The X Factor’s viewing figures have nosedived to the point where the judges may have to start appearing with parachutes strapped to their backs. This is because the show has become, to use a technical term, complete tosh.
I should know. I’ve long watched (and voted on) shows such as The X Factor, with an enthusiasm that might one day enable my back-stabbing children to force me into assisted housing. However, even I have standards, low though they may be.
One problem with the new The X Factor is that, clearly smarting from the “glorified karaoke” jibes, contestants have been performing too much original material, which, in prime-time television terms, is akin to two consecutive nights of watching the neighbours’ children tap dance.
They are also getting rid of at least two contestants a week, making it now seem less of a music contest and more like a pop-themed murder mystery weekend.
Most mystifyingly, they’ve ditched the sing-off (“Too negative”, according to Simon Cowell). It’s now instant expulsion for the act with the fewest votes, but viewers can vote for their favourite… erm, to win a holiday.
Now I’m no light entertainment expert, but what happened to climactic intensity? It’s one thing to watch people singing for their lives (or at least a shortish career in which the highlight is a VIP pass to Thorpe Park). But if I want to watch strangers being excited about their hols, I’d settle down with my glass of chablis at Gatwick airport.
Cowell has messed up – he’s gone from TV Barnum to TV Bromide. Now I’m wondering if he should slip quietly away or whether there should be a public ceremony to strip him of his unofficial title, Mr Saturday Night. Perhaps the nation should vote on it in a binary fashion – we’re good at that.
