I rarely have the privelige to sit back and view the delights of Saturday night television, but last night in a state of terrified boredom I managed to break the mould and view the stunning, thought provoking, expensive televisial bliss.
Saturday night really is the Special Olympics of television. What I encountered was a sort of, believe it or not, shitter version of Stars in their Eyes. It was like being in an alternate reality for an hour where people neither looked, sounded or acted in any way like the projected 'star' they were desperately yearning to resemble. There were also issues of mental health involved, because each contender was constantly refered to by their 'stars' Christian name. I didn't catch it all, but I think there was a ginger white guy who blacked himself up to resemble Lionel Ritchie. The deflated, hollow essence that was once Graeme Norton's career stood there and constantly called this bloke 'Lionel.'
As 'Elton, 'Dusty,' 'Rod,' 'Frank,' and 'Britney' et al looked on desperately trying to ignore the mental health implications of suddenly having two names and now forever being known as 'that shit (insert star name here)' whenever they appear in the street/Butlins, it reminded me what being out on Saturday night was all about, even if it's raining, minus 10c outside and I can't afford to get on a bus.
And what the ufkc was a guy doing on it impersonating Robbie Williams? The premise of the show, I have now been reliably informed, was to win a chance to perform in Las Vegas as a tribute act to said 'star.' Who the fuck thought being Williams was a sure on bet? The cunt isn't even known in America! Now that's a big gamble, even for Las Vegas.
It's yet again people screaming 'Look at me' through the television, but with the weird notion of being somebody else. Someone better and more talented then they'll ever, ever be. I don't get it either.
A couple of blokes doing shit impersonations. Apparently that's Sinatra.