Honestly, if I had a dollar for every time I’ve worn a wig and six-inch heels in a coffin straight after pretending to be a mannequin in a David Jones window and a quick yoga session, I’d have four dollars. And twenty cents.
Welcome, ladies, primarily gay gentlemen and recently blow-dried cadavers, to the ‘Bury Me Deep In Scrag’ episode of Australia’s Next Top Model. Wash your hands.
A Sarah Mail arrives ridiculously early in the morning that babbles something about ‘mind, body and spirit’.
|Really? Nothing about hair?|
The modules al...sorry, hang on – my phone’s ringing, back in a sec.
Oh. It was just Rachel, thanking me for being a bitch about her hair. Thank you. Thanks. No, really, ta. Thank you so much.
The Fashion Fiestas deliver the scrags to a harbourside park, where Charlotte Dawson introduces yoga teacher Charlotte Dodson, but except for the blonde hair, slim build, outfit, hobbies, intense love of beef jerky and the tendency to get cranky when her blood sugar levels drop, that’s pretty much where the similarity ends.
|One of us.|
Dawson informs the modules that this week will be all about focus.
|Somebody tell that to Camera 1|
Dodson informs the modules that they’ll be participating in a dynamic Hatha yoga class, because of course they’ve all mastered English so well that it’s time to introduce some Sanskrit. Neo says to camera that she doesn’t like yoga, which is a surprise because a) she’s never done yoga before, and b) she normally likes so many things that aren’t Neo. Chanting and a level of bums-in-the-air that borders on undignified ensues, along with the instruction to ‘relax their faces’.
Caroline stops halfway through the yoga class to complain about a sore knee (which is Sanskrit for ‘being an arsehole’), and admits that she’s ‘being inco-operative’ (which is Sanskrit for ‘illiterate’), and I can’t really say much more because I’m pretty sure she can hear me.
After class when the girls arrive back at the Module Mansion, they see something in the living room that makes them totally and utterly lose their shit.
|It's a chimp dressed up as people, isn't it.|
No, the show’s sponsors have delivered piles upon piles of pressies for the girls, affording them the kind of luxury items that only the swankiest, richest and most exclusive super-modules are normally privy to.
|You know you have to take it out of the packet, right?|
Now, I know that watching a bunch of teenagers opening boxes full of polyester, microchips and tissue paper should be interesting, but I’m momentarily distracted by that sticker on the plastic wrap that tells you it’s nearly time to buy more plastic wrap, and stop telling me what to do.
Another Sarah Mail whisks the scrags off to David Jones, where they’re met by Josh Flinn, who still just refuses to stop looking exactly like Brigitte Nielsen.
He tells them that they’ll be posing as ‘live mannequins’ in the store windows, striking five different poses for three minutes each. They have to stand still. In different ways. Five times. MODELLING IS SO HARD, YOU GUYS.
The modules are thrown into insanely gorgeous Australian designer frocks, smeared with stunning make-up, and told to practice their poses. Here we have:
Finally the girls get into the windows, artfully distracted by Saint Sarah, model Samantha Harris, eight thousand schoolgirls, random people with cameras, and this guy.
|Daaaaad. Piss off, I'm modelling.|
Some of the girls lose focus and start laughing, Jess rocks it, Izzy’s hair stains her jacket, and Amelia looks EXACTLY like a mannequin.
|She also has the personality and diet of one.|
Hazel feels faint and is pulled from the challenge, but Annaliese remains stoical when her nose starts dribbling mucous all over her top lip. Her top lip already has a big enough job trying to cover her teeth, so she has to quickly think of a strategy to cope without breaking her pose.
And how does Teary Tayah feel about the challenge?
Jess wins the challenge, with a highly commended going to Hazel for being so professional when she almost fainted and backed out of the challenge. This is like giving Caravaggio a medal for all the days he wasn’t painting biblical beheadings or, for the lowbrow amongst you, like handing the cast of Glee a trophy every time they don’t over-act the fuck out of something.
|Careful, sweetie - that has calories in it.|
And how does Teary Tayah feel about the challenge?
|A little teary, to be honest.|
This week’s photo shoot isn’t actually in a cemetery, but let’s go to one on a rainy, cold morning anyway, because DRAMA, that’s why. Drama and frizzy hair. Drama and frizzy hair and rotting corpses. Mmmm.
|Pastor Brigitte presiding.|
Photographer Jason Capobianco (which is Sanskrit for PHWOAR), advises the scrags that they’ll be posing today in a coffin, dressed as Lady Gaga, because any time anyone puts anything stupid on their head, suddenly they’re freakin’ Lady freakin’ Gaga.
Izzy remarks that coffins are no big deal for her, as her boyfriend has three coffins at his house. Your boyfriend sounds awesome, Izzy. Coffins are waaaaay better than jobs, honest.
Neo doesn’t like the thought of posing in a coffin, because Neo doesn’t like any stuff ever.
It’s into hair, make-up, and all manner of man-made plastics and metals, and Yolanda comments that “I actually think that I look like a crazy person with some bondage and a pheasant”. Hey, Yolly? If Elizabeth is ever incapable of making it to the meetings concerning who my next total bestie is, YOU CAN TOTALLY COME. Bring pie.
Josh asks Doik Simone what she thinks it will be like in the coffin. She replies “Weird, but I think it’s the best I’ll ever look in a coffin”.
|I'm not totally sure you're right.|
She continues with “I think the next time I’m placed in a coffin I will look dead, because I will be dead”. Several IQ points ask her if they can have the coffin once she’s finished with it.
Neo is given an afro wig, but has trouble modelling in it, so she removes it and does much better. I’m not going to say anything, but do allow me to save you the trouble of a response.
Caroline feels sick and tries to push through the urge to vomit and says it’s difficult trying not to spew and whatever, arsehole.
Elizabeth asks if she can scream, which is exactly like something my new best friend would say. She scares herself a little, me a lot, and gives all of us the chance to drag out that old Aphex Twin comparison chestnut.
Jason Capobianco is impressed that Liz just volunteered the screaming, pleased that ‘we didn’t have to put it in her mouth to make her do it”.
|You keep out of it.|
Rachel brings the uncharacteristically non-religious-and-non-grateful sexy, Amelia looks great in PVC and a little bit like she’s already started the embalming process, and Izzy screams because WE GET IT, YOU LIKE COFFINS.
And how does Teary Tayah feel about the shoot?
After a little montage showing us the prizes, which I think this year include a bottle of Jagermeister and a six-pack of expired condoms, the modules troop into the Eliminarium to hear their fate. Saint Sarah greets them, only just making it in time from a meeting for the Foundation For Recently Homeless Cadavers, and introduces them to the judges – Charlotte Dawson (dressed today as that bitch behind the make-up counter who tells you how big your pores are), Shiny Alex Perry (dressed today for a business meeting that includes the world’s glariest Powerpoint presentation), and stylist Kelly Hume, who I really should have mentioned before.
Photos are pored over, and the Zing-O-Tron is set to stun, with:
“It looks like you were going to the Melbourne Cup and somebody ran you over with your fascinator” – ZING!
“It’s Tayah-mortis Horribilus” – ZOMBIE ZING!
“I love this picture because it’s the right side of slutty” – DOCTOR FRANKENZING’S MONSTER!
“There’s no Gaga there – it’s Blah-Blah” – PO-PO-PO-PO-POKER ZING!
And then they make Izzy cry, which I gotta admit, I’m not totally cool with. Dawson softens the blow, though, with “It’s not too bad, but it is your worst”. Naw. Like acid in a paper-cut, that Dawson.
The judges deliberate, the modules traipse back in, and girls are picked off one by one until only Alissandra the Expandra and Teary Tayah remain.
Alissandra is told that she lost focus, which is Sanskrit for ‘put on weight’, and Tayah is told that her beauty doesn’t translate into photos.
And how does Teary Tayah feel about this?
|A little eliminated, to be honest.|
|Fuck off, Jo.|
And now part four in that whole I’m-writing-a-one-verse-per-episode-country-song thing.:
Yoga pants and we’ll do some chants ‘cause it’s time for downward dogging;
Unless you’re Caroline then you’ll bitch and whine (God, you might as well be blogging).
Ladies, curb your moans – we’re in David Jones! Now pretend to be a dummy.
Pout your blood red lips ‘til a bogan strips and you’re staring at his tummy.
Now be Gaga-like, dressed as the town bike, with a headpiece right on top of us.
It’s a photo-shoot, It’ll be a hoot, ‘cause it’s here in this sarcophagus.
Tayah’s lost her place, ‘cause with her sad face, the weight of the world’s upon her.
But to break her fall, I think we should all kick a puppy in her honour.