It would not be possible for me to claim in good conscience that I enjoy Eurovision. My love of kitsch only extends so far, after all. On the other hand, it is a perfect two-hour encapsulation of our continent's glorious insanity. It's like a high-budget Eurotrash special, only without the tits. Just last night I got to see three women turn into butterflies, a robot stripping, and a half dozen Armenians worshipping a giant apricot stone. I doubt that this is what taking acid is actually like, but it's the best conception of it I can manage absent experience.
Almost as much fun as watching the madness unfold is the attempt to predict the eventual winner. This time, for once, I actually managed it. Turns out there's a system. Ignore the quality of the song, or the stage show, or even the technical ability of the singer, and just go for the sheer flat-out enthusiasm on display. In those terms, Lena was the clear winner. Sure, to our untrained eyes it looks like the vat-grown love child of Sarah Silverman and Fairuza Balk is singing in a cockney accent via Canberra. But the Eurovision aficionado understands better. To them, all that matters is that she did it in the style of a woman desperately stoned and who's just had the best sex of her life. And that, my friends, is Europe.
2 comments:
I wasn't able to play guess the winner because it turns out that Chemie's bizarre and frankly suspicious dislike of Eurovision extends to her whole family. But we did catch the poor hopeless British entry.
For the record I think the winner's accent sounds like an American pretending to be Irish.
I like the songs. I dislike the endless europrattle in-between. I also have some serious issues with the 'English' utilised. I would deduct points for poor English and intonation from either the competitors or the people who read out the votes for their country.
In particular 10 points will be deducted for the incorrect use of 'Good Night'.
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