More withering than Simon Cowell, crazier than Paula Abdul — it’s the novel that will have Hollywood on a witch hunt. Who is anonymously exposing the secrets of “American Idol”?
“Elimination Night,” a new novel by a nameless author with “firsthand knowledge of the inner workings of a top TV talent show,” is a thinly-veiled, scathing tell-all of the 10th season of the top-ranked talent show.
That was the first season without co-founder Cowell on the panel and the year Jennifer Lopez and Steven Tyler debuted as judges.
Despite their warm on-air congeniality, the book describes a running backstage feud between two egomaniacs who fight over the sizes of their dressing rooms and who gets announced on air first.
The bigger bombshell is the book’s depiction of producers using a secret rating system to vet contestants before they even make it to the judge’s table and then, as the season progresses, manipulating and even sabotaging the singers they want to see rise or fall.
The book’s narrator is Sasha, a lowly production assistant tasked with corralling the aging and lecherous rocker Joey Lovecraft and the dim-witted diva with the highly prized derriere, Bibi Vasquez.
Though names have been changed and all likenesses are disclaimed as “coincidental,” the similarities to the real show are over-the-top.
Like “Idol,” the book’s “Project Icon” is the nation’s most-watched TV series but in dire straits following the departure of “Mr. Horrible,” a mean-spirited producer and judge who has left to start “The Talent Machine,” a rival show on the same network. (Ring any “X Factor” bells?)
The show desperately needs a big name, so it approaches Vasquez, a Queens-born singer known for outrageous outfits, dating a gun-toting rapper and starring with her then-fiance in a universally panned movie (titled “Jinky” instead of “Gigli”).
She agrees to appear on the show, with a whopping caveat: They must adhere to a 78-page contract rider, which includes:
“Artist’s body to be insured with $1 billion dollar policy in case of injury. (Breasts, buttocks to be valued at $100 million each.)
“Crew to be forbidden to make eye contact with Artist at all times.
“Artist to be provided with chauffeur-driven limo . . . Limo to be a Rolls-Royce Phantom, white. Artist to select driver (male, under 25) from head/torso shots.”
Lovecraft, a 62-year-old, bass-mouthed rock star with a notorious weakness for booze, pills and women, has just had a falling-out with his band, Honeyload. He comes in to meet the producers with two porn stars in tow, on the heels of a rehab stint.
Both stars vie for top billing. Lovecraft complains when Vasquez’s inflated salary is released, while Vasquez throws a tantrum when Lovecraft becomes the fan-favorite judge.
When Vasquez decides to fly on her private jet to Houston for auditions, Lovecraft insists the show charter him one, too.
Neither are very good judges. (In real life, Lopez and Tyler hung on for two seasons before they announced they were leaving the show earlier this year.)
Vasquez relies on her agent to supply cue cards for her “ad libs.” Later, when she’s outed for using the cards, her husband, described as a pseudo-Marc Anthony (“her teenage sweetheart Edouard Julius, the actor, trapeze artist and former Olympic show jumper”) arrives on set and uses hand signals to tell her which singers to vote for and against.
Meanwhile, Lovecraft often “confused his gut with the area directly below it — namely his penis” to a point where the show’s producers are forced to hire a counselor to lecture the staff on fraternization and add language to his contract to keep a lid on the old man’s libido.
“He had been exchanging direct messages on Twitter with several other female contestants . . . providing them with both his cellphone and Twitpics of his bulging underwear, taken from under the judge’s desk,” the author writes.
The book generally leaves the contestants unscathed, save for two contestants.
Jimmy Nugget is 18-year-old country yodeler who bears a striking resemblance to “Idol” winner Scotty McCreery, a 17-year-old country boy from North Carolina. But in the book, he has a not-so-hushed-up secret: He sleeps with men.
Real-life contestants Karen Rodriguez — a 21-year-old Manhattanite — and Pia Toscano — a 22-year-old from Howard Beach — seem melded in the book’s Mia Pelosi, who’s blessed with an angelic voice and professional training but cusses like a truck driver. In the book, Mia has done time in juvenile hall for drunk-and-disorderly conduct.
The fictional show is a mega-hit — Fox’s real-life “Idol” has been No. 1 for seven consecutive seasons, produced 370 No. 1 Billboard hits and launched the careers of Carrie Underwood and Kelly Clarkson — that leaves nothing to chance.
Auditions begin months before the star judges arrive. A group of 20 ill-equipped production assistants pick through the first pool of talent, which numbers in the tens of thousands in each of seven cities.
Producers cheat by hiring local talent scouts to get established singers through the door — with the help of bribes like “phones, concert tickets, T-shirts . . . Oh, yeah, and cash,” the book says.
During this first round, contestants are given about 30 seconds to prove their worth. Those who pass are handed an orange ticket.
It’s not a pleasant experience for the production assistants. “You’re spat at, punched, kissed, bribed, threatened, flashed,” Sasha the narrator reveals.
Each contestant’s ticket is then given an oddly inverted code so that the producers can track the talent: “N” means a definite “yes, they’ll go onto Hollywood; “X” is maybe; and a “Y” is an absolute no but “the kid looks like a crier or a psycho, so roll the cameras.”
Executive producer Len Braithwaite, seemingly based on real “Idol” executive producer Nigel Lythgoe, gives this order: “If someone has a good gimmick—y’know, dying kid, mom in prison, amusing facial tic — put a star in the top-right corner.”
Sob stories are almost always valued over talent, the book says. A star in the right-hand corner equals more air time.
To ratchet up the drama, producers hang in the wings to screen the contestants before they perform. The strategy is this: “Tell the singer the very opposite of the truth.”
So, if the singer is incredible, the producers tell her that she’s probably not moving on. If he stinks, well then they tell him he’s the next Otis Redding. This all makes the decision, that moment of reckoning, all the more cinematic, the book says.
The star judges are coached to bluff and give the strongest contestants the most negative signals by wringing their hands or shaking their heads during the audition process. It all adds to the tension.
After the auditions are done, during the high-stakes Hollywood performances, the elaborate backstories contestants tell about the song they’re about to sing are almost always ghostwritten, the book says.
Contestants who aren’t producer favorites are sabotaged with mind tricks and steered into making poor song choices that could result in their elimination.
Even the judges are manipulated. Producers direct male singers to tell Vasquez, “I was obsessed with you when I was a kid,” knowing it will upset her. This ensures a “nay” vote, no matter how good the singer’s pipes are.
The show’s host, Wayne Shoreline — alter ego of the affable Seacrest — is detestable in the book.
The narrator describes a a man who enjoys making people squirm during the most vulnerable moments of their lives in front of 20 million viewers.
The crew nicknames him “Hal 9000” because he’s as emotionless and sexless as a robot. At one point, he eats a puppy.
“The pressure didn’t seem to affect Wayne,” the narrator says. “Up there on stage, he was focused, yes, but calm . . . Some take it as niceness. Professionalism, even. There people have it all wrong.
“Wayne is a functioning psychopath.”
RANDY JACKSON
“Idol” judge
In the book: JD Coolz, overweight session player and long-running judge on “Project Icon,” who repeats the phrase “booya-ka-ka!” “You’re the American everyman,” a producer tells Coolz. “Fat and ordinary.”
J.LO
Former “Idol” judge, singer and actress
In the book: Bibi Vasquez, “Icon” judge, grew up in Queens, singer and actress though better known for her outrageous outfits and killer assets.
“Every woman in America wanted to be her. Every guy in America wanted to sleep with her . . . The great irony being that Bibi achieved all this without even being able to sing.”
STEVEN TYLER
Former “Idol” judge, lead singer of Aerosmith
In the book: Joey Lovecraft, “Icon” judge, lead singer of Honeyload, has very public weakness for booze, drugs and women. “Joey had out-crazied himself this time: He was barefoot, with a feathered scarf around his neck and what appeared to be a shark’s tooth lodged in his hair.”
RYAN SEACREST
“Idol” host
In the book: Wayne Shoreline, “Icon” host. “The press thinks he’s gay . . . But I doubt it. I don’t think he’s anything. If you pulled down the guy’s pants, the only thing swinging between his legs would be a USB stick.”
Who is Anonymous?
“Elmination Night” is narrated by an anonymous writer who claims to have “firsthand knowledge of the behind-the-scenes workings of a top TV talent show.” The novel’s protagonist is a young, female production assistant, originally from Long Island who has dreams of becoming a successful author. Who could this person be? The Post speculates:
A disgruntled producer or assistant
This person would have up-close and personal access to the stars and the show’s politics. Could this book have been written to get revenge? If they still work for “American Idol,” they risk being fired. And if they don’t, there’s a possible lawsuit over breach of contract.
Pia Toscano
The local favorite might have a bone to pick, since she wasn’t winner of Season 10. She finished in ninth place. Does this sweet girl from Howard Beach, Queens, have it in her?
Karen Rodriguez
We said goodbye to her early on in the competition in Season 10 — but her diva streak was evident even then. Is this spitfire a secret author?
Randy Jackson
He comes off relatively unscathed. Could the nice guy have a mean secret? It could be his way of upstaging his big-ego co-stars.
Ryan Seacrest
The “Idol” host faces the harshest scrutiny in the book (at one point, he even eats a puppy — we kid you not). Could he have written himself in so harshly to throw off the scent?
scahalan@nypost.com