It’s time for BGT....it must be summer!
In the dumbed down world of 21st Century Britain it appears there are now just three seasons as opposed to the traditional four.
The new order revolves around what’s on the box: We have a three-month season which encompasses what was formerly known as autumn and winter but is now best described as the X Factor/Strictly Marathon; we have that rubbish period from the start of the year until April which can only be described as When Only The Voice Is On and of course we know the sun is on its way when Britain’s Got Talent charges on to our screens.
BGT, as it is annoyingly known, is a polished, well oiled machine – something we have come to expect from Planet Cowell – and one which will dominate the schedules over the coming weeks.
Saturday’s curtain raiser was a brash over-the-top affair, which was also notable for the premiere of an advert starring Sly Stallone who apparently has a penchant for bread from Bolton.
For those playing for BGT Bingo – personal tragedy, crying mothers, talented siblings and lots of manufactured drama – it would have been a full house within the first hour, but it is a formula that works.
There were some pretty good acts, namely the huge Welsh choir, the roller skating brother and sister, the Frenchman with the ‘talking’ dog and the talented singer from Hull.
We knew the chap was going to be good from the moment his little sister was shoved on stage first and, rather cruelly I thought, given a bit of a going over by the judges. Once his walk into the spotlight was accompanied by the standard soaring backing music we were left in no doubt that he was a step up from a pub singer.
He was good and I am sure lots of teenagers and their mums would buy his music, no doubt influenced by Simon Cowell’s shrewd use of the golden buzzer. But this show would be nothing if it wasn’t for the hype.
Amanda Holden, love her, is the high priestess of hyperbole and lived up to her reputation when she told some middle-aged ladies who stripped down to their smalls that they made her proud to be British.
BGT was the centrepiece for ITV’s self-proclaimed Super Saturday which sounds impressive until you realise the other two components to this so-called televisual feast were UK Ninja Warrior and Play To The Whistle.
Watching superfit fire fighters tackle television’s toughest assault course is enough to make any disciple of Saturday night telly choke on their special chow mein and, as for the toxic mix of ‘comedy’, sport and Paddy McGuinness that is Play to the Whistle, the less said the better.
Saturday television has never been the best but even by recent standards, ITV’s overall offering is far from super.