"You should ask him": BBC Young Musician of the Year 2008

If you saw this, last Sunday on BBC2, you'll have seen some terrific performances from some very talented young men (including the infectiously-grinning winner, Peter Moore, and moderneejit favourite, flamboyant (ahem) Ugg-booted David Smith - "Yah!").  

Sadly, the televised final fell prey to that gruesome embellishment: instant reaction.  Having the contestants themselves interviewed the second they stepped offstage was just about tolerable, although former-winner-turned-interviewer, the fabulously-named Nicola Loud's stilted bludgeoning of questions betrayed her lack of experience in this role.  The nadir came each time we cut to the auditorium, as Gethin Jones embarked on a search for truth.  The tone was set from the top, following the performance of the first contestant, Jadran Duncumb:

Gethin: "Let's see how brother Emile feels about that performance.  What are your first reactions to that?"

Emile: "Well, I thought it was good.  Yeah, it was great. [laughs]"

[audience laughter]

Gethin: "I suppose I was asking for that.  What about his reaction, there? Did he seem happy? To you?"

Emile: "Well... urm... you should ask him.  I dunno.  [laughs]"

Gethin: "Great!"

[audience laughs]

Gethin: "Err, now, listen, um - we were chatting to Jadran before he came on last night, and he looked round, and he saw the crowd and he said 'Oh no. Mum and dad are in the front row!' Now, did he tell em last night, cos they seem to be more towards the back tonight.  What do they think of the performance?"

Emile: "Well, they... they're the greatest critics. I mean, they're most critical of... everyone! [laughs]  So they're... but I... I think they're enjoying it.  I hope so. [laughs]"

Gethin: "Great. Well, we'll keep our fingers crossed for you."

Emile was understandably at a loss as Gethin asked him to interpret the reaction of his brother who we'd just seen being interviewed for his reaction, but was far too polite to embarrass Gethin a second time, on being asked to speculate on the feelings of his parents who, it has just been established, are sitting far away near the back of the auditorium!

Really, what 'extra value' was added by this exchange?  I have no doubt that the official response would be some guff about giving a human dimension, allowing us to see the personalities behind the instruments, a sense of what's at stake etc etc.  The reality is that they were an embarrassment for all concerned - for the interviewee, who didn't know how to respond, for the interviewer, who was left with egg on their face, and for the viewer at home, who wondered whether the music being played was sufficient reward for having to endure this dead and uncomfortable airtime.  If reaction was needed to cover setting up for the next performer, then it would have been better to have had some expert comment; something that might have helped those of us who aren't professional musicians to understand, even if only slightly, about the performers' techniques and level of accomplishment.  But that might have meant that we'd have actually learnt something, and that would never do.  That sounds far too boring and elitist, doesn't it?

The programme ended in an oddly perfunctory manner.  The winner was announced, but not by any of the judging panel, and so the most important reaction of the night - why they had chosen this contestant over the others - remained unheard.  There was time, however, for Peter Moore's family to be shepherded to the front, though Gethin was, by now, evidently flagging:

Gethin: "Here's the winning family!  Guys!  How is that?"

Brother: "Awesome.  Pretty good."

Gethin: "Mum and dad, what does this mean, if I can come through to you there."

Dad: "We don't really know yet [laughs]"

Gethin: "You said you - he's enjoyed it throughout the whole competition.  What does this mean, to him and to you?"

Dad: "I think it's just been a showcase to show what he likes doing, basically.  On a fantastic stage"

Gethin: "Modest till the end.  Congratulations."

Congratulations, indeed.

Doctor Who: "Homo sapiens. What an inventive species..."

File under 'Anthony Head' for complete and utterly dispiriting lack of imagination.

And another...

Point it somewhere else.

Now Sarah's at it too...

Can you imagine if every publicity photo of Patrick Troughton had him waving the Sonic Screwdriver about like a wool-capped Napoleon Solo? It's getting tedious.

Heroes: some pointers

• Get a move on
• Don't take yourself so seriously
• Women are people too
  

Eurovision Dance Contest: "Her legs are like a motorway!"

Having had a surprise hit with Strictly Come Dancing, and unable to produce it on a rolling 52-weeks-per-year basis, the BBC are desperate to fill its Saturday night slot with approximations and bastard-cousins. The best, by far, was the two series of Strictly Dance Fever - a series destined to be remembered only because it immediately preceded the first series of the all-new Doctor Who, leading to the infamous Nortongate affair. That show was fun, with genuinely talented dancers experimenting with lively and imaginative routines (I'm not talking about Doctor Who now). Because it didn't feature anyone famous from reading the news, or have the easily graspable prize of a number one single or West End show at the end of it, it died a quiet, unlamented death.

Following the saccharine horror of How Do You Solve A Problem Like Maria? and the car-crash of camp that was Any Dream Will Do, the latest attempt at the Strictly slot was Dance X - labelled by Popjustice as "one of the most derivative, complicated and ill-conceived primetime 'reality' shows of all time", which sums it up nicely, and with which we need not concern ourselves further.

Last night, though, brought us the Eurovision Dance Contest, the format of which shouldn't really need unpacking from the title. This was rather more entertaining than it first promised, returning to the Strictly Dance Fever model of showcasing simply the dancers and the choreography. It was hampered only by the brevity of the routines, through the constraint of having to show two routines from sixteen couples, and then the self-fulfilling shambles of the international vote. Graham Norton, having turned up on these programmes as a result of the BBC's uncertainty as to what to do with him having poached him from Channel 4, does actually fit them well, showing the right level of engagement and amused detachment. Last night, though, showed a lapse of judgement as he decided to send up the representatives of each of the voting countries as they appeared onscreen. Not only was this cheap and gratuitous (What? English isn't their first language, you say? How hilarious! And there's a time delay, which I can exploit to make them sound even more stupid? Terrific!), but actually caused the kind of communication breakdown that he had predicted at the start. Ultimately, he ended up looking bitter and sounding rude, which isn't quite the kitsch fun that had been predicted when this programme was mooted, I'm sure.

The saving grace was the running commentary provided, out of sight, by judges Len Goodman and Bruno Tonioli. Like a peculiar, European version of Statler and Waldorf, their disembodied voices burst in, and were faded out, almost at random. It was easy to imagine the whole of the BBC Saturday night schedule being livened up by leaving them to comment on it ("Ooh, look 'ow they pushed 'im through those Casualty doors, like a tempestuous boat on a sea of vomit!" "Yeah, but where's his hips, Bruno? No hips!"). Near the end, Len, in his elder statesman tones, said "Well, I'd just like to say - " and was cut off, which was as good a summation of the proceedings as anything I've written.

Doctor Who: Put It Away!

I remember the time when a Radio Times cover promoting Doctor Who seemed an excitingly rare and desirous thing. Now you can't move for the bloody things, and they seem far less interesting as a result.

Anyway, that's not what I want to talk about. Rather this week's set of covers has prompted a sigh of depression at the seeming impossibility of photographing the Doctor without him waving the sonic screwdriver around like a gun. I know the screwdriver is an omnipresent part of the programme these days, but thankfully it's only taken on the iconography of weaponry once, when the Doctor was sneaking round Canary Wharf at the end of last series, and then you could kind of forgive it as David Tennant indulging himself.

This is too much, however. Look at them both, pointing their weapons at us. Now imagine how much better, how much classier, how much more interesting it would look without the toys. If both men were simply staring out it would make the threat about them; instead, here, it becomes about the gadgets: which is more deadly the sonic or the laser? Frankly, who cares? If this story, this contest, is meant to mean anything, it should be about the characters. And I know I said I was talking about the publicity photographs rather than the programme, but the photos are symptomatic of the role the wretched screwdriver now assumes in the narrative.

For my part, I agreed with Russell T. Davies on an early Doctor Who Confidential when he argued that in a 45 minute story you haven't got time for the Doctor to be trapped in a locked room; however, there's a long way between that and the all-purpose magic wand it's since become - and when I find myself agreeing with Christopher ("H") Bidmead I know something's wrong. The series tries to have it's cake and eat it: the screwdriver is verbally mocked for being a tool and not a gun, yet is increasingly used, passive-aggressively, so to speak, as the Doctor's weapon. Steven Moffat sent it up well in Series One's 'The Doctor Dances', through Jack's incredulity and the Doctor's banana response, as an argument about arms; last week's sight of the Master taunting the Doctor with the size of his (the Master's) own 'laser screwdriver' is not half as funny, and only points up how ubiquitous the gadget has become. Moffat was poking fun at a piece of the series' iconography, celebrating how much it defined the series by it taking the traditional place of a weapon when it patently wasn't one; but that was back when largely all it did was open doors. Now it does everything, and the Master can laugh about his being larger, because everything is diminished as a result.

Last year's otherwise lacklustre 'Fear Her' contained a terrifically weird and typically Who-ish moment, as Rose opens a door and is attacked by a furious piece of pencil scribble; the Doctor then ran round the corner, 'fired' the screwdriver, and 'killed' it; nothing typifies better the sad dichotomy of inspiration and cliché in the series than this moment. By all means, get the Doctor out of a locked room. That would be a dull 45 minutes. But if, once he's out, he's not acting in the ingenious, inspired, and exciting way he once used to, because he's got a wand that does that all for him... well, why bother? I can't see much of a difference between these two pictures and that's really depressing.