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Thursday, August 02, 2007

America's Next Top Model Series Eight #8

What's happened to the modeling world? Models should be babies, not have them. How can one be on a strict diet of cigarettes, champagne and class-A drugs if one has to breastfeed every three hours?
I'm looking at the width of these girls' hips, and I'm not convinced that anything of much quality can be squeezed out through them anyway. It's no wonder that this week's Displays Of Mothering were mostly based on catwalk and coiffure.

Get yourself a clean nappy and a Happy Meal* and settle in – it's the My Baby's Just Hair For Me episode of America's Next Top Model.

· Whitney is surprised that she keeps ending up in the bottom two at eliminations, and can't figure it out. Maybe use the full-length mirror in the hall, honey. See? See now?

· Renee's made-for-television dressing-down last week has had a distinct effect on her. It's made her smile, be pleasant, and write apologetic epistles to the other modules. The house is a much calmer, happier, more pleasant and harmonious place. Fuck that. Give me my psycho bitches back, now. If I wanted to see a bunch of lithium-levelled, overly made-up girls all being nice to each other, I'd just go get a pedicure. Somebody call someone a 'ho, quick-sticks.

· Christian the Hairdresser visits the Module Mansion and gives Brittany's dead-ginger-gopher hair-weave the undignified un-picking and shallow-grave burial it deserves. After removing the offensive rag, he flaps it around and throws it onto a table. It crawls a couple of inches by itself in its final death throes and then hurls itself into the Big Polyester Bargain Basement in the sky with a last guttural wheeze. Scene.

· Let's do some maths. There are seven modules left. Their average age is around eighteen. Their average waist measurement is around eighteen. Their average IQ is around eighteen. Three of them have babies. Wait… that makes…. hang on… carry the one…. twenty-four thousand and GO ON THE PILL AND KEEP YOUR PANTS ON. Renee misses her son Troy. Natasha misses her daughter Angelina (and if she's not named after Angelina Jolie, I'll eat my ninety-seven percent fat-free hat). Dionne misses her daughter Ta'kya. Yep. Ta'kya. Dionne's daughter's name has an apostrophe in it. Kind of puts "Wholahay" into perspective, doesn't it? Honestly, with the names, the threads, and the endearingly addictive "What the HEYLL?!" intonation, if you grated Dionne you'd get about fifteen bottles of Hood Juice.

· A Tyra-Mail crams the girls into the Big Pink Hummer and takes them to a theatre, where they're met by Tia Mowry, Wide-Eyed Sit-Com Actress. This segment is obviously sponsored by the Country Womens' Association Knitting Circle, as every module is swathed in woollen scarves and gigantic knobbly beanies. Like inuits, innit? Tia tells the girls that this week is all about acting, and how they can embody and evoke characters through the creative use of voice and movement. And, y'know – hats. Each girl is to pick a hat from a rack and then act like the character their hat suggests, using the line "I deserve to be America's Next Top Model". Now, in case there's any doubt or confusion, this is ridiculous. Everybody knows that if you're a pretty girl after an acting job, you only need two lessons: Putting A Cushion Down First, and Suppressing The Gag Reflex.

· Character-hats are hastily donned. Natasha is a Russian witch, and she cackles and hunches like an insane, mercury-eating, one-legged hag. I love her so much. Dionne is a Southern Belle, Whitney is a leopard-skin-hatted slut, and Brittany is a somersaulting jester, such is her joy at being gopher-free at last. Jael, wearing a crown, exclaims "I'm thikrin other whirl" (which is "I'm the Queen of the World" in non-barbituate English), and Renee decides that her turn-of-the-century bonnet is telling her to sob and wail. Jaslene, in a feathered headdress, surprises no-one by acting like a South-American she-man. Seriously, if her neck were wide enough to actually contain an Adams apple, it'd be uncanny.

· Tia gives the modules a script and two hours to memorise it for this week's challenge. The script requires the girls to be three different kinds of characters – melodramatic, diva, and perky, and they are to play out a scene on stage with huge Hollywood star Efren Ramirez. Sorry? What? Oh. He played Pedro in Napoleon Dynamite. You know – the guy who inspired a gazillion "Vote For Pedro" t-shirts before they became the single most succinct advertisement for lame in the Western world. The girls take to the stage one by one, and aside from Dionne adopting a bizarre Jamaican accent and Jaslene labelling herself "so retarded" for forgetting her lines, I'm temporarily distracted by a pair of oven mitts. Renee, having stored all her pent-up dramatics like a trailer-park pressure cooker by being nice to everyone all week, is declared the winner, and chooses Dionne to share in her prize. The two girls, still remembering Whitney's diamond bracelet prize of a few weeks ago, dilate their pupils in expectation of their impending trinkets, changing expression rapidly when Pedro hands them some crumpled-up t-shirts which read "I Voted For Renee" and "I Voted For Dionne". What the HEYLL?!

· Tyra, you saucy minx. As if crappy t-shirts would be the real prize. Back at the Module Mansion, a knock on the door is heard, and in walk Renee and Dionne's extended families, consisting of Renee's husband and baby, and Dionne's sister, daughter, and wheelchair-bound mother. Renee cries buckets, pashes her husband, and takes her son for a quick romp down the runway, ensuring future years of either intense therapy or surreptitious ladies underwear concealment. Dionne, who casually announces that her mother is in a wheelchair because her drug-addicted ex-boyfriend shot her (one glass of Hood Juice, thanks – no ice), is far more outraged at the hairdressing skills of her babysitting sister. Or, as she puts it: "What the f*ck is wrong with my baby's hair?" It's like Duchamp coming back to the studio to find that someone's actually pissed in his urinal, or, for the lowbrow amongst you, like putting Coke in a Pepsi can.

· Natasha is sad. Through a mixture of ESL and not-much-upstairs, she doesn't always have a totally solid grasp of the events unfolding around her, so she misunderstands the visit from two other modules' children. Rather than Challenge Prize Which Is Better Than A Shit T-Shirt, she reads the situation as Let's Have A Visit From Everyone Else's Baby Except Mine, and she takes umbilical umbrage. She's very upset, because as she says "I couldn't deal with my motions".

· I must devote a paragraph to the increasing incomprehensibility of Our Lady Of Amphetamines, Jael. Natasha, whose grip in the English language is tentative at best, is not subtitled. The models' children, who mix their garbled English with shouting and miscellaneous mouth-insertions, are not subtitled. Jael, who wouldn't know a consonant if it bubbled away on a spoon over a candle, is, more often than not, subtitled. Bitch just does not make sense.

· Photo time, and Mr Jay meets the girls at a studio for a shoot for Payless Shoes, just to throw a bit more fash-cred and vinyl onto the pile. To utilise the deeply entrenched acting skills the modules now have, they're told they have to show off the shoes whilst impersonating "famous" ex-ANTM contestants in "classic" scenes from the show. And guess what? They'll be doing the shoot with the original contestants! I don’t know how they find the time in their frantic professional schedules – I mean, if they're here, who's cooking my fries? Jay shows each module a video of the relevant "classic" moment, and then "surprises" them when the real has-been walks out. This shoot isn't just lame, it's had both legs amputated and is considering a hip reconstruction. Summarise, cook-my-fries:
o Modules: Jaslene and Bre from Series 5 (walks like a horse).
Classic Moment: When Bre had a hissy-fit after someone ate her granola bar. Seriously.
Jaslene and Bre sit on a giant box of granola bars, and the pony snatches snacks from the drag queen. Not bad.
o Modules: Natasha and Michelle from Series 4 (walks like a man).
Classic Moment: When Michelle had a hilarious, scabby, weeping rash all over her face.
Natasha's face is painted with red dots, and Michelle kind of stands around. Natasha's still pretty with her glamour-rash. I love her.
o Modules: Whitney and Shannon from Series 1 (walks like a virgin).
Classic Moment: When Shannon wouldn't pose nude because she's afraid Jesus might see.
Whitney is wrapped in a towel, and Shannon tries to pull it off. Whitney's attempt at "righteous indignance" looks like she's smelling a fart, but is a little bored by it.
o Modules: Jael and Rebecca from Series 4 (walks like she's about to fall over)
Classic Moment: When Rebecca faints during judging and hits the floor like a sack of pumpkins.
Jael, surprisingly, has trouble looking limp sprawled on the floor whilst Rebecca feigns concern, so as the two hold onto each other the whole thing ends up looking a bit like lesbian porn. It makes Jay a little nauseous.
o Modules: Brittany and twins Amanda and Michelle from Series 7 (walk like they're ugly)
Classic Moment: When Amanda and Michelle looked all alike and shit.
The three girls are dressed identically, and stand together. It's real like, cutting-edge n' that. Brittany looks gorgeous, and hence nothing like a triplet.
o Modules: Renee and Joanie from Series 6 (walks like she's awesome).
Classic Moment: When Joanie had her wacky, disfigured elephant-tusk tooth prised out of her skull by a dentist.
Joanie steals the show (because she's awesome) as a dental nurse, whilst Renee does okay in the chair, trying to make her pretty a bit more ugly – but still pretty. Y'know?
o Modules: Dionne and Kim from Series 5 (walks like she has sex with girls).
Classic Moment: When Kim pashed a chick in the limo.
Jay has to wade through more lesbian porn as Kim is told to go the lip-sandwich on Dionne. Dionne initially says "What the HEYLL?! Hold up. I ain't no f*ckin' lesbo. I'll give her a hug, but I don't even kiss my damn boyfriend!" She soon relaxes and starts to enjoy her fragrant friend's flirtations, and everybody laughs at the funny lesbians mashing face in the car. Funny gay ladies!

· A Tyra-Mail summons the modules to the Elimination Garage, where Tyra is dressed as a gypsy who shouldn't wear mini-skirts. This makes it eight weeks in a row with a scarf over her head, and I'm beginning to suspect that she's actually Harry Potter trying to hide her scar. She introduces the judges including more-glamorous-than-usual Twiggy, seven-ruffled Miss Jay, guest Matthew Jordan-Smith the hyphenated photographer, and Spunky Nigel Barker, who I'm having my tongue scraped for. Prizes are given lip-service, which I think this year include a friendship bracelet and a blue highlighter, and photos are screened for everyone's amusement. Brittany, Natasha and Dionne are the stand-outs, although Jael tries to defend her lack-lustre shot with the deranged mumbled ramblings of a homeless person with their lips sewn together.

· The judges deliberate, and Tyra calls out the non-doomed modules' names until only Mumbler Jael and Whitney Plus Size Black remain. Whitney is told that she needs to show her pretty in pictures, not just in person, and Jael is told that she needs to learn to speak with more eloquence and stuff. A decade passes, and Whitney is out on her ample arse. Bye, Whitney! Mind you don't drop yourself into another token fat-person role on your way out!

Next week, the modules hone their interview skills with April from Series 2 and their various speech impediments, and we're off to an exotic international location! Where can it be? Gosh, I hope it's exotic. How boring if it was like, just up the road from my house or something. Spitty. Pretty. Sydney City.


* But not one of those pasta ones with the tongs and the dipping sauce. What the fuck's up with that?

6 comments:

redcap said...

Ooh, Ta'kya. That's got everything, baby. It's made-up, it's got an apostrophe, it's got a Y. Another child is born i-i-i-in thaaa ghettooooo...

About the scarves, were they wearing those funny blobby white ones that looks like someone strung gerbils on wool?

PS Please don't challenge me to Scrabble. Nick's already whooping my ass and I don't know how much more defeat I can stand.

SouthernBelle said...

hehe. awesome. I remember the bit about the baby's hair, I love it.

The eps in the "exotic locale" are frickin' awesome too.

Keep em comin' Jo.
: )

Jo said...

Red - you've described the scarves perfectly. They look a bit like the floss Richard Gere uses on his arse. And Nick's giving me a hiding, too. Garn.

Belle - Thanks, retrospective reader!

nick cetacean said...

Oooh, being talked about!

Er, the hiding I'm giving red is nothing like the gentle manly contest I'm having with you, Jo...

Two bingos in a row! I'm like some awesome freakinsh hideous to the eye scrabble god.

Also, am doing C2S now. Staying with friends in Bellevue Hill. Drinking in the Swiss Grand immediately after the race...

In the HSBC start (which is apparently 3rd to go). Let's catch up...

Jo said...

Woo.
I'm in the HSBC group, too. My left knee has other ideas, but I'm ignoring it.
Ketchup sounds like a sterling idea, as does beer.
And pastrami. Pastrami's good, too.

Captain Smack said...

"Their average age is around eighteen. Their average waist measurement is around eighteen. Their average IQ is around eighteen."

That's great. I love it when they keep it simple.