Saturday, May 20,
on the gayest night in all of television, 300 million
viewers were expected to watch the 51st annual Eurovision
Song competition. It's not your fault you
didn't see it. It's not really
well-known in North America. But here are the highlights of
what you missed.
The Eurovision is
a contest like no other--24 countries (down from 37
after the semifinal) compete over three hours on a live
television broadcast for little more than national
pride and an outside chance at an international
recording career. The Greeks, still giddy with pride over
the bang-up job they did hosting the Olympics, have gone all
out to show that they can create a better Eurovision
than anyone else. They forgo kitsch (but not
necessarily camp) in offering up an Olympic-size
opening-ceremony production number, complete with dancers
dressed as dolphins and some 14 nearly naked circuit
boys in gold body paint with angel wings riding across
the arena over the heads of the audience on a golden
globe representing the sun. Understated? No. But who cares?
This is the Eurovision.
There's
more flying ahead. Studly Greek pop singer Sakis Rouvas
flies down to the stage looking like an ancient god in
a modern-day leisure suit. And believe it or not,
Access Hollywood correspondent Maria
Menounos (an American who speaks the language fluently and
whose parents are Greek) flies in from the other side
to join him, looking entirely too much like a sorority
girl wondering just what she did last night to find
herself hanging from a wire in the Olympic basketball arena.
We're not
the first to notice that the pair looks just like Will and
Grace. Unfortunately, we notice that they act all Will and
Grace too: He's stiff, even with his satin
shirt unbuttoned to his navel. She's ungainly
and giggly; just as soon as she figures out this
show's not all about her, you can bet
she'll create some scene to show that Yes, it
really is.
Sakis and his
skintight, hip-hugging blue jeans courted the gay vote for
Greece at the Eurovision in 2004 with a song called
"Shake It." Presumably Eurovision hired
Maria to create American interest in the
show--Eurovision's producers are in
negotiations to bring an American version to NBC as
early as next fall. But they might be wishing they
hadn't, because while her
morning-talk-show-giggle-I'm-just-a-girl
persona might play OK at home, it's not going over
well here in the Old World.
Greece gets to
host the show this year because it won last year. Helena
Paparizou, as the reigning queen of Eurovision, comes out to
do a sexy reprise of her winning song "My
Number One." She's added more dancers to
the routine that arguably won her the crown--half of
them leaping from the ceiling of the auditorium on
bungee cords. That's a lot of stuff crammed
into the first 8 1/2 minutes of this show, which races along
at a breakneck pace.
Switzerland
Switzerland's instant pop band six4one should have
kept with the running theme and descended from the
rafters to start the competition portion of the
show--now that would have been a good gimmick.
Instead, the Swiss decided to hire a six-way
multicultural band of mercenary singers from different
countries where Eurovision is popular. It's all a
shameless, prepackaged ploy for friendly votes, and although
the staging makes the group looks like they're
doing a promo for an ABC soap, people in the audience
start to sing along. That's a good thing, right?
Switzerland just wants you and everyone else to know:
"If we all give a little / We can make this
world a home for everyone."
Norway
Every year a
handful of great songs make three minutes seem too darned
short. And, sadly, more than a handful of boring, banal, or
just plain bad ones make those three minutes seem like
an eternity. Just when it seemed like it was going to
be a lo-o-ong night, out comes Norway. Christine
Guldbransen is stunning, sings beautifully (in Norwegian),
and the whole staging is magical. It probably helps
that most folks don't know the song is about
elves. No, not Legolas or Arwen. But yes, elves.
Dancing elves.
Russia
Now it's
mullet time; every contest has to have one, it seems.
Following the approach that's won the last
three contests, Russia has a hired gun named Dima
Bilan singing for them. He's young (24), hung
(supposedly, he's done some, ahem,
modeling), and can actually sing. Mullet aside,
he's sexy in a tight singlet and low-rider jeans, and
knows how to sell a song on TV. And apparently
he's all about culture, because a couple of
Bolshoi Ballet-also-ran-erinas suddenly appear on
tippy toes behind him--right next to a piano
with no player and a bowl of rose petals on it. Still,
just as Chekhov demands, the piano is used halfway through:
Dima leaps on top and sings to the roses while another
ballerina rises slowly through the petals. Both he and
the song are good enough that it really sort of works.
Romania
Romania turns the
hall into a gay dance palace--except for the
unfortunate break-dancers. Keep your ears open for
"Tornero" at your next international
circuit party or bear run.
Bosnia & Herzegovina
Bosnia &
Herzegovina kick off the second half of the show by
presenting a beautiful folkloric ballad, one of the gems of
this year's contest. Western European countries
are all a bit jaded about Eurovision, but the further
east you travel in Europe, the more seriously it's
taken. Nations emerging from the former Soviet Union
are eager to show the West that they are ready for
full participation in Europe--and they'll use
the Eurovision Song Contest to do that. They proudly
present themselves and their traditions on stage. You
can usually count on outstanding entries from Croatia,
Slovenia, Bosnia & Herzegovina, Macedonia, and Serbia
& Montenegro. For them, doing well at Eurovision is a
matter of national pride. The best talents in their
music industries compete for the honor of going to the
contest. The contest is richer for it.
On the other
hand, we're pretty sure that Bulgaria sent the house
band from the Sofia Holiday Inn last year. It bombed.
Lithuania
This year
Lithuania sends a group of overgrown frat boys who probably
dreamed up their entry over a few rounds at the Holiday Inn
Vilnius. They take the stage dressed in dark suits
(think Huey Lewis and the News), look around, grin
mischievously, and start to slyly intone, "We are the
winners of Eurovision." And shout, "We are! We
are!" And then they repeat that for three
minutes.
That's it.
The stage act is entertaining enough. But this one
couldn't win, could it? Eurovision fans of all
persuasions everywhere pray, "Oh, please, God.
I hope not." Bad people, however, boo.
The contrasts
between the entries from Lithuania and Bosnia &
Herzegovina reflect the entire second half of the contest
lineup, which seems to be divided between joke entries
and submissions of serious folklore. And then
there's the grudge-match battle of the superstar
divas from Greece, Turkey, and Sweden.
Greece
Greece tosses out
the first round in the night's battle of wind
machines and multioctave vocal gymnastics. Anna Vissi
takes the stage wearing a designer pantsuit dress that
just might win her the Barbara Dex
award--that's a Belgian singer whose costume
choice was...unfortunate. Fans voting online give
the award to the worst-dressed performer every year.
Not only is Anna Vissi daring enough to wear that dress,
she's daring enough to go it alone, sans
dancers. It's just her and a force 25-gale
wind machine. Or maybe she had dancers and they quit in
rehearsal when they saw how she writhes around the
stage after she gets wound up. If you're a
dancer, you worry about your ankles and your knees, but that
Ms. Vissi looks like she gets out of control. She also
has a shower of pyrotechnic sparks at the key change.
This lady's performance may be the most
professional of the night, but her song is missing
something, and all the histrionics in the world
can't really make up for the blandness.
Finland
Unfortunately for
Ms. Vissi, the hard rock-inspired Finnish band Lordi
comes up next, because no one's gonna remember her
little key change by the time they get through.
Suddenly the Eurovision stage is filled with
fright-night demons and zombies--and noise. Lordi,
like Gwar before them, always appears in monster
costume; most people don't know their real
faces. Lordi is hella loud when they bellow their heavy
metal inspired anthem "Hard Rock
Hallelujah." A rumor went around that Lordi was going
to have to cancel their pyrotechnic show due to lack of
funds. But a heavy metal financier stepped up and
donated the fireworks, which probably cost more for
one performance than the gross domestic product of
some of the other participating nations. Forget the shower
of sparks on the key change. Before the monster
rockers have finished, the whole stage is on fire.
Ireland
Ireland brings on
old-school Eurovision; the nation's seven wins are a
Eurovision record, although it won back when the results
were based on a jury system rather than on popular
vote. In the modern era of televoting Ireland has lost
her way. But this year Ireland made it out of the
semifinal and is going back to its most successful formula:
a ballad sung by an accomplished musician--who,
unfortunately, looks like a Muppet. Brian Kennedy is
telling us "Every Song Is a Cry for Love," and
this one is a cry for votes. Great singer, not so
great song, but seasoned pros rarely do badly at
Eurovision. Rarely.
Sweden
Put Julie Andrews
and Amy Grant into ABBA's drink mixer with a pinch of
Kylie Minogue--Swedish superstar Carola is what
you'll pour out. What you've got to
admire about Carola is that she doesn't know when to
quit. Carola will always give you her all. And
Carola's "all" includes three
force 25-gale wind machines, an onstage costume
change, and a troupe of singing flag twirlers. Carola also
shows up onstage with Jesus symbols tattooed on her
arm in blue glitter body paint. That makes some people
nervous, considering her previous association with
extremely evangelical Christian factions. But gay guys
absolutely adore her, even if we don't completely
trust her, because she's fabulous in that
freaky-talented way that Celine, Mariah, Whitney,
and Wayne Newton all are. We say give people room to grow;
enjoy the flag twirling routines and the fireworks,
give her the benefit of the doubt--just keep an
eye on the glitter.
Armenia
Armenia finishes
the show. Armenia's in the contest for the first time
this year, and it's done its homework well. While its
entry is simple, it's polished yet a bit
amateurish. Clearly Armenia is trying hard, though,
and in the spirit of Eurovision goodwill, voters tend to
reward first-time participants who try hard.
In all 24 songs
are sung, whereupon Will and Grace come back to start the
voting. Grace tries to cover up the fact that she forgot to
learn her lines by shrieking from time to time.
(Watch--the producers are going to think twice
before hiring another American to host. Mark our words.) At
least Grace has mastered the contest's slightly
quirky voting system. Basically, callers in each
country can make a phone call or send a text message
to register a vote; systems are in place to discourage
massive voter fraud (in most countries you can vote
for a song between one and 20 times). Countries may
not vote for themselves. There is a 10-minute window
for the voting--that's it.
After the
world-class Greek singer Nana Mouskouri (who sang for
Luxembourg in 1963) initiates the voting, we are treated to
a musical look at 3,000 years of Greek music in this
year's halftime show. This program is long, so
luckily, we skim over a lot of the 3,000 years. It's
a very impressive tribute, but not likely to take on a life
of its own the way Ireland's Riverdancing
interval act did in 1994.
The reason the
show is only at the halfway point is because the votes
still have to be delivered. By long-standing Eurovision
tradition, every country phones in its votes via a
live satellite feed. ("Hello Athens, thank you
for a wonderful show. Here are the results of the Andorran
televote...") The points are announced in reverse
order based on the accumulated votes of that
country's callers. The lower-scoring favorites
receive one through eight points. The top two marks from
each country's televote receive 10 and 12
points, respectively. There are no nine- or 11-point
marks.
With so many
countries participating, no one song can be the favorite
across Europe. In fact, some songs have won Eurovision by
being everyone's second- or third-favorite.
Other years, it's a sweeping victory, like when
Katrina and the Waves gave the United Kingdom her last
victory in 1997. Some years it comes down to a handful of
votes, like in 1988 when Celine Dion won by one
vote for Switzerland; or 1998, when transsexual Dana
International won for Israel by two--after trailing in
third until the very last votes came in from Macedonia.
The slate of
songs in this year's contest was varied, and many
songs were high Eurovision quality, so it was a hard
contest to predict. We expected a showdown between
Greece and Sweden, with the Romanian disco number and
Bosnia & Herzegovina's folk ballad running right
behind. We also knew Russia would do well. Lithuania
gave everyone a good scare as their frat-boy ditty
kept pulling in votes (and boos) during the call-in.
Sweden's entry wasn't doing as well as we
thought it might. But very soon it was clear that all
of Europe was ready to shout a "Hard Rock
Hallelujah."
The Finish entry
handily won with 292 points, a new record. Russia came
in second trailing about 50-some points behind. Bosnia &
Herzegovina scored one for folk music in third place,
Romania came in fourth, and Sweden led the diva race
but finished merely fifth overall. Newcomer Armenia
got a real A for effort and finished eighth, while just
enough people liked Ireland to push her back into a
top-10 finish.
The Finns in the
audience were grinning so hard one feared they'd hurt
themselves. The Finnish people love Eurovision, but
they've waited 45 years for this first win.
They've earned it. Grace starts whining that
she got her hands dirty on the monster makeup when she was
handing Lordi their trophy. And she keeps whining. We
told you that girl would make a scene.
As Lordi took the
stage to perform the traditional victory lap of their
song, someone texted us, "This is a slap in the face
to all fans of Eurovision."
We could only
disagree and reply, "ROCK ON, EUROVISION."
Bootleg versions of many performances can be
found on the Web--try searching YouTube.com,
especially for Eurovision 2006 lordi and Eurovision
2006 carola. DVDs of both the 2006 semifinal
and the final can be preordered now at
www.eurovisionshop.tv. The next edition of the
Eurovision Song Contest will take place May
10-12, 2007, somewhere in Finland.