The Lipstick Jungle Challenge, or NBC: Taste Our Synergism

cutting_0813_brooke.jpgWho knew Mormon boys had it in them?

 

 

 

 

 

 

cutting_0813.jpgI am frustrated.

Here I am at the eleventh hour—okay, Tuesday; but Tuesday night, a whole 24 60-minute units before Bravo unleashes the next episode of Project Runway: Season Five; so if not literally the eleventh hour, the figurative eleventh hour and—well, the point is, I am just now writing about the episode wherein Brooke Shields convinces the ten remaining designers (and perhaps a mass of displaced Sex and the City junkies) that Lipstick Jungle is a hit show. I will say it now—and let me be drawn and quartered later if I committed an injustice—that Lipstick Jungle is not a hit show and will never be a hit show, just like LaToya will never be Janet.

THE CHALLENGE… Ms. Shields is put to the task of deciding which five of ten sketches her alter-ego Wendy Healy would wear to work during the day, easily convert into happy-hour fashion, and finally morph—one would imagine—into damaged goods for an overnight at Motel Drunk Tank. The failures of this part of the two-headed challenge are subjected to a playground-style selection process that further demoralizes them to participate as assistants to the non-failures. Stella is last-man-standing, quelle surprise. The ultimate winner will have his or her creation worn by Brooke/Wendy in an episode to be later pre-empted by early cancellation.

Obviously, Season Five was taped in the spring as the wannabes have no idea that coming into the fall, Lipstick Jungle is a lame horse (not to be mistaken with Cashmere Mafia which is a dead horse) and are thrilled at the thought of having their piece de resistance de jour seen by a national audience. If I can borrow from a genuine television hit show: D’oh!

I can just assume a passing semblance of enthusiasm as—five episodes into Project Runway: S5—I am bored and waiting for Nina Garcia to stand up and slap Michael Kors because (1) it would be the first real exciting thing to come down the runway, or at least near the runway, and (2) I really want to see Michael Kors clocked for the hell of it.

I mean…Lipstick Jungle? NBC must have invested a lot of peacock feathers into that show. That, or NBC—who owns Bravo—is actively sabotaging the show’s credibility; after all, PR:S5 is moving to Lifetime’s more maternal arms after this season wraps up. Either way, NBC is one basket-case with an "L" on its forehead.

Ergo, I am frustrated. And bored. And flabbergasted by the elimination. Like many Americans on the California coast who should have better things to do than watch reality shows. Like surf. Or help whales unbeach themselves and find their way back to Wisconsin.

In quick summary: My fave Terri picked Suede’s fave Suede; Mormon Boy picked Hyena Girl; Eeyore picked Joe Homophobe; Kelli Perfect picked Daniel Impeccable; Cancer Coppertone chose Carrie White; and Cher was forced on Bitchy Queen who saved face by saying he wanted her all along, so nyaah-nyaah-nyaaah.

HOT TRANNY MESS… TERRI STEVENS hated SUEDE; resented ever choosing him as her assistant, despised his every being; criticized him; henpecked him; rolled her eyes at him; spat, humiliated, and bitch-slapped him; until Tim Gunn praised their off-the-shoulder number; then Terri had sex with Suede.

IN… KEITH BRYCE. Who knew Mormon boys had it in them? I preferred Jerrell and Stella’s leather-belted confection, but Keith and Kenley’s chocolate fish-scale pencil skirt was indubitably delicious and very appropriate for Sarah Jessica Parker. Okay, Brooke Shields, too. Whatever.

OUT… When KELLI MARTIN was pitted against Blayne Walsh, I knew it was over for her. Forget the mad-genius cocktail dress she concocted out of singed coffee filters; forget she never landed in the Bottom Two previous to this challenge. Despite the fact that Blayne all but dismissed any of Brooke Shields’ notes about what adjustments were necessary to make the Capri shorts ensemble more corporatewear-friendly, there was no way he was going home anytime soon: The fried freak is good television. Actually, the most deserving of a vamoose-scram-don’t-let-the-door-behind-you-bruise-your-impeccable-ass exit was Daniel Feld, who escaped being in the Bottom Three to bang his drum another day—but not before he throws Kelli under the Heidi-Nina-Michael Bus.

SWATCHES. HEIDI KLUM‘s career began apparently when she sent in a magazine coupon to a nationwide contest. Winning the modeling contract was a dream come true; a lifetime supply of Oompa-Loompas…mmmm, not so much… MICHAEL KORS is just mad about mustard: "Gold, honey… You can do these colors in lightweight fabrics, so it’s a head start on fall without the bulk. As long as you don’t have it with lunch. In fact, skip lunch altogether. Here, let me do a huge favor and take that hot dog away from you. Is this Nathan’s? God, I love Nathan’s!"… NINA GARCIA would like Anne Slowey to know there are no hard feelings, just hard fists to back-stabbing, no-good, ugly-ass soft lips… Brooke Shields should be a lock for an Emmy nomination for the best performance she has ever given. She even almost convinces herself that Lipstick Jungle has a chance against CSI: NY or Dirty Sexy Money…or early bedtime… Is it so shocking to learn that TIM GUNN‘s father was an FBI agent under J. Edgar Hoover? Wikipedia, you’re the best! | Alan Quisimorio

Be the first to comment

Leave a Reply