The Voice

The Weekend Australian - Review - - Television -

Mon­day, 7.30pm, Nine It’s no longer on three times a week but The Voice seems to be mak­ing up for it by stretch­ing our pa­tience for two hours at a time in th­ese live shows. It’s not the of­ten bril­liant per­for­mances that drag, it’s the in­ter­minable catch-ups about the con­tes­tant’s jour­neys and the equally end­less ads that make The Voice fi­nals marathons of en­durance. Still, how good was Delta Goodrem’s duet with Gur­ru­mul and the Syd­ney Sym­phony last week? And who do you fancy to take the hon­ours? Will it be the smoky-voiced Miss Mur­phy? Golden-ton­silled stut­terer Har­ri­son Craig? Funky old Steve Clisby or fam­ily man Michael Stanger? I can’t re­mem­ber a field as strong as this in any pre­vi­ous tal­ent quest. tak­ing the pill to make that dream im­pos­si­ble. Nick doesn’t want a big party, but it seems as if a big sur­prise is in the wings. Or in the drawer. The suc­cess of Rafters, one of our most en­dur­ing fam­ily sagas, re­minds me of a Joni Mitchell lyric from Refuge of the Roads. ‘‘ He saw my com­pli­ca­tions and he mir­rored me back sim­pli­fied,’’ she sings. That’s what Rafters does. It af­firms us, it knows who we are and it brings us back upon our­selves as en­ter­tain­ment. No mean feat. a prison in Buck­ing­hamshire that houses some of the most danger­ous crim­i­nals in Bri­tain: mur­der­ers, rapists, gang­sters and pe­dophiles. Are we meant to be fright­ened out of the life of crime we were con­sid­er­ing? Per­haps our pres­ence here — via un­seen yet ob­vi­ously in­tru­sive cam­era crews — is sim­ply ob­ser­va­tional, voyeuris­tic. Some of the pris­on­ers here are on their fifth sen­tence, and all are un­der 21 years old. So en­ter, if you think you should, the tough­est prison in Bri­tain.

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