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Kim Buchan, one of tonight's contenders, says she has sometimes made $300 a week doing showcases. But "show biz, period, is so unpredictable" that she also works as a cashier. She got started in high school. "Would you believe I used to weigh 200 lbs.? And nobody liked me, nobody. Then I started with this lip-sync ensemble. They were trying to be real polite about my weight, but it was kind of an eyesore." She became svelte enough to play Lili von Shtupp, the hooker who sings I'm Tired in Blazing Saddles. Then she dumped the ensemble and went out on her own.
"Right now, being in the big time isn't feasible," she says. "So this is a nice substitute. Because I can get up there and be somebody I'm not and feel comfortable doing it. It's kind of like an escape. That sounds Hallmarkish -- I mean, totally generic. But I can get up there and be Lili von Shtupp in garters and be totally dragged out and say, 'Here I am, accept me.' And they do, they do accept me. I got third place with that act, and that was only because there were these two white girls ahead of me in housecoats and horn- rimmed glasses singing Respect, and they were great."
A trio called the Tidal Waves comes out in straw hats and Mexican ponchos to do the Kingston Trio's Tijuana Jail at 45 r.p.m. Donnie Lovedart does a hip- rolling dance and flips hearts backhand to the ladies. The two girls in housecoats (bad news, Kim, they're back on the bill tonight) demand "R-e-s-p- e-c-t." And in a strategic countermove, Buchan leaves Lili von Shtupp in the dressing room, teases out her hair and does her Whoopi Goldberg routine instead -- head rocking brainlessly from side to side, arms flopping in front of her like windshield wipers in the delay mode -- a white woman from Illinois imitating a black woman from New York imitating a surfer chick from California.
Novelty acts go down best with the crowd. The hot-and-heavy numbers are just too perilous. Artist No. 5 knows how to dance, but does the hand gliding down the torso suggest desire or gastrointestinal distress? Artist No. 7 wins points for wearing fishnet stockings, studded belts and a torn, painted neon cape. But for a terrible moment as she writhes on the stage, it looks as if she has got tangled in her costume. Also the sunglasses are crooked. There are no Michael Jackson imitators. You cannot compete with a big-time video, and anyway, the word upstairs is that Jackson can't lip sync his own songs.
The hit of the evening, and ultimately the winner, is John Ocacio, a former Arthur Murray instructor and a veteran of the disco era who once appeared on American Bandstand. Tonight he's wearing combat attire and camouflage makeup for a monologue about being a 19-year-old in Viet Nam. His act consists of standing with his rifle in a bayonet-thrust position and making robot-like movements, ratchetting across the stage on the stuttered word "nuh-nuh-nuh- nineteen." On a bit about post-traumatic stress disorder the movements go haywire. He throws a grenade. He takes enemy fire, and as he falls forward he gasps, "Was it worth it?" The crowd goes wild. So do the judges, giving him 191 out of a possible 200 points.