Simon Cowell, he even applauds patronisingly. And thankfully we’re spared of his haircut and monstrous chest for a good couple of months, now this year’s Britain’s Got Talent has come to a close.
At the beginning of the series it seemed to be a little underwhelming, considering the repeated usage of Alesha Dixon’s all-time favourite phrase (and probably the name of her next album) ‘you’ve just blown me away’, and the ‘diversity’ of what can only be described as characters, rather than people, that were plucked out as ‘Britain’s finest’.
However, with all the criticism and pent up antagonism I have against Cowell and everything in relation to him, the final was actually pretty decent. The stand-out acts for me were Ryan O’Shaughnessy and, of course, Ashleigh and Pudsey. I didn’t think in my wildest dreams that it would be possible to well up at a dog dancing on its hind legs to the Mission Impossible theme tune, but when something’s as adorable as that, and you have any ounce of oestrogen in your body, it’s bound to happen. I even think Cowell was welling up too (probably less to do with the act, but more to do with the cheque he’d be writing in the morning for Pudsey’s summer essentials), and Amanda probably cried to, but that’s about as predictable as Cowell’s costume change.
No, Ashleigh and Pudsey were phenomenal. For me, they captured the essence of ‘variety’ in its most basic, non-patronising form. Previous contestants, i.e. Susan Boyle and Paul Potts may have been great singers, but their ‘diversity’ within the competition would have been very much downgraded had they not made us guilty for judging them at first. And then the child singers, where they’re so bloomin’ young they can barely keep their balance for five minutes, let alone warble out a song that their mum thought would cutesy them to the final, are just as bad.
Like with anything we need to buy into, it needs a Unique Selling Point, and unfortunately ‘talent’ doesn’t seem to quite cut the mustard these days. Whether it be ‘so young they’re dancing in amniotic fluid’ or ‘so eccentric we’d expect to be running away from their Big Issue’, it’s nothing compared to just being damned good.
Competitions like this have got themselves the reputation of being so ineffectual that even the most ludicrous of acts could pass as ‘talent’ these days. I may just walk onto the Britain’s Got Talent stage and reel off all the things I can do with my left pinky toe and see how many AMAZING and GEE-WIZZ adjectives I can get thrust in my direction, muffled by a rapturous applause, or I could list all the shapes of clouds I’ve seen, with some snapshots for illustration. This may just get me through to the final, watch this space.
But anyway, back to real talent; Ryan O’Shaughnessy caused a bit of a kerfuffle in the preliminary stages, signing up to two shows and all, oh how daft. You daft, daft Ryan, all that extra airtime surely wasn’t planned by the producers. You didn’t consider the consequences, you silly, silly, tyke. But thankfully, this did give the Great British public more time to see talent smothered across their screen (albeit only three times, the cruel triangular realm of BGT). His song ‘First Kiss’, which he wrote himself is truly astonishing, and could easily pass for an Ed Sheeran track. If you haven’t already given it a whirl click on this link for a clip from the semi-finals of BGT: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Fx4UIFF0Rs.
And as a final note, back to my original criticism: I hate Simon Cowell. Oh, and here’s a funny picture of a dog; I think it looks a bit like David Walliams.