Irritation 1
It is easy to get irritated by Britain's Got Talent. The irritation arises immediately, every time a foreign act is sent out on to the stage. This is not a new subject, and there has been criticism in the past from many quarters (including myself) over the stupidity of a programme which makes specific reference to 'Britain' while accepting international acts. The supposed defence for allowing visitors is that the foreign acts are "discovered in Britain". Sorry, that just doesn't wash! I have no gripe with anyone appearing who lives in Britain, wherever they were born. I do, though, suggest that the arrival via plane or boat of any act is hardly grounds for inclusion in BGT. Quite simply these "talent tourists" should be excluded, and told to feature in their own countries' versions of the 'talent' franchise.
For the first programme, we were fed 15 acts, 7 of which were non-British. This is so cunting irritating that I accuse ITV and Simon Cowell of ignoring the wishers of viewers, ignoring common sense, and being stupid.
Irritation 2
The next fuck-up that causes immense irritation is the perpetual sob-story peddling by the producers. I do not give a fucking shit whether a contestant has toothache, paranoia, leprosy, flashbacks to bullying in the playground, or whether their auntie had leukaemia as a kid. This show is NOT about such stuff, but allegedly about 'talent'.
Irritation 3
David Walliams. I will expand on this only to say that I get irritated by his pathetic efforts to disagree with the others, usually by saying he likes something just for the sake of being a twat, when any sane person would not only eject an act or be critical, but fire a Taser at the contestant!
Irritation 4
Amanda Holden is famous for . . . . . hang on, I'll get there in a moment . . . . . sorry, all I can come up with is being a judge on BGT. Apparently she appeared in a few tame sitcoms many years ago, and did a few lads' mags. Her own talent level is thus set at the equivalent of the line on a car's fuel gauge, when the light comes on to indicate there's a gallon left and something needs to be injected or you'll be going nowhere. Devoid of talent herself (other than to cry at the drop of a lipstick or Botox needle) she manages to have a hoot and pass judgement without any qualification to do so.
Yesterday's show, the first in a line of programmes that will stretch the powers of endurance of even the most couched of potatoes, was rather weak in content. Of the fifteen acts, only four were worth watching.
Rocky the owl and his 'trainer' were simply a waste of fucking space, and five minutes of my life went down the pan. As for Sean eating a fucking onion, how did the producers think for one pissing second that this could be decent television? Then came Luke, allegedly a 'dancer', and he was worthy of simply nothing at all. Then we had the line dancers, or country dancers, or whatever they want to be known as, introduced by Shane. They were lucky to have followed three acts that were atrocious, making the dancing seem quite good. Unfortunately it was neither good nor worthy of four 'yes' comments from the judges.
Finally, we had something slightly more interesting to deal with - the boy band which was called Collabro. The VT was nauseating, and we learned that the five chaps had been together just a month, the answer that they gave Alesha Dixon when she enquired. Her retort was: "A month - oh, not long." A month is a fucking month, Alesha! It is as long as a month! The song choice was either weird or, if you want to dispense with the 'w' and rearrange the letters, dire. Nevertheless, the sound they made was unconventional and reasobaly good (if you forget about the actual words they were stringing together). The funniest part was the key change; the chaps were already standing, and so at the key change, it was the audience which stood. "That was bloody brilliant," said Amanda Holden, testing the ITV swear-o-meter.
Peter from Germany thought he was Andre Rieu - but he was a long way short, as well as a long way from home. He seemingly loved his wife (which of course brought applause . . . Why?) and had written a song for her. This turned out to be a rather loose interpretation of his efforts, which were more akin to a funeral dirge being spat from his violin and gob. Amanda had such vivid lipstick that the gobsmacked 'O' shape she adopted with her mouth was reminiscent of the classic 1970's sex doll. Cowell at least stated that it was "fantastically bad", leaving "Weird Walliams" to say that IT was weird, but that he liked it before voting "Yes". Arsehole. At least Alesha said 'No' and Amanda had the sense to say "Nein". I shouted from my sofa: "Minus Nein!"
Jerome from France was simply awful, drumming in a hamster wheel. It would have been rather more entertaining if he'd been travelling at 10 revolutions per minute instead of just half of one. As for Mzz Kimberley, the tranny from Detroit, she/he was awful; dressed as Wonder Woman, and roller skating while singing "Born This Way" was the height of madness. "Total rubbish," Cowell called it. The Greek chap, Georgio from Kos, was just as bad, and a waste of TV time.
Then we came to Nikita from Ukraine. The VT sob story was obligatory, and then the question of the night was posed to him by Alesha Dixon, although the question stood well enough on its own as a general enquiry: "And why Britain's Got Talent?" Indeed, Alesha, why, why indeed? The nice chap said he was proud to represent Ukraine, and I suddenly wondered why anyone thought Ukraine needed representation on BGT. This contest is NOT a variety version of the Eurovision Song Contest!
The competition was pathetic - I am not referring on this occasion to BGT, but to the competition as explained by Ant & Dec, to win a Range Rover and £20,000. The puzzler that demanded I waste £1.54 on was: "Which British secret agent has the code number 007?" When Dec said, "Good Luck" I was baffled. You cannot wish good luck to the whole nation when only one cunt can win, as it makes no sense. Only one person is going to be lucky; so, perhaps he was wishing me good luck in trying to select the right answer to the easiest question ever posed! Twats.
Samantha was nervous, and was quickly ejected. Lizzie was equally nervous and ejected equally quickly. Lucy was nervous, but proceeded to stick around. This was because ITV had to run the VT and make sure we understood the back story about bullying, the separation of her mum and dad, and how she'd had a tough time. The mother got her fair share of airtime while I tried to decide whether to vomit before of after the performance. Lucy sang perfectly, and was surely the outstanding act of the night. How much better it would have been to see her take to the stage, and simply sing. All the shite that we have to put up with detracts from the simple performance element of the show. ITV - wake up and stop wasting fucking time on back stories, sob stories, and any other irrelevances.
The street dancers (Lauren and Terrell) were interesting; it was a bit basic, but reasonable, and compared with some of the acts, more than presentable.
The final pair on stage was Nico and Paddy, the 39-year-old bloke and the 79-year-old woman. The antics they got up to were amazing, yet so "wrong" on some levels. I suppose they did deserve to go through, although the pointless pressing of a golden buzzer by the pointless Amanda was, well, pointless. They'd have got through anyway and I simply don't understand.
In summary, there was little point in seeing anyone other than Collabro, Lucy and the last two dance acts. The other 11 efforts were padding.
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