Posts Tagged ‘Talent Show’

NewsGush: Bookies on Boyle

April 17, 2009

Now, I don’t watch ITV’s Britain’s Got Talent because it’s a pile of shit. It’s also got a judging panel made up of three arseholes and is fronted by Ant & Dec. Frankly, if I tried to watch that rot, my telly wouldn’t survive the thrashing I’d inevitably mete out to it from a mixture of frustration, despair, ruinous fury and good, old-fashioned common sense.

But some people do watch it, and the majority of them are going mental about Susan Boyle in the clip above. She’s turning into an ‘internet sensation’ with her Youtube clip being watched at a frightening rate. Bookies have shortened her odds on winning the thing, and Guardian journalists are getting in a tizzy about her initially being judged on her appearance.

So – apparently people who look like normal folk can sing!

Who’d have thought?

What a patronising and worryingly profitable shit-bonanza Cowell’s running.

The One and Only

January 10, 2008

Moni BeforeMoni After

I subjected myself to the latest talent show offering from the BBC over the weekend – The One and Only. And then, horrified, I found myself enjoying it.

After viewing fluff of this kind, your head tends to devolve into a kind of goo. It’s television sticking it’s head out of it’s own anus and saying ‘fuck you!’ to the viewer while spitting poo onto the carpet. But it’s so easily digestable and so simple to absorb, it rolls over you like a numb duvet.

Hosted by rentapillock, Graham Norton, Britain’s greatest tribute acts battle it out over eight weeks to win the title of ‘Britain’s One and Only Greatest Tribute Act’. Think of winning that title. It makes your balls-ache, your lips quiver and your bumhole do a squelch. Moist!

How far has TV come with this trend for bastardising that old-classic-that was-actually-always-shit, New Faces? I’ll tell you how far: TV has taken Stars in their Eyes and strung it up by its neck, nude. And now, having gently squeezed its balls in a threatening manner, he’s now got them gripped in his fist as New Faces howls with a guttural yelp.

I actually found myself rooting for one or two of the contestants. Rather than being auditioned on camera like some of the obviously talentless idiots on Cowell’s X Factor, we only see three of the best from each category fighting it out. And when you consider that these people might make a career out of a sprinkling of success in the competition (i.e. a few more pub bookings), it actually puts X Factor to shame. Michelle McManus, where are you now?

My favourite moment last Saturday was when lovable ginger wigga Moni fought off the competition to win the Lionel Richie category, selected by three members of Lionel’s fan club. That’s right. I was spiritually lifted on a Saturday night by a ginger man pretending to be an 80s soul singer. If you think too hard about that, you start eyeing up knives and regarding them as wrist-slitters rather than handy food-slicers.

On the other hand, I was gutted when the superfans selected the WRONG Rod Stewart. It was an ageist choice, based not on talent but on the hollow appeal of youth. I actually shouted at the screen.

‘YOU’VE GOT THE WRONG ROD’, I hollered, before running to the window and shouting my opinion to the world.

‘THEY’VE GOT THE WRONG ROD’.

So, as you can see, I’ve allowed myself to get too involved, too quickly. It’ll only end in tears, once this sublime honeymoon period has worn off. As it stands, I’m just looking forward to my next date with Graham Norton on Saturday night. Coo-ee!