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A duck desecrates Like a Virgin, a unicorn ruins Babooshka, a man in a green onesie flattens Creep … this guess-the-celebrity-singer show is so stupid it could actually kill off Saturday night
Saturday-night singing contests are in a death spiral. Once the monarchs of the weekend schedules and the darlings of the weekday tabloids, now they are facing the end. They are popping six Vicodins a night, trying a garish new look every week and giving all their cash to a shady manager, who is also their sixth husband. They are in a right state.
The latest equivalent of a desperate crossover covers album or provincial panto booking is The Masked Singer (ITV), a prerecorded unspectacular crushed at birth by its contrived premise: celebrities sing, while wearing fancy dress that entirely covers their face and body. We, and a panel of judges, must decide who they are, based purely on their performing voice, their gait and an introductory video in which they give cryptic clues with their speech distorted. Welcome to … Celebrity Stars in Their Keyhole! Continue reading...