Well, that’s that, then. The Idol, the “show of the summer,” according to cocreator Sam Levinson, is over after a controversial five-episode run. Or, wait, wasn’t it supposed to be six episodes? Do they even make television shows with only five episodes? In fact, they don’t, and we have proof: The Ringer has exclusively—and very, very seriously, we promise—acquired lost pages of The Idol’s scripts that help explain the show’s rushed finale and, um, gaps in logic. Read the cut scenes below:
Episode 4, Scene 10 - Cult family meeting
INT. JOCELYN’S SUNKEN LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
TEDROS stands in front of CHLOE, IZAAK, RAMSEY, MITCH, XANDER, LEIA, and assorted other creative geniuses. He is sweaty, wearing a short silk robe not designed for his body type, and pounding shots that he toasts vaguely in the direction of no one.
TEDROS: Yeah, so I’ve gathered you all here for a family meeting because it’s been awhile since we caught up without the overwhelming sound of Xander’s screams from me torturing him for singing in the shower or whatever. Sorry about that, Xander. But from context clues, it seems like we’ve made up, right?
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XANDER: It seems like it? Or maybe you just broke my human spirit with that shock collar, and that’s why we all follow you? Because everyone is more or less just one trip to PetSmart away from being a successful cult leader and club owner?
TEDROS: Yeah, for sure, it does seem like that. Although I did totally forget that I own that nightclub.
Everyone “hmms,” internally considering that they used to sleep on the banquettes of a nightclub, and now they sleep on the pool chairs of a pop star. Tedros did that for them.
TEDROS (CONT’D): Anyway, since we moved into Jocelyn’s house, we haven’t really had time to discuss any cult business. So I thought we could take this moment while Joss is outside running calisthenics in her thong and garters to jam on, y’know, our goals as a music-and-sex-based cult. What it is we’re up to, how it is we met, why it is any of you do what I say, and what the hell is going on with Jocelyn not liking me anymore, even though I put on my best ninja headband this morning.
LEIA: Just wondering, should I take minutes for this cult meeting?
EVERYONE (OVERLAPPING): Shut the fuck up, Leia!
LEIA: No, I was genuinely just asking—
XANDER: Leia, I swear to God, if you don’t shut the fuck up ...
TEDROS: Leia, get the fuck out, why are you even fucking here?!
MITCH: Get the fuck out, Leia!
Leia exits.
TEDROS: So it seems like since we’ve gotten here, singing at the dozens of loosely scattered pianos is up, but sexual shock collar vocal training is way down—and that’s totally on me, y’all. But otherwise, how is everyone feeling about their musical development under my tutelage?
IZAAK: Lookin’ good, feelin’ good, Tedros. Ever since I was your waiter at that Texas Roadhouse in Reno, where you secretly followed me back to my apartment to listen to me sing in the shower, and then pounced out of the shadows to ask if I wanted to come live in your nightclub in L.A., my life has been one nonstop fairy tale—like the Brothers Grimm kind, where Little Red Riding Hood does a murder at the end, but a fairy tale nonetheless—
TEDROS: I haven’t heard that children’s story. I’d need someone to explain it to me in detail.
IZAAK (CONT’D): I mean, sure, I had my own apartment then, consistent access to Western medicine, and I was allowed to—nay, Texas Roadhouse insisted that I—wear a shirt. But ever since you recognized my talent while breaking-and-entering my home, I’ve been singing way more, giving near-constant lap dances, and serving way fewer baked potatoes.
TEDROS: Yeah, that all sounds net positive. Because what did I tell you about music when we first met inside your shower, Izaak?
IZAAK: That sexually gyrating is actually more important than vocals in almost every musical scenario.
TEDROS: No, the other thing—the really deep and meaningful advice I gave you that harnessed your musical talent and positioned me as an unlikely but undeniably talented producer and musical muse.
IZAAK: Oh, right. You said that good music comes from the nipples.
TEDROS: That’s right: Artistry comes directly from the nipples.
Tedros begins hacking up a cocaine loogie, but is undeterred. He snorts more cocaine and carries on.
TEDROS (CONT’D): Chloe, how are you feeling about being a musical savant squatting at a pop star’s house?
CHLOE: Oh, you know me, Tedros, I love any house where I can stand really still at the end of a long hallway like the two twins from The Shining stacked on top of each other. And thanks to your invisible but definitely real artistic influence, I’ve developed one truly catchy song about family … and then another one about a crocodile that is absolutely incoherent.
TEDROS: No, that one’s fire. Crocodiles are sexy as fuck. You gotta turn that into a song about fucking a crocodile. That’s sexy, that’s what people want.
CHLOE: You got it, Tedros.
TEDROS: And Mitch, Ramsey, how are you two feeling about … what it is … that you … do … here?
Mitch blinks. Xander looks in Mitch’s direction, incredulous.
XANDER: Wait, sorry, your name is Mitch? This bald tattooed guy’s name has been Mitch this whole time?
TEDROS: Yeah, this guy whose head spells out “LIFE IS WAR” in Old English is named Mitch. I came across him doing doughnuts in a Dollar Tree parking lot a few years ago and knew I had to have him for our coterie of creatives.
Mitch blinks.
TEDROS: Glad to hear you’re doing well, Mitch. Ramsey, how are you feeling?
RAMSEY: I’ll be honest, Tedros, I’m struggling. No one’s ever said out loud what my talent is, which makes it hard to perform when called upon. Plus the water pressure here isn’t great because the pipes are full of party drugs, and I’m worried about our mom, Jocelyn.
TEDROS: Wait—because she’s started being mean to me? Because of the sudden and unsubstantiated reveal that she’s really been the one in control the whole time?
RAMSEY: No, I—
TEDROS (CONT’D): Because it’s becoming increasingly clear to all of us that I’m actually the victim, because women are predators who use sex to manipulate broken men, so Jocelyn was really the villain all along?
RAMSEY: No, I really just meant—
TEDROS (CONT’D): Because a common theme in the cinematic universe we’re all now a part of is regularly suggesting that most abused women actually lie about abuse, while also being motivated by their abuse, while also somehow being in control of that abuse the entire time?
RAMSEY: NO!!! Tedros, I really just meant the cigarette thing. Jocelyn is always smoking, but she’s never pulling the cigarettes from anywhere, and she’s never putting them out anywhere either. Is there some sort of vacuum system I’m unaware of? Is she eating them? Is there a cigarette ghost in this house? Am I the ghost? Are we all ghosts???
TEDROS: Ramsey, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you: Ghosts are not sexy! You are not a sexy ghost! You are a sexy singer, and if you want to sing sexy in a way that’s believable—OK, wait, are you ready for me to blow your mind?
Ramsey nods.
TEDROS (yelling): I SAID, ARE YOU READY TO HAVE YOUR FUCKING MINDS BLOWN BY MUSICAL GENIUS TEDROS TEDROS?!
Everyone nods fervently.
TEDROS (CONT’D): If you wanna make sick music, you gotta stop caring what other people think. You gotta listen to—
RAMSEY: Your heart?
TEDROS: No, your nipples. It’s still your nipples. And you gotta put on thongs, man. You gotta wear so many thongs, more thongs than you ever thought possible. Your butt cheeks have to be out. You’ve gotta eliminate the word “pants” from your vocabulary entirely, you gotta forget those leg prisons even fucking exist.
Everyone begins lighting their pants on fire at the ankles.
TEDROS (CONT’D): And you gotta moan. You gotta moan so hard into the mic that it’s the only thing you hear: no lyrics, no melody, no instrumentals, just moans.
Everyone begins screaming in pain as their pants fires envelop them in the flames of artistry.
TEDROS (CONT’D): You gotta roll around, and moan, and be sexy by having sex. Sex is the only thing that’s sexy, and sex sells, and I do sex real good, so you should have it with me, and you should do it while we’re recording to make genius, sexy music that everyone will love because it’s so, so sexy because of the sex.
The tortured cries of pain begin to Auto-Tune themselves as though by magic. But it’s not magic—it’s pure, unadulterated Tedros.
TEDROS (CONT’D): Oh shit, this is fire. This is literally fire! We’re finally ready to create my masterpiece that will someday—maybe even within the next 24 hours—force top music industry executives to recognize my singular and unparalleled talent! Leia, get the lap-dance chairs and the red silk blindfolds—we’re ready to record!
Tedros looks around wildly.
TEDROS (furious): GODDAMMIT, WHERE THE FUCK IS LEIA?!
Episode 5, Scene 1 - Mind-blowing, plot-twisting, fourth wall–shattering cigarette advertisement
INT. JOCELYN’S RECORDING STUDIO - NIGHT
A dimly lit studio filled with the mixed scent of three different $100-plus candles burning concurrently. JOCELYN sits alone behind the boards and rolls a lit cigarette between her fingers. She pouts, sexily, takes an awesomely long drag, and then sits back in her chair. She briefly closes her eyes and loses herself in physical ecstasy as her phone buzzes against her collarbone. It’s LEIA calling. Jocelyn lays the phone before her and takes the call but says nothing. She waits for Leia to speak first.
LEIA: ... We need to talk about Tedros. Joss, he’s ruining the show. Not the tour. I mean the show. The Idol. Written and directed by Sam Levinson.
JOCELYN (with little mischievous laughs punctuating every other word she says for the duration of the scene): Tedros … you mean … Mauricio … played by four-time Grammy Award–winning artist the Weeknd … our dear Abel …
LEIA: He’s been ruining things since the series premiere. He’s just such a fucking nothing burger of a character.
JOCELYN: The series premiere … so long ago …
LEIA: No one enjoys watching him. No one wants to “figure him out.” They like watching Hank Azaria do the accent, they like seeing Nikki do her little Bill Maher routine, they like it when I make faces, like when I did the impression of you giving the blowjob. But really, the people just want to see you, Joss.
JOCELYN: The people want to see me … fuck Tedros over …
LEIA: You think you’ve got one over on him, Joss. You think you’ve outsmarted Tedros. But you’re so invested in outsmarting him, in setting him up just to tear him down, that you literally haven’t gotten any halfway competent character development of your own. You got a dead mom from the big book of storytelling clichés. You’re a musician with no real taste or ideas or opinions about music. This was supposed to be your moment, Joss! Why does he get to … ugh—I can’t stand watching him. You there, Joss?
JOCELYN: I know how you truly feel … how you’ve always felt … about me … Leia …
Jocelyn starts doing unspeakable things with the butt of the cigarette in her lap, ruining her garments. The embers spread to her ergonomically exquisite office chair from Herman Miller. Jocelyn’s clothes are now smoldering, but she continues to listen nonetheless.
LEIA: If you know how I feel—how I feel about you, how I’ve always felt about you—then why won’t you say it back? Joss, sometimes, I swear to God, I feel like leaving this show in an emotionally inconclusive and totally anticlimactic way.
JOCELYN: I know you love … I know you’ve always loved … always cherished … improvisational comedy … Rachel … Anne … Sennott …
LEIA: Why do you keep stringing me along?! Why does Abel keep giving interviews telling people the show is going to get better?! It’s not! It was never going to get better! It’s all a lie, Joss!
Jocelyn’s tiny skirt now starts to crackle, on fire. Jocelyn doesn’t panic; she instead starts to moan, bewildering and demoralizing Leia on the other end of the call.
LEIA: Joss, stop. These scenes … enough. If we’ve seen you diddle yourself once, we’ve seen you diddle yourself a thousand times. This isn’t summer camp! Are you there?
The fire alarm sounds, and the sprinklers activate. A million dollars’ worth of studio equipment is destroyed, yes, but more importantly, the water drenches the scantily clad (as always) Jocelyn in a tasteful mist. This doesn’t extinguish the flames, however—the water only makes them flicker even more wildly.
LEIA: Jocelyn? What’s going on over there? Wait, where are you? Are you there? Answer me! Oh my God! Do I call the police? Jocelyn! Jocelyn, I love—
The water finally ruins the phone and terminates the call. Jocelyn pulls the dead, black screen to her beating heart as she sits and endures the cinematic barrage of elements. To recap: Jocelyn is engulfed in flames but also drenched by the sprinklers but also showered by explosive sparks from the ruined studio equipment. But Jocelyn is iconically unfazed as she lights another cigarette, regardless of the active sprinklers, and takes another long drag.
Episode 5, Scene 7 - Music execs emerge
EXT. JOCELYN’S DRIVEWAY - DUSK
NIKKI, FINKELSTEIN, CHAIM, and DESTINY exit Jocelyn’s house in a daze. Behind them, IZAAK, CHLOE, RAMSEY, XANDER, and JOCELYN wave goodbye excitedly, shutting the door behind them, and with it, the last vestiges of celebratory cheers go away.
NIKKI: OK, who’s going to say it? Are we going to … say it? Because that was …
CHAIM: We’re all tenured music industry professionals, right? Is the viability of an international arena tour usually pitched via an … impromptu variety show?
DESTINY: No, that was definitely something different. Even producer Mike Dean said so.
NIKKI: Uh-huh, so then the suggestion would be that we—tenured music industry professionals—were so taken with that amateur showcase not because it’s standard operating procedure, but because of the level of … “talent” … on display?
CHAIM: I mean, that folksy gal with her bare butt cheeks on the piano bench had something going for her, you must admit. And, sure, that one guy’s leopard-print satin boxer briefs were a little on the nose, but—
NIKKI (more forcefully): OK, who is going to say it?!
FINKELSTEIN: Yeah, it was fucking weird, OK?! It was a 20-minute talent show where one kid sang a cover, and Jocelyn lip-synced an entire song that sounded exactly like the old song she wanted nothing to do with! It was weird! And now I feel cold and shaky, and I’m confused.
NIKKI: Why did we react that way to it? Why did we keep calling everyone musical geniuses in hushed tones? Why were there dancers for a showcase of mostly ballads? Why were those dancers wearing stilettos on plush carpet? Aren’t they worried about their ankles?
DESTINY: When Jocelyn said, “Now imagine this on a stage,” was she referring to … the swaying mass of bodies before us? I can technically imagine that on a stage, but I can’t imagine wanting to watch it …
CHAIM: Right, is the idea for this “opening act” that we’ll combine these four wildly disparate musicians into one … ABBA-like musical group? Who will then open for Jocelyn’s new moaning singles featuring more butt-forward choreography than ever before?
DESTINY: I dunno, Chaim, you seemed pretty into declaring everyone in there a once-in-a-generation talent not even 60 seconds ago—did I hear you liken one of those kids to Prince because he was giving a lap dance?
CHAIM: I don’t know, did I? Why don’t we ask Nikki what she was whispering about with the sweaty man wearing a silk shirt tucked into track pants?
NIKKI: I was whispering incessantly with that guy about how I would do whatever it took to work with him, but … for the life of me, I can’t remember why now?
DESTINY: Oh, wait …
Destiny holds her finger up for silence while she thinks. It’s shaking slightly.
DESTINY (CONT’D): We were drugged.
CHAIM: What?!
DESTINY: Yeah, we were very clearly very drugged. Why else would we have been arguing over who gets the IP rights to Tedros Tedros? Why else would that young woman wearing a club dress at 2 p.m. have been so insistent upon serving me a Long Island iced tea?
NIKKI: Oh. RIGHT. They’re a sex cult—they absolutely slipped us MDMA, and I’m only just realizing that we were in there watching them dance for eight hours …
FINKELSTEIN: Chaim, what’s it gonna take to put an end to that sweaty Keith Raniere figure?
CHAIM: I’ve got a girl—and that girl has a byline.
NIKKI: Cool, I have no follow-up questions, no psych eval on Jocelyn, no deprogramming therapy for the new cult-based singing group we just created—let’s just make this work, and I’ll meet you fuckers at SoFi Stadium in [checks watch] exactly six weeks. What could go wrong?
Episode 3, Scene 10 - Music video montage
EXT. JOCELYN’S SMALLER SWIMMING POOL - NIGHT
BEGIN MONTAGE:
A pool party after dark. IZAAK suggestively straddles a giraffe floatie, his godly thighs clad, as always, in a delectable leopard print. The camera tracks a glistening JOCELYN at a forbidding distance, across the length of the pool, as she pouts at no one in particular. She’s dressed like a competitive figure skater for unclear reasons.
LEIA stands impatiently at the door, arms crossed, gazing upon Izaak with some measure of frustrated longing. She then gazes upon the wider scene, of a pool party on a school night, with fuming petulance. She wordlessly begs everyone to come indoors.
CHLOE sits poolside with her legs dangling in the water but keeping her upper body dry, especially her hands, as she blows a makeshift kazoo, fashioned from a strip of wax paper and an emptied toilet paper roll, decorated with googly eyes of medium size. We, as viewers, cannot actually hear what Chloe is playing as this whole scene is set to “Underneath,” the soon-to-be released single from Grammy Award–winning musical artist the Weeknd:
Fuck you while I do su-do-ku …
INT. JOCELYN’S SUNKEN LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
The Weeknd song continues. A topless CHLOE takes to the baby grand piano. She’s having a great time, as always. Oh, Chloe.
Everyone else is gathered around the main television, playing Mario Kart 8. XANDER and TEDROS play with great intensity; Xander joyously, Tedros furiously. Xander makes a point to harass Tedros with point-blank green shells and trick-shot banana peels at every opportunity.
On a smaller flat screen mounted just above the main television, IZAAK is streaming some iconic footage of Prince and the Revolution performing “Purple Rain” at the Carrier Dome in 1985. This footage distracts and calms Tedros—for now—despite the music presumably being drowned out by both Chloe on the piano and Mario Kart 8 on the main television.
Xander offers his controller to anyone else who wants to play. LEIA is seen worrisomely focusing on an empty chair in the corner with a single, emptied pack of Capri Super Slims on the seat. Leia is only now registering the absence of Jocelyn.
Guess it’s time I finally broke you …
INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT
Humiliated in Mario Kart, emasculated by Xander, and only temporarily mollified by Prince, TEDROS retreats to the bathroom for several minutes and stares meaningfully into the mirror. He rubs his gumline, as if checking for sores, and blood starts pouring out of his left nostril, drenching his upper lip and coating his teeth, turning his visage dark and vaguely provocative—and evocative, of course, of the cover art for the Weeknd’s After Hours.
I own you … the old you …
INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT
Everyone except Jocelyn and Tedros is piled into Leia’s bedroom and gathered around IZAAK as he gets down into a push-up position on the carpet with CHLOE sitting cross-legged on his back and clutching an accordion. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is agape; she’s clearly high out of her mind.
XANDER gets down on his knees to maintain eye contact with Izaak as Xander counts off his push-ups. LEIA is now somewhat relaxed as she sits and basks in this bizarre performance, which Izaak, in peak condition, is able to sustain for much longer than the viewer would expect. Xander counts to 65 before Izaak’s muscles begin to twitch and falter. Leia moans. So does Chloe, as she juices the accordion.
So sue me … the new me …
INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT
LEIA and IZAAK eye-fuck each other while the whole group plays Uno at a table in the kitchen. Before the Grammy Award–winning musical artist the Weeknd can rhyme “the new me” with “sashimi,” “Underneath” fades out and finally, diegetically gives us an earful of CHLOE playing “Baby Shark” rather wildly, at 160 bpm, in the clarion register on bass clarinet; the kitchen acoustics send this melody echoing all throughout the huge house, with a profoundly spooky and suspenseful effect.
INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT
TEDROS is no longer staring into the mirror, but rather into its discreet medicine cabinet. He dumps the contents of some container into the sink and then, after a momentous pause, slams the cabinet shut. Tedros looks up. The mirror now reflects a new face and indeed reveals the dark truth lurking at the heart of this series: Tedros is, in fact, JOCELYN. She looks back down to the blood-splattered sink: We now see it’s filled with dozens of googly eyes of medium size, all staring back at us. Chloe’s rendition of “Baby Shark” continues ominously in the background. Cut to black.
END MONTAGE.
Episode 5, final scene cut from script
EXT. 7-ELEVEN GAS STATION OUTSIDE SOFI STADIUM - NIGHT
JOCELYN and TEDROS, reunited under a strange new power dynamic, ask their driver to pull over for cigarettes following her first sold-out arena concert. Outside the 7-Eleven, sitting on the curb, is a high school senior with mussed blond hair and a bloodied nose, weeping incoherently into her pale blue dress.
JOCELYN: Are you OK, sweetie?
GIRL (looking up, the tears and streetlight in her eyes too bright to recognize who she’s speaking to): No, I’m not OK. My boyfriend just broke up with me, and my best friend slammed my head into a wall!
The girl sobs so intensely, it almost sounds like a melody.
TEDROS: What’s your name?
GIRL: Cassie …
JOCELYN: Cassie what?
GIRL: Cassie Howard …
TEDROS: Do you sing, Cassie Howard?
CASSIE (sniffling): Not really …
JOCELYN: You’re in luck—it doesn’t really matter. Get in the car.
Cut to black.
