The X Factor: the human meat grinder feels cheesy
Well, this is interesting. It used to be that Strictly Come Dancing was a guilty pleasure, deeply uncool and a bit old-fashioned. But without saying that Strictly is edgy (it absolutely isn’t), The X Factor (Saturday and Sunday, ITV1) suddenly looks the cheesier of the pair. The arrangements for the songs are dated, the song choices either tacky or obscure. The dancers in black-and-white tuxes and nothing on underneath look like they belong in Stringfellows. And the sets seem to be modelled on Gladiators circa 1992. I keep expecting Wolf to walk on. I feel he would have got on very well with Bupsi. The X Factor has its moments but, when it does, they feel painfully calculated. Louisa Johnson’s inspired cover of The Beach Boys’ God Only Knows was electrifying. Was everything else designed to be deliberately mediocre to make her shine all the more? Is this Cowell’s new master plan, that the 17-year-old blonde ingenue is the new One Direction? Astonishingly talented though Louisa is, for her sake, I sort of hope not. Cowell’s most over-used word this weekend? “Relevant.” Protesting too much?
Dame Maggie Smith steals the show
We didn’t get to find out why Justin Bieber, Sienna Miller and Dame Maggie Smith couldn’t all sit on the settee together on The Graham Norton Show (Friday, BBC1). A scheduling problem, I’m sure. But one thing was obvious: they could have filled that sofa with the turn-out for the Academy awards and Dame Maggie would have stolen the show. She was on top form. On the consequences of appearing in the Harry Potter films: “A lot of very small people used to say hello to me and that was nice.” On the army of American Downton Abbey fans: “Oh, I don’t go anywhere where they can get at me.” Her remarks on Downton itself were classic. Is she glad it’s over? “Oh, yes. It couldn’t go on and on. It made no sense.” Has she ever watched it? A long pause. “I’ve got the box set.”
Monstrous fun and the ghost of Strictly past
For the first time this series on Strictly (Saturday and Sunday, BBC1) there was a hotly contested dance-off where it wasn’t obvious who was going home (Jamelia versus Kirsty Gallacher). Neither of them were major contenders. Nor have they fallen into the cute/crazy box occupied by Carol Kirkwood and Jeremy Vine. The British public seems to love to vote for the occupants of this box, dementedly evoked by the reappearance of Ann Widdecombe in this weekend’s outing, warning Katie Derham of Anton’s passion for Victoria sponge. Or maybe I dreamt this nightmare. The true winner tonight was, of course, Vine, whose version of Thriller was described by Bruno as “monstrous fun from the master of dance horror”. It was both fun and horrific. The real mystery? How Vine manages to pull a peculiarly watchable dance out of the bag every week with no natural ability whatsoever. He’s either an inspiration to us all or some kind of terrifying warning from another dimension.
David Attenborough is a spectacular natural phenomenon
Viewers of a nervous disposition would be best advised not to watch The Hunt (Sunday, BBC1), featuring a leopard stalking an impala while David Attenborough whispered chillingly, “Slowly does it ...” This was truly superb and unmissable nature television, even if it did make me feel like Leon from Gogglebox (“Now this really is great, June”). This series was so expensive to make that the cost of it has not been made public. A third of the funding came from the BBC, two thirds from its commercial arm, BBC Worldwide. It’s a project that has to embrace epic failure: every hour of television we see represents 300 hours of footage. (“Slowly does it …”) It’s thrilling that someone has the vision and determination to see these projects through: the result is extraordinary. Visually stunning, ambitious, breathtaking ... Plus, I found myself gasping in admiration at the stamina of another wonder of nature: the presenter, who turns 90 next year.
