The fun factory
Woeful model mums’
RYLAN This Clark’s exhaustive news Morning showbiz Angela research, part 2,736. Game of Lansbury’s forthcoming “I don’t Thrones character? of the latest know.” The source Hiddleston Taylor Swift/Tom know.” What rumours? “I don’t in a photo of people are seeing ghost”? “Michael Jackson’s “I…” We know, Rylan. We know. THE new series opened with this curious announcement from ITV’s continuity man: “The show you know and love is back.”
Strange, then, that he was talking about The X Factor.
Because the show I know and used to love has been dying a slow, painful death since they scrapped the room auditions in 2009, moved ready-polished hopefuls into soulless arenas and set about trying to fix what wasn’t broken.
So, five episodes in, guess what? He’s right. By coming full circle, abandoning the Ora/Grimshaw/Flack/Murs experiment after one catastrophic run and going back to the old days, The X Factor has rediscovered its mojo.
Dermot O’Leary has the self-assured air of an un-sackable man. Louis Walsh seems less cartoonish.
Simon Cowell has a new-found sense of fun and wit. Sharon Osbourne has reined in her more tedious habits.
And Nicole Scherzinger, when she’s not spouting sha-nonsense, displays a comic timing previously missing. There is real chemistry between these judges, and we’ve seen more singers than shouters this year.
Crucially, Xtra Factor’s new live format has broken the pattern of the funniest auditions being inexplicably dumped on ITV2, and the main show is richer for it.
So, this all said, I’ll make with the scratched record needle sound effect.
Staged
X Factor remains the most disingenuous, crudely choreographed programme on telly from that staged Ottavio and Bradley chicken-gate tomfoolery to Philip Hadlow replacing Louis last night.
Viewers, apparently, don’t deserve the right to know “living doll” Sada Vidoo is already a platinum-selling artist abroad.
And it’s curious how the judges managed to ask just the right questions to un-tap Christian Burrows’ heartfelt ode to his dead baby y brother. The producers clearly prep the panel and assume we’ll buy the lie that it’s spontaneous.
Indeed, old habits die hard. Sob stories are incoming via heavy artillery.
The X Factor simply cannot handle a silent reaction, even without the arena auditions. Which is why they’ve installed that giant screen in the waiting room, to get a reassuring round of applause where they think we need it.
And the judges are putting through the wrong novelty acts — OTT irritants instead of Richard Chen ( Over The Rai- aiainbow-ow-ow) and Ace of Base admonisher Muchaneta Mpofu.
Although I could really get behind Beck “Friday Night” Martin, who can neither sing nor dance but got the crowd bouncing yesterday evening.
For now I’ll take the rough with the smooth. Because for the first time in eight years I can honestly say one thing, while spinning on the spot.
My Saturday night starts right here. C4 C4C discovered the world’s worstwo mums on Too Posh To Parent. Such as millionairess Irene,Ire who claims paying ot others to do the school ru run means: “I’m a better wi wife. I can go and party.” And Nina, left, who spends £200,000 a year on “parental outsourcing”. Narrator Patsy Kensit: “One duty Nina doesn’t delegate — choosing the chihuahua’s couture for their afternoon walk.” I take it back. Model parents.