nevermind the finer qualities of the four thousandth rendition you’ve heard in one morning of Don’t Worry, Be Happy. (If I am ever given the option to erase a song permanently from history, this will be my choice.)
The first round of auditions is done in bulk—six contestants at a time. They line up in front of you, looking generally terrified and desperate, and take it in turns to sing. You’re allowed to give them thirty seconds each, maximum. A lot of them refuse to stop, thinking that the more they go on, the better their opportunity for convincing you. Others are only too happy to give up and forget it ever happened, as if they’re doing it just to say they’ve done it; to tick it off a list—the problem being that if you don’t commit, you don’t stand a chance, as with most things in life. When they’re all done, you ask each one to approach the table, and you either cut off their wristband, which means they’re out and have to be escorted immediately from the premises, or you give them a bright orange ticket, which grants them entry to the “Talent Lounge” where they await the next stage.
If it wasn’t for the security team hired by Icon, I’m pretty sure the prejudges wouldn’t make it out alive. You’re spat at, punched, kissed, bribed, threatened, flashed… and nearly crushed by the hugs of those who make it through. All the while, Len is yelling orders into your earpiece. “Guy in yellow shirt, Bill. Three o’clock. Yes, him. That’s a non-sponsored drink he’s holding. GET IT OUT OF HERE. He’s… sorry, what’s that?—It’s a, oh, it’s a medical drink? Well, for the love of God, Bill, POUR IT INTO A SPONSORED CUP, JUST GET THE LEPROSY JUICE OR WHATEVER IT IS HE NEEDS TO STOP HIS BALLS FALLING OFF AWAY FROM THE CAMERA, DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH MONEY OUR DEAL WITH FREAKY-COLA IS WORTH? JESUS CHRIST ALIVE, BILL, GET A FUCKING GRIP.”
(Five minutes after this particular rant, I saw Len hold an impromptu prayer gathering with a group of auditioning choristers from a Baptist church in Biloxi, Mississippi.)
I probably don’t even have to point out that the contestants who make it into the Talent Lounge aren’t necessarily any good. That’s why their tickets are stamped with a secret code, almost impossible to find unless you know where to look.
“Think of when you book a flight somewhere and try to change the time at the last minute,” as Len explained to me. “The first thing the call-center operator will say to you is, ‘Oh, you’ve got the wrong code for that.’ Only you didn’t know the code existed when you bought the ticket—and even if you had done, you wouldn’t have known what it meant. The idea, Bill, is to confuse you. And we do the same. That’s why I need you to give a code to everyone who gets through. This week, we’re going to use N for a definite ‘yes, they’ll go on to Hollywood’; X for a ‘maybe’; and Y for a categorical ‘no, but the kid looks like a crier or a psycho, so roll the cameras.’ And remember: NEVER explain this to anyone.”
I nodded, wondering how much longer my soul had left to live.
“Another thing,” Len went on, breezily. “If someone has a good gimmick—y’know, dying kid, mom in prison, amusing facial tic—put a star in the top right corner.”
11
The Loneliest Place on Earth
IT WAS ALMOST THANKSGIVING when Project Icon arrived in Houston again—this time with the judges. Unusually, all of us were put up in the same hotel, which would double as the venue for the shoot. Bibi was in the presidential suite; Joey in an inferior suite on the same floor that had also been named “presidential suite” for the occasion. (The hotel charged us a thousand dollars for the plaque, but Len figured it was worth it.) JD and Wayne were somewhere in between. The rest of us were on the lower floors, but I couldn’t have cared less. I was just grateful that we hadn’t been booked in a motel by the freeway and told to take a bus to the set, as was often the case when we were on the road—especially during one of Len’s austerity drives (in which he never seemed to take part). Not that the king-size bed in my room helped me get any sleep. I can never sleep before filming.
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