Unstoppable

Sarah Cracknell (of Saint Etienne) once sang ‘She said her life was like a motorway, dull, grey and long, until you came along’. At times it can feel that the run-up to Christmas is like a motorway, seemingly never-ending, sometimes stressful then, suddenly, you are off it and all is peaceful again.

Ever thoughtful, the great powers of BBC and ITV don’t want our Advent to be dull, grey and long, so, if you had checked your rear-view mirror a month ago, you cannot have failed to notice four monstrous juggernauts charging up behind you: I’m a celebrity, get me out of here (in its Leaf Green paintwork); The Apprentice (in Charcoal Grey livery with blue pinstripes); Strictly come dancing (in Canary Yellow with Rhinestone go-faster stripes); and The X Factor (in, as seen on the show, Antichrist Black with a big Red cross, the colour of teenage blood).

These four juggernauts have been roaring along for weeks, picking up momentum and obliterating everything else in their paths (except for the Coronation Street tram). You may have been momentarily distracted by catastrophic weather, student riots, royal engagements, FIFA farces and the steady dribble of WikiLeaks, but still these juggernauts retained the attention of the nation. In yesterday’ Sunday Times, for example, a quarter-page photo of Pamela Stephenson dominated page 4, for no real reason other than to say she was in Saturday night’s final (the results had obviously been too late to print). In the same newspaper, the wine columnist referred to The X Factor THREE times (there was a bit about wine towards the end).

It is car-crash tv. I liked to think I was above watching other people’s misfortune and humiliation, but, when it is there in front of you, it is hard to avert your eyes. In recent weeks BBC1 has had the excellent The Accused on Monday nights, but I am deeply ashamed to admit that I missed a couple when I’m a celebrity… was on.

Where the once unstoppable Big Brother slowly turned to rust and is now mercifully in the juggernaut scrap yard, I A C G M O O H has escaped reality fatigue mainly through the childishly watchable hosting of Ant and Dec, clever editing and some luck (who could have predicted that Shaun Ryder and Stacey Solomon would be such a winning combination?). The plight of Gillian McKeith was the epitome of ‘car-crash TV’ and although watching ‘celebrities’ reach as the struggle to swallow some squelchy morsel of antipodean fauna is getting a little old hat, genius ideas such as making some of them spies have kept it (relatively) fresh.

It is only during the last two series that I have been converted to The Apprentice, I think earlier glimpses of the rampant egos kept me away. However, this is part of the appeal. It is much more satisfying to watch someone with an inflated opinion of themselves crash and burn, rather than someone you liked. Even Stuart “I’m not a one-trick pony, I’m not a ten-trick pony, I’ve got a whole field of ponies” Baggs, who I had no time for initially, proved very entertaining - and you can’t really dislike someone who, on national television, described himself as ‘a bit of a cock’. After his departure I didn’t really care who won, but the way that both Stella and Chris came up with a new product, a good brand name and image under such pressure was very impressive.

I must be getting old. The idea of me enjoying a programme about ballroom dancing would have horrified my younger self. But, as people who voted for Ann Widdecombe and John Sergeant know, it is not about who is the best dancer. It is a combination of the celebrities, the dancers, the band, the staging, the slick hosting, the costumes, the lunacy of Claudia Winkleman and the pantomime judges. Chris and Ola proved last year that it is just as much a personality contest as a dance competition, which is why I think the slightly simpering Pamela Stephenson didn’t reach the final two.

But the biggest, most unstoppable juggernaut - overtaking Strictly’s ratings in the last couple of years - is The X Factor. I’ve moaned about it before…. But I still watch it. But I hope this will be the last year I get suckered into watching it. The auditions can be fun (again, ‘car-crash tv’), but once they get to the final 12 (or the final 16, or whatever number they decide) it quickly becomes boring. Yes, you can watch with incredulity that people actually pay money to vote for some of these acts (nearly fifteen and a half million votes were cast), and, like Jedward last year, there was some horrific fascination in watching Wagner’s progress. But there is only so much out-of-tune, out-of-time singing and ‘dancing’ I can stomach. There is nothing really offensive about Matt and Rebecca’s voices, but there is nothing stunning either - certainly no ‘x factor’, I thought Cher Lloyd was the only one who had anything remotely different about her. Another aspect which (I hope) will deter me from watching it again is the complete lack of content - Their performances take up such a small portion of the show’s running time. I’m not sad enough to have measured it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the adverts took up more time than the performances. And when you add up the constant re-showing of stuff you have already seen and the pointless dramatic pauses when the judges pretend to struggle with a decision, not to mention the endless repetition of clichés from the judges after they have waited for the audience to quieten down, it all adds up to very little indeed.

Unfortunately, whether I like it or not, there is very little I can do about it. While Simon, Cheryl, Louis and Danniiii escape from the X Factor juggernaut in a black helicopter as it crashes in a fireball finale, Matt Cardle, in his white van, races to No.1 in the Christmas charts despite valiant attempts from The Trashmen’s Surfin’ Bird and John Cage’s 4’33” to run him off the road. I enjoyed Radio 1’s dilemma when Reggie Yates was doing the run-down of the chart on Sunday night. When it came to John Cage’s new entry at No.21 would they play 4 minutes and 33 seconds of silence? He announced that they would play 30 seconds of it, but they bottled it and only had about 10 seconds of absolute silence. What bemuses me, however, is who on earth pays to download four and a half minutes of silence? While I applaud the sentiment, I do not think it was the best conceived plan to de-rail the X Factor juggernaut. Surfin’ Bird was an inspired (a Family Guy inspired) choice for the anti-Matt Cardle song, but we need to think of something even more inspired for next year. Otherwise we risk X Factor getting even bigger and more pervasive.

Or, as the BBC suggested (in the 1970s, 80s and 90s),Why Don't You Just Switch Off Your Television Set and Go Out and Do Something Less Boring Instead?