Cheesier than cheddar — Harry’s got Stars In Their Eyes just right

TELEVISION producers hoping to reboot a classic format can do one of two things — glitz it up or send it up.

When the Beeb decided to revive Come Dancing, the tuxedos-and-ballgowns show that first screened in 1949, they added buckets of celebrity sparkle . . . and invented Strictly.

But when Terry Wogan left the hit gameshow Blankety Blank in the Eighties, the opposite tactic worked: comedian Les Dawson arrived to roll his eyes and take the mickey. He harped on about what a tawdry, tatty show it really was, and the ratings soared even higher.

Harry Hill could have taken either route with Stars In Their Eyes (ITV), the Nineties karaoke contest that invites ordinary people to dress up as superstars. He admits that as he stepped i nto f ormer presenter Matthew Kelly’s shoes, he nearly went for an injection of glamour — one option was to have a major star burst through the diamante doors each week.

The first choice was to be Robbie Williams, and instead of singing a number, he’d fix the plumbing under Harry’s kitchen sink.

But that would miss the point of Stars In Their Eyes. Who needs A-listers when the general public are so talented?

So Harry mucked around instead, which has outraged a few purists who think telly formats should never be changed.

In fact, just like Les, Harry was highlighting what we loved best about the original show: it was cheesier than a slice of cheddar, dipped in melted brie and sprinkled with parmesan.

He took our favourite memories of Stars In Their Eyes, and sent them up rotten. Everyone remembers how the acts emerge from billowing clouds of smoke, so Harry had a giant bag of dry ice delivered.

And if one faux star stands out from the hundreds over the show’s history, it’s Shirley Bassey, whose massive stage presence and blaring brass voice make her perfect for impersonations. Harry had a fake Dame Shi rl e y bl as t i ng o ut Goldfinger whenever he thought we were dozing off.

Corny jokes, slapstick, dressing up and a few songs we all know made this full- on family fare — oldfashioned Saturday night viewing that didn’t take itself seriously.

The Voice (BBC1) is so desperate to be taken seriously, the performers can’t start their auditions until there is total hush in the audience. Perhaps Tom Jones and his fellow judges have got torches to shine on anyone who is talking or rustling their sweet wrappers too loudly, the way cinema usherettes used to do.

All that pompous nonsense can’t hide the truth: The Voice is a thirdrate rip-off of The X Factor, with too many gimmicks and not half enough excitement.

Visually it’s a rubbish idea, and it’s impractical, too — the one singer who stood out on Saturday was a 16-year-old boy with a voice like Aretha Franklin. His whole appeal stemmed from the sight of his boyish face, belting out that Big Mama sound. But the judges couldn’t see him, so they sent him away.

The headline news was the debut of judge Rita Ora, the Kosovo-born singer with four Number Ones to her credit. She was replacing Kylie Minogue, and Rita tried to hide her nerves with a kittenish display.

It didn’t matter that she hit the big red button on her desk with her chin, her foot and then her backside — when her chair turned around, she simply didn’t have much musical advice worth listening to. At 24, she’s still learning her craft.

Sir Tom does have lashings of experience, half a century of it, but his energy levels looked low. While the other j udges were leaping out of their chairs and bounding around, Tom lowered himself slowly into his, like a man getting into a hot bath.

Will.i.Am, who turns 40 in a few weeks, also has bags of experience, but his rambling metaphors and witterings made even less sense than normal. It was left to Ricky Wilson, lead singer with the Kaiser Chiefs, to deliver both the enthusiasm and the insights . . . and he’s not a big enough star to carry the whole show.

It’s just a pity Les Dawson isn’t still around. What a great judge he’d make.