IT’S like some kind of fever, isn’t it? It’s all-consuming. Rationally, in the cold light of day, you’re fully aware of how spectacularly pointless Britain’s Got Talent really is, how you’ll forget most of the performers – even the half-decent ones – almost as quickly as you forget a takeaway tikka masala or last year’s Eurovision winner.
But its genius lies in the fact that it draws you in, has you giving a temporary toss as to the outcome, even if you’re dead clever, like me, and never waste any actual money on casting a vote.
When the real test comes – such as one of these acts releasing an album or announcing a tour, taking in a venue so close to your home that you could easily get off your podgy posterior and pop along to see them – will you honestly, seriously, be arsed?
Of course you won’t, don’t lie.
Of this year’s lot, I guess I might just about pay to see The Loveable Rogues. But that’s about it. Even with them, you wouldn’t catch me forking out silly money – not least because, at the time of writing this, I’m only actually aware of one of their songs. And if they cancelled a gig – say, because Jack Wills wouldn’t allow them the time off – my distress and outrage and utter blind fury at his news would probably best be summed up by the expression “oh, right…suppose we may as well go for a pint then.”
Here’s the reality of the matter: as in previous series, most of this year’s acts – whether they made it through to the final or tumbled at the semi-final stage – will have boosted their profiles, boosted their earnings potential and boosted their egos.
They’ll be able to add “Britain’s Got Talent semi-finalist / finalist” to their posters, flyers, websites etc. They could even put a positive spin on Simon Cowell’s new favourite cop-out line – the one where he’s told them: “D’you know what, I really like you” – and make it sound as if it wasn’t just his way of skirting around the painful truth about their actual act.
The point is, they can watch the money roll in – if not in vast amounts then at least on a comfortingly steady long-term basis. Let’s face it, Butlins and Pontins adore these acts. The likes of Greek dance duo Stavros Flatley (BGT finalists in 2009), ventriloquist Gareth Oliver (BGT semi-finalist, also from 2009), extreme juggler Phil Blackmore (BGT semi-finalist 2008) and singer Sami Brookes (a finalist from last year’s X Factor) have all done very nicely, thanks, out of the holiday camp circuit.
And don’t knock it. It’s exactly where most of these acts will be best appreciated. It’s the fulfilment of their destiny. It’s not global superstardom, but it’s a decent living. And one with the bonus of not turning you into a horrible human being.
What Britain’s Got Talent does so brilliantly is take effortlessly enjoyable holiday camp material and briefly elevate it to a whole new barmy level.
That, and to temporarily blind us to the fact that this is all it’s really doing.
Still, it’s a bit of a giggle, isn’t it? And in persuading us to sacrifice hours of our lives, night after night, to sit in front of a live TV broadcast that’s ultimately a total waste of time, it’s the perfect preparation for Euro 2012.
