like a serial killer who wets the bed. All are visited by the unseen Key Fairy -- Danielle at home, Jason at what I'm thinking is his parents' house, Chiara at a hot dog vendor (her reaction is the most obviously phony, which is probably because her setup is the most credibility-straining), Marcellas during what looks to be a photo shoot he's working on, and Lori while on a walk with her kids. I'm sure the approaching cameras didn't attract any attention.
Amy, a large-breasted blonde wearing a whole lot of ill-advised eye shadow, is fetched from her stultifyingly boring living room, where she takes the opportunity to admire her reflection in the great big key. She finds herself bee-yoo-tee-ful. Outside on her lawn, she holds her little dog in her arms and clutches it tightly to her big dogs (if you get my sophomoric meaning), telling us that if she pisses us off, she doesn't give a damn. I make a voodoo doll of Amy and put gum in its hair.