EuroTastic

If ever there was a talent contest that parallels a kath-and-kim style leisure suit, it is Eurovision. And let me tell you, it’s beautiful.

Eurovision is not like anything else I think you can see on TV. It’s brilliant serious-meets-cringe-worthiness leaves American Idol and Neighbours for dead. These people are MASTERS of awkward. So good, in fact, they market and sell awkwardness as the content of their show… and it’s like crack to us.

Every theatrically possible way to create awkwardness is covered, or has been at some point in Eurovision’s illustrious past. Most importantly, the awkward cringe-factor. Glitter. Sequins. Spandex. “Sex Appeal”/ attempts to get there. Poorly translated English lyrics diced into other languages. Shameless eye sex. Hairless men that you wouldn’t want to meet in an alleyway. And it’s all so magical.

Then, the awkward thought that this might maybe be taken seriously in some places.  And the joy of imagining the where and when’s of these scenarios.

Then, the wonderfully awkward guilty pleasure of watching ethnic stereotypes being met a.la Borat. A standout of the latter for me was the wonderful wonderful contestant from Serbia, Milan Stanković.

There are five plastic, cross-sectioned tubes at the back of the stage. In two there are women who are wearing stylized, cut-up-once-wedding dresses, doing some form of dance movement. Two others house identically tanned men in blue jump suits. Ready and raring for action.

Milan Emerges from the central tube.

In an electric blue, glittery and not-quite-spandex TAILED coat, covering a top-and-jeans combo in xerox white. There are acrobatics. There is lots of vertical jumping on the spot. And towards the end, the wedding dress ladies descend from their tubes to the front of the stage, turn around, lift their arms up Beyoncé-style, and I believe try very honourably to get bootylicious. My little sister watches this display noiselessly, her mouth slightly ajar in awe. She turns to me and utters; ‘Zorba-rap-fusion.’ What a beautiful phrase. 

For some reason I’m unable to embed the video but you can watch the glory for yourselves here.

The thought this is actually, physically happening somewhere in the world I live in just warms my heart in ways you can’t imagine.

The last main awkward-factor of Eurovision, and at times the sweetest, is the poorly translated English interjections in songs otherwise of national tongue. Aside from the occasional contestants who just reek of sex, but this year I’m yet to come across one.  And this year, a treat from Macedonia with their accompanying RAPPER.  Joy, joy, joy, joy. Pure, unadultered joy. And you can have some of it right here.

(Underneath this wondrous video there is a bit of a comment war about whether Macedonians are Greeks or Turks or something or other.. anyway it gets quite heated. And in this sense took my focus off the Macedonian rapping. That’s the kind of thing I was talking about in my last core post Buy My Blog.)

In a fair dinkum sense, Belgium was terrific and I think should have won. 

It’s even more awkward that when you talk about Eurovision contestants and they are actually good, you need to stress the fair dinkum part.