You’ve got to admire Simon Cowell; his programmes the X Factor and Pop Idol are massive hits almost everywhere and now ITV clear their schedules to allow his latest show, Britain’s Got Talent, to dominate our night-time screens. It’s only the prospect of the two best teams in Europe squaring up in the Champions’ League final which keeps BGT off the TV this evening. It’s massive and yet it’s mostly just….. rubbish. Is it just me?
In case you’ve been sharing a cave with OBL and haven’t yet watched it, let me tell you what you’ve been missing. Last night featured a couple; she sang Land of Hope and Glory whilst he prepared a garland of flowers in red, white and blue representing Brittania’s sheild. A little bizarre? well how about the three farm boys who did a synchronised dance routine with their …..wheel barrows. I’m not kidding. The other night I watched in awe as this bloke swung a pick axe from his ears whilst smashing a plate in the name of entertainment. And there was the drag artist whose signature move involved shaking his grotesque belly.
I’m just wondering whether the word ‘talent’ was a bit of a stretch Simon? And it doesn’t just apply to the acts; Kelly Brook made an appearance on the judges panel at the audition stage then just disappeared. I’m assuming Simon didn’t rate her comments that highly – but who was listening? Then the other night Amanda Holden stole the show for me. Commenting on the escapologist who wriggled free from his straight-jacket whilst suspended upside-down from a burning rope, she actually commented that it was wrong for the guy to claim beforehand that he might die if he failed to escape the jacket because it was obvious to her that the flames were travelling up the rope, not down. Ah Miss Marple, nothing escapes your beady eye. It took Simon himself to explain that he wasn’t at risk of dying from being burned alive but from falling on his head from a great height should the flames burn through the rope. She still didn’t get it, bless her.
You’d imagine, as this was a Cowell production, that the singers would be the ones to rescue the show. Well they come in 3 varieties; adorable kids who can’t really sing, shy crooners who when it comes to it can’t really sing either, and the oddball characters who can sing, but you can’t help but wonder what fame and celebrity might just do for them. It’s unkind but watching Susan Boyle’s destiny unfolding is a little like being invited to watch a freak show. Maybe she’ll find happiness in the arms of Peter Andre.
The real stars of the show though are the dancers – mostly groups of kids doing some fantastic street routines. And last night I think we saw the ultimate – a Greek father and son comedy dance act called Stavros Flatley, who were only backed by the guys who waitered at their restaurant. Astaire and Rogers it wasn’t, but it was bloody funny. I’d love to see these guys win through to perform for the Royal family at the Variety show. I’d pay a lot just to watch the reaction of a certain consort. Now that would be worth an ouzo or two-zo.