Copyright 2005, Will Fresch

American Idol is a complex machine. One with many moving parts. To analyze a single contestant’s performance is similar to studying the mating habits of orangutans; mildly disturbing yet necessary, for the sake of science.

To analyze Constantine Maroulis’ performance on Tuesday’s Idol was more like watching an orangutan attempt to mate with Dr. Phil McGraw. I use the term “performance” loosely because Idol hopefuls, for better or worse, are judged on more than performances alone. For those unaware of the criteria involved, contestants are generally evaluated on looks, charisma, and, of course, vocals.

As far as looks go, Maroulis is a dead ringer for Roseanne’s Sara Gilbert. He can flaunt that razor stubble and chest hair all he wants, but I know Darlene Conner when I see her. When a toll-free number was flashed across the screen for voting purposes, I was saddened that “get back together with David” was nowhere to be found.

Moving on to the charisma category, things grew worse for Maroulis. Prior to his performance on Tuesday, a short interview segment ran in which the contestants discussed the evening’s late-70’s theme. Waxing intellectual about the disco era, Maroulis reflected, “When I think of the 70’s, I picture lots of finger pointin’.” For those of us with IQ’s greater than 4, this statement was a reference to disco’s trademark point-to-the-sky pose. Strike two, Darlene.

Fortunately for Maroulis, vocals play a large part in determining whether or not a contestant remains on the show, and quite honestly, his voice is solid. Unfortunately, the tenor singer chose the Bee Gees’ “Nights on Broadway” as his song. Hearing the track without the helium-infested vocals of the brothers Gibb just didn’t sound right, and Simon and Randy were quick to let Maroulis know.

During his post-performance interview with Ryan Seacrest, Maroulis remained bland, rattling off one cliché after another.
“We’re all pulling for one another.”
“We’re like family.”
“Why does Becky always get the car?”

Just stop, Constantine. You lost me at “finger pointin’.”