Eurovision Song Contest: How the ESC could have been in 2020

Sure, Athena Manoukian is doing her best in the classic boot-instead-pants-to-puff-sleeve-beach-powerlady-ornat, but the tank-cracker cosplayers stealing her (haha!) effortlessly the show. One would immediately like to know everything about these four: Do they all live together in delicately cramped, repeatedly slapstick scenes leading to slapstick conditions in a bank robber’s flat? Did their long-planned, meticulously planned big break perhaps fail because someone had used up the common kajal pen and the sad residual stump was no longer enough to make everyone unidentifiable with painted raccoon goggles? Are they perhaps the most sad dent in the fact that they cannot now offer the specially rehearsed synchronous choreography for the bag removal? You just have to love these four rackers.

At some point, in many, many years, we will watch this video and recognize with a pleasant shudder the central elements of the current pandemic folklore: singer Efendi aalt herself in a tub, Apparently full of coronacrisis-obligatory banana bread dough (diluted here for flickering glitter effect with Gdansk gold water), she does exemplary social distancing on a lonely steppe walk, also at the subsequent dance formation (which, because of the sand setting, slaps the beautiful Spice Girls video for “Say you’ll be there” back into the central memory) , finally, she is surrounded by shredded bandages who perform the shame dance of the headless toilet paper buyers. And Efendi even finds time for a bit of homeschooling: she explains in the lyrics that Cleopatra’s Lover was Mark Anton, the Roman general, and not Marc Anthony, the probably rather unwarriors singer – Latin and Latin, you can get confused. Gorgeous: How Efendi adlibs “Cleopatra” in the chorus rather than “Cleopatbrrrra!”.

No, just no: you don’t joke with clowns, these still too often trivialized creepy grins. There’s really no reason to have a neck brace put on your neck (if you’re not a freshly castrated dog) or to paint two circular red spots on your cheeks (if you’re not the Pokémon Pikachu). In mitigation, it can be argued that the singer Montaigne has dispensed with oversized clown shoes, a ridiculously small bicycle and a water-spraying trick flower. A rusty horn, carefully used, would have done her song quite well.

There are two types of people: the ones who are outraged at Victoria’s performance are squeeking the high-nose and think that this Billie-Eilish slap-down attempt is really a bit too obvious. And the others who are concerned to notice Jenny Frankhauser, Katzenberger’s sister and until just completely repressed jungle camp queen of 2018, look really quite tired and also a bit sad. The self-help group for all whose brains jump between the two thoughts like a imaimring ping-pong ball always meets Tuesday at eight at the hollow oak.

Everything, everything about this band, this video is wonderful. The singer’s timeless heavy metal village hairstyle, the pixel portraits on the sweaters, all this supercool anticoolity, the coquettish wink, the very cheerful minimal dance in its desolation – and the prospect that we could all have loved this band, this gig together. Since the braided whip from Montenegro, who failed in the semi-finals in 2017, it was no longer so bad for a final appearance that should not have been.

The most beautiful club dance for Camp Trullatrulla is provided by Vaidotas Valiukevicius, Singer of the Lithuanian band The Roop: After having failed again and again in the past weeks at this one funny TikTok dance, in which one taps oneself faster and faster with the soles of the shoe, the over-candidate carpenters, arm pendulums and greatly simplified Fortnite-Floss-Hüftkicks by Valiukevicius finally seem like a conquerable task. Best element: When everyone re-enacts the courtship efforts of lonely crown cranes from minute 1:21 onwards, and ten seconds later, like desperately inflated gas station hose figures, swirl around in the hurricane. For connoisseurs: In between, the yoga Jesus, known from Take That’s traditional dance to “Sure”, flashes in the choreography.

Attention, common child scares! This video provides first-class material for black pedagogy threats: Don’t eat as much wobbly pudding, otherwise you’ll get glibber legs like the poor people of Little Big! All male contributors are also strongly recommended as protagonists in a Wes Anderson film about a knife-thrower dynasty illegally bruised for their throwing tools. By the way, the middle-sleeved in the pink shirt is definitely Colin Farrell, don’t let anything else tell you.