X to the power of WHY?

I watched some of channel 7's X Factor last night. Wow. Settle in for this one folks.

On a scale of 'mistakes I have made' where telling a dear friend the man she was dating was a complete wanker resulting in me not being invited to their wedding two years later is extremely bad, and just now not being able to find a spoon and thinking it was a good idea to just tip the sugar from the bag into my tea is not that bad at all, I would gauge deciding to watch even a few moments of X Factor somewhere around the time I tore a hole in the palm of my hand with a stick at the age of eight and told the local priest I was stigmata just to see what would happen. I'll let you decide for yourself how big a mistake that was - but I should point out that I chose to make this revelation when receiving holy communion and that there may or may not have been fainting and/or collective kissing of rosary beads as a direct result. 

What was I talking about? Right, X Factor. You know the drill, people who want to be famous audition in front of a pre-pubescent crowd recently plied with free energy drinks and a panel of 'where are they now' judges to get through a series of rounds where they are told yay or nay and sent home in a flurry of curse words and tears vowing to return next time, and that you'll one day see their name in lights whether the judges could see their 'talent' or not. This year, I was rather chuffed to note the inclusion of former Spice Girl 'Mel B' as a judge. I loved the Spice Girls - of course I did. And Angry Spice, as I liked to call her, (to which my friend James would point out "she's not one of the bloody Seven Dwarves!") was my favourite. I also think Natalie Bassingthwaite is simply lovely. I've had a thing for her since she played Izzy on Neighbours and not only shagged Karl Kennedy but had his illegitimate child - and took it to London! After an affair with Paul Robinson of course ... shhhh Marian ... you know too much. But even the potential for a Mel B performance of the Spice Girls classic 'Two Become One' (because she's pregnant, see what I did there?) could make me watch another minute.

There were young men being made to take their shirts off. Yes. Call the Melinda Tankard Reist bat-phone because that shit was just wrong. Oh hang on, it was at the behest of a hormonal pregnant woman though, so I guess it's okay. Oh wait, except that it wasn't just the one man who had bragged about his hardened six-pack, - it was him and every buff young thing that came after him. And after they got one of the lads to remove his shirt for a better look at his bronzed abs, they let him sing and preceded to tell him that he was absolutely awful, had no talent whatsoever and was lucky he was good-looking. I thought it was nasty. And I am a raging feminist. Indeed, that feminist voice inside me was trying to rebut my horrified reaction with tidbits like "well women are objectified and belittled like this ALL the time!" and "it's rather refreshing to see men as the butt of sexualised jokes isn't it?!" But no. It isn't really. Because no one deserves to be ridiculed and treated like shit - let alone in front of a crowd or on national tv. Even if they've been silly enough to sign a release form allowing whatever they do to be used in whatever manner channel 7 thinks is appropriate because they are so damned hungry for that 15 minutes of fame that has been promised to them by every reality tv show since Sylvania Waters.

It irked me. I changed the channel. I flicked back at one point to see 18-year-old twin girls in too-short-for-tv school uniforms with not a whole lot of talent being let through to the next round because they had 'something'. They also had a camera behind them which very nearly showed the audience at home what they ate for breakfast - a camera angle that not-surprisingly wasn't really used on any of the other performers. 

 

I know, I am constantly saying that I shouldn't be surprised at this kind of crap - and as far as you can tell, I seem to be constantly surprised, right? Well no, not really. I am constantly disappointed though.

I was wondering, throughout the bits that I watched, where the classic sob-story was for this season. You know, the whole "I'm singing for my dead dad" or "I have a painful disease and singing makes me feel better" schtick. Well, this is where the bat-shit-crazy and how-is-this-on-tv-let-alone-rating-well 'X Factor' kicked in.

A young man named Emmanuel was the final performer on last night's program. Emmanuel is severely disabled. The tv audience were told that he and his brother were saved by their adoptive mother as babies in Iraq. It was a heart-wrenching story. The producers added a touch of haunting Middle-Eastern music just to make it completely clear that this, people, was the real deal. After a lengthy introduction, Emmanuel was finally given the chance to sing his chosen song; Lennon's 'Imagine'. This is where it all got confusing. I mean, the intro and the story of the boys and their heroic mother was the stuff of current affairs programs, not talent contests. My eyes welled with tears at their mother's courage, and at Emmanuel's brother, side-of-stage, beaming with pride and cheering his best friend on. Then I realised I was watching A SINGING CONTEST. 

What the hell were the producers thinking? I mean, sure, as far as your reality tv had-a-shit-life-gonna-sing-my-heart-out stories go this one pretty much takes the cake, but I felt angry. Angry that Emmanuel's story was being used as a gimmick, as I'm sure it will continue to be as he progresses through the competition. Angry that the serious political and human rights issues that Emmanuel's story represents (unfortunately whether he likes it or not) were glossed over for the soft-focus close-up of a tear in Ronan Keating's eye. And finally, angry for the other contestants because clearly, as usual, it's not actual singing talent that has any bearing on the outcome of these stupid shows - it's the gimmick. Because even though Emmanuel sang his heart out, it's quite clear his singing talent isn't extraordinary - as much as the judges gushed otherwise.

Am I being cynical? My thoughts are that Emmanuel, like all the other singers who weren't quite good enough, should have been told, politely, where they could improve and sent on their way. His audition didn't have to be aired and turned into the drama that it was. I would expect anyone with a disability would resent being treated differently or given special favour. And the worst part is that it's all to boost ratings - when the novelty of his story wears off he will no doubt be cast aside like so many reality tv contestants whose names I can't remember. Maybe I'm being cynical. Maybe his singing will improve, the gimmick won't wear off and he will win the competition and record an album (that he gets stuff-all royalties from). Hey, maybe he knows exactly what the producers are doing and is happy to put up with it for the chance of a 'big break'. I hope only good things happen for him, and I hope channel 7 don't chew him up and spit him out like we know they will. 

 

So, I guess you can tell from that rather lengthy rant, that I wasn't AT ALL impressed with the first episode of X Factor Australia. Maybe I'll check back in near the finals just to see how my beloved Nasty Spice is doing, and to bathe in the warm glow of Nat Bassingthwaite's smile.

I'm not surprised. I'm disappointed.

Here's a link to the video. Nineteen and a half thousand views and counting.

 

Putting me off my dinner

Look, I'm sure I come across as a real intellectual-type, high-brow, educated, woman. But I have to confess. I've been watching trash tv. I'm confessing because, I didn't just watch it ... I taped it. Granted, I started recording when I realised that I would need to show my friends later just exactly what I was ranting and raving about, but still, to record such rot and have it sitting on my hard drive next to the likes of Seven Samurai and Grand Designs is just dirty. Will these hands ne'er be clean I ask thee? (See how educated I am? I played Lady Macbeth in year 10 drama!) Alright, enough of the fluff, let's get down to it.

The program in question is Dinner Date, aired Tuesdays on channel 7. Of course I initially tuned in because Manu Feildel is the host and he is adorable (besides that sexist remark during Dancing with the Stars that his PR people quickly brushed aside as 'lost in translation' *wink*). 

Well, Manu doesn't disappoint. His cutesy narration and naughty smirks to camera do have me giggling along, rosy-cheeked like a school-girl. The actual show on the other hand, is about as enjoyable as a hot poker stuck in your eye - but with absolutely NO hotness. 

The premise of the show is that one single contestant chooses to have dinner with three suitors. The contestant, after the three dates, then chooses their favourite to take on an overnight date somewhere 'fancy'. That's all. That's the prize. An overnight stay at a nice hotel is worth losing your dignity for, it seems. If the pollies need any more evidence that these tough economic times are effecting real people out there, I can't think of any better. 

Episode one featured a very attractive young woman and three male suitors. She had a 1-year-old baby and had been dumped by the father just 3 weeks after the birth. One could assume, most likely, that she has a pretty good history of dating arseholes. So when, after her three dates, she chose the 'Italian Stallion' who was a complete Neanderthal, misogynist wanker, I was a little perturbed. Not shocked of course, because going on a reality tv show to date three complete strangers whilst being filmed is clearly not the actions of a logical thinker, but perturbed because shouting at the television "Don't you DARE pick him you idiot!" had absolutely no effect.

When discussing it later with my friend, she pointed out that the woman was probably just 'after a shag' so chose the man with the bangin' bod who seemed like he had the most experience of one night stands (trust me, no one would go back for date number two after they discovered the names of his future children).

- But that can't be right, because the contestant was hot. She could go to any club and pick up. SO, after episode one, it became clear that yet another reality tv show was going to rationalise my general disappointment in humankind. The stupid woman chose the buff cad, who will cheat on her, spend her money, and generally disrespect her until he dumps her for a blonde with a lower IQ who doesn't have a baby or a mind of her own.

So when it came to episode two, my head was on straight. Gone were my fanciful notions that humans generally have their own and other's best interests at heart and that, if given the chance, humans will generally surprise each other with their actions.

With those notions buried deep in the pit of despair (where they lived the entire time Big Brother was on television), I was able to successfully predict before the third ad break that the horrible little man 'looking for love' would choose the skinny blonde with the cleavage who couldn't even cook *GASP!!* over the nice country girl with whom he got along wonderfully and who had exceptional culinary skills (good little lady that she was, of course).

Mind you, I was happy the contestant chose the blonde, because the country girl was too nice for him. I would have preferred though, if he'd chosen contestant number one: the bad dancer who made him sit on the floor and didn't really like him at all. Because I'm sure they would have had a terrible time on their follow-up date, and I would have enjoyed knowing that - because that's the kind of person I am.*
 

So that's Dinner Date. An exercise in finding morons and showing them to be the morons they are, with soft lighting, diary-room style bits-to-camera and a charming host holding back his laughter (or is it tears?) at just how low he will go to keep his mug on tv in the off-season of My Kitchen Rules.

And here I am, waiting for episode three to start, because I want to be horrified. I've been sucked in ... and don't even get me started on Four Weddings.
 

* I'm really not that kind of person at ALL!! You see what reality tv is doing to me?!?