Runway Jury: Shenanigans!

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THE THIRD TIME is the — whatever the opposite of charm is; the curse? — for Chris March as the judges/producers/powers that be finally, finally ax his fat, costume-designing ass despite all his powers of talent, sweetness, adaptability and innovation. It must have been tough to find yet another reason to shoo Chris off the runway, this time for good, so bravo, Bravo.

Yes, I'm bitter. Rami Kashou has been one of the annointed ones from the first episode of this cycle, and nothing — not his auf-worthy Diva pro-wrestling abortion, his disdain for the judges' opinions nor his creative inflexibility — was going to be enough to send him home. Rami could have put a model in diapers and a ski cap, smacked Nina Garcia in the face and left dog poop in Michael Kors' shoes and they still would grit their teeth and let him through. Gah.

We have to face it, pigeons: "Project Yawnur" has been in decline for four seasons now, with a blip upward in quality in season three, thanks to Santino/Andrae/Red Lobster. This cycle has been alternately boring and outraging, and bravotv.com's illuminating fillips — notably producer Michael Rucker's rock 'n' roll blog and Tim Gunn's podcast — have been jettisoned in favor of infantile interactive treats, games and contests for you, the viewer. It seems democratic and inclusive, but is actually obfuscatory — the more time you spend sending in blurry .jpgs of your own designs, the less you hear about the judges' and producers' motivations and opinions.

So the designers have $8,000 and five months in which to whip up a Bryant Park collection.

As per usual, Tim Gunn, Fashion Assassin, suits up and slips on his black leather gloves for visits to the designers. First he hits Sister Christian's workroom, or as it's also known, the Smallest Apartment in New York and That's Saying a Lot. Christian wasn't kidding when he told his roommates he was used to sleeping on the floor.

We see footage of him as a tiny capuchin scissor monkey, gay as a duck from about, oh, birth, cutting hair in his Annapolis, Md., hometown and jetting off for fashion school in London. In the showroom, Tim admires a voluminous (puffy-sleeved) jacket, then wonders how it will work with the fluffled nude miniskirt. "Oh, it's just a neckpiece," says Christian, and the first flickers of doubt sizzle around the tips of his hair. Oh, Christian. Then Tim discovers the trousers made out of feathers. Oh, Christian. Jillian is going to hand you your diminutive butt on a plate.

Speaking of Jillian, Tim drops by her workroom to find a chic variation of that coat she keeps making, and a collection inspired by Joan of Arc. It all kind of looks like armor, Tim complains, which is true, but not necessarily a deal-breaker. Weird, robotic Jillian has a thing for warrior cladding; interesting.

Then they troop over to her folks' house, where they tell Tim it's like a visit from Santa Claus. Ha! That I would love to see. The house is filled with earthier versions of Jillian — Mom who visited a clairvoyant before Jillian was born, to learn that one child would become famous (other children: "Thanks, Mom"); Dad in a trucker cap. It's all kind of vibey and subdued, as if they're pouring him lemonade and chatting in slightly strained voices until they can rush him out of the house because that guy in the basement might still be alive.

In Los Angeles, Rami is draping up a storm,but also trying not to. "It's like watching someone quit smoking," says My Heterosexual Viewing Companion. "Just one more drape. I'll stop draping tomorrow. Hey, man, can I bum a drape?" It's not a very compelling segment, except for the fact that Tim says "Effing." The pressure is really getting to him.

Down the Great White Way, Chris March shows Tim a collection of elaborately trimmed, texturally exciting gowns and separates in black and red. The trime, it looks ... like monkey fur. It's not. It's human hair. Chris' eyes light up a little as he explains this to Tim, who had just been praising a gorgeous jacket. "My gag reflex just kicked in," says Tim. Oh, honey, you suppressed that long ago.

They visit some of Chris' fabulous friends and, boy, are they fabulous. I guess it goes to show you that like attracts like — Chris seems like a magnet for theatrical, artistic, off-kilter people with a penchant for beautiful things. It's charming.

Back at Parsons, the judges assemble. No guest judge tonight, no, sir. They're not going to let any outside voice queer the odds for their pet. As we speak, Tim Gunn, Fashion Assassin is on his way to Roberto Cavalli's loft with a bottle of Veuve Clicquot and a silencer.

Let's start the show:

Chris March is up first, showing a long, slim-cut black velvet gown with horizontal cut-outs across the front that give the luxe texture a punky edge. There's a fab, furry wrap thing that crosses over the front and drops down the back.

The next is a long nude stretchy halter top with a black lace design that looks Victorian; it's all very Wisconsin Death Trip at the opera. I love it. The skirt flows beautifully, as well it might, after an expert blowout — it's entirely human hair.

For the third design, Chris has paired the hair-trimmed velvet jacket Tim agonized over with a long fitted skirt made of panels of safety pins. You would never know. It is as couture as hell. He tells the judges that each row (there are eight visible) took about eight hours.

I feel Chris for being in a Gothy mood after having his strings jerked by this jerk show for an entire season, but it's punk-spiked, high-end, playful Goth, like those decals of Victorian chandeliers or laser-cut "ghost" furniture. And even if it's not to everyone's taste, the collection was cohesive, had a point of view and expressed a vision. But that's not what they're looking for.

What they're looking for is Rami's overworked, much-of-a-muchness knee-length blue leather jacket with pleated sleeves topped with heavy capelet sleevey-things; a high, curved collar; and a matching belt. It's all matchy like whoa and looks as if it weighs 300 pounds. Also, in his pleating and capelet-making frenzy, could Rami have fashioned a button or two, maybe made a proper belt? The belt is just tied in the front like a bathrobe. Plus, I think the color was risky. Any blue but the bright sky blue Jack was partial to, or a dusky French blue with lots of gray, looks very mumsy to me.

The next piece is what sold the judges, no doubt, who have forgotten their admonishments to not appear like a one-trick pony. "Neigh!" says Rami, unveiling of a draped sleeveless dress in mouse and storm gray. The pattern is, again, mumsy — a kind of tweedy check or houndstooth, and it looks drear. It's draped (Lord, am I tired of typing that word) so that the opening over the left thigh is much too high, and he's paired it with another bathrobe, short and black, that is entirely out of proportion to the skirt below. I hate it; everyone else loves it. Add your comment below and tell me why.

The final look is a long strapless gown with a big skirt, meticulously constructed to look kind of shredded. It's well made and looks just about impossible to wear. Also, he's constructed the skirt so that the hips are cut into two glaring ovals, making the slimmest marathoner look as if she has saddlebags. Did I mention that all his models are wearing sequined headbands like contestants in an infant beauty pageant?

Rami wins. Chris is incredibly gracious. I'm homicidal.

Best moment: Chris tells Tim a story about being accosted by a cop who turns out to be a fan, and I'm pretty sure it happened to him in the sense that his fabulous friends hired a stripper for his birthday and this was the scenario the guy came up with before he got down to business. Just sayin'

Photos courtesy Bravotv.com