Every week, Sharon Steel watches the Real World Brooklyn so nobody else has to. Last week, Ryan sang about a tampon. This week, he dons a mustache while other stuff happens to far less interesting people.
Last night’s Real World: Brooklyn only featured about five minutes of Ryan, who we’ve permanently dubbed King County’s Idiot Monarch-Jester, on camera, and the five minutes the overlord producers did show weren’t all that ghastly. He is appealing to both the masses and the underground, you see, with an amusing, faux-handlebar mustache–how did he know that nobody in Brooklyn can resist witty facial hair?
For the most part, Episode 4 revolved around Sarah’s history of abuse and her terrible relationship with her father. I can’t make fun of that, so instead I’m just going to tell you about the Singing Drag Queenie who covered Lee Ann Womack’s “I Hope You Dance” at the Pete Wentz Bar, J.D.’s Freaky Friday Flubs, and Chetubular Morminator, who is the one-man Real World version of Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Things dragged more than a little, and I fear it was because Idiot King was denied his due airtime. While I sit with the shame of that statement, huddled in a corner, chewing my hair and choking back tears of indignity, join me for a recap–one in which I enliven boring scenes by inserting famous people and making them better scenes, albeit ones that didn’t actually happen. Got it?
Devyn has come to New York, like so many uncracked nuts, because she wants to be a STAR! But she doesn’t want to get dragged into that horrid Broadway nonsense, which is for dumbs like Katie Holmes and Mary Louise Parker. It’s ShangriL.A. all the way. She has a real résumé, and that’s why it will happen. So she gets an audition with a casting director and thus we are treated to several montages of Devyn wandering the Red Hook Castle in hair curlers, a housecoat, and some kind of face cream, singing the National Anthem and muttering sad, Golden Girls monologues to herself. It’s funny! It’s actually funnier and more charming than her actual performance, I must say. Would you believe she didn’t leave a million hours early and sit in a coffee shop while she waited to go to her audition? Instead, she left at a reasonable time and wound up lost in New Jersey! (This is what happens when you drive from Red Hook. Such troubles, such hardships.) The kindly, white-haired, Liza Minnelli worshipping casting man is sorry she’s late, and she rushes through everything and it’s just unbearable. But then Daniel Radcliffe comes over to the Red Hook Castle with a horse he blinded to cheer Devyn up, and they have an intense, very important talk about life, love, method acting, and horcruxes, and decide elope to Las Vegas, which Snape officiated because he got one of those online priest certifications. Liza’s biggest fan was the best man, and he booked Devyn as a hand model for a moisturizer commercial. Happy day!
Devyn, tardy for her interview
Sarah’s dad calls her and they have an ugly telephone scene. To stop herself from feeling like a victim, she goes to Harlem and does some art therapy projects with kids. It’s pleasant to volunteer.
But it’s nowhere near as important as a private party Scott gets the roommates into, where you must show up “dressed nice.” I don’t know where it was, exactly, except that it definitely wasn’t the Beatrice Inn, good Christ. Angelo the doorman would never let these fame-whores in to hang with Kiki Dunst, I don’t care how lax the door policy has gotten! Because he doesn’t own anything “nice,” Ryan dons an over-sized brown suit, brown tie, and the aforementioned thick, handle-bar mustache. He then pulls his asinine Idiot King expressions while boozing, but this time it’s sort of endearing and oh my God I’m so confused, I think a part of me is starting to enjoy him. Please, help me.
My theory is that some Freaky Friday shit happened off-camera at the Castle, because sweet J.D. has suddenly taken over as episode asshole! He gets massively drunk and cozies up with a drag queen named Angelique at the Pete Wentz bar, Angels & Kings, which is the roommates’ favorite place to drink because they hope it will make them blog-famous!! (Well, what do you know!) Anyway, the drag queen seems pretty pleased with herself after J.D. tells Chet that she’s a better trannie than Katelynn. Chet’s like, oh, ok, because he didn’t actually know Katelynn was transgendered and hmm, he forgot his guyliner tonight, which is what transforms him into the Chetubular Morminator, his Sasha Fierce Godhead alter ego. Then, J.D. tells Devyn that Angelique is a better singer than she is, because queenie was on American Idol, which makes her Ryan Seacret’s wife, and, well, apparently that means something these days. Queenie decides to be coy and prove her talent by dragging Devyn up to a karaoke machine, and Dev launches into “I Hope You Dance,” a cappella, and Miley Cyrus jumps her and punches her in the face over and over again, like classic Ryan Atwood, it’s so good. Of course, Queenie hits the high note and that’s all anyone cares about because tonight the bar is packed with members of the exclusive Mariah Carey Fan Club and they’re waiting for her to show up with Westlife and cover Phil Collins. Instead, Devyn just gets really pissed at herself for singing country at the blogger bar. You should be, Dev.
Somehow, Chetubular Morminator (he found his guyliner) takes a brave pill and convinces that 19-year-old model from last week to go on a date with him, but it’s a wearying process that involves him asking her if she wants to just go out with him or have it be a group thing. He is a 20-something guy who doesn’t masturbate, trying to figure out how to talk to a female who he would very much like to get his slam on with, but he can’t, because it’s not pure and her God is not his, and she’s a FALLEN WOMAN and maybe a hussy who will sleep over in his bed on top of the sheets, then take advantage of him in the dead of night. Suddenly I’m in a Thomas Hardy novel–or maybe it’s just Twilight?–and I wish Chet would just fucking TOUCH A BOOB instead of ACTING LIKE ONE. But that’s the point, right? Chetubular and model girl go feed each other foods and desserts and when you’re done purging yourself during the commercial break in the sink, because the toilet was too far, they snuggle. That brazen, godless vixen actually kisses him at her door. “I can tell she’s very sexually attracted to me,” says Cheticular Warts. “I appreciate this.”
Chet and the model lady
You know who I appreciate by this point? Idiot King. I MISS THE IDIOT KING. Brooklyn is nothing without you, sire. Please, come back. Next week you will have a conniption over a shaving cream fight, like a little girl at sleep-away camp for the first time. My heart breaks.
This article from the Village Voice Archive was posted on January 29, 2009