I was late to jump on the Kathy Griffin bandwagon.
To be honest, I think I had some residual resentment of her because, back in her Suddenly Susan days, people were constantly telling me how much I sound like her.
Once a month or so, someone would call my radio show and say, “You know who you sound EXACTLY like?”
And I would yawn and say, "Who?"
After a triumphant pause: “Kathy Griffin!”
It irked.
(Funny aside: I actually mentioned this to my sis Felicia at the time. In a show of solidarity, she said she didn’t hear the similarity. Later that night we were getting ready for a party—Felicia was in the bathroom, I was in the bedroom next door— and Kathy Griffin happened to be on TV. “Damn!” Kathy Griffin said, although I’m not sure why. “What happened?” Felicia said to me. “Did you find a run in your pantyhose?” So much for not sounding like her.)
The other reason why I didn’t like Kathy Griffin? I didn’t get her, to be honest. I thought she was just your run-of-the-mill fame-whorey, shameless D-Lister. What I didn’t realize was that she was the ultimate fame-whorey, shameless D-Lister. She had elevated wannabe status to an art form.
What’s amazing is that, even though her show is a huge hit and she is actually inching closer to A-List status every day, Kathy hasn’t changed. She hasn’t had that scary Stepford Celeb transformation that seems to occur when a star makes it big. She hasn’t signed that A-List Code of Omerta. She’s still totally willing to dish on everyone (including herself).
If you’re like me, your dream best friend would be somebody funny, quick, with a built-in bullshit detector who also knew the gossip on everyone. That’s Kathy. Except her gossip comes from inside the velvet ropes. And while the very fact that she dishes copious dirt on her fellow celebs should keep her outside the inner sanctum, she’s pretty much bulldozed her way in. Some celebs may like her (a few must have senses of humor about themselves, right? . . . right?) and certainly some hate her (Star Jones, I’m talking to YOU!), but at this point Kathy Griffin can not be denied.
There are other things to like about Kathy: She works her ass off. No job is too big or too small, as the saying goes. And when she comes, she brings the funny. The scenes of her performing for troops in Iraq two seasons ago were remarkable not just because she showed genuine bravery, but because she was determined to make these soldiers laugh, no matter what it took. Her desire to please them was genuine and kind of touching.
Some of the shtick on her show falls flat: I love her completely deadpan, doesn’t-give-a-damn assistant Jessica, but the presence of the two new assistants seem contrived, an attempt to give her wacky sidekicks. And of course, the whole D-List concept is becoming less plausible. It’s like, hellllooooo, we SEE the limos and the staff and the overflow capacity concert halls—you’re not fooling anyone.
Still, Griffin cracks my shit up. I’m not even a fan of standup comedy—I find the whole “okay, bitch, make me laugh” proposition a bit awkward—but I love Kathy’s standup.
And last week, a scene involving a party, a chicken, and some flying cocktail napkins (you had to be there) had me doubled over laughing with snot bubbles coming out of my nose.
Oddly enough, in the past few years, no one has mentioned that I sound like Kathy. And now I kinda wish they would.
Personal aside to JS: Actually, I don’t give a whole lot of thought to Tiny Tim. But I love that you do.
I’ve actually been meaning to recap this show for weeks, but have been too darn busy to get around to it. It’s hard out there for a blogger, ya know.
That being said, let me catch up a bit by sharing my thoughts on some of the dearly departed contestants who already had to pack up their Ginsus and take a hike.
Dale: Dale kind of reminds me of that guy who ruins the company picnic by getting all foaming-at-the-mouth competitive over the accounts vs. sales softball game. Dude, chillax. Senor Rage should’ve dialed down the locker kicking episodes. That being said, I do think that Dale should have gone farther in the competition. He had serious skillz. (And he looked so fetching last night in his little vest and new glasses.)
Antonia: She really grew on me as the competition went on. I loved that she had this “heroine in a chick flick” moment mid-way through the season where she decided to stop trying to please anyone else and cook her own way. (Cue empowering Carly Simon song.) From that moment, she pretty much sailed through the competition. Was very, very, very sad that she went home instead of Lisa.
In fact, I will now share with you a little email I sent my mother when she told me the horrible news (I had missed the episode, although I’ve since seen it on re-run):
Nooooooooo! Lisa over Antonia?
Wait. . . . Let me compose myself.
Nooooooooooooooooo!
Spike: Never has one contestant gone so far with so little (although Nikki definitely gave him a run for his money in that department). Spike never won a solo challenge, was routinely in the bottom 3 and yet seemed to coast through on charm and moxie alone. I know some people found his faux-boho hipster routine and outsized cockiness irritating—not to mention those hats (he and Ricky from Project Runway should open a little hat-themed haberdashery in the East Village)—but I appreciated his witty commentary. Plus, he’s hot.
Andrew: Amusing at times, certainly a terrific chef, but I thought the guy was a little nuts. He had crazy eyes. I didn’t actually blame Lisa for thinking he might hit her after she “threw him under the bus” (rapidly becoming the second most over-used phrase on reality TV after “personal journey”) by pointing out that he hadn’t used all the required ingredients in his final challenge. When a guy proclaims after an all-nighter that “I’m filled with energy. So I’ve either gotta to kill somebody or. . . make some great food” I think there is a cause for genuine alarm.
Mark: He always looked sweaty to me.
There were a bunch of other contestants, but they aren’t really noteworthy at this point.
Okay, onto the Final Three . . .
Richard: It was hard to get over the faux-hawk (dude, please note that the lesbian to your left has the exact same haircut) and the gastro-biology crap. But like Antonia, Richard really grew on me as the season progressed. He was just a sweet guy and a talented, innovative chef. Still, he had a habit of being overly cutesy with his food and, in the end, it bit him on the butt.
Stephanie: I loved her from word go, she really was the girl-next-door-as-Top-Chef, but she never inspired great confidence. Maybe it was the fact that she only won one quickfire. Maybe it was the fact that her hand visibly shook when she was drizzling her sauce that one time. Maybe it was the fact that she combined peanut butter, chicken, and tomatoes—ugh!—for that kids’ challenge. Maybe it’s the fact that her official Top Chef portrait (see above) featured her holding a bunch of uncooked peppers in a strainer (she can strain!). I worried every week that she would stumble. But the truth is, she didn’t. She actually kicked ass for much of the competition, especially in her preparation of meat. If she'd only had a bit more self-confidence, she would’ve made life so much easier on herself (and her fans). But then again, that might have made her less loveable.
Lisa: Oh, where to begin? I have a strange habit of relating to the designated villian on any reality TV show, believing that they are the victim of a bad edit or nasty group-think (nothing brings people together quite like a shared enemy.) But between her folded arms and perma-bitchface at every elimination, her rudeness to the judges, and her tendency to blame her problems on everyone but herself, Lisa was really hard to like. Certainly one of the highlights of the season for me was that awkward moment in part one of the finale after Antonia was sent home and Lisa said, “At least you guys could congratulate me.” Stephanie, always a peach, looked at her shoes and muttered a half-hearted congratulations. But later Richard rattled off the line of the series: “You won the f**king bronze medal. Congratulations.”
The finale had many “what were they thinking?” moments. Here are a few:
1. When Richard made those damn banana scallops again.
2. When Stephanie attempted an unrefined dessert like a pound cake for some of the greatest chefs in the world.
3. When Lisa sat in the elimination room and calculated (in front of Richard) that it was too close to call between herself and Stephanie. Richard so should have stood up and said, “Hello. I’m in the room. I can hear you.”
4. When Richard threw himself under the bus—heh—by saying that he choked. Dude, never, ever, ever let them see you sweat.
5. Three words: Bacon ice cream.
In the end, they made me very nervous by liking Lisa’s food so much. Especially since they all seemed a bit resigned to their final choice. Could they have been—insert Jon Lovitz voice here—acting?
I had gone into the finale with an “Anyone But Lisa” mentality (shared, apparently, by 94 percent of the Top Chef viewing audience. Ouch.) I didn’t care if a girl or a guy won the competition. This, “we must get a girl winner” thing bit my beloved Danny Tidwell in the butt on So You Think You Can Dance. Pick the best contestant and call it a day, people.
But I found myself really rooting for Stephanie to win. I liked her. I wanted to eat her food. I wanted to get a beer with her and giggle and and talk about boys (and foie gras).
And to be honest, Richard did kinda choke. Still, I wish he had come in second and Lisa had, again, won the f**king bronze medal. Especially after seeing her gracious reaction to losing out to Stephanie: “F**k!” Classy in the beginning, classy in the middle, classy to the bitter end. That’s our Lisa.
All year long, they’ve been saying that this is the Best. Talent. Ever.—and last night, I thought maybe they had a point. That duet between Carly Smithson and Michael Johns was all kinds of awesome and my boo Jason Castro totally nailed Hallelujah.
As for David Cook’s big win? I thought he deserved it. I don’t like his taste in music (Our Lady Peace? Collective Soul? Really, David Cook? Really?) But he has a good voice and a pleasant way about him and the other contestants seem to really love him (in fact, he and Michael Johns should totally get a room.)
Of course, I don’t buy for a second that Cook’s a “rocker” Please, he’s only a rocker when compared to David Archuleta, who is about as harmless as a kitten holding a baby chick sipping a Shirley Temple. But I liked that Cook took l’il David under his wing—I got a real Courtship of Eddie’s Father vibe from the two of them. (Come to think of it, can David Cook actually adopt David Archuleta? Because getting that child away from his creepy dad would be a real happy ending.) Also, I cried when David Cook’s brother looked into the camera and said, “That’s my brother!” Call me sentimental.
Question: Was George Michael’s halting, haunted performance brilliant or weird, or both?
Tonight is the season finale of Gossip Girl and I gotta say, I’m sorta into it.
Admittedly, I was late to jump on the Gossip Girl bandwagon. It’s not that I have anything against teen dramas—hell, My So-Called Life, Freaks and Geeks, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer rank among my all-time favorite shows. But I don’t like lazily written teen soaps with an interchangeable cast of blandly attractive actors (this means you, Beverly Hills 90210, Dawson’s Creek, and One Tree Hill).
Still, I should have been more optimistic. After all, Gossip Girl is helmed by O.C. wunderkind Josh Schwartz and, while I never became a full blown devotee of The O.C., that show did seem to have a brain in its head—not to mention a kickass soundtrack.
In the end, it was an article in New York magazine that compelled me to take a look at the series. New York magazine is one of my bibles—if they say Gossip Girl is the “Best. Show. Ever.” who am I to argue?
So I began to watch.
For those who don’t know, Gossip Girl is about the lives of prep school brats on the Upper East Side and is based on the wildly popular book series of the same name by Cecily von Ziegesar (is that her real name? If so, awesome.)
The best thing about the show is the fabulously bitchy voiceover narration by Veronica Mars herself, Kristen Bell. I sometimes wish the show was actually as arch and insinuating as the narrator—but it comes close.
The rest of the casting is a mixed bag—a slightly too homogenously gorgeous white bunch in the classic teen soap mold—with two clear standouts.
The first is Leighton Meester who plays vulnerable mean girl Blair Waldorf. Not only is this girl a real beauty—she looks like a young, brunette Julianne Moore—but she can expertly handle both sides of Blair’s persona—the pouty goody-two-shoes/daddy’s little girl who gets thrown off course when daddy flees for France with his (male) lover, as well as the fabulously calculating queen bee of the prep school, all too aware of the precarious nature of her status. I recently saw Leighton on the Conan O’Brien show and I was amazed to see that she was kind of giggly and girlish and spazzy. On the show, she’s a world-class scene stealer.
The other standout is British import Ed Westwick who plays unrepentant bad boy billionaire Chuck Bass as though he studied at the knee of James Spader, circa his Pretty in Pink days. With his permanent sneer and narrow, suspicious eyes, this actor was born to play loche. (He can best be described as a cross between Joaquin Phoenix, Jimmy Fallon and Diablo, himself.) The wardrobe department—which is fabulous, series-wide—has outdone itself with the dandy-ish Chuck. He wears all sorts of gaudy/preppie togs: bright orange trench coats, hot pink and green argyle sweaters, and scarves—lots and lots of scarves. I was all for a pairing of Chuck and Blair (while on a break from good boy Nate she lost her virginity to Chuck in the back of a limo) until he told her that she was like an old Arabian—“rode hard and put away wet.” His misogyny makes him a touch hard to root for as a romantic lead.
While Blair may have the most screen time, the technical lead of the show is Serena van der Woodsen, played by Blake Lively. The young actress has the sun-kissed looks of a jetsetting Upper East side goddess, but she has the gravelly voice and blowsy cadence of a 45-year-old housewife from Boca—it’s a bit disconcerting. The actress is quite good, but she suffers when compared to Leighton, the show’s breakout star.
Her boyfriend Dan, a scholarship student who lives with his aging rock star dad and kid sis in an overly romanticized Brooklyn loft, is played by Penn Badgley (in a CW meets the real world touch, he dates Blake Lively in real life, too.) He’s a motor-mouthed, self-deprecating brain, a la Seth Cohen from The O.C. However, unlike Adam Brody—who was brilliantly neurotic in his depiction of Seth—Badgley’s Dan never sweats. He’s far too much the alpha teen; you don’t buy him for a second as the outsider.
Next we have gorgeous Chace Crawford as the aforementioned Nate. I vastly preferred his hair in the series premiere—slightly tousled, in that casual WASP way—to the David-Cook-style emo cut he’s rocking today. Not only does it give the impression that he’s losing his hair—he’s not— it’s just not that character appropriate. Then again, what character? Nate is the least developed of the young leads—he’s decent and kind of sad (hence the emo cut?) and he can’t make up his mind between Serena or Blair and Dartmouth or UC Berkley. Also, his dad’s a creep.
Yes, there are grownups, too. The best is Margaret Colin who plays Blair’s insecure fashion designer mom—pretty much the poster mom for creating a teenage bulimic (which Blair is.) Then there’s Matthew Settle as Rufus, Dan’s boringly sensitive rocker dad, and the remote Kelly Rutherford (did they cast these people for their gloriously waspy names?) as Blair’s brittle mum Lily.
Rounding out the cast, we have the CW’s idea of a bohemian (we know she’s a bohemian because she works at a coffee house and wears oversized earrings), Vanessa (Jessica Szohr), who secretly pines for Dan; Taylor Momsen as Dan’s social climbing little sis Jen; and much-needed new blood Michelle Trachtenberg as Georgina, Serena’s sworn frenemy (we know she's bad because she wears giant black sunglasses and lots of dark eyeliner).
So yeah, I like the show, despite its flaws. I wish there was more diversity among the cast—not necessarily ethnic diversity, although that would be nice. But there are more subtle character distinctions at a prep school than the haves and the have-nots. Why can’t there be a Julian Casablancas style trust fund rocker in the group? Or someone sporting the Mary Kate Olsen style billionaire homeless look? Or a hip-hop obsessed teen club impresario? That being said, Gossip Girl seems more relevant than any other show on TV. The characters text message and shop at Bendels and hangout at various real-life New York hotspots like Bungalow 8. They also make pop culture references: “Now you know how Katie Holmes feels” one character sympathizes when Jen finds out that her boyfriend is gay. (Zing!). The show is almost, dare I say, as fabulous as it tries to be.
I can be a supermodel! I can be a supermodel!
Okay, not me. But certainly there’s some normal-sized girl in Sheboygan right now, running around her room, doing the high fashion back arch.
And we have Tyra Banks to thank.
First off, I need to give credit where credit is due. In a season where I accused the producers of totally phoning it in (and possibly even rigging the darn thing), I was genuinely shocked (and thrilled) by last night’s outcome.
I actually wrote in my notes that Anya was getting the “winner’s edit.”
How many times did we have to see Anya, facing the camera, teary-eyed, gushing that this was her dream? Plus, the Cover Girl representative seemed all up in her bidness. (In a gay man admiring a model sort of way, natch.)
Fatima was getting a similar edit. Overcoming tragedy? Check. Wanting it so badly she could just about BURST? Check. Having been Tyra’s pet the entire competition? Check.
And then there’s Whitney. Undaunted. Unflappable. And therefore, not great reality TV material. (Sure, she wants it. But she’s not going to go all Tammy Faye Baker on us to get it).
So the question: How exactly did Whitney pull off the big win?
Did Tyra love her all along and was just pretending that she didn’t? (oooooh, deceptive!) Did she genuinely think that Whitney won the final round of challenges? (A possibility.) Or had she ear-marked a plus-sized model for the win all along and was going to get that result, never mind the details.
Whatever the case, they fooled me. Whitney was NEVER given the winner’s edit. She was too pageanty, she was too fake, she was too cold.
It was Miss J who posited that, as a plus size girl, Whitney’s had to endure hardship and put up a shield her entire life.
But it was Tyra who rebutted (accurately), “What hardship? When she walks down the street, people see hot chick, not plus sized!”
Preach it, Tyra.
Still, just because Whitney wasn’t a simpering blob of insecurity, that didn’t mean she was cold. Only on reality TV is self-possession and confidence perceived as a character flaw.
Once on the runway—and didn’t you just love how Tyra was rocking the Donatella Versace/Miss Piggy hair?—Whitney really strut her stuff. Girl took Mr. Jay’s advice and “stomped it to death!” (By the way, did my eyes deceive me, or was that Cycle 9 fave Jenah walking along with Saleisha and the girls? Need to go back and recheck the tape).
Anya did kind of fade into the woodwork. Still, the numbers don’t lie.
“I’ve been on the chopping block five times,” said Whitney. “Anya has never been on the chopping block.”
What’s more, Anya won, like, every single challenge (at least it seemed that way).
Which is why, even though I saw with my own eyes that Whitney had the better Cover Girl shoot and did better on the runway, I just didn’t believe it.
So when Tyra turned over Whitney’s picture, I was stunned. I did the happy dance. Dag. I haven’t done the happy dance since Danielle won four cycles ago!
Poor Anya. Talk about snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. Oh well. I’m sure Anya will get work as a model. Most of the photographers seemed to love her (I’m talking to you, pervy Nigel).
Meanwhile, I’m going to go celebrate Whitney's win with a donut. Fat is the new thin, bitches!
America’s Next Top Model fans are a gullible lot.
I say this because much of the talk surrounding American Idol this season has been about conspiracy theories: pimp spots, the chosen ones, and the somewhat awkward fact that Paula critiqued one of Jason Castro’s performances BEFORE IT OCCURRED. On that show, the audiences are painfully aware of the powers that be and their various machinations to ensure a desired final two.
But on America’s Next Top Model, why does it never occur to us that Tyra actually wields more power than Simon and co. combined? At least on American Idol, we see the performances. We can decide for ourselves if we think a performance was “atrocious” or “all the colors of the rainbow” or if somebody did, indeed, “totally work it out, dawg.”
On the other hand, on ANTM, we never see the contact sheet! (The smoking contact sheet? The grassy lens?) Tyra picks the supposed “best shot” and we all take it on good faith that she chose well.
But maybe, just maybe, she doesn’t pick the best shot. Maybe she simply picks the best shot to suit her nefarious needs!
Dun-dun-dunnn. . .
(Sorry. This is a lot more thinking than any fan of ANTM should ever be required to do.)
Anyway, this is in no way meant to suggest that I’m disappointed that Dominique got the boot. Heck, I wanted her gone on week one. But isn’t it possible—indeed, likely—that Tyra chose a particularly "bad Marlene Dietrich drag act" photograph of our estrogen-challenged contestant because it was her time to go?
That being said, Whitney should start packing her bags for next week. I’m glad that the “plus-sized” bombshell made it this far—I simply find her the most amusing and likeable of the bunch. But clearly, Tyra is gunning for an Anya/Fatima finale. At that point, I’m not sure who’s going to win. Anya has been a front-runner from virtually the start. But I think the whole panel has a jones for Fatima’s face.
A few more thoughts on tonite’s episode:
Amazing to see Paulina school these girls on how a real model works, even if Dom did give her a bad case of cactus head.
Nigel was looking particularly yummy in his cute little photographer get-up, wasn’t he?
Tyra finally admitted that she can sometimes look like Tyrone. Har.
Quote of the night:
“They call it Cover Girl because it covers the man in you.”
Ahh, Miss J.
Quote of the night 2:
Tyra, to Dom upon her elimination: “You’ve got to master this face!”
Hell, I think the girl already has mastered her face. She’s like Siegfried and her face is a tiger. She’s like Emeril and her face is a souffle. She should put out face work-out tapes: Face of Steel. FaceMaster Plus.
I mean, how much more mastering can the girl do? She actually made it to the final four with that face! I bow down to Dom's face mastering skills.
Oh noes! My two favorite girls in the bottom two. This simply CAN NOT end well.
And . . .it doesn’t.
Poor Kat. She finally wins CGoTW and look what happens to her. She ends up on the wrong end of a Polish joke.
And here’s the worst part: She just might have deserved it.
Say what you will about Dominique. And here a few things you may say . . .
She looks older than Rue McClanahan.
She looks manlier than The Rock.
She shops at the Hot Tranny Mess superstore.
She gets her hair styled at the Hair Butchery.
But she took a helluva picture last night. She finds her angles—maybe just a single angle? I mean, how many good angles can this girl have?—and she works it. When her picture came up at judging, I thought, Rut-ro.
I had done the math: Fatima rocked her photo shoot. Anya rocked her photo shoot. Now we knew that Dominique, God help us, rocked her photo shoot. Who didn’t rock their photo shoots? Whitney (“Go the Light”) and Kat (“Walk Like an Egyptian.”)
God, how I wished that Fatima had been the one to screw up. Ever since the big blank picture reveal two weeks ago, she’s had this giant chip on her shoulder. I mean, who can blame her? She didn’t just beat poor Stacy Ann with one hand tied behind her back. She beat Stacy Ann without even showing up for the game! That’s got to give a girl a little swagger. However, on Fatima, the swagger is really annoying. The more confident she gets, the less I like her. So much for the restorative powers of self-esteem.
As for the rest of the show, a few random thoughts:
It was funny that the girls were asked to be “fierce” during Gladiator training. This may be the first time on the show that the word was used in its proper context.
I loved when Whitney described Dominique as “a face that’s Gladiatrix and a body that’s posing.” Is that the new “head for business, body for sin?” I approve.
What was up with Mr. Jay and Tyra in confessional? When she slid down, Jay looked petrified.
I can’t wait to watch Farmer Wants a Wife!*
Nigel was uncharacteristically gabby at panel last night.
And Tyra brought out the random, Britney-Spears-right-before-being-committed accents again. I’m concerned.
As for Kat . . .does she take any comfort in knowing that she’s drop dead gorgeous? And that Tyra said she has “it”? (Wait. If she has “it” why isn’t she still in the damn competition?). Also, can I borrow her boots?
* Just kidding.
