Despite bringing in Kylie Minogue, the flawed concept behind The Voice leaves it a bit flat
What's going on in *The Voice* (BBC1, Saturday) then? Andy, a clean-cut boyish estate agent from north Wales, is up first. "When I walk out on to the stage it's sort of all eyes on me," he says, optimistically. "Everybody's thinking is he good, isn't he good?"
A couple of bars in and I'm thinking he isn't. Isn't good. His version of Olly Murs's Dance With Me Tonight is a little above average karaoke, I'd say. The judges, wisely, agree with me, don't turn around. "I think it just didn't happen today, but that doesn't mean it can't tomorrow," says Ricky from the Kaiser Chiefs. Well, it kinda does actually; this was Andy's one big chance, and he blew it. "Just learn from it, and keep singing, and stop being an estate agent," Ricky goes on. So you're not very good at singing but give up your job anyway – sound advice, Andy.
Will.he.is has a roadkill parable for Andy. "You're driving a car, you hit an opossum. Did you kill it? Cos right now I got out the car and it's moving around still. [Adopts opossum voice] 'Put me out of my misery'." Oh, I see (maybe); he's saying Andy didn't kill the opossum/song. There aren't a lot of opossums in north Wales are there?
They – Andy and Will – then have an estate agent-off, try to sell imaginary houses to Kylie Minogue. "I need to know about my neighbours though … sorry, I just said Neighbours," says Kylie. Ha. You can take the girl out of the soap, but even over a quarter of a century on … you know how it goes. It's the same with her younger sister too; I was having a chat with Dannii just the other day, as it happens, about the way the Premier League is going. (Can you tell where this is going? Apols, in advance.) She said: "It's just a question of whether Man City can do it home and away …"
Kylie's good news here – lovely, proper starry, flirty and funny. "I often find myself going 'Tom Tom Tom'," she says when the audience does just that. "Just not in front of so many people."
But issues with The Voice remain. That the problem with not having all the comedy crud (as X Factor and BGT do) to start with and beginning with only strong candidates might mean a higher average level of singing talent, but also means there's a lack of both laughs and any sense of progression. That the post chair-spinning rounds lack drama. That the presenters have no proper role to play (a shame in the case of Emma Willis – emma will.is – who's good, I think). And, not least, that there's a big fat lie at the heart of The Voice: the real music industry isn't all about the voice; The Look and The Act are pretty important too
Nicely illustrated here in fact. This fella Si Genaro, who lives in a forest, mainly chasing badgers, and has something of Swampy about him, doesn't get a chair-spin with his (admittedly shambolic) rendition of Men at Work's Down Under. But, as Ricky admits, it's the highlight of the night, because of his sheer exuberance and energy. And then the judges turn round, meet Si, who's hilarious, and he does his funky Chicken Train song. Will and Kylie do the chicken thing, the audience is up and dancing, even Ricky taps his feet. The Voice, finally, has been brought to life. By a reject. Who has to then go back to his forest.
[Awkward link alert] There's another chicken in *The Bridge* (BBC4, Saturday), blasted at point blank range by the mysterious Viktoria because doing that approximates to one of the things on her bucket list.
It's actually one of the least worrying things in these two episodes. There's so much to disturb and chill about the place – the disowning of one sister, another sister masturbated over, the (not quite totally) dissolving of bodies in barrels of acids, the omnipresent fear and the feeling that no one is safe. What keeps me awake most is the poison, coming down that tube, into the arm of whoever's unfortunate enough to be strapped to the gurney today. Like a 21st century version of my favourite Sherlock Holmes story, The Adventures of the Speckled Band, about a deadly snake that comes down a bell rope above a bed. Same outcome. It – the poison – is the same yellowish brown colour as Saga's Porsche, have you noticed?
Anyway, for a proper group-panic and analysis see Stuart Jeffries' brilliant series blog. And if you're not watching, catch up, on the iPlayer. Quick before it's too late! Because The Bridge is, quite simply, by far the best thing on television right now. Reported by guardian.co.uk 12 hours ago.
What's going on in *The Voice* (BBC1, Saturday) then? Andy, a clean-cut boyish estate agent from north Wales, is up first. "When I walk out on to the stage it's sort of all eyes on me," he says, optimistically. "Everybody's thinking is he good, isn't he good?"
A couple of bars in and I'm thinking he isn't. Isn't good. His version of Olly Murs's Dance With Me Tonight is a little above average karaoke, I'd say. The judges, wisely, agree with me, don't turn around. "I think it just didn't happen today, but that doesn't mean it can't tomorrow," says Ricky from the Kaiser Chiefs. Well, it kinda does actually; this was Andy's one big chance, and he blew it. "Just learn from it, and keep singing, and stop being an estate agent," Ricky goes on. So you're not very good at singing but give up your job anyway – sound advice, Andy.
Will.he.is has a roadkill parable for Andy. "You're driving a car, you hit an opossum. Did you kill it? Cos right now I got out the car and it's moving around still. [Adopts opossum voice] 'Put me out of my misery'." Oh, I see (maybe); he's saying Andy didn't kill the opossum/song. There aren't a lot of opossums in north Wales are there?
They – Andy and Will – then have an estate agent-off, try to sell imaginary houses to Kylie Minogue. "I need to know about my neighbours though … sorry, I just said Neighbours," says Kylie. Ha. You can take the girl out of the soap, but even over a quarter of a century on … you know how it goes. It's the same with her younger sister too; I was having a chat with Dannii just the other day, as it happens, about the way the Premier League is going. (Can you tell where this is going? Apols, in advance.) She said: "It's just a question of whether Man City can do it home and away …"
Kylie's good news here – lovely, proper starry, flirty and funny. "I often find myself going 'Tom Tom Tom'," she says when the audience does just that. "Just not in front of so many people."
But issues with The Voice remain. That the problem with not having all the comedy crud (as X Factor and BGT do) to start with and beginning with only strong candidates might mean a higher average level of singing talent, but also means there's a lack of both laughs and any sense of progression. That the post chair-spinning rounds lack drama. That the presenters have no proper role to play (a shame in the case of Emma Willis – emma will.is – who's good, I think). And, not least, that there's a big fat lie at the heart of The Voice: the real music industry isn't all about the voice; The Look and The Act are pretty important too
Nicely illustrated here in fact. This fella Si Genaro, who lives in a forest, mainly chasing badgers, and has something of Swampy about him, doesn't get a chair-spin with his (admittedly shambolic) rendition of Men at Work's Down Under. But, as Ricky admits, it's the highlight of the night, because of his sheer exuberance and energy. And then the judges turn round, meet Si, who's hilarious, and he does his funky Chicken Train song. Will and Kylie do the chicken thing, the audience is up and dancing, even Ricky taps his feet. The Voice, finally, has been brought to life. By a reject. Who has to then go back to his forest.
[Awkward link alert] There's another chicken in *The Bridge* (BBC4, Saturday), blasted at point blank range by the mysterious Viktoria because doing that approximates to one of the things on her bucket list.
It's actually one of the least worrying things in these two episodes. There's so much to disturb and chill about the place – the disowning of one sister, another sister masturbated over, the (not quite totally) dissolving of bodies in barrels of acids, the omnipresent fear and the feeling that no one is safe. What keeps me awake most is the poison, coming down that tube, into the arm of whoever's unfortunate enough to be strapped to the gurney today. Like a 21st century version of my favourite Sherlock Holmes story, The Adventures of the Speckled Band, about a deadly snake that comes down a bell rope above a bed. Same outcome. It – the poison – is the same yellowish brown colour as Saga's Porsche, have you noticed?
Anyway, for a proper group-panic and analysis see Stuart Jeffries' brilliant series blog. And if you're not watching, catch up, on the iPlayer. Quick before it's too late! Because The Bridge is, quite simply, by far the best thing on television right now. Reported by guardian.co.uk 12 hours ago.