Australian Eyeful: A Risible Result

Last night's episode of Australian Idol was the 7th episode in NINE DAYS.

No-one, not even the most ardent of fans, can expect to think clearly after such an overlong and ineptly produced parade of average singers. Accordingly, some slapdash and ill-advised decisions were made, to the detriment of us all.



The least said about that the better.

But before that bitter, rancid icing on a very mediocre cake, the first misstep occurred in the category of fashion, in which wholesale tragedies were on display.

1. James Mathison's noodle tie;

2. Brianna Carpenter purposelessly wearing sunglasses INDOORS and AT NIGHT;

3. Matt Corby's striped, shrunken-sleeved jacket, stolen from his Mum's 80s business suit archive;

4. Mark Da Costa's vest, continuing a worrying Idol trend. Remember these from last year's finale?



Luckily, Serena Parasite Williams Vushe was on hand to grace us with her divine presence and comparatively inoffensive fashion, even chatting to Andrew G at the start of the show, having surprisingly made time in her busy US Open playing schedule to fly back from New York and join her fellow finalists. She looked and sounded a bit sedated and said something about the purity of God's love before choking on her own tongue, overwhelmed at the amazingness of her fellow competitors. Meanwhile, Ben McKenzie was dressed in casual attire, looking like such an adorable little fag that he even delicately flattened out his jeans before sitting down, as though taking care to avoid creases in his skirt. Bless.

The second poorly thought out category could be entitled "Staging".

1. Cal Wilson, of Nova radio, with her mere entrance wordlessly demonstrated exactly why she works in radio, then introduced a new segment entitled "Eye On Idol", an alleged behind-the-scenes spinoff offering such breathtaking innovation as "You get to know things about the contestants" and, the clincher, "watching Andrew G do a handstand". Nice work on the pitch, Cal.

2. The judges so desperately tried to create drama from their selection of 2 Wild Cards to make the finals (the other 2 were selected by viewers) that they left the stage to "confer" in a laughably staged fashion about their choice. Never one to endorse false drama, Marcia barely contributed to the fake discussion, instead grabbing a cushion and shoving it up her clacker for the duration of the segment. It was the only sense she's ever made.

So who are our newest finalists?



The first two were not surprises: Daniel Mifsud and Mark Da Costa, selected by viewers, and obvious choices based on Sunday night's performances. Daniel was clearly so impressed with his own unexpectedly capable and scarfless performance that he evidently proceeded to spend the night out on the tear, leaving a terrible, Corleone-esque husk to his voice. His repeat performance was therefore unlistenable. Meanwhile, Mark wasn't content to take his public validation for granted, instantly buffering his future position by dedicating his selection to a cancer-addled friend. Nice work. Later, while chatting to Andrew G, he said, "We're here to sing, but we're also here to experience more than music." Hello Krostie looked on vacantly, yet to experience even this.

Perhaps the only surprise was that Natalie G(r)auci, the night's standout performer and performing second last (GOLDFISH MEMORIES, you understand), did not go through on public vote. No matter - she's surely next.

And then bang. It's not Natalie, but Carl Risible.

Yes. CARL RISIBLE IS AN AUSTRALIAN IDOL FINALIST.


"Hi! I'm not at all conspicuously absent tonight"

On behalf of Australia, we're sorry Cheray. That Hello Krostie stole your initial place as a finalist, that your Wild Card opportunity was stolen by Dave Andrews, and now, that your former fuck Carl, an armed forces trumpet player and generally inferior musician with a voice like Chewbacca or perhaps Harry from out of Harry & The Hendersons, is now occupying a spot in the Top 12.

Speaking of people outstaying their welcome and/or former fucks: last night we were treated to an infomercial for Hayley Jensen's latest album. Bless her cotton socks, she is funding her own music as an independent artist. It also seems as though she may have got up to a little sumtin' sumtin' with Carl while singing to our troops in Iraq, possibly armed with his trumpet.


"Who hasn't"

Quite.

And with that only 1 place was left in the finals. With 3 male Wild Cards through, it seems safe to assume the next will be female. But with such bold assumption comes the capacity for disappointment.


"Hi! I'm not at all consipic-"

OK. I'm going to let it go. But it's true that for a few brief minutes, I was concerned that the judges would not choose Natalie but instead Kim Cattrall, someone with whom they have been endlessly fascinated. Certainly, the mere mention of a "journey" after the break would mean Kim had secured her place. Thankfully, it was left to Marcia to make the announcement, and since Marcia chose Natalie for the Wild Card in the first place, the result was as plain as day. And so it was, but not before Marcia's usual redundant spiel about choosing Wild Cards being so difficult that her brain explodes, which explains the wigs. In addition, she spices up the intro by thanking all the male competitors for opening her floodgates. Some things never change.

And there you have it. Our Top 12 is complete. And while the general viewership sits equal parts nonplussed and dumbfounded at home, James Mathison attempts to revive flagging interest by baselessly declaring this to be "The most competitive Top 12 we've ever had".


"We beg to differ"

See you all on Sunday.