This afternoon I'm sure I reached a new level of boredom. Or perhaps it is something what happens to you when the great struggles of the workplace build up and the brain goes into some kind of dead zone mode. Yes. I succumbed to watch the BGT. Then sat through a number of acts as hopefuls believed in their talent. Most contestants did not go through but some did. When they did go through I still could not understand how they managed it. There was a reason. A very good reason, the panel was missing the greatest critic non other than the billionaire Simon Sour-faced-false-pecks Cowel, which must be said half hiding your mouth just in case he happens to be around the corner watching and listening. Seriously the good thing with be an obnoxious rich tosser is you never care what anybody else thinks and you're so rich it's always easy to buy friend and influence people. To get to the serious point because I don't want to spend the entire BLOG slagging off someone who personally has no talent except for making money and getting engaged to an ever string of beautiful, young and ignorant girl friends. Blimey there must be a talent in that when I think about it. OK where was I? Eventually getting to the point. Yes the program was missing a Devil's advocate, someone to threw a spanner in the works and say they didn't like the acts no matter how many people did. This is one thing the Dark Lord could do. So I sat there wondering if there was some small part of me related to Mr C. No there isn't. But I must say as this new skill set of enduring BGT took a grip of me. I to disliked a few of the acts which got voted through and the crowd loved. Is there a sanity issue? I don't think so, maybe I've always been the odd one out. Maybe I am the odd one out, we'll see, but for sanity's sake come back Simon.
The talentless contestants who were thought to have talent but actually didn't really have any more talent than the one's who had been rejected were all playing to the crowds. They would pick popular music which had instilled itself in the popular culture and psyche of Joe Public. One man sat down with an acoustic guitar which he was very good at playing I'll admit, but it wasn't his own song. He mimicked as closely as he could the original artist. His voice was a little different, but it was actually worse as I could not tell if there was any stretch in his vocal range. It was limited. A guitar player yes, a singer no, but yet he was cheered and voted in. A 53 year old man who actually looked like he was 63 did his disco dancing to a medley of extracted popular music. Was it talent? No it wasn't because I could dance the same way, maybe even better. The audience was magnetised to see what he'd do next. But there was no stretch of aerobic ability, just a bit of jiggy jiggy, nothing else. The audience clapped and laughed. He got through. The thing is, you see him dance once at that was it, yo wouldn't go to see him do it again. You'd already know what to expect and it wasn't in any way or shape spectacular. Another contestant, an overweight man also did a dance, his talent was he could make his eyes pop, to the point they took on a Jim Carey appearance from the Mask. But rather than talent it seemed to make some queasy pit in the bottom of my stomach want to vomit. I didn't because my lunch is for my belly not for the carpet. Yes I watched him, it again had some kind of macabre must-watch-glue to it. He also got voted in. Personally I don't think I ever want to watch him do his act act again. My last gripe could be about the bell ringers. But it won't be, I'll just say they shouldn't be there.
So I have no doubt, if the show has to go on they get a bit more tougher. Then who am I to say, I'm am talentless, oh yes, maybe this is why I'd not be up there making a complete twat of myself. Because I can do quite easily to those people I know around me and not to the eyes of a million people.
No comments:
Post a Comment