Review, television

RUPAUL’S DRAG RACE: SNATCH GAME

Grade: B

On last night’s episode of RuPaul’s Best Friend Race, I decided that my cuticles are really looking good. And that’s a shaaady way of saying that it was a bit of a let-down. There were the big moments—Derrick attempting to come for Bob, and Bob just looking at her like a bear looks at a fly—and there were the small ones—Kim Chi serving Pearl realness with “Is there something on my face?” which is one of the only lines in the history of television that makes me curl up inside myself. But largely, it was just consumed by the Snatch Game.

Question: Do you think Derrick is legally obligated to make at least one Britney Spears pun per episode? Or are they just holding the other members of her throuple hostage?

Derrick tried to drag Bob—“Can you teach me how to do rachet drag?”—playing off the fact that Michelle Visage gave an unfounded critique of Bob, saying that “ratchet drag” is her thing even though she brings it to us every ball.

Then RuPaul stalked around the Werk Room, trying to throw the queens off balance. I really wish that there was a Snatch Game where every queen did her first, terrible Option A, instead of “scrambling”—using air quotes—for their Option B’s.

In a ShOCKing turn of events, Naomi and Bob were going to both do Whoopi Goldberg—what did Whoopi, or us, ever do to deserve that—and Naomi switches to Tiffany “New York” Pollard, and Bob somehow switches to Uzo Aduba, rendering Naomi’s switch completely moot.

A last-minute switch isn’t always shooting the horse in the knee; last season saw Miss Fame and Violet Chachki both poised to do Donatella Versace. Violet decided to do Alyssa Edwards—queen of the no-chin tongue-pop—and managed to slay. Fame’s Donatella fell completely flat, and she went home soon afterward.

Bob’s characterizations—Crazy Eyes and Carol Channing—are really spot-on, but two things have to be said. First is the professional critique: Bob’s switching between two characters is excellent for throwing off the other contestants, but makes her seem too hungry. The judges warned her against “showboating.” The other is a personal critique: Bob didn’t do “Uzo Aduba;” he did “Uzo Aduba” as Crazy Eyes. It’s a small distinction, but the point of Snatch Game is to mimic and parody someone who is intriguing and interesting and maybe unexpected—playing an outlandish character isn’t really that hard to do, even though Bob does it well.

Derrick Barry—a professional Britney Spears impersonator in Las Vegas—decided to go outside the box and do Laura Bell Bundy. Derrick, Laura Bell Bun-don’t, please. RuPaul and the producers kept you for Snatch Game, to let everyone release those Britney blue balls they’ve had since you were announced on the cast.

On Snatch Game, here’s the rundown.

  • Thorgy gives us the realest “reanimated cadaver/Michael Jackson” you’ve ever seen.
  • Acid Betty somehow thinks that a Magnolia Crawford contour and an Effie Trinket wig gives us Nancy Grace. Where is the nasal? Where is the subtly popped nipple slip from her Dancing With The Stars days?
  • The gay who’s watched Devil Wears Prada seven times in me loved the Diana Vreeland moment.
  • Literally shocking: Derrick’s Britney is obviously enough to save him, even though that was a Dr. Faustus-level deal with the Devil, and we all know it.
  • Heterosexual teen supermodels Chanel Iman and Gigi Hadid looked a little like they didn’t know how they got onto set.
  • I’m loving the new season of OITNB.

For the runway, it’s Night of 100 Madonnas, which ended up being Night of Five Madonnas, because four out of eight queens wore the same kimono, forcing me to make the awful pun, “KimOHNO.”

Acid talks about how no one likes her. Thorgy talks about how she wants to conduct an orchestra in drag—The Thorchestra—but frankly, I don’t know why she didn’t call it the New York Philharmondick. Also, this has to be said: Thorgy’s dreads in his hairnet look like a big ole bag of Cuties clementines.

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Source: LogoTV

RUNWAY.

  • Thorgy: kimono.
  • Kim Chi: kimono.
  • Derrick: kimononono…are those faces?
  • Naomi: kimono?
  • Acid Betty: somehow reminds me of that Lindsay Lohan movie where she pretends to be pregnant. Labor Pains?
  • Robbie: Serves the Troop Beverly HillsA League of Their Own Madonna realness.
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Source: LogoTV

Michelle Visage—a former Madonna impersonator—loves tearing into the queens, and the pure look of terror on Derrick’s face when Michelle’s shark eyes land on her almost makes up for every boring moment in this season.

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Source: LogoTV  THE LOOK OF SOMEONE WHO’S JUST SHIT ON THE RUNWAY

Kim Chi and Chi Chi DeVayne are the first ones safe, but no one got a chance to comment on Kimmy Jong-Un, and that makes me sad.

SPOILER ALERT:

Bob wins the Snatch Game, even though—yet again—Thorgy gets praise heaped on her. Poor Susan Lucci. Bob walks away with another victory and Thorgy goes back to slowly dying a little bit on the inside with every passing day.

Robbie, Acid and Naomi are in the bottom three, and Robbie is declared safe. Then it’s the Lip Sync of Bitter Betty and Naomi Shambles. Betty gets a little shady when she kicks Naomi’s kimono off the stage, but maybe she was just trying to minimize the amount of kimono desecration that had already occurred onstage that night. In the end, Acid was sent home and my g0ddess Naomi Smalls stayed.

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Source: LogoTV SPOT THE SHRIMP COCKTAIL

I think that the choice to have a veteran and visually aesthetic queen be eliminated was an interesting one. Naomi is younger, less experienced, and has shown less breadth, but I think the biggest thing is that she wants to be there. Acid kept shitting on everything, and even though I’ll miss seeing her reenact The Gremlins on the runway, I’m glad that Naomi got to stay.

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Source: LogoTV

Stray Observations:

  • Critter Couture might be the most inspired thing on this season.
  • Did you think that RuPaul was going to grill Gigi on her mom’s Lyme Disease controversy for a little cross-promotional television daisy chain?
  • I can practically hear Raven dragging Derrick already for that unfortunate booty situation.
  • “The White Chaka Khan” could be an excellent new Instagram bio for Acid Betty.
  • Future Snatch Game idea: Yzma from The Emperor’s New Groove.
  • Prediction: Derrick is going to turn into one of those beauty queens who complain that she “didn’t know this was going to be a comedy
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Life, pop culture, television

AVOIDING SPOILERS IS THE BIGGEST FIRST-WORLD MILLENNIAL PROBLEM

It’s Monday night. RuPaul’s Drag Race is airing the second episode of its eighth season, which is critically acclaimed by me, because I claim everything critically.

Side bar: Why don’t we use “disclaim” like we use “acclaim”? Or do we?

However, I don’t have a TV, and my “friends” with a “TV” are in “classes” or have “homework” so instead, we make a plan to watch RuPaul tomorrow, Tuesday, online.

Monday night, I’m already antsy. It’s officially past 10 p.m., so it’s officially past the airing of the episode, which means that all of my social media—Twitter, YouTube, Instagram, and Tumblr—are potentially flooded with spoilers (my social media accounts are extremely gay). So, like a monk, I take a vow of celibacy and instead read my book. every time I go to open the Twitter app—likely because there is a devil inside me—I flinch and avert my eyes, exiting the app before anything can be spoiled. I can’t scroll through Twitter. I can’t peruse Instagram. I can’t even watch YouTube in case I see any spoiler. It’s literally hell. I actually went on Tinder and started talking to boys because that was one place I was relatively certain I wouldn’t stumble upon a RPDR spoiler—unless, of course, you’re talking to a gay devil who loves spoiling TV shows.

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Source: Reaction.Club

Side bar: I’m talking to a guy who knows a hot gay that I know, so he’s probably out of my league.

Tuesday, it’s almost 8 o’clock when I’m writing this, and I haven’t yet had anything spoiled. All I have is one more meeting, and then I’m going over to Marco and Mitchell’s and we can watch the episode and I can escape this circle of hell that not even f*cking Dante could cook up.

And during my twenty-four hours of self-induced celibacy—celebritacy?—I have learned something. The whole notion of “spoilers” is completely the trappings of a first-world 21st century millennial. Do you think our parents had to worry about spoilers? My parents had, like, ten channels and one house-phone. They didn’t have to worry about sh*t.

Even in the early ‘00s, when spoilers first started emerging, you didn’t have to worry in the same way. If you missed the last episode of Friends, all you had to do was avoid the water cooler at work. I’m not entirely sure, but I’m assuming the Internet wasn’t, like, a thing-thing in Friends’ hey-day. Now, if I want to avoid a TV spoiler, I have to avoid at least four people and six different social media, not to mention “recap” shows like The People’s Couch (wow, that’s my second mention of that show in as many posts).

I find it so fascinating that our generation can have such unique issues that no one else really had to deal with. Abstaining from social media to avoid spoilers is right up there next to having to change your Facebook profile picture but not having any solid choices, or trying to explain what a hashtag is to your mother while in a Panera Bread. We—the first-world millennials—are growing up in a unique bubble of child and adult.

The other day, I referred to the habit of watching television shows week-to-week, as opposed to binging on Netflix, as “the old way.” I have brainstorming sessions and poll focus groups before changing my social media handles—I’m now @dnnymccrthy on Instagram and Twitter if you want to follow me (dropping the a’s made it seem minimalist and Tumblr-y). I follow an Ina Garten parody account on Twitter. These are not things that have ever existed as problems before.

A more connected world is a blessing and a curse. It’s a blessing because I can be across the Atlantic and still be annoyed by my family. It’s a curse because there are, at any given point, at least two ugly photos of me from the seventh grade circulating the Internet. It’s, like, a Catch-22—jk I’m not old enough to get/make that reference.

We’re more educated, more opinionated, and more babied. That’s resulted in an entire generation of weird f*cking people. Today I discussed the rhetoric of Donald Trump on his campaign in class and Ubered from Trader Joe’s because it was raining. We’re giant babies.

I’m okay with that though. Or, more truthfully, I’ll be okay with that if I can make it to tonight without some demon spoiling anything for me. Pray for me, guys.

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