The google image search for Jesus is surprisingly unfruitful, so I went for this. Try and enjoy the colours.
For those of you that don’t know, Superstar is a televised search for the next star of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s ‘Jesus Christ Superstar’, or as I like to call it, ‘A Waste of Time’. I ended up there because I got hold of some free tickets, and brought a friend who’s a legit Webber fan. I joined her ironically, obviously. I was expecting a bit of trashy, harmless, prime-time campness with the added bonus of Lord Andrew’s creepy facial gymnastics, but Superstar delivered so much more.
The man pictured below had the job of warming up the audience when we weren’t on air. Apparently that requires a smattering of outdated misogynistic jokes, stories about childbirth, homophobic intimidation (probably not best-suited to Lloyd Webber fans), and calling audience members cunts and dicks. Seriously, this guy was so frenzied and sex-obsessed that I thought he might actually rip his clothes off and mount the flimsy set pieces. A few minutes into his first slot he slinked up to a leggy blonde backing singer and said ‘I’d shag you, love’ (cue roaring laughter from the audience), before moving onto the singer next to her, where this happened:
‘Don’t feel left out, love. I’d shag you too.
‘I’m married.’
‘Just my type.’
Ewwwww. Was this a parallel universe where someone killed Simone de Beauvoir before she could put pen to paper? The weirdest part was that the audience totally loved this guy. Me and my friend were freaking out, and things kept getting weirder.
DO NOT APPROACH THIS MAN
Amanda Holden (the Britain’s Got Talent judge that nobody really has an opinion about, and possibly a puppet), was presenting. She was so botoxed I thought she might shatter, and her legs may have been sprayed with car paint, but don’t take my word for it. Apparently the stage crew had caught onto the shatter-risk too, because a guy had the sole task of holding her hand whenever she had to walk a few meters to and from the set. He’d leave her alone centre-stage, shivering in a pair of massive Laboutins (destroyed with more crystals than Amy Child’s landing strip). Real confusing stuff. It’s unnerving to scrape the surface of some kind of dark television underworld under the pretense of ‘finding Jesus’.
Close pals of mine, Andy and Mandy
I hope this doesn’t sound too much like an angry English student rant; watching Andrew Lloyd Webber’s orgasmic convulsions while one of the Jesus wannabes was hip-thrusting to Whole Lotta Love made up for everything else.
IN OTHER NEWS:
If I hear Boris Johnson telling me ‘DON’T GET CAUGHT UP!!!’ one more time I might have to go Hulk on London. If you’ve caught public transport in the Olympic city in the last couple of weeks you’ll know exactly what I’m on about. Also, I spent a 3 hour trip thinking I was inside facebook a couple of Saturday nights ago (Apparently this involved telling people I liked their profile pictures and was reading their relationship statuses), and if my own relationship status isn’t updated soon I might have to construct a rudimentary partner out of Fimo clay and broken dreams. Aren’t I cute? (And isn’t Craigslist totally fucked up and hilarious? I’ve been missing out).
P.S. many apologies for the lack of posts recently. I’ve been super busy interning at Wonderland and got back from a holiday in Amsterdam today. Life is, like, so hard.
THE ZEMBLAN 