Eurovision Final review
Yet again I’ve made myself completely ridiculous by shouting out “she’s good, but she’ll never win. Ballads always finish second”. So, for next year when I say that, the song *will* probably win. Good to know!
Our living room was stuffed with 14 people, one of them a Eurovision virgin, all busy scribbling notes and giving rude comments. Of course I missed the opening act again, due to latecomers (-grmbl- I swear, next year they’ll just have to stay at the front door till the end of the show!), but I noticed Lordi were there with massive fireworks, all very impressive.
“I want that lot to win!!” I thought. Er, well, they won last year, they’re not actually *in* the competition this time. Oh. Pity.
First of all, we must all thank Anja Daems and André Vermeulen for their utterly hilarious commentary. We salute you.
Anja tells us every female singer will be using the famous wind machine tonight. The thing was probably so expensive they feel they have to use it to the fullest. “I really don’t want to use the wind machine, actually, the act is fine without it” - “No, you must. It’s in the rules of the contest!”
First song was Bosnia with… well, what on earth was that dress she was wearing?! Not only was the cut terrible, it was also in some kind of vomit green. Bosnia’s backing singers stand there like Biblical pillars of salt until they “come to life” and make weird arm-movements that make me think of MacBeth’s Witches. Then suddenly, on comes Legolas –looking like he’s been dead for a few weeks (Dj Bobo, you were right!) - armed with some kind of banjo (or whatever, I’m no expert) to hug the lead singer. I probably don’t *want* to know the explanation of the choreography. I quite liked the song, but the staging was terrible and this was not a good song to open with.
Then Spain brings us our Boyband for the evening, “the muchachos” as André calls them (oh André, you old flirt). The “cheese factor’” is immense. For some reason women are drumming onstage, there’s off-key vocalising and we play a game of “spot the straight boy”. It takes us a while to find one, but that’s what Eurovision’s for. No-one on The Sofa notices when the boys switch to English, which is proof of how fabulous their accent is.
Belarus’s Princess Diana (thanks, Theloa) didn’t even bother to put on a different shirt since Thursday. Boo! He’s still “able and wheeling” to do everything for us and more and more we notice the sad plight of the fat backing singer. Standing to the side, she’s not even allowed in on the “wall-pushing and –pulling”. It’s discrimination, that is! Anja tells us Koldun has his “baby tooth around his neck”. More and more like Terry Wogan every year, our Anja.
On we go to Ireland and not even our resident half-Irish (not sure which half) can pretend this is good. The poor girl looks absolutely paralysed with fear: “So many people! Help! Get me the fuck out of here!”. One too many Xanax, who knows?! She starts swaying from leg to leg like autistic kids do when they try to calm themselves down. I’m cringing and I just want this ordeal to be over with as soon as possible. For all our sakes. Out comes a little drum (a “bodhran” ResidentHalfIrishMan furiously corrects me) and she lets go a little, but it’s a relief for everyone when the song’s over. Damn, Ireland. You really don’t want to win, do you.
Big applause and fireworks because there’s Finland and boy, doesn’t she look absolutely pissed off to be there. Never have I heard anyone sing “leave me alone, I want to go home” with more conviction than tonight. Anja tells us she won the Finnish Pop Idol and she was probably forced to take part. Well, she’s not happy about it and makes sure we notice. Why she’s wearing a Dramatic Dress is beyond me, why she didn’t comb her hair as well and she’s got a glare to rival Alan Rickman’s. Help!
During the postcard for Macedonia we notice that Anja and André didn’t bother to write new jokes, but they convincingly pretend they’ve never heard the Finnish presentation-jokes either. Very nice of them. I wonder what Macedonia’s strange ballet choreography has to do with anything, but then what do I know. We discuss whether Karolina does –as Anja said- have nice legs (the majority agrees) and I enjoy her singing “we leave a dream”. Don’t ever leave your dreams, Karolina. Not ever!
Slovenia doesn’t convince our resident Gaylords when she starts singing, but once the bombastic “marching of the communist army”-music starts, she quickly wins everyone on The Sofa over. It must be handy to always have a nightlight on hand (get it? “on hand” … sometimes I scare myself) and she’s singing so enthusiastically one of her sleeves falls off her shoulder. But “she doesn’t need sleeves!”, The Girlfriend proclaims. Too right, she doesn’t. “I think she can lift off any minute” Anja says. Anja! Honestly!
What I don’t get though, why is Slovenia always overlooked by their neighbours? They ended only 15th with a song that was infinitely better than Bosnia’s for instance. Anyone can shed some light on this?
But then Hungary is back and I feared this might win. Feared because while it’s good, it doesn’t touch me. Everyone on the Sofa’s a fan though, and I amuse myself with listening to her sing “I beliewe you”. Eurovision is so much more amusing now everyone can choose their own language to sing in!
Poor Lithuania (kinda like the UK) could not have had a worse draw, coming behind a good ballad like Hungary. Consequently no-one even notices Lithuania, despite the nifty shadowplay, the guitar and (most importantly) the leather jacket.
Luckily enough Greece can light our fire (and our desire, obviously) with the most unintentionally hilarious dance routine of the evening. Sarbel blatantly stole Sertab’s dance routine and forgot that he’s not a woman. He doesn’t have any boobs and shaking his chest doesn’t make much of an impression. Ronald thinks the act would have worked better with guys than girls, and I agree, though I’m scared to think which particular part of their anatomy they’d end up shaking then. Sarbel could have worn something a bit more impressive than a grey tracksuit, and he is yet another Ricky Martin lookalike to be sent to Eurovision by Greece. Nevertheless it’s his plagiarism of Sertab’s routine (and Claudia Beni’s!) that really pisses me off. Find your own routine, Sarbel!
And then Georgia is back and Baloo points out Sopho might actually be Condie Rice in disguise. You know, I do see it! The act is still the same as in the semi (obviously), apart from one of the Ballet Ninja Turtle dancers making a funny face at the camera (what is it with us? See a camera and all of a sudden we pull faces, stick out our tongue and start jumping up and down “notice me! Notice me!” You’re on a stage, you twit, we’re all noticing you!).
As for Sweden’s The Ark: Duvelman is disappointed that the lead singer “doesn’t have any tits” (-sigh- straight men), but I keep shouting “You go Sister!” at the telly. What a guy! Then he throws off his jacket and lies down on the floor. The Sofa starts shouting “You stole my mojo, Dr Evil!”, but I’m in love. Unfortunately for the Swedes, unless they send Abba (-clones) or Carola, they don’t do much in this contest. Damn you, voting public! Damn you!
It was Pride in Belgium this Saturday and France brought tribute to that. What a fabulous song and routine. “Why are they singing with an English accent?” someone asks. Simple. Because they can! Because it’s fabulous! For some reason Jean-Paul Gaultier has sewn a plush cat on one of the suits, which is… a tad bizarre, even for Eurovision. Just a tad though. The fact that it took me till the end of the song to actually *notice* the cat, shows how much we’re used to in this contest. This song ends incredibly underrated.
Latvia’s six funeral directors bore us to tears and I’m so glad they didn’t do much after all (I feared for top 5). All these guys do is walk around on stage and someone points out they don’t even handle *that* well. André says they want Italy to feel morally obliged to take part in the contest again. You know, I think it might work: “We can bring crap like that so much better”.
Oh, but we’re ready for Russia, three young girls in school uniforms (though, as Bietje pointed out, a school uniform without a tie just isn’t as impressive), stroking their microphone stands, singing about “tasting their cherry pies”. Who writes this stuff and what do they tell the girls they’re singing about? “It’s about cooking, honest”. “Don’t call me funny bunny”, they sing. Well alright, I won’t. Why on earth would I?!
Germany hasn’t got over the election of Angela Merkel and sings about how women rule the world. Again, very jazzclub, the intellectual viewer loves it, I sit there and sigh. André says it’s the best thing Germany’s sent in ages. Obviously he’s already forgotten about Lou’s “let’s get happy and let’s be gay” then! Some research, André, please!
The Girlfriend and I are nearly moved to tears when Ms Serifovic represents Serbia and even Anja notices the lesbian choreography (I would’ve believed it was all innocent, that’s how naïve I am). I love this song. (Hee, Serbia winning will mean the audience in Belgrade won’t boo as much for former Yugoslavian votes!)
And I also love The Ukraine! Immediately The Sofa sits straight, perks their ears and is wildly enthusiastic. Verka has bigger boobs than I thought she would have (one thinks about these things), her dance routine is fantastically ridiculous, she slaps her backing singer on the arse and I see visions of Kyiv 2008. It would probably have to be in a barn, because where will the Ukraine find the money to organise it yet again?
Before the UK even starts André says the main question is whether or not they’ll get nill points. I guess he’s not a fan then. Probably still a bit bitter his favourite Andorra was chucked out of the semi (anyone else notice the “Where is Andorra” banner in the audience? Hilarious!). The UK could not have had a worse draw. Two silly acts, where one’s clearly better and more original, right behind each other. I really liked “Flying the Flag”, (oh shut it) but it drowns in Verka’s shadow. One of the girls is made up like a clown and the other one acts like a slut when she wishes everyone a “pleasurable” journey. See, that just wasn’t necessary.
And it’s another silly act with Romania, but again this is funny and well, yes, quite a bit stereotypical, but I can’t help but grin and sway along. There’s male bonding on stage, kissing even (Umlaut claims they shout out “homo chachacha”), they’re all jolly good friends and yet again they ask Italy to come back to the contest. “We’ll continue referring to you in a stereotypical fashion till you get so pissed off you’ll either start a war or take part in the contest again”. I think the Big Four would like Italy to come back as well, for some good old fashioned Western European bloc voting. I expect the lobbying to start soon.
Anja claims the Bulgarian girl looks like Ruslana (what? Because she has long hair?) and The Sofa shouts “MulletMan rules”! I however fear there’ll be 20 drum-acts in next year’s Eurovision, next to 20 fake balkan hymns, and hope this doesn’t do too well. Alas, I’m doomed.
After Greece, it’s another entry for Sertab when Turkey takes to the stage. “Let me see your hands in the air” he shouts. No. First you tell us what “candy you have for me” instead, because what on earth are you on about? At first we think the backing singer is yet another drag queen, but close inspection of the man in question shows that he’s wearing trousers. Ah, it would have been nice though.
Onto the “Johnny Logan of Armenia”, according to Anja. She immediately warns us Hayko is popular with emigrants so he’ll get a lot of votes. He’s brought his own tree to Finland (“it’s cold there, they might not have any”) and has tied toilet paper to its branches. The wind machine gives the whole thing an even spookier look (if that was possible) and nearly breaks the damned tree when one of the branches comes dangerously close to ripping off. Now that would have been interesting television! The song would have sounded a lot better in Armenian and everyone on The Sofa falls asleep. Pity, cos I quite liked this.
Then Miss “Underwear Or Not” is back for Moldova and here and there people come out of the closet and say they quite like this. I spot Ola from Sweden waving one of the flags in the background (the Swedish are good with their flags, they’ve been taught by the best), while the rest of the backing dancers struggle with theirs (Can’t. Get. Them. Off. My. Hands. Help. Me!). And isn’t it weird how you keep hearing a violin even when she’s finished “playing” it!? Strange!
And that’s it for the songs. Onto the interval and all I can wonder about is, if the woman on the trapeze were to fall down, crushing several audience members, when would we know who won the contest? Luckily that won’t happen, because The Girlfriend helpfully points out there’s a rope tying her to the thing. Thank god! Priorities, people!
There’s hilarity and a bit of pity when Ireland gives the only two countries placed lower than them points, causing *them* to end up last. And there’s immense joy in the lesbian part of the living room when Marija –balkanbloc or no- wins the whole thing. “Lesbians for Europe, unite”, indeed.
And because we take this far too seriously and have too much time on our hands: the top ten from The Sofa:
1. Ukraine (105 points)
2. Slovenia (94)
3. Serbia (88)
4. Georgia (43)
5. Hungary (42)
(6. Bulgaria, 7. Belarus, 8. Greece, 9. France, 10. Moldova) – Look at that, we’re Eastbloc voters!
On another note: could they please put up the scores bigger, because maybe it’s the fact that not everyone has a 150 inch flatscreen tv, but I couldn’t for the life of me read the scores in detail. Very frustrating.
(In case you're interested there's a mini-rant about the whole politics debate here.)
‘t Was a good year I think. Onto the next!
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Yet again I’ve made myself completely ridiculous
Our living room was stuffed with 14 people, one of them a Eurovision virgin, all busy scribbling notes and giving rude comments. Of course I missed the opening act again, due to latecomers (-grmbl- I swear, next year they’ll just have to stay at the front door till the end of the show!), but I noticed Lordi were there with massive fireworks, all very impressive.
“I want that lot to win!!” I thought. Er, well, they won last year, they’re not actually *in* the competition this time. Oh. Pity.
First of all, we must all thank Anja Daems and André Vermeulen for their utterly hilarious commentary. We salute you.
Anja tells us every female singer will be using the famous wind machine tonight. The thing was probably so expensive they feel they have to use it to the fullest. “I really don’t want to use the wind machine, actually, the act is fine without it” - “No, you must. It’s in the rules of the contest!”
First song was Bosnia with… well, what on earth was that dress she was wearing?! Not only was the cut terrible, it was also in some kind of vomit green. Bosnia’s backing singers stand there like Biblical pillars of salt until they “come to life” and make weird arm-movements that make me think of MacBeth’s Witches. Then suddenly, on comes Legolas –looking like he’s been dead for a few weeks (Dj Bobo, you were right!) - armed with some kind of banjo (or whatever, I’m no expert) to hug the lead singer. I probably don’t *want* to know the explanation of the choreography. I quite liked the song, but the staging was terrible and this was not a good song to open with.
Then Spain brings us our Boyband for the evening, “the muchachos” as André calls them (oh André, you old flirt). The “cheese factor’” is immense. For some reason women are drumming onstage, there’s off-key vocalising and we play a game of “spot the straight boy”. It takes us a while to find one, but that’s what Eurovision’s for. No-one on The Sofa notices when the boys switch to English, which is proof of how fabulous their accent is.
Belarus’s Princess Diana (thanks, Theloa) didn’t even bother to put on a different shirt since Thursday. Boo! He’s still “able and wheeling” to do everything for us and more and more we notice the sad plight of the fat backing singer. Standing to the side, she’s not even allowed in on the “wall-pushing and –pulling”. It’s discrimination, that is! Anja tells us Koldun has his “baby tooth around his neck”. More and more like Terry Wogan every year, our Anja.
On we go to Ireland and not even our resident half-Irish (not sure which half) can pretend this is good. The poor girl looks absolutely paralysed with fear: “So many people! Help! Get me the fuck out of here!”. One too many Xanax, who knows?! She starts swaying from leg to leg like autistic kids do when they try to calm themselves down. I’m cringing and I just want this ordeal to be over with as soon as possible. For all our sakes. Out comes a little drum (a “bodhran” ResidentHalfIrishMan furiously corrects me) and she lets go a little, but it’s a relief for everyone when the song’s over. Damn, Ireland. You really don’t want to win, do you.
Big applause and fireworks because there’s Finland and boy, doesn’t she look absolutely pissed off to be there. Never have I heard anyone sing “leave me alone, I want to go home” with more conviction than tonight. Anja tells us she won the Finnish Pop Idol and she was probably forced to take part. Well, she’s not happy about it and makes sure we notice. Why she’s wearing a Dramatic Dress is beyond me, why she didn’t comb her hair as well and she’s got a glare to rival Alan Rickman’s. Help!
During the postcard for Macedonia we notice that Anja and André didn’t bother to write new jokes, but they convincingly pretend they’ve never heard the Finnish presentation-jokes either. Very nice of them. I wonder what Macedonia’s strange ballet choreography has to do with anything, but then what do I know. We discuss whether Karolina does –as Anja said- have nice legs (the majority agrees) and I enjoy her singing “we leave a dream”. Don’t ever leave your dreams, Karolina. Not ever!
Slovenia doesn’t convince our resident Gaylords when she starts singing, but once the bombastic “marching of the communist army”-music starts, she quickly wins everyone on The Sofa over. It must be handy to always have a nightlight on hand (get it? “on hand” … sometimes I scare myself) and she’s singing so enthusiastically one of her sleeves falls off her shoulder. But “she doesn’t need sleeves!”, The Girlfriend proclaims. Too right, she doesn’t. “I think she can lift off any minute” Anja says. Anja! Honestly!
What I don’t get though, why is Slovenia always overlooked by their neighbours? They ended only 15th with a song that was infinitely better than Bosnia’s for instance. Anyone can shed some light on this?
But then Hungary is back and I feared this might win. Feared because while it’s good, it doesn’t touch me. Everyone on the Sofa’s a fan though, and I amuse myself with listening to her sing “I beliewe you”. Eurovision is so much more amusing now everyone can choose their own language to sing in!
Poor Lithuania (kinda like the UK) could not have had a worse draw, coming behind a good ballad like Hungary. Consequently no-one even notices Lithuania, despite the nifty shadowplay, the guitar and (most importantly) the leather jacket.
Luckily enough Greece can light our fire (and our desire, obviously) with the most unintentionally hilarious dance routine of the evening. Sarbel blatantly stole Sertab’s dance routine and forgot that he’s not a woman. He doesn’t have any boobs and shaking his chest doesn’t make much of an impression. Ronald thinks the act would have worked better with guys than girls, and I agree, though I’m scared to think which particular part of their anatomy they’d end up shaking then. Sarbel could have worn something a bit more impressive than a grey tracksuit, and he is yet another Ricky Martin lookalike to be sent to Eurovision by Greece. Nevertheless it’s his plagiarism of Sertab’s routine (and Claudia Beni’s!) that really pisses me off. Find your own routine, Sarbel!
And then Georgia is back and Baloo points out Sopho might actually be Condie Rice in disguise. You know, I do see it! The act is still the same as in the semi (obviously), apart from one of the Ballet Ninja Turtle dancers making a funny face at the camera (what is it with us? See a camera and all of a sudden we pull faces, stick out our tongue and start jumping up and down “notice me! Notice me!” You’re on a stage, you twit, we’re all noticing you!).
As for Sweden’s The Ark: Duvelman is disappointed that the lead singer “doesn’t have any tits” (-sigh- straight men), but I keep shouting “You go Sister!” at the telly. What a guy! Then he throws off his jacket and lies down on the floor. The Sofa starts shouting “You stole my mojo, Dr Evil!”, but I’m in love. Unfortunately for the Swedes, unless they send Abba (-clones) or Carola, they don’t do much in this contest. Damn you, voting public! Damn you!
It was Pride in Belgium this Saturday and France brought tribute to that. What a fabulous song and routine. “Why are they singing with an English accent?” someone asks. Simple. Because they can! Because it’s fabulous! For some reason Jean-Paul Gaultier has sewn a plush cat on one of the suits, which is… a tad bizarre, even for Eurovision. Just a tad though. The fact that it took me till the end of the song to actually *notice* the cat, shows how much we’re used to in this contest. This song ends incredibly underrated.
Latvia’s six funeral directors bore us to tears and I’m so glad they didn’t do much after all (I feared for top 5). All these guys do is walk around on stage and someone points out they don’t even handle *that* well. André says they want Italy to feel morally obliged to take part in the contest again. You know, I think it might work: “We can bring crap like that so much better”.
Oh, but we’re ready for Russia, three young girls in school uniforms (though, as Bietje pointed out, a school uniform without a tie just isn’t as impressive), stroking their microphone stands, singing about “tasting their cherry pies”. Who writes this stuff and what do they tell the girls they’re singing about? “It’s about cooking, honest”. “Don’t call me funny bunny”, they sing. Well alright, I won’t. Why on earth would I?!
Germany hasn’t got over the election of Angela Merkel and sings about how women rule the world. Again, very jazzclub, the intellectual viewer loves it, I sit there and sigh. André says it’s the best thing Germany’s sent in ages. Obviously he’s already forgotten about Lou’s “let’s get happy and let’s be gay” then! Some research, André, please!
The Girlfriend and I are nearly moved to tears when Ms Serifovic represents Serbia and even Anja notices the lesbian choreography (I would’ve believed it was all innocent, that’s how naïve I am). I love this song. (Hee, Serbia winning will mean the audience in Belgrade won’t boo as much for former Yugoslavian votes!)
And I also love The Ukraine! Immediately The Sofa sits straight, perks their ears and is wildly enthusiastic. Verka has bigger boobs than I thought she would have (one thinks about these things), her dance routine is fantastically ridiculous, she slaps her backing singer on the arse and I see visions of Kyiv 2008. It would probably have to be in a barn, because where will the Ukraine find the money to organise it yet again?
Before the UK even starts André says the main question is whether or not they’ll get nill points. I guess he’s not a fan then. Probably still a bit bitter his favourite Andorra was chucked out of the semi (anyone else notice the “Where is Andorra” banner in the audience? Hilarious!). The UK could not have had a worse draw. Two silly acts, where one’s clearly better and more original, right behind each other. I really liked “Flying the Flag”, (oh shut it) but it drowns in Verka’s shadow. One of the girls is made up like a clown and the other one acts like a slut when she wishes everyone a “pleasurable” journey. See, that just wasn’t necessary.
And it’s another silly act with Romania, but again this is funny and well, yes, quite a bit stereotypical, but I can’t help but grin and sway along. There’s male bonding on stage, kissing even (Umlaut claims they shout out “homo chachacha”), they’re all jolly good friends and yet again they ask Italy to come back to the contest. “We’ll continue referring to you in a stereotypical fashion till you get so pissed off you’ll either start a war or take part in the contest again”. I think the Big Four would like Italy to come back as well, for some good old fashioned Western European bloc voting. I expect the lobbying to start soon.
Anja claims the Bulgarian girl looks like Ruslana (what? Because she has long hair?) and The Sofa shouts “MulletMan rules”! I however fear there’ll be 20 drum-acts in next year’s Eurovision, next to 20 fake balkan hymns, and hope this doesn’t do too well. Alas, I’m doomed.
After Greece, it’s another entry for Sertab when Turkey takes to the stage. “Let me see your hands in the air” he shouts. No. First you tell us what “candy you have for me” instead, because what on earth are you on about? At first we think the backing singer is yet another drag queen, but close inspection of the man in question shows that he’s wearing trousers. Ah, it would have been nice though.
Onto the “Johnny Logan of Armenia”, according to Anja. She immediately warns us Hayko is popular with emigrants so he’ll get a lot of votes. He’s brought his own tree to Finland (“it’s cold there, they might not have any”) and has tied toilet paper to its branches. The wind machine gives the whole thing an even spookier look (if that was possible) and nearly breaks the damned tree when one of the branches comes dangerously close to ripping off. Now that would have been interesting television! The song would have sounded a lot better in Armenian and everyone on The Sofa falls asleep. Pity, cos I quite liked this.
Then Miss “Underwear Or Not” is back for Moldova and here and there people come out of the closet and say they quite like this. I spot Ola from Sweden waving one of the flags in the background (the Swedish are good with their flags, they’ve been taught by the best), while the rest of the backing dancers struggle with theirs (Can’t. Get. Them. Off. My. Hands. Help. Me!). And isn’t it weird how you keep hearing a violin even when she’s finished “playing” it!? Strange!
And that’s it for the songs. Onto the interval and all I can wonder about is, if the woman on the trapeze were to fall down, crushing several audience members, when would we know who won the contest? Luckily that won’t happen, because The Girlfriend helpfully points out there’s a rope tying her to the thing. Thank god! Priorities, people!
There’s hilarity and a bit of pity when Ireland gives the only two countries placed lower than them points, causing *them* to end up last. And there’s immense joy in the lesbian part of the living room when Marija –balkanbloc or no- wins the whole thing. “Lesbians for Europe, unite”, indeed.
And because we take this far too seriously and have too much time on our hands: the top ten from The Sofa:
1. Ukraine (105 points)
2. Slovenia (94)
3. Serbia (88)
4. Georgia (43)
5. Hungary (42)
(6. Bulgaria, 7. Belarus, 8. Greece, 9. France, 10. Moldova) – Look at that, we’re Eastbloc voters!
On another note: could they please put up the scores bigger, because maybe it’s the fact that not everyone has a 150 inch flatscreen tv, but I couldn’t for the life of me read the scores in detail. Very frustrating.
(In case you're interested there's a mini-rant about the whole politics debate here.)
‘t Was a good year I think. Onto the next!
Labels: Eurovision Eurovision 2007
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