Sunday 15 April 2012

That's Entertainment

It's like a poison coursing through the veins of the land...The Voice, Britain's Got Talent...the TV atrocity exhibition fix that's guaranteed to render the intelligent stupid, and the stupid satisfied like junkies high on pure shit called Entertainment...

'Oh, what an a-ma-zing voice!' - sofa-bound viewers swoon, comatose, bloated from a feast of the embarrassingly inept along with highly polished turds, all floating across their screens in the toilet bowl of prime time Saturday entertainment...

'I've dreamt of this moment my whole life,' says one successful contestant, aged 16 - cut to Mum backstage dabbing the corner of her eye with a knuckle - 'Oh my god!' - perhaps her little angel will be able to buy them an escape from suburban hell one day - judges draw on stock expressions of amazement - 'It's a yes from me' - yes to another finely-tuned performance of totally mediocre art - people in the audience are out of their seats, as well as their minds - roar of applause - cue emotive music...

Meanwhile, on another channel, a Voice is chosen by producer-appointed music authorities ranging from an ageing 'legend' to the acceptable face of black America (one-time friend of Michael Jackson) - 'Your tone is extraordinary' - but the hopes of others drain away even before the last note is sung - no expert has turned their chair - they are unwanted, but still they manage to smile, as the producer insisted, and they listen to how good they are along with lame excuses for not choosing them...

The collective voice of mainstream entertainment floods living-rooms throughout the land - next! - a transsexual in a silk evening dress wrenches the mic from it's stand, proceeding to shriek, scream, holler, croon and roar operatically accompanied by thunderous electronic drones and a distorted beat - the sound explodes through TV screens - viewers clamp their hands over their ears but cannot prevent the noise from getting through - feel something wet and warm oozing between their fingers - 'I'm bleeding!' - nausea -  processed food gushes out, splatters onto the carpet - clutching their stomachs they roll around on the floor in agony - cut to the studio; the producer screams 'Who the fuck let this one through?!' - staff shrug, tremble, chews nails, except one, who laughs and walks out to a stream of abuse - mission accomplished...

1 comment:

  1. It's amused me, for a number of years now, how the media divides the nation, neatly into two groups - X-Factor or Strictly. Those protesting that they actually like watching something with a little more substance are viewed with deep suspicion.

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