You know you’ve accomplished something special in the dragosphere when the top five queens commemorate your passing my honking their falsies in unison. Joslyn couldn’t have asked for a better sendoff. Though everyone congratulates Adore for not sashaying, Dela can’t help but join me in the observation that Miss Delano looked like the antagonist in the American remake of a Japanese horror film. (I was going to be all “I made a reference to The Ring FIRST,” but then I remembered that this episode was filmed months ago, so I guess I'm the asshole.) There’s similar backhanded praise being lobbed at Bianca, since some people can’t tell the difference between “having it easy” and “making it look easy.” Here’s a thought: if most of you are still fucking it up left and right, then it’s not actually easy.
Day two begins with Courtney claiming that she had predicted this group as the top five. The proof she offers is that there is a piece of paper with these names written on it. I’m going to blow her mind and write the names of the top four on a piece of paper, but backdate it by like ten years. It’s in pen, Courtney! It’s real! I knew who would win before Drag Race even existed!
The week’s mini-challenge is ripped right out of Sahri Lewis' nightmares: each lady gets a small, plush recreation of one of her fellow contestants and is tasked with putting miniature drag on her body and mocking words in her mouth. Darienne and Courtney lampoon each other with moderate success, while Bianca really does coast with a surprisingly lazy take on Adore’s catchphrases. Adore, on the other hand, delivers a shockingly accurate mimic of Dela’s Eeyore-of-the-Pacific-Northwest drone. It’s a star performance, but no match for Ben’s outrageous recreation of Ms. Del Rio. She really embraces the spirit of the game, taking her subject’s toothy grin, growly voice, and manic wit and turning them all up to thirteen. Even before she started talking, I could tell from the false nail dental work that she had this one in the bag.
Though I would never get tired of watching what amounts to an extremely bitchy children’s show, the segment must end so that the girls can prepare for their main challenge. Because even when they’re tightly tucked, we can’t forget that these drag queens have balls. Big, fancy, shiny balls that everyone can watch and applaud. For the main stage presentation, the ladies will be embodying jewel tones in outfits they create for three different categories: banji girl, executive realness, and eleganza. It’s an exceptional undertaking, and the only person who doesn’t seem stressed about it is Bianca. Luckily, that doesn’t breed resentment in her colleagues because they’re all too mature for that.
Speaking of maturity, when did Ru become such a shit-stirring Regina George? She goes from table to table armed with questions that pierce the target’s insecurities with an acupuncturist’s precision. Adore actually cries, and apologizes in a way that implies she does this more regularly than the editors have led us to believe. If she’s sobbing all the time, is it really necessary to pressure her further? At least everyone else is nice to her: Ben assigns her the diamond tone because he thinks it’ll be easier for her, and Bianca walks her through the process of making a garment that actually looks like a garment. Presumably Courtney leaves a trail of glitter between the set and craft services so that Adore won’t get lost or starve.
Ru’s announcement that there will also be an opening number to perform is disappointing to the contestants, but perhaps even more troubling for the audience, who will be forced to watch yet another slapped-together musical number sung by nameless Craigslist applicants. None of the ladies even pretends to want to rehearse. Yet despite their limited enthusiasm for the task itself, they all have a million suggestions for how to do it, rapidly disproving the iron-clad rule of brainstorming that “there are no bad ideas.” The whole production is just filler, anyway: it’s there to amp up drama among a group of finalists who are getting along a little too well, and to prove that Courtney and Bianca can lip sync when they have to.
The ball episode is always a watcher's dream and a recapper’s nightmare. Like, how am I going to work my way through fifteen looks? I’m not, that’s how. We’re gonna paint in broad strokes here, kids.
First off, let me say that pretty much every opinion expressed by the judges was controversial in some way. Surprise winner Adore legitimately nailed the hood-fabulous look, but severely underwhelmed me with her executive offering and wasn’t necessarily miles ahead of her cohorts in her couture creation. Despite her stitchy, bitchy ways, Bianca gets read for looking dowdy and is merely safe. And Michelle is suddenly invested in Courtney’s padding, as if she hasn’t been serving boy body all season; this transgression is counterbalanced by her avant garde “Masque of the Red Sex” final frock.
Dela’s inclusion in the bottom two seems unfair. Like, why is she singled out for a look that wouldn’t be appropriate in the boardroom? Am I expected to believe that there are CEOs who look like Bianca Del Rio? Sure, Bendy’s swishy skirt and vintage veil would be more suited to a 1940s musical comedy set in a zany office, but at least her delivery was polished and professional. The same cannot be said of Darienne, who earned her status with sloppiness so sloppy that even she had to own up to it. (I tip my hat to her for that jumpsuit, though. It may not have fit the panel’s strict conceptualization of “banji,” but it was mesmerizing to behold.)
At this stage of the game, a lip sync to Kelly Clarkson’s “Stronger” should be hot enough to set off the building’s sprinklers. I’m not saying that both ladies don’t do just fine, and maybe the fact that they’ve already faced off before has taken the edge off, but I don’t necessarily see the fight in this one. Apparently, what doesn’t kill you makes you kind of just stand there and wave your arms a little.
And then the bomb drops: long-time favorite BenDeLaCreme will sashay. Her dismissal seems like a cruel attempt to stir drama, given how frequently and fabulously she has outshone the other contenders, but what’s done is done. Ru and Bob Mackie are basically gay illuminati, and I don’t want to incur their wrath by disagreeing with them too vocally, lest I be cast out of homosexual society and doomed to wander the earth. (Closing note: someone should receive a special Emmy for making Khloe Kardashian look like that.)
