The Boy with Tape on his Face

and the Furious Reviewer

The Royal Variety Show is an annual gala show, attended by senior members of the British Royal Family, showcasing a variety of entertainment. It's one of the few British traditions that I personally feel proud of, as it champions the formats of music hall and vaudeville, putting real talent onstage, regardless of their lack of pseudo-celebrity status. It's about the only thing in the West End (La Soiree at the Roundhouse, for example) that hasn't been hijacked by soap stars, reality TV rejects, and film actors who just don't get it *cough* Thandie Newton *cough*.

I was watching the 2011 show a few weeks ago and saw for the first time the guy who calls himself 'The Boy with Tape on his Face'. I literally almost peed myself laughing! His oven-glove gag is pure class, but don't take my word for it, see for yourself. After wiki-stalking The Boy, who's real name is Sam Willis, I found out that he's been honing his craft for almost two decades, has won a bunch of awards, and not a reality TV show in sight. It gives me a little hope that just maybe the whole entertainment industry isn't going to hell in a hand basket. Stories like this are like the antidote to the X-Factor disease, something the Katie Price generation probably doesn't understand; like, the only reason to be a performer is to get famous, right? So wrong.

Whilst trying to track down this information, I came across a review in the Mirror online by Kevin O'Sullivan which rather surprised me. It launches promptly into a bitter tirade, starting with calling The Boy with Tape on his Face a "­ludicrous bozo" and an "idiot". It struck me as the sort of review that was preordained, like he was in a terrible mood already and had decided to hate the whole thing before he even switched on the TV. It reminds me of a review of Tomb Raider I wrote when I was 14 for the local paper, where I blasted Jolie's terrible acting, because my boyfriend at the time said she was hot, and I was jealous. O'Sullivan does just that, with no attempt to substantiate the insults at all, and dismisses it as "infantile drivel".

Nonetheless, I found his inexplicable fury bizarre and interesting, so I googled the guy - Kevin O'Sullivan - who is described as "the Real TV Mr Nasty". Well, this explains it; he's a wannabe Simon Cowell, who makes a living out of watching lots of TV and bitching about it, so naturally he'd be on team X Factor. He reminds me of those open-workshop-actor types: so desperate to stand out that they have evolved into a one man parade of extreme opinions, on everything from Checkov to grandmas. I can't help feeling that Mr. O'Sullivan might feel a lot better if he took an antacid and perhaps a journalism course, but then he'd probably be out of a job too.

Does Mr. O'Sullivan even know what mime is? Does he not feel the smallest inclination to see original, live acts being broadcast on TV, rather than coked-up 'celebrities' dancing around in their underwear, miming badly to songs they didn't write? I suppose the answer is that he doesn't really care, as long as he gets his paycheck every month, even if that means pretending to be some pseudo-Cowell. I mean, I understand that that's his thing, but he could've stuck to bashing Peter Kay, no? Or even presented a view that's contrary to his 'everything sucks, all the time' theme? There's plenty of stuff that really does suck on television, so I can't help but feel he should leave the rest alone.

At a loss for what to do once I've published this article, and not being a fan of X-Factor re-runs, I decided to take a leaf out of Mr. O'Sullivan's book to pass the time: so, it’s just gone four on Wednesday afternoon … I'm watching some ­ludicrous bozo wearing oven gloves with gaffer tape stuck across his mouth....



I suppose this is exactly the sort of infantile drivel that O'Sullivan was talking about.