“Go Go Chanel,” says I-Dull

Or, “How Idol lost its fragrance and became a stinker”

*Tuesday, 26 October 2004

Drinks were on Marcia last night as Chanel Number Five was pulled from the shelves.

But neither you nor I should be worried about Chanel – she’s on to Bega and better things.



What we should be worried about - nay, ashamed of - is Australian Idol.

The show is on the brink. It got a whopping bout of gastro the night Ricki-Lee left and last night spectacularly shat the bed. With no charismatic or interesting performers, a depleted talent pool, the only objectively sensible and valuable judge soon to depart the show and little remaining control of its bowels, Australian Idol is on its last legs.

Why? Because Australia continues to show its propensity to penalise the interesting and reward the boring. Whether you loved her (me), hated her (most women) or wanted her intestines pulled through her arse and used as a lasso (Marcia), Chanel was interesting. Not entirely charming, level-headed or particularly skilled at spontaneous humour (see: those moments immediately following her elimination, almost every other time she opened her mouth etc.) but she was interesting. Luckily, I have no doubt that Chanel’s truly warped nature is precisely what will make her the most likely to have lasting appeal and the most likely to survive as a pop entity.

Her exchanges with Marcia made the show entertaining, and provided the show’s producers with the only reason to continue employing Marcia. The last ever interaction between the pair was enjoyable to watch, Chanel sauntering up behind the judges’ table to dance provocatively and cause Marcia to schiz and spasm. As she frenetically dusted Chanel’s slut breath from her shoulders, Marcia could hardly contain her excitement. (I expect, with the flurry of endorphins coursing through Marcia’s ecstatic veins, that a certain someone was more than welcome when she got home after the show.)



Now, somehow, we find ourselves with a Top 4 which, while arguably aesthetically representative of Australian culture, is really, all things considered, an unexpectedly poor final talent pool and a sick, flatulent cousin to last year’s mob.

Let’s just reflect on the two groups of performers for a moment:

TOP 4 2003



Guy Phenomenal talent, stage presence and musicianship
Paulini Phenomenal talent and stage presence
Cosima Phenomenal talent, questionable elocution and grooming
Shannon Talentless bogan

TOP 4 2004



Casey Phenomenal talent and stage presence, questionable conversational skills
Tendency to parade bed linen on stage, otherwise boring
Anthony Phenomenal talent, questionable masculinity
Tendency to parade Young Talent Time moves on stage, otherwise boring
Courtney Talent, questionable humility
Tendency to look rather high in cholesterol, otherwise boring
Hayley Talentless bogan

I rest my totally unflimsy case. Some similarities but 2003 clearly shits on this year. And after such a promising start to this series!

When there is no sense left, it is often a valuable exercise to consider what hidden messages lie in the madness. Yes, that’s right: I am turning once again to the healing and prophetic power of the anagram.

Courtney Murphy = Hey, Country Rump!

Excellent: things are starting to become clearer.

Chanel Cole = Cancel Hole

Clearer still!

Anthony Callea = Ache not anally

Spooky! But probably a futile wish.

Casey Donovan = Ova any second

No doubt biologically true, but untrue in the Kath & Kim sense, ‘cos it ain’t ova until… um, that’s also apparently untrue. Shall we try again?

Casey Donovan = Soda Can Envoy

Uncanny! OK, it’s a stretch. Humour me.

Hayley Jensen = Jenny Eyelash

There you have it! Even her anagram sounds like a bogan!

While I am not certain that that was an entirely enlightening experience, other than to clarify that which was already painfully obvious, it does serve to underscore one burgeoning reality: as Australian idol draws to a close, we must use any means possible to make sense of this shiteful mess of a Top 4 and guide it towards an adequate conclusion.

If the show must go on, I say no more horsing around: let’s ride Casey to the finish line.
She is the mane contender with the finest pedigree. Sure, I’ve been a neigh-sayer: she’s incredibly boring and, sadly, is going through her Goth phase on national TV. And she has certain conversational shortcomings. Highlights from last night include the Hilary Duff-esque “I was like ‘Uh,” and they were like ‘Uh,’” and the even more insightful “ – “, which appears to be one of her favourites.

But overall, Casey is now where it must be at.

You know what I’m sayin’?

Now, a moment’s silence.



That is all.