X-Factor 2012 Final: Part One

IT’S TIME! TO FACE! THE FINAL!

I had to endure a Michael Bublé cover of All I Wannt for Xmas Is You earlier. I described it on Facebook as “soul-crushingly, bowel liquefyingly awful”. However, I realise that it was probably necessary to listen to such horrors to steel myself for the four-hour, two-night finale to the X-Factor 2012. And what a year it’s been for the X-Factor. The producers actually managed to make the audition stages of the show worse by implementing insipid TOWIE-inspired scripted backstage footage that made the previous editorial approach seem raw and uncut. A humanity-hating Melanie B was the only bright spot in a parade of impotent guest judges drafted in to replace Kelly Rowland when Plan B of Dannii’ll-Come-Back-Won’t-She? fell through. Ratings have fallen dramatically, there’s an uninspired judging panel whose only tolerable member is a bat-shit crazy ex-Pussycat Doll, and the finalists are a limp choice of three different shades of blandness. And then there’s the small matter of Christopher Maloney being Satan, of course.

The finale is live from Manchester, and that’s one massive fucking crowd pretending to enjoy Dermot O’Leary’s extended dancing shtick. From there it’s a quick segue onto the finalists, led by Rylan singing Gangnam Style, performing a mash-up of all our favourite performances from the show this year. Look, there’s Union J and District 3 on scooters for some reason! Remember District 3? Remember Jade Ellis? Of course you don’t, me neither! Oh look, it’s the second coming of Epona, the Celtic Goddess of Donkeys, Mules and Horses, in her mortal form as Ella the Baby Pony and Adele Clone. Kye stares disdainfully into the camera with eyes that cry, “Why didn’t you love me, you cancer-riddled testicles?”

We’re introduced to the finalists. Jahmene tells us that he is very excited to be there, while showing all the excitement of a rigid 3-day old corpse. Shrek receives a ridiculously applause-filled reception after he mutters something stupid from his sloth-hole. Chris Maloney says something about his nan, probably.

Nicole introduces her lamb chop Jahmene for his first performance. This being the final, they are of course bringing each of the contestants back home and asking them to bid farewell to their former lives... for 18 months until their albums are on sale in bargain bins and they have to go back with their tails between their legs. Given how deformed he is, I imagine that in James’s case “tail between his legs” probably isn’t a metaphor. Anyway, Jahmene goes back to visit the dungeon he was raised in by his father, Josef Fritzel. “And that’s the spot where he turned a blow torch on you!” squeals Nicole as Jahmene does his “Heh Huh” laugh of emotional deadness. Then it’s back to Asda! Look, there’s Pauline who spits into the bread! There’s Sophie who does the tills, but today she’s on hygiene so she hates the world. If you cross her today, that bitch will cut you. And here’s Jahmene’s church, which represents the part of his life that’s obviously very dear to him but which the cynic in me says the producers have deliberately tried to hide or downplay a wee little bit. Then it’s on to to sing for more people in the centre of Swindon than are actually present in Manchester Central for the actual final.

Song-time, and Jahmene’s predictably tedious screech-fest is Move On Up. Upbeat Jahmene for the final? What a risky endeavour. But don’t worry, it’s still Jahmene by the books – there’s wailing and screeching and notes that could shatter the firmament arranged incompetently and delivered with all the subtlety of a kick to the fanny-flaps.

JUDGES! You’re in the final says Louis. You have so much soul, unlike that demon hell beast Christopher Maloney. You’re the little guy from Asda and you’re like a little Luthor Vandross. If you’re playing the X-Factor drinking game at home, you are now dead. Gary Barlow says some words but no one notices because he’s a boring shit. Tulisa is too busy crying about her massive flop of a debut album to offer any criticism. Nicole shouts a lot of words and exhorts Manchester to show some love. When Chris comes on I hope she encourages them to show their disdain. Then it’s over to Caroline Flack and Pastor Tim for further inane chat. Maybe when Chris transforms into his true form later in the evening Pastor Tim can stage an exorcism and save us all. Assuming that Caroline Flack hasn't slept with him by then and polluted his soul.

Speaking of the Evil One, it’s time for Chris’s intro VT! Just six months ago he was working in a call centre in Liverpool. And in just six months time he’ll be back there! Call Centre is probably a euphemism for Premium Rate Sex Chat. Chris was fired for being too weird. “What are you wearing?” his callers would enquire. “A saucy French beret and THE PULPED FLESH OF MY ENEMIES”, he would respond. Oh look, here’s Baba Yaga herself, Chris’s Nan. And Gary’s there too. Then they all have a nice cup of tea and a sit down and it is literally the most boring thing you have ever seen on television, unless watching a 76 year-old converse about sausage rolls with the lead singer of a 90s boyband is your idea of a good time. Then it’s on to Chris’s performance for the Liverpudlians, and we get to meet some of the fuckers who’ve been voting for him. “Go away with your hip-hop, we want to listen to Chris”, says a scarily deranged looking woman, who is also the only one under 60 at the free gig. "I'm voting for Christopher Maloney because I know his mum and his nan and I know everyone they know because we got to the same bingo”, adds a random pensioner. Is this show even trying to capture a youth audience any more?

Performance time! The staging sees Chris emerging from a massive tape deck. STRAIGHT OUTTA THE 80s, BITCHES. As Chris parades about singing the soundtrack to Flashdance, I can only cower in fear at the knowledge that there’s another 90 minutes of this to sit through. And a whole other 120 minutes for show two! KILL ME NOW. His performance would be much more watchable if it saw him attempt to recreate key scenes from Flashdance, such as sitting in a chair and emptying the contents of a suspended bucket of water all over himself. It’d be even more watchable still if someone replaced the water with sulphuric acid. It’s worth noting that at no point do Chris’s nerves threaten to overwhelm him, despite the fact that he’s singing for 10,000 people. Empirical proof that the X-Factor is both more effective and faster acting at treating anxiety than a course of SSRIs.

MeNan berates Chris for being a loser

JUDGES! I think Louis Walsh is purposely hitting the clichés at this point, as he spouts a series of predictable Louisisms. But either way, DRINK! Nicole completely avoids saying anything about the performance, while Tulisa blows her nose into a Kleenex while muttering "Number...35?". Caroline Flack asks Chris’s nan if she’s delighted at how her evil scheme has come together. She throws her head back, cackles wildly and masturbates with a crucifix while singing, “Come little children, I'll take thee away, Into a land of enchantment”.

James Arthur! Went home to “the North East”. Are we unable to specify exactly where James is from? Is he actually a person in witness protection wearing prosthetics to look that ugly? Awww, James has a nan too! And she isn’t evil like Chris’s one. James and Nicole visit his old bedsit, which is about the size of Nicole’s shoe closet. Girls cry when they see James Arthur as he walks about “the North East”. Possibly because they didn’t think anyone could be that hideous. Then he sings for several thousand people in an undisclosed location while Nicole grabs her crotch and twerks out to the dubstep Adele. Apparently that’s what the kids are into these days.

The performance begins with a horribly contrived opening tracing James from backstage to front-of-house so he can inflict a Bublé-ish interpretation of Feeling Good upon us. Look, it didn’t work when Frankie Cocozza did it and it doesn’t work when someone only marginally less irritating does it. Needless to say, about halfway through, Bublé Feeling Good turns into Poor Man’s Dubstep Feeling Good, and to be honest I’m completely torn on which approach is worse. Maybe they’re just two very different kinds of horrible. Like getting a splinter in your urethra compared with being arse-raped by a broken glass bottle. James gasps and wails and makes nasally sounds and random noises that Thom Yorke would be proud of.

JUDGES! Louis manages to use about 80% of his screentime before making a clichéd remark, which I think is some kind of record. Tulisa says that it’s a matter of patriotism to vote for James, or something. Then she reminds us that The Female Boss is currently on sale at just 1.99. Gary fawns over James and makes it clear he thinks he’s worth about 50 Chris Maloneys. Nicole goes the Louis Walsh route of using the song lyrics/title in her critique but does so to such an extent that she might as well just be reciting the entire songbook.

I didn’t pay attention to the going-into-the-audience part, as I was too busy being emotionally dead following the pure raw talent of James Arthur. If the previous two Caroline Flack: LIVE! Segments were anything to go by, it probably involved talking to either Bishop Desmond Tutu or the reincarnation of Aleister Crowley.

Kelly Clarkson is up now to promote her Greatest Hits album. Kelly Clarkson sings over a montage of black and white highlights from the series. It’s vaguely like that bit at the Oscars where someone wails while all the dead people’s faces flash up on-screen and the audience prepares to care about the ones who weren’t famous actors or directors. Look love, I don’t care how great a boom mic assistant operator you are, you weren’t Liz Taylor. Out of the corner of my eye Kelly looks vaguely like a Pregnant Anna Paquin, so I’m going to pretend I live in a parallel world where Sookie Stackhouse left the vampires of Bon Temps behind to pursue a career in music. This, in turn, reminds me to Google pictures of Ryan Kwanten's arse, which I haven't done in a while.

It’s duets time now. They’re keeping the tradition they started last year of having the contestants perform with their mentors rather than any of the celebrity guests. Which is a pity, because I really would’ve loved to have seen Chris sing What's My Name with Rihanna. This also means that Nicole will be singing twice. I sure hope she’s en pointe tonight. The VT introducing Jahmene and Nic’s duet is all about how nice Nicole is. They’re singing The Greatest Love Of All together, or they would be if someone hadn’t fucked up and forgotten to turn Nicole’s microphone on. Therefore, she has to make a grab for Jahmene’s mic and share it with him, thus ruining whatever outstanding masterpiece  of choreography they had in mind for this limp ballad. Someone’s being fired and/or boiled alive in Chris’s Nan’s cauldron for this.

Next up is Gary and Christopher. They’re singing Take That’s Rule the World, of course. See, as he gets closer to victory, Chris’s ultimate goal is within his grasp, and his desire to conquer all is spilling over into his performances. HE WANTS TO RULE THE WORLD. Imagine a world where Dread Emperor Chris is in charge. Innocent people living under the yoke of 7 foot tall, orange-skinned shock troops, with power ballads as national anthems. Anyone who listens to any song that originates from 1990 onwards immediately sent to the blast furnaces used to manufacture replacement hips for MeNan.

The unholy offspring of James and Nicole

Finally, it's James and Nicole! Which means another VT about how great Nicole is. The moral of the VT is that James loves Nicole, basically. After watching it, I think I’m going to write some fanfic about Nicole and James now. Imagine what strange children they’d have. They perform Make you Feel My Love. Sparks fall from the ceiling and slither about the stage and for a moment I think it’s the rain of fire foretold by Revelation until I remember it’s just shitty pyrotechnics.

While the X-Factor producers fix the results to give them their preferred ending, Rita Ora shows up to perform a song surrounded by burnt out cars. So basically like a post-apocalyptic scene? X-Factor staging guys, you’re seriously making this too easy for me. It’s like you actively want me to recycle me Chris-ageddon jokes. But poor TRita Ora. She had a tough week, as some Kardashian waste-of-space she’d been dating revealed she’d cavorted with 50,000 other men or something. And then implied she’d aborted their child. Frankly, if Rita Ora aborted a Kardashian foetus then I personally think we should be applauding her. The entire episode is yet more evidence for the prosecution in Common Sense vs. Celebrities Using Twitter.

Then it’s Kylie Minogue’s turn to promote a Greatest Hits album. Or an orchestral album. Or whatever the fuck it is. This being Kylie, it is of course the campest orchestra ever, featuring light up fibre-optic cellos that are probably being played by models in speedos or something. If you listen to Kylie’s performance backwards, it’s actually an impassioned plea to bring back Dannii Minogue as the voice of occasional constructive criticism on this show.

RESULTS! Jahmene is safe! James s safe! It’s an all-Nicole final. Chris is devastated and his Nan disowns him on-stage. But the world is safe! And the rest of this blog is safe from end-of-the-world jokes! REJOICE! Jahmene picks up James and spins him around for some reason. Maybe’s he’s drunk. Nicole sure sounds like she’s drunk. Maybe we’re all drunk! I know I am! And that's for the best, because there’s a whole other 2 hour freakshow to get through before I can get my life back. YAY. Fuck my life.