Matthew eats… Eurovision Song Contest 2023

The circus has rolled out of town once more. So thus, my yearly review must be produced. Once more I will be offering my thoughts on the show in general, if the right song one, and what the UK must do better to be competitive (although the last one was unnecessary last year).

So to the show itself. I personally think the BBC executed the show wonderfully. The crowd was one of the most engaged I’ve heard in years, helped by being in Liverpool, a party capital. The hosts actually fizzed with chemistry and even the obligatory awkward filler moments were a cut above the usual. Hannah Waddingham proved to be a breakout star, holding everything together with a sense of humour and British fortitude. One of the most delightful moments came when Graham Norton lost patience with Iceland’s spokesperson and branded him ‘the slowest stripper ever’. Her corpsing was joyous.

I also loved the postcards. Part of this was the beautiful notion of tying together Ukraine, UK and the artist’s home country as a display of unity. The other part though was it just letting me indulge my love of geography.

As for the songs; well this year we felt spoilt in terms of big personality numbers. Moldova and Croatia brought varying degrees of oddness and charm. France gave us refined charm. Portugal lived their Moulin Rouge fantasy. Belgium took us to the clubs circa 1992. Norway scored the soundtrack to the next Game of Thrones prequel. All delightful in their own way.

But it was Finland who stole the show. It was quintessential Eurovision. The performer was an oddity but engaging with a signature fashion choice and haircut. The staging was powerful yet never overtook the song. And the song itself was a joyous mix of genres, slipping from angry techno-rap in the first half before exploding into a party anthem. The lyrics apparently detail the adventures you have on a night out. It didn’t matter, you were sold to it anyway.

So why instead of this package of near perfection did Sweden win with one the blandest most middle-of-the road numbers? The juries. What chance did Finland have against such a peerless vocal. It was Goliath destroying David through the medium of c#. But that doesn’t mean I join the mob wanting an end to the jury system. I remember the horrors of the mid-00’s, where their seemed to be a battle to out gimmick each other and quality went out the window. Just let the juries at least partially vote on fun factor, rather than the rather staid constraints they have now.

Besides, the juries give us more points. And we needed them. Our act was disappointing in the context of it all. It may have been sound issues, it may have been bad camera angles, it may have been an overly complex song. Whatever it was, we were a whimper on a night of bangs.

But the fixes are easy. We did it just last year in fact. Write a decent song with excellent vocals and well constructed staging and we have a shot. We always did. If we stick to that formula a new golden era dawns for us.

Matthew eats… Sing On!

So first of all you can tell I have a new laptop after weeks of not having one and relying on my phone to be my computer as I am doing another blog post this week. I’m sure you can all barely contain your excitement, wondering what I will make of my next selection.

And this time it’s Sing On!, a musical game show. The format is, on the surface, simple. Six contestants compete to be the best singer and win a cash prize. Each episode is themed, and the quality of singing is judged by some kind of machine, a bit like the thing used on Singstar. The more accurate everyone sings, the more money goes into the pot. In the first three rounds, the strongest singer is immune and everyone votes to send one of the other contestants home. The next round it is simply the weakest singer of those remaining, before the final two battle for the cash.

But then there are add-ons that complicate things. Round two sees Tituss’ Prize (more on the host shortly) for best physical performance (the question of ‘why?’ springs to mind). Then in round four, the remaining three all get the chance to hit a ‘golden note’ which also comes with bonus cash, although this one at least makes more sense. Even so, I’m not sure either add anything overall.

The host himself, Tituss Burgess, is also problematic. He was great in Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, indeed he drove the whole show. But he is not a game show host. The mock ‘I’m the star’ attitude other hosts have here feels like it isn’t such a self-own, more something he actually deep down sincerely believes. He also fails in my view to interact really with the contestants. The conversations are stilted, as if without a script he isn’t sure what his next line is.

Is there anything good about this show? Well, the songs chosen are absolute bangers. So if you are happy just to watch for the music, then you’re fine. But otherwise, this show isn’t in the right key.

Matthew eats… The Masked Singer

There are moments where you just have to give into the madness. You spent so long sneering at it to to no avail so you end up joining in. It’s easier that way, as you no longer have to battle against the tide. So it is with me finally letting The Masked Singer into my life. Blame the fact that I am now required to be sociable with my other half on Saturday evening, rather than just disappearing into a quiet room

The premise, for anybody living under a rock, is that celebrities dress up in elaborate costumes and sing (or ‘sing’ as the case may be for the more vocally challenged). You then guess who it is, aided by clue packages. Each week, one identity is revealed, as the audience and judging panel whittle down their least favourite performers.

There are so many things that really should get under my skin about the show. Joel Dommett is an irritating host, full of cliched puns and scripted comments. The panel are also largely annoying, particularly Rita Ora, who clearly hasn’t got any better forming chemistry with co-stars since her disastrous stint on The X Factor. Add in bizarre audience voting decisions (shows like this will be what historians point to in the future when democracy fails) and the gladiatorial chanting as the celebrity is due to be unmasked then you have something that resembles either a dystopian nightmare or an extreme fever dream.

Yet it works. Dommett is actually the right host for the job, leaning into the show’s weirdness without making a complete joke of it. The panel are secondary on this, and Jonathan Ross does a good enough job of, like Dommett, reveling in the show’s eccentricities without overcooking it to make it enjoyable. It is quite cheesy, yet also somehow you don’t seem to care.

Above all else, you do end up getting involved. There is a weird thrill of seeing a former Wimbledon champion dressed as a set of bagpipes or a quite respectable pop star be uncovered as the real identity of a lion fish or poodle.

This is the sort of programming that makes the Reithian types froth at the mouth. It is silly, pointless and shallow. It does not educate or inform, and you cannot argue it makes you a better person for watching. But in an era of anger and division, 90 minutes of complete froth doesn’t go amiss. So give into it. It may be mad, but it also is the biggest salve to keep your sanity in this world out there.

Matthew eats… Eurovision Song Contest 2021

It felt strange last year not being able to talk about Eurovision properly. I mean, yes, we had the substitute shows, but they didn’t match the drama or fun that the full contest itself brings. And boy, did it.

So where to begin? Well for a start, there definitely seemed to be a theme, particularly among the Balkan and former Soviet states of sending dance/r’n’b hybrid song. Cyprus, Greece, Moldova, San Marino and Serbia all went down this path with varying degrees of quality (Cyprus nailing it, Serbia very much not for instance). Throw in the female empowerment anthems of Malta, Russia, Israel and Azerbaijan and you got a night that risked going samey. It didn’t help that a lot of the acts seemed to go for red or purple/magenta as their primary colour palette.

This meant that any change of pace was welcome. Well, kind of. I liked the metal of Finland, the eccentricity of Iceland and the cool vibe of Portugal, and even the sparse Bulgaria and France charmed me. I was less keen on the slightly cartoony Germany and bland pop of Norway and Sweden. I also found the virtue signalling of the Netherlands tiresome, whilst Ukraine felt like popping an e at the world’s creepiest folk festival.

My personal favourite was Lithuania, which despite hovering towards the aforementioned colour palettes managed to be distinct enough. It was upbeat yet melancholy in its lyrics, making it sound very contemporary and giving it an air of Hot Chip.

Meanwhile, Italy’s win, although predicted by the bookies, still felt like a surprise. I didn’t dislike the song, and I always believe you shouldn’t stereotype what an Eurovision song is, but I couldn’t grasp the support for it. Surely not enough people knew Italian to understand the lyrics? And although the staging suited the song, for me it wasn’t overly memorable. But clearly it connected somewhere, and at least it puts the ‘Big 5 can’t win’ theory to bed.

And what about us in the UK? Well, sadly the nil points was not a surprise. The song was solid but badly song, especially in the verses. His outfit was hideous. The strongest aspect was the staging, which suggested some effort, but was ultimately wasted.

We seem to be reluctant to learn lessons from previous mistakes here. The formula to do well is actually simple – high-quality song, sung sincerely with complementary staging. You don’t need someone mega-connected or a gimmick. Just get the basics right and build from there. We may be howling about the unfairness of the result, but this year we really do only have ourselves to blame.

Eurovision: Europe Shine a Light

I have to admit to being very lucky during this pandemic. I still have my job, nobody close to me has contracted the virus and my routine has adapted well to the changes. Yes, I am missing seeing people (I’m even missing the smell of the gym) but I would say that overall I’ve been fortunate.

It says a lot about how I have been impacted by this crisis is that the cruelest blow was the cancelling of Eurovision. This is an occasion I rate in importance with my birthday and Christmas, so hearing that it had been taken from us all was a hard loss.

To their credit, the EBU sprang into action with alternative programming, the pinnacle of which was Eurovision: Europe Shine a Light. It consisted of the presenters in an empty studio playing snippets of this year’s entries and talking to stars of the past. Graham Norton was also offering commentary, but there was no crowd and no winner.

In many respects, the most disappointing aspect was just how little time was spent of this year’s songs. Just 30 seconds was played on each, which when you consider the crafting that went into each of them feels a little tight. I don’t think we needed the heartfelt message at the end of each clip, although credit to Iceland for going their own way with that as well as the song.

The satellite links were a little clunky as well, but that can be forgiven. They actually worked better than they do in the grand final. Again, though, they dragged on. Honouring 2020 songs seemed to be a lot lower down the agenda than it should have been.

At least Graham’s commentary was as robust as ever. Particular highlights were his review of Serbia’s entry (‘Serbia’s answer to the Pussycat Dolls, if the question is “who isn’t quite as good as the Pussycat Dolls?”‘) and his response to being asked where he was when the UK last won Eurovision in 1997 (“probably face down in a bar somewhere”).

So what would I have done? Well, I’m glad you asked. Ran the contest still, but allowed acts to send an official video or live performance. Still had the semis and the final, but the winner, rather than hosting next year, gets first dibs on hosting a special Eurovision concert. The songs get a proper airing, we all stop speculating on who would have won and the winner gets something.

If the EBU want to call me any time, I’m available.

Matthew eats… The Eurovision Song Contest 2019

It is that time again where I air my thoughts on the results of Eurovision Song Contest. It was a year of contrasting musical styles, with the traditional ballads, dancefloor bangers and ethno-pop meeting pop opera and BDSM techno-punk. Oh, and Madonna turned up.

In fact, let’s start with her. You would think after being in the industry for nearly 40 years she would know how to make chat with TV hosts, but no. Her stilted conversation with the poor presenter was the most awkward moment of the night. Until that is we got to her actual performance. Barely a note was in tune and was actually mind-numbingly dull. A waste of 10 minutes that could have been given to hurrying the vote along so we could have gone to bed before midnight.

Honestly, most of the half-time entertainment was sub-par. Thank god for Verka, who should be a feature every year. At least give him a five-minute cabaret slot at some point.

The songs themselves were all very middle of the road in terms of quality. Bar a weirdly cold Slovenia and an overly saccharine Germany (and the bizarre world of San Marino) there were very few clangers, but also very little genuine quality. Norway was a personal favourite of mine, for actually bringing a bit of a tune and some energy. Azerbaijan was another high point and I have to reluctantly give some credit to Russia.

The biggest talking point was, of course, Iceland. The song itself was deliciously OTT, as was the staging. How they got away with something bordering on BDSM porn is beyond me (we were one ball gag away from an 18 rating), but I’m glad they did. Quite what Europe’s take on their Palestine protest during the voting will be is another matter. It’s interesting Madonna got away with her political statement with the crowd but not them.

The Netherlands were victors. It wasn’t a surprise though. Although not a personal favourite of mine, it obviously had a quality to it that would chime with juries and public alike. It is yet more proof that sincerity, regardless of genre of song, is the biggest vote winner. If you can sell the story of your song to the audience, you are going to be in the running to win.

Which brings me to the UK. Whilst the song was poor and the staging no better, last felt harsh when you consider some of the other songs out there. But it did lack anything to make it sound special. It takes more than a good voice. There will always be a debate as to if internal selection or public is the way forward, but there needs to be quality to begin with.

Still, there’s always next year. Amsterdam here we come!

Matthew eats… Eurovision: You Decide

Some mysteries are easier to solve than others. I for one wouldn’t want to unpick any of those impossible maths challenges. I can however solve the case of the UK’s terrible run at Eurovision.

All the clues are there, but the problem is too many people look at the symptom, the grand final in May, rather than the cause, which in this case is the national selection process, the final of which occurred on Friday. I present to you, the criminal that is Eurovision: You Decide.

The format this year was a little different from normal, with six acts divided into pairs and having a song each. In other words, three songs in two different styles. In theory this is a good idea, as you can pair up the arrangement and the singer better to the song. It does prevent self-written songs though, with all the tracks produced by committee.

Of course, that relies on the three songs being quality to begin with. I don’t think any of them were. ‘Freaks’ was infuriatingly catchy but had awful lyrics. ‘Sweet Lies’ never really hit top gear as either a dance track or a ballad. ‘Bigger than Us’ was the cheesiest of cheese-fests. A stronger performer on all three was fairly self-evident, although if true justice occurred the public would have been able to vote on both versions of ‘Bigger than Us’ and ‘Freaks’ eliminated straight away.

Michael Rice’s take on ‘Bigger than Us’ was the best vocal of the night and an understandable winner. It fails the charisma test though. Some proper performance arts training will help, as will someone teaching him how to keep the microphone in the right place at all times. There is too much arm flailing in the choreography at present and a cruel draw in the final will guarantee us last place.

In some respects the problems run deeper than the songs though. The mocking tone we associate with Eurovision is present here. There is an amateur hour standard of production, with Mel Gidroyc and Mans Zemerlow frequently looking at the wrong camera and Gidroyc even at one point wandering off the set. I doubt you would see such sloppiness on any of the Scandinavian selection shows.

It is this feeling we are taking it as a joke that costs us every year. We can send whatever song we like, but if it is done with a sneer or a giggle we will get punished.

I argue we need to promote Rylan Clarke-Neal from head judge to presenter (he is surprisingly professional for a reality TV graduate). I also think that as good as the matching exercise was in theory, it didn’t work in practice. If they want a twist, make is self-written songs only. This encourages the performers to sing sincerely, a common theme amongst previous winners. And make the whole thing more professional. If even all that fails to produce a result, then we may need to make a second exit from Europe.

Matthew eats… GameFace

I spoke last week about the fad of having people who are fundamentally unpleasant as lead characters in sitcoms. The kind of person who is rude, selfish and not as smart as they think they are, living under the impression that the world should fall into their lap. Man Down is a good example of this genre, with the central figure of Dan never believing that the bad things are happening because of him, but because the universe is against him.

His co-star Roisin Conaty treads a similar beat in her own sitcom GameFace. In it, she plays out of work actress Marcella, who gets by on temp jobs that she can never keep and is forced into life coaching sessions. To be fair, she is not as rude as the above description but is always trying to take a short cut in life and failing. And, most crucially, she has that most crucial character flaw for the genre, a lack of accountability.

Yet you actually feel a bit more sympathy for Marcella. I wonder if this is a gender issue – there is that feeling that if a man fails it is because of his own actions, a woman because of those of others. Or it could be that her actions never stem from a place of anger; she is merely scatty and impulsive rather than aggressive.

Conaty is, of course, brilliant, although when you play an exaggerated version of yourself it is hard not to be. Still, no one can deny the air of authenticity on the show. Her elaborate daydreams add a surreal dimension to the show and are probably the highlight.

Also, it is actually funny in amongst some the cringe. The best humour comes from her one-line responses as opposed to any of the elaborate set pieces, although that is just my take. I have never been one to be bowled over my embarrassing people as a form of humour, preferring witty repartee or caustic off-the-cuff remarks.

Basically, this functions as a short diversion. It is certainly good enough for you to spend your time on, but is also slightly throwaway and disposable. It certainly doesn’t match the sharpness of This Country, which has grown on me from being mildly enjoyable to bloody amazing. GameFace is perfectly fine in its own way. It may follow a well-walked path, but you won’t regret going down it.

Matthew eats… The Apprentice

If you watch something over and over again, no matter how much you enjoy it, you inevitably start asking questions. In the case of drama or comedy, it could be plot holes or plausibility. Why has a character done x? How could event y have happened? What about thing z? This is perhaps why the best shows only last a few series, because the writers know that in order to reduce these questions they are working in a tighter framework.

Reality TV has a similar problem. Big Brother lost its spark as it drifted ever further away from being about normal people. Likewise, The Apprentice has perhaps lot its way a little as it has become ever clearer that there are people on it who use it as a passport to fame instead of furthering their business.

Because there is always one. They tend to leave about week seven or eight, when it is no longer plausible for Lord Sugar to keep them in, as they have shown they are incapable of running a business. Last year it was semi-professional ‘lad’ Andrew, who used his 15 minutes of fame to go on Celebrity Big Brother and date a C-lister. My money this year is on Kurran, a wannabe actor who can’t act but is a fan of grandiose statements about his genius.

Another problem with The Apprentice is some of the tasks feel deliberately designed to put candidates under ridiculous pressure which I’m not convinced reflects how business is done. For example, would somebody working in the advertising industry be expected to turn around a logo, advert and devise a presentation for an airline in 48 hours? Highly doubt it and you certainly wouldn’t be expecting with no knowledge of said industries to complete that workload.

Of course, there is the argument that this is all about seeing how people react to pressure. But seeing as many of the candidates are running their own businesses, you could argue they know all about pressure already. Lord Sugar could just as easily film them doing their normal jobs for 10 weeks rather than having them jump from gardening one minute to selling on TV shopping channels the next.

But then that wouldn’t be good TV would it? We want to see people flail and fail, having tetchy arguments about the price of plant pots along the way. And many of the eventual winners are actually successful post-show with their businesses. The right person does seem to win even if it takes a while to get there.

How much longer can the show last? Who knows. Once they have run out of ideas for tasks maybe, or Lord Sugar descends into senility perhaps. For now, we just need to sit back and take it all with a pinch of salt.

Matthew eats… Picnic at Hanging Rock

A while ago, I talked about adaptations and what purpose they served. Surely people who read the book would be too frustrated with any changes, and those who hadn’t wouldn’t have the motivation to watch? Hence my general rule not to watch them unless I really wanted to.

I broke my rule with Picnic at Hanging Rock. One of my excuses is that I didn’t know the book existed, or even the previous film adaptation for that matter. The other is that there was nothing else on. To be honest, that was the more powerful one.

The plot revolves around three girls and a teacher going missing on a school trip. The school in question is a ladies finishing school run by Ms Appleyard (played by Natalie Dormer), a figure with a mysterious past that is hidden beneath a tough exterior. There are therefore two mysteries, what happened to the people who disappeared and what is Ms Appleyard hiding exactly from her past?

We get hints of the latter throughout, with the general picture being one that she is some form of con artist who helped fleece men for money. This led the viewer to unfortunately seeing a very ugly penis in the second episode, which made relieved I had not chosen to partake in supper that night.

Having said that, it is beautifully shot. Everything has that dream-like edge that heightens the sense of mystery and ties in nicely to the theme of superstition that dominates. It can leave you feeling quite woozy in places, and you need your wits about you to follow the plot at times, but there is some excellent shot framing.

Dormer is also brilliant, playing Ms Appleyard with the right amount of austereness balanced with a creeping paranoia. Her scenes are by far the strongest and you find yourself gobbling up every icy bon mot that comes out of her mouth.

The scenes with the ‘coven’ of the teenage girls go missing are also strong, particularly in the second episode onwards where the politics of the group are clearer. The sexually questionable Mike Fitzhubert is also intriguing, especially is barely hidden crush for one of his servants. These characters all slip into the dream weaving quite nicely.

Sadly, the show falls when it steps out of this into the real world – the police doing routine questioning, the everyday admin of school running. You are shaken out of the state you are put in. You also feel that it could afford to go a little deeper, that if you were really to study what was going on it could be potentially just some well-made bobbins.

It is still a good distraction though, albeit one that will no doubt be frustratingly open ended in its resolution. Try and ignore the fact it is often style over substance. Come for Dormer and the mystery, stay for the weirdness.