16.7.12 Eleven Jesuses

A sense of duty on my part meant I felt compelled to watch a tiny bit of 'Superstar' on ITV.  I lasted for ten or fifteen minutes yesterday, and after seeing two would-be-Jesuses, switched over.  In fact, I switched over the TV's function to the DVD player rather than Digital TV, and watched a film.  I had to quickly remove from my brain the dire vision and awful sound that was presented to me as entertainment.  It was essential that I was not drawn in and somehow infected with utter shite.

How did anyone at ITV decide this could be the next big thing?  Eleven singers, each singing a shit song, and hoping "The Good Lord" would bless him.  Not Jesus, of course, but Andrew Lloyd Webber.  The wordplay was cringeworthy.  This dire format and dire content was matched by the direness of the judges.  Pray tell me (get it?) how the fuck the panel included Dawn French?  Was it her long (oh, so fucking very long) stint as the Vicar of Dibley that qualified her to consider which hopeful might be best cast as Jesus?  Her early input that was basically "you made that your own" was as formulaic as a Sunday sermon.  Dawn's presence was (and will remain, for as long as she sits on the panel) totally strange.  What next, Webber?  How about Audley Harrison judging in the quest to find Eva Peron, for a production of Evita, on the basis that when he was on Strictly Come Dancing, he did the tango?

Melanie C?  Nice girl, probably the easiest to consider as 'normal' amongst the Spice Girls, and I've nothing against her - until now.  Can't you find something better to do, luv, than waste your time on this tosh?  Jesus Christ!  (Haha!)

We had the "What a great job you did, coming out to start the show with such a great performance, yada yada."  The same bollocks as any pathetic contest was uttered by people who should know better.  Of course, the mistress of the show is Amanda Holden.  She is out of her depth, and displays the gravitas of a coloured (pink or yellow, take your pick) paper clip.  Sat behind a desk on BGT, dispensing a few tears, and saying "I was entertained" is actually the total extent of her ability on shows like this.

Jason Donovan?  I can take him or leave him (probably a bit like Kylie?) and as for Webber himself?  Well, what a sad life that he now touts his own shows, ponces about on ITV, creates shit like a defunct alchemist, and erodes TV entertainment through his very presence on screen.  Stick to promoting our entries to the Eurovision Song Contest . . . . . oh, sorry . . . that was a fucking disaster too, wasn't it.

I will most certainly NOT be watching any more of this drivel at all, and so my small 'taster' yesterday will have to do.  It has done its job though - I've been put off (and saved!) and so can occupy myself with anything at all, because anything will be better than Superstar.  I wonder how many will have their lives wrecked and their brain activity subdued by this shite, and have to call the Samaritans in due course?  I'm off to make a fish sandwich now, drink some wine and sing Any Dream Will Do, while tackling a sudoku problem and trying to solve another one called 'Maria'.  [Chess is out of the question]

...