Greg Bruce and Zanna Gillespie watch Britain’s Got Talent
She saw
The kids are 10, 8 and 6 and we have finally reached a joyous parenting milestone — pleasant family TV time. That isn’t sarcasm, I look forward to our family viewing parties more than almost any other activity we do together: much more than family baking, which is slightly worse than a family walk but infinitely better than a family trip to the pools.
The show we settled on watching together is Britain’s Got Talent and, yes, we know, we’re months behind. Greg and I don’t watch talent shows, though we’d both admit to dalliances with American Idol and So You Think You Can Dance in our 20s. If we’re honest, we probably looked down on BGT as lowest common denominator, emotionally manipulative, highly orchestrated drivel, but we were wrong. I now genuinely believe Britain’s Got Talent may be one of the greatest forces for good humanity has ever seen.
BGT, along with other talent shows, has moved away from ridicule and public shaming and leans heavily into heartwarming and inspirational. Gone are the awful singers and embarrassing fails, they’ve been replaced by a light smattering of silliness — acts that are in on the joke and we can laugh with over the absurdity of their “talent”. Right now, joy is having a cultural moment. In dark times people want — moreover need — to feel uplifted by what we’re consuming and BGT does that. Along with truly awe-inspiring performers, it’s relentlessly earnest and delivers a powerful message of inclusivity in every episode.
We are in the midst of the season 16 semi-finals and I have lost count of how many times I’ve wept. I like to think it’s because I’m highly empathetic, and I could find articles that concur, but Greg would probably say it’s because I’m emotionally unstable. The breadth of human emotion I experience throughout an episode is vast. The children find it very curious to see tears streaming down my face when golden confetti rains down on ecstatic competitors. They’re yet to experience tears of joy themselves and while they haven’t yet told me that I’m lame and embarrassing, I’m sure that’s coming.
I know we could pick holes in what BGT does — there’s a case for the exploitation of contestants’ trauma in order to create compelling stories of overcoming adversity but, on balance, I think the good outweighs the bad. I feel good about my children cheering on Musa, a dancer and amputee, or Travis, a brilliant singer recovering from a mental health crisis, or Unity, a performance group promoting acceptance for trans and disabled people or anyone who is different. Watching BGT brings together our family and maybe even the world?
The fact that a show as mainstream as this one delivers heaped spoonfuls of inclusive messaging along with raw expressions of human emotion and remains wildly popular, restores my faith
in us — all of us.