Spectator sport

The X Factor (ITV, Saturday and Sunday) is the most popular show on television at the moment. I felt I should watch it so that you don’t have to.

It’s very loud. There is a lot of clashing and banging and whooping and whooshing. A voiceover booms at you, and the presenter shouts at everyone. The audience sounds as if it’s on something which might not trouble Professor Nutt but could cause grief to Alan Johnson. The slightest remark makes them cheer or boo irrationally.

It’s very camp and ironic. The two male judges — Simon Cowell and some Irish bloke called Louis — constantly niggle at each other, but it has the fake air of all-in wrestling, being mildly amusing but entirely unconvincing. The female judges are Cheryl Cole, Britain’s favourite wronged woman, and Dannii Minogue, sister of the more famous Kylie. Their job is to be kindly to the contestants and not smudge their luminescent lipstick, which could signal to ships in the fog.

The contestants are for the most part persons of moderate ability, having the kind of voice that goes down a storm in a pub or on a downmarket cruise line. They belt it out with little warmth, or passion. Some are awful. One young man who did a ‘modernised’ version of ‘Stand By Me’ (or ‘stenn-henn-ah-henn-bah me’ as he sang it) was actually criticised by three judges, who in turn were jeered by the bonkers audience. Who would have thought that Orwell’s two minutes’ hate would have arrived, but directed at a group of greasy millionaires who are actively encouraging it?

A young man called Olly Murs staggered round the stage like an arthritic gardener, performing a version of ‘Twist and Shout’ that lacked rhythm, soul or even tune.