"The X Factor": Final audition mediocrity

(CBS) The Surgeon General told the producers of "The X Factor" that there was no way that the American health system could cope with any more than four audition shows.

There is currently no Cowellcare. Any more than four searing spectacles of intense drama could cause mass hysteria, mass emotional breakdowns and a mass breakout of tall auditioners whose parents are dwarves.

So, last night's final auditions had to leave it all out there for their remains to be swept up by the jaundiced janitors of New Jersey. Sadly, it was all a little damp.

We started in Newark with a mouthy little 14-year-old called Brian Bradley. You might imagine that all 14-year-olds are mouthy. However, this little man in black glasses and check trilby took mouthiness to a level that would make Muhammad Ali blanche.

Oh, of course Bradley is from Brooklyn. Of course, his competition - he said - was the Brooklyn Nets' Jay-Z. Of course Bradley raps.

"Why do you think you haven't had a record deal yet?" asked Cowell.

"It's politics, man," offered Bradley, jutting forward his full P. Diddiness.

He didn't wait to be asked to start his audition. As he incited the audience, Cowell looked on as if he was witnessing pigeon porn.

"I am scared of you," shivered Nicole Scherzinger.

"You are arrogant, obnoxious and argumentative," sniffed Cowell. You knew he was loving it. He added: "But you are one of the most talented young people I have heard in a long, long time."

Bradley merely offered that his four yes-es meant "greatness".

On a Simon Cowell reality show you cannot achieve greatness unless you sing Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah." A nursing home hairdresser called Kelly Warner duly obliged.

At least she wasn't wearing a trilby. Aaron Surgeon, despite long, dark curly hair that he had borrowed from Cher, was. Still, his version of "Don't Want to Miss A Thing" enlivened the Jerseyites to such a degree that only Cowell demurred.

Importantly, these last two singers were shown in only tiny snippets, which means that their backstories might include one (or more) of the following: Recovery from jungle pestilence, three stints in rehab after an obsession with inhaling liquid nitrogen, an artificial limb (or two), an intimate relationship with an extra-terrestrial or teenage gout.

Indeed, subsequently we were given more tiny snippets of those who were being accepted into boot camp. Perhaps these folks might even have been brought up by wolves. Or elves.

Liliana Rose Andreano, 26, said she made photocopies all day. Her a capella of "You Are My Sunshine" was, in Paula Abdul's opinion, "magical". It was magical because, as Cowell rightly said, she looks like someone who makes photocopies all day, rather than a pop star.

But at least one assumed she had kissed a member of her target sex. 43-year-old Andy Silikovitz claimed he had never kissed a girl before. He looked like the love-child of an elf and a professor - which we might some day discover he is.

Cowell immediately suggested Silikovitz might try it on with Abdul. But first, he intimated, he'd have to make a little money. Oh, of course this was a producer plant. Silikovitz sang Mariah Carey's "Hero", as if he was trapped inside Arnold Schwarzenegger's duodenum. Cowell still encouraged him to get Abdul's phone number.

Next was a lady whose stage name was Cashmere and whose voice was barbed wire. This was followed by a man in a baseball cap with a hula-hoop. No, this was a not a commercial break. It was a commercial disaster.

A 17-year-old Kari Fletcher sang Heart's "Alone". It's a great song for an audition - as long as you can hit the dramatic notes. Fletcher had classical training from the age of 6. This helped.

Cowell, though, thought she was boring. But in this venal life, boring but cute goes a long, long way. Fletcher was, naturally, admitted to boot camp.

Indeed, it was becoming something of a teenfest. In homage to the fine education kids are receiving these days, we were suddenly confronted with two teens, a boy and a girl, collectively called "Awesome." Actually, no, They were called "Ausem". Perhaps that might go down well in Australia.

To give them their due, these two were called Austin and Emily. See? Ausem.

This was like a provincial high school musical. Or "Glee." Of course the judges loved it. Well, L.A Reid and Scherzinger both loved Austin, which made Emily turn a whiter shade of snow as she shivered in rejection in front of the audience.

Scherzinger didn't know whether to let them through as a pair. "Yes or bloody no?" shrieked a frustrated Cowell. If he was frustrated, please spare a thought for little Emily who was being waterboarded in judges' spittle.

Cowell finally walked off the set, as Scherzinger struggled with her own fragile ego. It took an audience intervention to persuade her to say "Yes." And that's just how it would have been in "Glee." "Glee: The Provincial High School Musical," that is.

Tora Woloshin, a 21-year-old who is studying to be an auto mechanic, somehow managed to substitute for all five Jacksons in her version of "I Want You Back." At least two of the judges instantly wanted to offer her their Bentleys for a tune-up.

"You could be special," said Cowell. She'll have to do something about that stud above her top lip, though.

Someone called Jor-El Garcia did not appear to have had any previous experience as a bullfighter, which is a pity because most bulls would have been entirely frightened by the gyrations that accompanied his version of what was purportedly a Madonna song.

This show seemed to have been put together from the dregs of the auditions. There were hardly any backstories and some very questionable performers, such as a five-piece group in baseball caps called StereoHogzz, who danced like wind-up toys and sang with all the originality of a General Motors car, circa 2001.

Brennin Hunt has the looks of a matinee idol, which would be enough for some. But, oh, no, Hunt wants to rule the world, which doesn't sound like a terribly edifying job. Still, he took the risk of singing one of his own songs ("risky" hissed Cowell).

"We all need love to survive," he sang.

"You've got a brilliant voice," sang Cowell. "I could make you into a great artist."

Abdul, with her "Idol" reputation going before her, looked as if she would dearly love to help Hunt with his art and perhaps show him her own collection.

Eighteen-year-old Paige Elizabeth sang for around ten seconds (of screen time) before being passed forward. From what one could tell, she has lost that large tooth on the top left side of her mouth.

Fifty-nine-year-old Leroy Bell - who looked younger than all the judges bar Scherzinger - was given half a minute (of screen time) to sing Bill Withers' "Lean On Me." From what one could tell, he was excellent. The Brewer Boys, age 13 and 17, got eight seconds (of screen time) before they got four yes-es. From what one could tell, they had very straight, shiny hair. And 14-year-old Nick Dean had ten seconds (of screen time) to sing his new single (allegedly). From what one could tell, he was blond, couldn't sing very well and the little girls loved him. The judges did too.

Yes, "The X Factor" was slipping from drama into a very limpid pool of anodyne snippets.

We had to end on a high note. Surely we did.

The curiously named Jazzlyn Little was the last on the show. Sweet Little, 16, was more nervous than Job inside the whale. She said that she had posted one video of herself on YouTube. Cowell asked her why it hadn't got many hits. Was it the singing or was it her? "It was me," Little replied.

And when the music started, (drum roll), Little was transformed. She had power. She had determination. She had intimidation. She had Cowell suddenly paying attention. She had the audience on their feet. She didn't have them at hello. But she certainly had them by the time she said goodbye.

"You, I believe, could be a world star," nodded Cowell, sagely.

Well, of course. That's why this show exists. Not to tell stories about short people with tall children. Not to have strange men come on stage and flash poor Paula Abdul. Not to have bizarre little men wail like battery chickens.

No, "The X Factor" is a serious show that next week will take these raw talents to boot camp. One had almost forgotten.