Britain’s Got Talent 2011: Episode 4 by shoutingatco.ws

This week’s BGT opens with a terrifying troupe of dancers in leotards. Hasselhoff is inexplicably taken by them. They dance and mix in fire eating, cleavage, angle grinding, a snake and the splits. Macintyre gets all coy and calls them “naughty”, but they make it through. The Queen will no doubt be impressed with their bums.

Tonight’s theme is Hasselhoff getting aroused, as a lady in a bra plays the violin, and a singer’s mum gets a kiss, and an invite to his hotel room. Another bum performs acrobatics, and he’s almost humping the desk in frustration.

His sexual restraint is pushed to the limit as a dog on the brink of death attempts a cutesy dance. It’s all very gentle, even by the low, low standards of dancing with a pet.

An autistic lad (already a clue that his dancing will be great – they’re not quite at sub-Frankie Boyle levels of dross yet) dances, and it’s great, and he gets through. We can’t let the mullet pass by without comment, though. C’mon, son.

On to Cardiff, where a greasy looking chap with a neck tattoo wanders out to sing. He’s abysmal, squeaking along like Joe Pasquale having his balls pinched. The first comedy entry of the night, but doesn’t get buzzed off. Oh, he gets through to the next round as well.

The standard has been set so low that you could wander out, stare blankly at the judges for three minutes, and still make it to within farting distance of the Royal Variety.

A student makes a portrait of Michael Macintyre out of Marmite on toast. By which I mean that he’s brought in some Marmited toast from home, and stacks it up on a whiteboard. Macintyre HILARIOUSLY knocks the display over.

Four kids sing for a bit, but MOMENTARY DRAMA, as Amanda asks them to sing another song. It’s called “All My Life”, but unfortunately doesn’t involve Dave Grohl. They boringly sing, before some boring banter, boring deliberation from Hasselhoff, and they’re boringly through to the next boring round.

A French guy has wandered over from his home country to dance for us, rather mocking the point of Britain having talent. He thoughtfully brings a translator, but Macintyre insults him by talking in a cod-French accent like a 7 year old: Où habites-tu? His dancing is actually bloody clever, incorporating fake-robotics, worryingly non-irritating mime and utter coolness.

The absolute highlight of the show, the most entertaining, and it only took an hour. And a foreigner. Coming over here, stealing our talent competitions…

Next week: More auditions, blandness, and a sheer inability to trouble the buzzers.

Leave a Reply