Here we go here we go here we go! It’s the finals proper – not the Live Finals, not the Final Three, but the actual One of These is Going to Win Final Finals! So let’s get straight to the point! And Louis the Leper has got dressed in the dark, although if one does not own a clown’s bow tie and nylon shirt (not to mention a lycra-trimmed tux) one is never in danger of accidentally wearing them, which he would do well to remember.
Dannii is doing sexy Grecian again with ornate 40′s hair, and has had her bust made out of concrete moldings. Chez is apparently starring in ‘Gone With the Minge’, the porno version of Gone With the Wind. Evidently she has also been too busy to decorate her Christmas tree and is storing the baubles in her ears until she gets a moment. Simon is three sheets to the wind at the Association of Plumbers and Sanitary Workers Christmas Lunch.
All twelve acts sing ‘Never Forget’. Sweet irony – you already can’t remember who that bloke in the silly hat who looks like he has terrible arthritis in his back is can you? That’s Ricky Loner. Ricky has 781 fans on his Facebook page, which is, quite frankly, pathetic. My friend Armando has 961 friends, and to my knowledge he’s never even reached the audition rounds of ‘Move Like Michael Jackson’, never mind The X-Factor. The children’s choir kicks off half way through. Don’t be fooled by their angelic faces. They’re all like that one on the left with the fringe and shifty eyes – desperate fame-hungry wannabes with pushy parents. Burko was one of those grasping little attention seekers once.
So what’s happened to the losing acts in the intervening weeks? Graziella has been doing some comfort eating since Miss Frank were booted out, but Kandy Raaain are still dressed like ladies who take their clothes off in front of men for a living. Stace is kicked in the new veneers by having to wear black and sing with the losers while Olly and Joe are dressed in purest triumphant white and have a 10 meter restraining order on the others.
Watching George Michael’s performance on the VT is much more enjoyable than last night, presumably because we can all just watch without the panicky feeling that he might do something lunatic and not at all drug-fuelled. Today the contestants are performing their favourite song from the series, which is apparently completely different from their best performance of the series, which was last night. Catch up! O-Murs bores everyone rigid with “Twist and Shout” from the unexpectedly controversial Movies Week. Blah, blah, blah sexy flapper dancers. Blah blah blah tight trousers. Blah blah blah cheesey performance and potatoey performer. Louis calls him sexy for the second night running, evidently believing if he says it often enough a) it will magically become true and b) Spuddy will magically want to make slurpy face with a 57 year old leprechaun. Chez calls it the bottom two again. Well, at least she’s got the number right. In Colchester, Underwood shamelessly panders to the paedophile viewing sector by asking some poor 8 year old girl if she’s going to marry Olly. For the record, she’s not sure he’s that much of a keeper.
Joe sings ‘Don’t Stop Believin”, which, if you’re wondering where you heard it before, is vastly over-used as end-of-episode music in US teen dramas featuring over-articulate high schoolers from innovatively dysfunctional families. It turns out that Little Joe Dangleberry’s favourite song is…not sad! Obviously it’s a bit tragic on a lyrical level, telling the tale as it does of ‘streetlights people’ who live ‘just to find emotion hiding somewhere in the night’, but it trots along at quite a pace and, frankly, we’re clutching at straws at this point in the series. Kimberley’s back in Gateshead with the Mayor of South Tyneside, who secretly agrees with Louis and is voting for O-Murs whenever Kimmers’ back is turned.
It’s time to get last year’s success story back and Burko hops the JLS train like a smelly hobo. JLS, never averse to taking on a woman’s song between the four of them, kick off with Bad Boys, then do a rocking job as the backing dancers/singers for A.Burke. During last season Cowbell was very insistent that JLS have one main lead singer (unsurprisingly, he is not completely au fait with what ‘group’ implies) and it’s noticeable that once slightly out from under the Cowthumb they are back to everyone getting a go at singing.
JLS are a happy reminder that sometimes the turgid abyss of half-assed singing ability that is the Factor can be transcended by the addition of some actual hardwork, creativity, and talent. Frankly I couldn’t bear either of last year’s finalists, but JLS are beginning to win me over, especially when Aston busts out some moonwalking that pisses all over Olly’s lilywhite attempts. Burko clings on grimly and everyone in the front row has something to chat to her gynaecologist about, should they ever meet him at a party.
Dermy asks the judges for their highlight of the series and they all tell him who they thought “won round 1″. Chezza pipes up and Lil’ Dermy cries “The nation’s sweetheart speaks again!” Seriously, we need to see a counsellor about that, because we’re better than that, and we deserve to be in a relationship with less shouting. Plus, we just can’t afford to keep her in porno-antebellum frocks. There’s a recession on you know. Also, the News of the World says she’s planning on having a baby, and it’s totally not ours, so don’t come after us for child support.
Leona comes on stage and does ‘Stop Crying Your Heart Out’, which is actually beautiful. That’s a good thing, because if there’s one thing we need in a week when we’ve been assaulted by so many photos of the assorted trogs n’ hos that comprise Tiger Woods’ paid-for-by-the-hour ‘mistresses’, it’s something easy on the eyes and ears.
And Leona’s off and we’re back to something with all the class and subtlety of a $30 an hour hooker – the winner’s song. Albert Bartlett is up first. You know, his eyes really are alarmingly close together. They remind me of… Cowbell. Unfortunately, with no flappers to save him, it’s even more boring than usual. God – this doesn’t usually happen to me until Britain’s Got Talent, but apparently it’s time to start dropping vinegar into my eyes for kicks. No – not even the stinging pain of non-fermented malt products can divert me. It’s dreadful. Louis says Spuddo gave 100%, but perhaps he had to give the 112% Robbie suggested. Walshy then starts banging on about how he likes everything about Olly, and sounds like he’s asking for a date. Syco obviously thinks so too, as he suggests Olly needs someone to ‘get behind’ him. Olly’s dad then ups the ante by saying that Spud ‘could be standing there in his pants’. Off-camera, Louis is having to be revived as all the blood rushes from his head. Simo says, ‘this is why we make the show: to give people like you a break.’ (He’s referring to O-Murs’ singing here, not Lil’ Louis’s chances of getting a date.) Well that’s one of the reasons, but there are also some others:
1. To line the Cowhell pockets.
2. To pander to the Cowhell vanity.
3. To continue the cluttering of the digital airwaves by the Cowhell.
4. To find someone who will release a song for Cowhell who is not an animated children’s character.
5. To enable Cowhell to spend time with Dermy.
6. To keep Cheryl Cole out of clubs with bathroom attendants.
7. To give people like Maris Piper a break.
8. To prevent me from watching Lovejoy repeats every Saturday night.
So – had the winner’s song been Slade’s ‘Merry Christmas Everybody’ Olly would have totally stood a chance. As it is, we’re all waiting to hear the song be sung as it should be. Half way through Joe’s version I realise the line is not ‘It’s the kime’, as I heard all the way through Olly’s turn. Well, I’m not that familiar with the output of today’s Disney ‘starlets’. I tried to keep up, but frankly Hilary Duff’s pop career left me a broken woman.
Cutprice Kylie points out it was effortless and Joe can really hit the top notes. If we have to listen to this musical spray cream every 10 minutes until New Year, please don’t make us suffer Spuddo’s effort. Cut to Joe’s family and, like Shayne Ward, he is spectacularly goodlooking in comparison to the rest of his ‘genetic pool’. At least, he doesn’t look like he thinks ’5 a day’ applies to chip butties; nor has he recently travelled down the M1 with his head out the window all the way.
George Michael’s econium is remarkable for looking like it has been dubbed. In fact, he was probably saying, “Look, I couldn’t give a flying crap who wins, but if anyone massacres any of my stuff like Potato did ‘Fast Love’ then you’re all for it. Hmmm…Potato…pot…yes….” George reappears again to perform a Christmas song. His trousers are so tight that they are a) sending a subliminal message to vote for Olly and b) reminding me to check the last posting date for Christmas. In good news, the ad break is actually worth watching, for the ‘UK’s best handheld of 2009′ ad. Brilliant.
From one British institution to another, Cilla Black now takes the stage. My bad, it’s Sir Paul McCartney. All the finalists join him for ‘Drive My Car’. This might not grab you initially, but let’s think it through. Who else has sung with Fab Macca Wacky Thumbsaloft? George Harrison – dead. John Lennon – dead. Michael Jackson – dead. Linda McVegansausages – dead. Ringo Starr – dead. Doesn’t seem like such a bad idea anymore does it? Macca clearly doesn’t think so, because he boots the talentless teenagers and pub singers who haven’t won a singing competition off the stage and puts the hoodoo on them all with ‘Live and Let Die’. A viewer texts “How embarrassing. Macca seems to have forgotten how to sing.” Yes, well, but he’s doing much better than Cilla Black would. Probably. Sico jokes, ‘You’re through to the next round!’ Macca makes a mental note to sing a little verse just for him.
In just seconds, the winner will be announced and one of the two mangy specimens we see before us will be fronting up to the other, making street gestures and yelling, “In your face! In your face!” And as Joe wins, we realise we will have to wait another year to enjoy such a sight, not to mention for the winner’s song to be Nelly Furtado’s ‘Promiscuous’. Joe is shown a copy of his CD and looks at it rather in the manner of a caveman seeing a rough drawing of a bison for the first time.
He smirks his way through the reprise of ‘The Climb’ and looks about one crochet away from ad libbing ’But not tonight, f**kers!’ after the line about ‘Sometimes I’m going to have to lose’. He keeps going though, even when Rachel (wonky haircut, Golden Girls outfits, come on, you remember her) grabs his microphone and tries to snog him. Meanwhile, over at Tory Party HQ David Cameron is practising the words so he can look cool and hip at karaoke this Christmas.
And we’re done. This annual CrapFest of Craptivity and Crapulessness is over for another year. Crapfans, don’t despair. The Winter Olympics is on in February, and team GB has a number of entrants in all kinds of craptacular sports you didn’t even know existed, and which will blow your mind with their crapacious level of crapulosity. I love it! Ah – oops, we forgot about someone. Already. Never mind, O-Murs. You can always get a job in a benefits cheat ad. You’ve totally got the face for it. x