"The X Factor": The petulant Simon Cowell returns

(CBS) It takes a gargantuan ego to believe that anyone will pay attention to yet another singing show for two and a half hours. That is, after all, almost as long as "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button."

Please let me introduce you to "The Curious Case of Simon Cowell." For he believed that last night's "The X Factor" would happily engross millions for as long as he wanted. Nero thought that way about Rome, and he didn't have to compete with iTunes, the iPad or "I'm going to switch this crap off."

Pictures: "The X Factor"

Cowell had 17 contestants fiddling their way toward the last 12. How could that possibly take 150 minutes of your life or even theirs?

First were the boys. And the first boy was Astro - the artist formerly known as Brian Bradley. When he speaks, there isn't a cliche that Astro couldn't adopt like his own little Tamagotchi. He has, though, yet to refer to himself in the third person. There's time. He's only 14.

Astro was peculiarly professional. Rapping away about "The X Factor" to the tune of Kris Kross' "Jump", this strange non-spawn of Will Smith had the support of some highly fetching dancers in puffa jackets from H&M. He hipped, he hopped, he clipped, he clopped and he galloped through the audience's senses with some aplomb.

"I was jumping out of my skin," said Nicole Scherzinger.

"You've just killed everybody," said Cowell. Turning to Reid he challenged him: "If this kid doesn't make it through to the finals you are literally insane."

You see, Astro is a boy. And the boys category is decided upon by the great Reid himself.

Next was recently rehabbed Chris Rene. Rose Royce's "Love Don't Live Here Any More" was the tune, given an excess of bass, original drumming and soulful feel. The only discordant note was Rene's back-to-front baseball cap, which surely must have drifted from fashion some time around 2002.

"I don't know if I'd have picked that song for you," worried Scherzinger.

"When you open up your mouth, there's a genuine truthfulness that's authentic," offered Paula Abdul. Because there's so much genuine truthfulness that's not authentic in this world. I am sure George Benson or Quincy Jones must have once written a song about that.

Crooner Phillip Lomax naturally needed to make himself seem more contemporary. So he sang "I'm A Believer." Yes, the song made famous by the Monkees in the 18th century.

If Sinatra had seen this, he would have liked the dancing girls. But the singing had nothing to do with, well, singing. Half the time, Lomax was being drowned out - no, waterboarded - by his backing singers.

"You've got massive potential, but tonight you were like a racing driver and L.A. put you into a tractor," said Cowell. Turning to Reid, he added: "With this guy, you 100 percent failed."

Cowell was right. This was like Tony Bennett taking on "Hit Me Baby One More Time."

Finally, we had Marcus Canty. Fulfilling the highly contemporary feel for which Reid is famous, Canty sang "Do You Really Want to Hurt Me." The song made famous by Boy George's Culture Club when England still had an empire? The very same.

It was actually peculiarly mesmerizing. The judges all, quite justifiably, loved it.

It was immediately down to Reid to decide. One just had to go. It had to be Lomax, led astray by the mentor who then lopped his head off.

This only took 40 minutes. How long would the groups take? First were Stereo Hogzz. This was supposed to be a live show. But were these people really singing? It didn't always seem like it. Their "Try A Little Tenderness" was full of dancing. Even the most famous stars have a little trouble singing and dancing at the same time.

"There should a band in the charts like you," declared Cowell. There are still charts? Really?

The Brewer Boys, two nice brothers from Temecula, followed with Hall and Oates "Rich Girl" entwined by George Michael's "Faith." They had nice young girls dance around them. This was an idiosyncratic hoedown that reached for the success of Mumford and Sons. The trouble is, there were just the two sons.

"If I was a teenager, I'd have you all over my walls," said Scherzinger, revealing her inner fantasies.

Oh, you just knew they were going to be tossed back to the farm to bale hay. But first we had to endure the multi-mini-Biebered Lakoda Rayne and Intensity.

Intensity had desperately unintense vocals, until they all began to chant together. It was "Glee" meets the fifteenth understudies of "Glee" after a nuclear holocaust.

"I've got the new young Glee in front of me," said Cowell, with consummate straight-facedness and intellect.

"You're a pumpkin patch of yummy pumpkins," was Scherzinger's considered view.

Lakoda Rayne, four girls with long hair, utterly decimated Dexy's Midnight Runners' "Come On Eileen." Yes, yet more contemporary music.

This was beyond embarrassing. This was beyond even high school musical. This was simply merciless bilge, manipulatively presented as something that someone, somewhere ought to want to listen to, because the girls are pretty.

Naturally, the judges loved it. Naturally, Abdul sent the Brewer Boys back to the farm.

Then it was the over 30s, mentored by Scherzinger. She had 49-year-old Dexter Haygood sing a touching mashup of Britney's "Womanizer" and Katy Perry's "I Kissed a Girl."

This was the vocal equivalent of a flasher outside a high school. Haygood merely wanted to be James Brown. Here he was being made to look like Vanna White.

Cowell said: "It was like the weirdest milkshake in the world."

Sixty-year-old Leroy Bell offered a little class to the proceedings. Abdul compared him to Michael Bolton. Cowell, though, found him awkward and lacking in confidence. Still, what Cowell thought didn't matter, as Scherzinger would be making the decision. (At least officially.)

When 42-year-old stay-at-home mom Stacy Francis was powering her way through all the octaves of at least three pianos, Scherzinger was in tears. To think that Francis was in the same competition as the Mini-Me's and Mini-Glee's made for nothing other than the potential of tragedy, which would make Cowell more than happy.

"You know how much I like you and I know how much you like me," offered Cowell, before telling Francis he hated her clothes and her song.

Josh Krajcik took on Dylan's "Forever Young" and gave it the kind of power and grace that Tim Buckley might have done. With no artifice, no band and, goodness, no dancers, he managed to make the audience, the heart and the tenor of this highly questionable show rise.

"You are the artist I fear," said Cowell. Because, of course, one of the girls he has mentored is supposed to win.

Scherzinger, having turned him into an absurd sideshow, sent Haygood home. "I'm kinda confused," said Haygood. "I'm in the 21st century twilight zone." He was not alone.

Could there have only been 37 minutes left? And there were five girls (after Cowell's terribly staged reinstatement of Melanie Amaro).

First was Simone Battle. She had a lot of tight-bottomed dancers. She had even more bum notes. "Just Be Good to Me", she sang. This would be difficult.

"Everything was right except your choice of contestant," huffed Reid in Cowell's direction. Oh, of course this conflict was staged, but it was more amusing than most of the singing. Reid looked at Cowell with deep contempt.

Cowell tried to defend Battle. "You are a pop star," he said to her. A few minutes later, he kicked her off the show, of course.

Fourteen-year-old Rachel Crow was coiffed to look like she'd just been electrocuted. She managed to mash up the Supremes' "Where Did Our Love Go?" with a little of Bieber's "Baby" and just got away with it. But only just.

Cowell claimed that he had mentored Crow in a way that was both "brilliant" and "original."

Drew Ryniewicz, 14, has dropped her last name, which is a sad sacrifice for those of Polish descent who have fought through so much.

She tried a slow, slow, no quick, slow version of "Flashdance." Yes, Cowell is a shameless piggybacker on any trend he can grasp, even if it only lasts a couple of weeks.

Ryniewicz is an excellent singer. "This is why I wanted to be back on American TV, to find someone like you," slithered Cowell.

Tiah Tolliver, another Cowell has championed against the odds, sang The Eurythmics' "Sweet Dreams." It proved to be prophetic. Looking like the seventh daughter of Tim Burton and Eartha Kitt, Tolliver's vocals felt as if they'd been mixed by Jack the Ripper.

"I guess you're one of his favorites," sneered Reid, referring to Cowell.

Cowell defended her and said that Tolliver had "worked her nuts off." A few minutes later, he'd tossed her nuts to the squirrels.

Finally, Melanie Amaro, the alleged reject. Oh, of course she was good - especially her hair. But she did resemble quite a few contestants who have graced, dare one suggest, "American Idol." She sang Whitney Houston's "I Who Have Nothing." Battle and Tolliver had nothing within seconds. Cowell claimed his was the most difficult decision he had ever had to make.

It cannot have been more difficult than the decision facing those who will consider watching this bloated, self-regarding show again.