X-Factor 2012 Final: Part Two

IT'S TIME! TO EMELI! SANDÉ!

The second night of this extended abortion opens with an autotuned-to-fuck pre-recorded group performance. Not present: Christopher Maloney. This isn’t exactly a surprise, because demons tend to return to hell after an exorcism, after all. Or in this case, get thrown onto a bus back to Liverpool because you got pissed and called a fellow contestant a cunt. Also not present: MK1. Maybe they quit in solidarity with The Camp Orange One. Or maybe they're just too busy keeping it real, or undertaking a quest for Tulisa's urban roots or something. With those crazy cats from MK1, it could literally be ANYTHING. It’s worth noting that this group performance is preceded by a recap of last night’s show. After the group performance, there’s... another recap of last night’s show. And to think, people are accusing the X-Factor of being creatively bankrupt.

Jahmene is up first. The premise of the intro video is, yet again, let’s have the contestant sit down and watch their old performances on a product-placed Samsung tablet. I don't know what I'm getting for Xmas, but I think if anyone gets me a Samsung tablet I'll break into a cold sweat and have a panic attack due to negative associations. Jahmene’s going to sing Angels again, because he felt really special when he sang it for the first time. Also: his mother and stuff. Plus it might purify the venue in case there are any malingering spirits left behind after Maloney’s exit. Wail wail, point skyward, high note, screamy shout, choir, HRNRRRRRRRRRRRRGH: Jahmene’s performance summarised in 10 words.

The Judges all say positive things because it’s the fucking final and they’re hardly going to start telling the truth now, are they?

James Arthur decides that he’ll treat us all to another performance of Let’s Get It On. Typing the words James Arthur and Let’s Get It On in the same sentence makes me throw up a little. If anything, it’s even worse than the first time, because you know what to expect: female dancers cavorting with the swamp beast before he heads over to the judges table and attempts to seduce Nicole and Tulisa. Don’t fall for it girls, he just wants to lead you back to his nest where he’ll lay eggs underneath your eyelids. That’s how whatever species James Arthur is reproduces. There’s the blood-curdling falsetto at the end that signifies James’s orgasm and it's safe to listen again.

Then it’s time for several time-wasting interludes to allow the votes to rack-up. First there’s a recap of everything the judges did this series. Oh look, there’s Mel B being a cunt. Come back next year love, please. There’s Rita Ora, during a rare moment of not having sex with someone who isn’t her boyfriend. And there’s Leona Lewis, watching paint dry and wondering how she can ever be that interesting.  Eventually the Judges recap ends and it’s time for One Direction to return to the fetid womb from whence they emerged. Remember when this show was able to sustain its ratings on its own, and didn’t need to rope in its most popular progeny to give things a boost every two weeks?

Anyway, they’re singing some song that’s probably about being in love with an average girl, and all the ways in which she’s average and if you listen to the lyrics SHE COULD BE YOU! And they’d never pressure you into having sex, because they have an image as non-threatening boyfriends to maintain. SHE COULD BE YOU! IMAGINE SHE’S YOU! BUY BRANDED MERCHANDISE AND IMAGINE THE BOYS LOVING YOU! Upon closer listen, I think this song is actually about how One Direction are totally cool with having sex with you but only if you want to move at your own pace, baby. If you're ready for that, I'll totally pull out and cum on your belly, honest. I should write lyrics for boybands. Look at Liam Payne with his tattoo and shaved head. He’s like the Phil Mitchell of One Direction. Zayn’s microphone stops working because the sound engineers at Manchester Central are awful. Either that or they’ve just been overcome by the sheer talent on display. Niall Horan still hasn’t learned how to sing. Insert joke about Harry Styles and a middle aged woman... here. And that's everyone covered except for Louis. No one gives a fuck about Louis.

Another time-wasting diversion! WILL THIS NEVER END??? Here’s some footage of the finalists at 10 Downing Street to turn on the Xmas Lights. There’s David Cameron, desperately trying to be seen. This is like all those times when Tony Blair was a media whore doing things like appearing on The Simpsons, The Catherine Tate Show, Britain’s Next Top Model and Location, Location, Location. Except Cameron doesn’t have the Blair flair for self-promotion so the best he could manage is this appearance on a much-derided show that’s well past its prime. Must try harder, Dave.

FOR FUCK’S SAKE, MORE FILLER. Here’s reclusive singer-songwriter Emeli Sandé. She doesn’t get out of the house often so you should take a few minutes to rewatch this performance a few times because who knows when the next opportunity to see Emeli Sandé on your television will come. Well actually, I have it on good authority that she’s appearing in a special feature for Tonight with Trevor McDonald about the dangers of celebrity overexposure.  She recorded it in between appearances on Ear to the Ground, where she’ll be dosing some cattle, and Panorama Investigates, where she’ll be looking at the recent Loyalist drama in Belfast.

Believe it or not this thing still isn’t over. At this point I have an IV line pumping pure ethanol into my system. It’s the only way to get through it. Winner’s song time! Jahmene gets to perform the Beatle’s Let It Be, while James Arthur gets to sing Impossible, by Shontelle. Yes, there was a singer named Shontelle. Her second album, magnificently, was named Shontelligence. I sincerely hope that James Arthur’s albums are half as amazingly titled. I think Jahmene sings his song better than James, or it might just seem that way because of the relative difference in quality between a song written by McCartney-Lennon and one written by the team of industry drones responsible for writing songs for someone named fucking Shontelle.

Time for more filler! Here’s Rihanna! Maybe she’s come back because she realised she didn’t take off enough clothes the last time she performed (i.e. just two fucking weeks ago). Remember last year, when Coldplay did an entire set and led thousands of people in a hands-aloft sing-along of some of their most beloved tracks, magic wristbands twinkling in the night? Yeah, this is nothing like that. It’s Rihanna lifelessly doing a ballad and following it up with We Found Love and leaving her clothes on. At no point does any aspect of the performance resemble a live sex show. What a massive disappointment.

It’s finally time to announce the winner. I feel like this final started a lifetime ago. Nations have risen and fallen, babies have been born, and Rita Ora has had sex with seventeen people in the time it's taken to get to this point. So congratulations to James Arthur, the first person who’s ever been in a sing-off to have won the X-Factor, random-trivia fans. Dermot talks to Jahmene, wonders how he’s feeling. Jahmene encourages James to “use this platform wisely” as though winning the X-Factor is some dangerous weapon of mass destruction. Which I guess it is.

Thank you to the five people who read this, I love you all. Well, I love three of you. I can’t stand one and I’m indifferent about another. See you all next year for what will surely be the final series of this fucking travesty of a sham of a mockery of a television show. I anticipate we’ll have a new presenter, Emeli Sandé, and a new judging panel, made up of 4 clones of Emeli Sandé.

Here's another picture of Emeli Sandé to keep you going until you next see her, at 11pm when she presents the weather. (Heavy showers and the chance of some Emeli Sandé)