October 23, 2009

Fake Factor

Am I the only one who is becoming addicted to X-Factor? A few years ago this loathsome programme was just a harmless bit of fun on a Saturday night as a motley collection of wannabees, pub singers and talentless individuals sang their little hearts out to entertain the nation, in the hope of getting a short-lived recording contract and make Simon Cowell even richer.

Now the show has evolved. First it became a 21st century Victorian freak show when it encouraged deranged lunatics to ridicule themselves in public. Then it became deeply cynical as anyone who made the final was given a recording contract if they could hold a note or two. You began to suspect that some acts were cobbled together especially for the show and given the benefit of months of relentless prime-time advertising.

Now X-Factor has taken on a whole new dimension with a second show on Sunday, The fake arguments, tantrums and tears are augmented with the novelty of truly terrible acts that we are supposed to hate and be amazed when they stay in. It’s almost as though they are trying to get more people to pick up the phone and throw their money away on voting to stop those hideous Irish kids in their tracks.

I rather hope the exact opposite is happening and the show is suffering a john Sargent moment, where people are deliberately voting for the worst act to create more unintentional comedy.

Even worse, a whole host of faded ‘superstars’ have attempted to relaunch their careers by miming rather badly in front of a prime time television audience. Last week we had a boggle-eyed Robbie Williams making a fool of himself. This week, Whitney Houston was almost turned into a strip act.

Again, one is left wondering if vulnerable people, desperate to succeed are being exploited for the benefit of vaguely talented wannabees who are also desperate to succeed. If the object was to show that your local primary school teacher has more singing talent in his little finger than Robbie Williams – then it succeeded quite well.

For me, the joy of this programme is that it has become so utterly predictable. You know who is going to be knocked out before the programme starts – and you know almost without question the order of the acts saved. Even the judges have become shifty caricatures of themselves. The fragrant Cheryl bounced on to the stage and mimed her weak vocals, seemingly oblivious to the reality that she is being paid a fortune to coach wannabees on doing a live performance.

If you have not watched this charade recently you should. It’s a hoot for all the wrong reasons.

Fake Factor

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