Peggy Sue got buried

Simon, shooting off his mouth in the press, has announced that he believes Kellie Pickler, Taylor Hicks, and Chris Daughtry are going to be the final three. In other words, he’s dying for someone white to win. And if it can be a guy, even better. A straight guy, please. A straight white male for Simon. One that’s not all goony like Hicks. A man’s man with impeccable chick-banging credentials. One named…oh, say…Chris Daughtry, maybe. That’s such a good, strong-sounding winner’s name, don’t you think?

Seacrest introduces the top 11 and they all trot out to take their applause. Pickler seems out of it. She’s got dead-eye face until she remembers she’s on a stage where people can see her, not hiding in a fort she made out of the box the washing machine came in. That’s when she turns on the Pageant Grimace. It’s a small moment, but it’ll return for an encore later…

Tonight’s theme is the 1950s, a time of racial segregation, rigid social conformity, and repression of women and homosexuals. You know, the Good Old Days. God, these theme nights are the worst, chosen by what can only be a team of dullards. When, for example, is Björk night? Danzig night? Joy Division night? Scott Walker? Roxanne Shante? The Fall? That’s the one I really want. Mark E. Smith comes in and works with the kids, pours booze down their throats until they’re raging, berates them until they cry, then gets into a fistfight with Bucky. Or how about Everyone Sings “Hey Jealousy” by the Gin Blossoms night?

This week’s special celebrity oldster is Barry Manilow. Barry is, after all these years, still phenomenally popular. He was the Clay Aiken of the 1970s, but even more successful than Clay, in an era when it was still impolite to publicly speculate on the sexual orientation of a male performer, even if he played piano for Bette Midler in gay bathhouses. Barry’s latest CD, a collection of boring cover versions of 1950s songs, is the number 1 record in the country, so he’s spent the week with the AI kids, arranging and coaching and freaking them out with his immobile face. His jaw moves when he speaks, and that’s how you know he’s still alive.

First up is Mandisa, singing “I Don’t Hurt Anymore,” made popular by the legendary Dinah Washington. Before she takes the stage, Barry, in his “How I Helped” reel, accidentally says that Mandisa “has no range.” He means, of course, that she has no limits to her talent, but why didn’t they reshoot that quote? They could have. It’s not like he’s providing live commentary. I’m puzzled. And she’s great tonight, finally singing softly with some guts instead of just foghorning her way through it. When she opens her mouth wide, though, you can see that her tongue is all orange. Someone was snacking on Cheetos, Sunkist soda, and circus peanuts before the show. Afterward, Paula says, “You took me right back to the ’50s.” Except that Paula wasn’t even born then. Then Seacrest, in an archetypal Type 3 Gay moment (see last week’s recap for an explanation of Type 3 Gay, because I don’t have time to explain it again), coos over Mandisa’s shoes. Cut to Mandisa’s well-pedicured toes for the second time in as many weeks. You just know that every dude in the country with a thing for BBWs and feet is having a very good TV-watching time tonight.

Last week Simon tried to emasculate Bucky the Babymaker by comparing his gleaming blond hair to Jessica Simpson’s. This must have stung poor Bucky, because it appears as though he hasn’t washed his hair since then. He was right to do that, because he ain’t the man I’ve come to know and love without his trademark layer of grime. And Barry doesn’t get Bucky. This is clear. If he did, he wouldn’t have taken a cool old Buddy Holly song and gayed up the arrangement with horns and tambourines and whatever else. Why don’t you call Rudy Galindo and get him to loan Bucky one of his skating outfits too, Barry? So now we know what sort of “’50s” we’re going to be served this evening: the same version they have on the menu at Wowsville, the “Authentic ’50s Diner” from Ghost World.