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The Review - FEATURE
Published: 29 October 2009
 
Contestant Shaniece from Miss Frank is mobbed by young fans as she leaves the  X Factor house in Golders Green
Contestant Shaniece from Miss Frank is mobbed by young fans as she leaves the X Factor house in Golders Green
Guilty pleasure X Factor is panto fun: oh yes it is


IT is essentially a programme for kids. For wild screaming kids who scream wildly at other kids who can sing better than them and have more money to spend on luminous door-knocker ear-rings at Top Shop each week.
Anybody who has passed by the Golders Green house where the “contestants” live, a crazy mix of squealy devotion and risky road sense, can tell you that.
But the X Factor can no longer just be dismissed as something to keep teenagers off the streets come the weekend.
I’m not a screaming kid, I’m supposed to be a hard-nosed newspaper hack, yet against all my better judgment, I tune in. I need to know whether Stacey will get through each week. And the Welsh one. And the one with the hair.
The only conclusion to this sudden confession is that this is not a low moment in my life – or yours.
Instead, we must recognise that this glitzfest has actually hit a television apex, becoming a guilty pleasure which more people should simply admit to.
Parents may rather their little ones watch Attenborough, but seeing a seal eat a penguin won’t teach them much more than the colour of a chewed-up penguin’s intestines.
Seeing Simon Cowell reduce a teenager who has invested more in hair gel than exam revision to tears in a pre-planned, manipulated mini-drama is far more educational. Far more palatable. It will prepare the kids for the bully of an algebra teacher they will come across in later life. Cowell is the perfect panto villain.
So over the top, so dripping in golden glitz, X Factor is the kind of garish escapism which we all deserve. There have been other talent shows in this slot, but not one so smartly managed to get people who should know better booing at the television set.
Throw in million-dollar stars like Whitney and Robbie messing up guest live appearances, revealing that when you take away the safety net, the top earners are just as fallible as two Irish twins in Don’t Forget Your Toothbrush suits, and you’ve got a grandstand show. Even a hard cynic should be able to say in public: “I watch X Factor.”
RICHARD OSLEY




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