V for victory? Simon Cowell arrives for the live Britain's Got Talent semi-final in London
On Monday night, Simon Cowell’s return to Britain’s Got Talent was marked with the kind of lavish triumphalism that is usually reserved for the head of a conquering army.
There were white and green lasers piercing through plumes of dry ice. Spotlights whirled and dazzled.
The theme from Superman thundered over the sound system, almost drowning out the roaring crowd. How very modest and unassuming.
Then on to the stage and into this fizzing cauldron of elation stepped a small, cuboid man in a grey suit.
Yes, our Simon was back at last! And suddenly, everything seemed very different — but not in an entirely positive way.
For the first time ever, the superhero of Planet Talent looked almost hesitant, even a little unsure of himself.
He wore a white silk shirt open to the waist, revealing a rolling swell of hairy moob. This was not an entirely successful look, even for one of the world’s most popular showbiz moguls, a man who is a heart-throb to millions.
Cowell smiled his megawatt smile at the audience, but his oddly deflated face looked a little weird; like a bruised and puckered apricot that had fallen from a great height.
It led to the suspicion that if you pierced his ears, geysers of old Botox would gush forth with the ferocity of water cannons. If we are being picky, I might as well add that his trousers were too long. Simon, it’s a no from me, I’m afraid.
Honestly. What is going on? With all his millions you might think Simon Cowell could afford a proper tailor, or had a best friend who could tell him to leave the cleavage to Cheryl and Amanda.
Sulking: Cheryl Cole was dumped by the U.S. X Factor, a decision that has left Cowell 'bereft'
Yet perhaps this is all part of his master plan, a cunning bid to prove he is human, too.
For as he returns to our television screens to judge the live final heats of the fourth series of Britain’s Got Talent, it is clear that the man who brought us Susan Boyle, Robson & Jerome, Il Divo and other assorted horrors too numerous to mention has much more on his mind than any pesky wardrobe malfunctions.
For these are turbulent times for Simon Cowell.
First, it must be embarrassing that his favourite protegee Cheryl Cole has been dumped from the judging panel of the debut U.S. series of The X Factor.
I say dumped. The Yanks couldn’t have got rid of Cheryl quicker if they had strapped her to the nose of a Cape Canaveral rocket and slapped a ‘toxic waste’ sticker on her forehead. Return To Sender.
Now Cheryl is sulking in a London hideaway, refusing to speak to her one-time mentor Cowell.
Her career is in the hands of new manager Will.i.am, the ferociously fashionable and extravagantly bespectacled musician who performs with the Black Eyed Peas. Good luck with that, Cheryl.
Cowell says he feels bereft and upset, but he is used to making tough commercial decisions. He does not tread softly on anyone’s dreams, except his own. And the truth is that he has dreamed big and staked everything on the success of the U.S. X Factor, due to be broadcast later this year.
To have Cheryl Cole removed and his judgement called into question before the series even begins must be crushing. For over a decade, Cowell’s commercial instincts have been infallible.
The very fact that he has absolutely no taste in anything is the absolute key to his success. Everything he has touched, no matter how naff, has turned into gold-plated sales and global success. He is a genius, a living legend, with a personal fortune of around £200 million.
Yet is this Cheryl-in-peril scenario the first sign of tarnish; an indication that he has over-expanded and lost his Midas touch in the process?
Failing to impress: Simon Cowell appears to have lost a little of his Midas touch
I do hope not, but one only has to look at the absolute mess that is this season’s Britain’s Got Talent to have deep misgivings about the future.
Abandoned by Cowell — busy working on The X Factor in America, of course — the heats were judged in his absence by Amanda Holden, aided by comedian Michael McIntyre and actor David Hasselhoff.
To be frank, it has not been a success. The Hoff seems to operate in a different time zone from the rest of humanity, appearing only to have the remotest grasp of what is going on. The ga-ga old waxwork seems barely qualified to choose what cereal to eat for his breakfast, let alone opine on the showbiz future of others.
McIntyre, meanwhile, seems like a nice enough person, but he hasn’t got a clue how to be a talent judge, and his natural ebullience is constrained by the show’s format.
The aptly named Holden somehow holds it together, but it is simply not the same without the evil ringmaster, the man she calls Darth Vader.
Bottom of the barrel: This year's contestants on BGT, including Britney impersonator Lorna Bliss, have reached a new low
For the only judge ever worth listening to was the blunt and brilliant Cowell. And it was Simon, not any of the largely forgettable winning acts on either The X Factor or BGT, who was the real star turn.
Yes, we were all there for the journey, but it was Cowell’s acidic put-downs we really craved.
‘You’ve just invented a new form of torture,’ was one of my favourites.
‘It’s a beautiful song — when you’re not singing it,’ was another.
Cowell is now semi-detached from his shows and they suffer greatly from his absence.
His bobbing in and out of judging panels is unsettling; it makes the shows look unbalanced — and his input meaningless. These days, he is like an indifferent teacher checking to see if his pet pupils have done their homework.
And on Monday night alongside the Hoff, McIntyre and Amanda on the Britain’s Got Botox panel, he looked bored and embarrassed. As well he might. Not only have the BGT shows been empty and hollow without Cowell, this year’s acts have been abysmal, too.
It seems obvious to talent show devotees like me that the one thing that has become embarrassingly clear is that Britain Hasn’t Got Talent. There are at least half a dozen acts in this year’s live finals that wouldn’t have made it through even the first heat of the original BGT.
A builder on a bike doing wheelies, a troupe of flame-throwing lap dancers, a bloke doing karaoke dressed (badly) as The Terminator, not to mention the utter horror of Ted & Grace, a double act made up of a 92-year-old and his granddaughter.
When it gets to the point when an old man’s senility and deafness are the most important part of the act, then BGT is scraping the barrel scrapings.
In the meantime, all is not well in the court of King Simon. As Princess Cheryl plays the victim and blubs in her ivory tower, her only consolation is being able to borrow a pair of Will.i.am’s venetian blind specs to hide her crying eyes.
The Cowell-appointed court jesters have failed to make anyone laugh and subsequently this series has fallen rather flat.
Simon Cowell knows he is the kind of Marmite personality whom viewers have either loved or hated for years. The question now must be: is he spreading himself too thin?
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