- 23 Maj 2007, 17:46
#804626
Watch Eurovision? Only when the triumph of a lesbian Gypsy sweeps away the
dross
Germaine Greer
Monday May 21, 2007
Guardian
The Eurovision contest is over, some are hoping, forever. Yet no one but me
in my dotage seems to have registered that something wonderful has
happened, and that Eurovision may never be the same again. It was wonderful
enough that a solid plain girl in glasses won it for Serbia with an
old-fashioned torch-song; that she should have sung it in passionate
earnest as a lover of her own sex is what made this viewer switch off the
iron and start praying that the gods might let her win. When Marija
Serifovic was asked in interviews why the presentation was so subdued, no
high kicks, no pelvic thrusts, she was puzzled by the inappropriateness of
the questions. While all around her were writhing and mugging, she sang
Molitva as her ostracised self.
Now they want to say that the voting was crooked. But Serbia got points
from all but five of the 23 countries entitled to vote; this was not a
matter of voting for one's cabal, or even tactical voting. The quality of
Serbia's offering was certainly recognised by the country's Balkan
neighbours, but it was rewarded also by Austria, Finland, Hungary and
Switzerland, who came through with 12 points each. Usually I don't care who
wins Eurovision; this time I cheered every time Serbia increased its lead.
For once winning was important. When 23-year-old Serifovic walked on to the
glittering stage in her white plimsolls and unbuttoned black Dolce &
Gabbana suit, the ends of her bow-tie hanging loose, kitsch was suddenly
extinguished. When she stood four-square, lifted her head and sang,
shrieking camp was silenced.
Serifovic's big, supple voice, apparently effortlessly produced from her
deep chest, is imbued with a special kind of feeling which comes from one
of the wellsprings of the European song tradition. Marija Serifovic is not
just an out lesbian, she is Romany. If ever a voice deserved to reign over
Eurovision it is the voice of the Gypsy, who is made to live everywhere in
Europe as if it was nowhere.
From the slopes of the Caucasus to the shores of the Atlantic, the Roma
people can be found struggling with poverty and ill-health, unemployed,
often undocumented, threatened with assimilation and the loss of what
little culture they have left - and nowhere more so than in Serbia. Every
Serbian knows that Serifovic is the daughter of the famous Romany singer,
Verica Serifovic. The bookies gave Verica 10/1 against a victory for her
daughter and she bet her life savings, £3,000, all or nothing. Average
wages in Serbia are about £150 per month and only about 20% of Serbia's
200,000 Roma are in work. Verica knew that her daughter's song should have
been a certainty. And so did I, but I would never have trusted the
Eurovision lottery to come up with the right result.
Marija had sung the song, Molitva, or "Prayer", with lyrics by Sasa
Milosevic Mare and music by Vladimir Graic, many times before. Usually she
sang it as a straight torch song, dressed in frilly jackets, shiny skirts,
beads, makeup and frouffed-up hair. That was how she sang it in the
national heats; the jury of experts preferred a different singer and a
different song, but the phone and text votes decided the issue in Molitva's
favour. In the weeks between winning in Serbia and singing in Helsinki,
Molitva was stripped down to be presented as an uncompromisingly lesbian
love-lament. Serifovic has been out since 2004, but until the night of the
Eurovision final she had never performed as a lesbian. In the midst of all
the synthetic shimmy-shimmy-shake, she stood like a schoolboy, and sang her
heart out.
She was every big, clumsy plain girl who has ever yearned for a smile of
encouragement from the school beauty, every loser who has had to look on
while males took for granted an intimacy she could never aspire to. Her
shyness, her anguish, and the fat fake ruby heart pinned to her jacket, all
told the same story of the love that nobody wants to hear about. The chorus
of highly decorative straight women at first ignored her, then comforted
her, and then, singing with her, recognised her as a lover. The half a
heart drawn on the hand of one joined with the half a heart drawn on
Serifovic's hand, to become a whole heart, still bleeding, but
acknowledged. It was simple. It was obvious, too obvious for the BBC's Mark
Savage, who decided in his knee-jerk revulsion that what he was watching
was some kind of "slow-motion, lesbian porn flick". Shame on him. Go,
Marija!
Guardian Unlimited © Guardian News and Media Limited 2007
dross
Germaine Greer
Monday May 21, 2007
Guardian
The Eurovision contest is over, some are hoping, forever. Yet no one but me
in my dotage seems to have registered that something wonderful has
happened, and that Eurovision may never be the same again. It was wonderful
enough that a solid plain girl in glasses won it for Serbia with an
old-fashioned torch-song; that she should have sung it in passionate
earnest as a lover of her own sex is what made this viewer switch off the
iron and start praying that the gods might let her win. When Marija
Serifovic was asked in interviews why the presentation was so subdued, no
high kicks, no pelvic thrusts, she was puzzled by the inappropriateness of
the questions. While all around her were writhing and mugging, she sang
Molitva as her ostracised self.
Now they want to say that the voting was crooked. But Serbia got points
from all but five of the 23 countries entitled to vote; this was not a
matter of voting for one's cabal, or even tactical voting. The quality of
Serbia's offering was certainly recognised by the country's Balkan
neighbours, but it was rewarded also by Austria, Finland, Hungary and
Switzerland, who came through with 12 points each. Usually I don't care who
wins Eurovision; this time I cheered every time Serbia increased its lead.
For once winning was important. When 23-year-old Serifovic walked on to the
glittering stage in her white plimsolls and unbuttoned black Dolce &
Gabbana suit, the ends of her bow-tie hanging loose, kitsch was suddenly
extinguished. When she stood four-square, lifted her head and sang,
shrieking camp was silenced.
Serifovic's big, supple voice, apparently effortlessly produced from her
deep chest, is imbued with a special kind of feeling which comes from one
of the wellsprings of the European song tradition. Marija Serifovic is not
just an out lesbian, she is Romany. If ever a voice deserved to reign over
Eurovision it is the voice of the Gypsy, who is made to live everywhere in
Europe as if it was nowhere.
From the slopes of the Caucasus to the shores of the Atlantic, the Roma
people can be found struggling with poverty and ill-health, unemployed,
often undocumented, threatened with assimilation and the loss of what
little culture they have left - and nowhere more so than in Serbia. Every
Serbian knows that Serifovic is the daughter of the famous Romany singer,
Verica Serifovic. The bookies gave Verica 10/1 against a victory for her
daughter and she bet her life savings, £3,000, all or nothing. Average
wages in Serbia are about £150 per month and only about 20% of Serbia's
200,000 Roma are in work. Verica knew that her daughter's song should have
been a certainty. And so did I, but I would never have trusted the
Eurovision lottery to come up with the right result.
Marija had sung the song, Molitva, or "Prayer", with lyrics by Sasa
Milosevic Mare and music by Vladimir Graic, many times before. Usually she
sang it as a straight torch song, dressed in frilly jackets, shiny skirts,
beads, makeup and frouffed-up hair. That was how she sang it in the
national heats; the jury of experts preferred a different singer and a
different song, but the phone and text votes decided the issue in Molitva's
favour. In the weeks between winning in Serbia and singing in Helsinki,
Molitva was stripped down to be presented as an uncompromisingly lesbian
love-lament. Serifovic has been out since 2004, but until the night of the
Eurovision final she had never performed as a lesbian. In the midst of all
the synthetic shimmy-shimmy-shake, she stood like a schoolboy, and sang her
heart out.
She was every big, clumsy plain girl who has ever yearned for a smile of
encouragement from the school beauty, every loser who has had to look on
while males took for granted an intimacy she could never aspire to. Her
shyness, her anguish, and the fat fake ruby heart pinned to her jacket, all
told the same story of the love that nobody wants to hear about. The chorus
of highly decorative straight women at first ignored her, then comforted
her, and then, singing with her, recognised her as a lover. The half a
heart drawn on the hand of one joined with the half a heart drawn on
Serifovic's hand, to become a whole heart, still bleeding, but
acknowledged. It was simple. It was obvious, too obvious for the BBC's Mark
Savage, who decided in his knee-jerk revulsion that what he was watching
was some kind of "slow-motion, lesbian porn flick". Shame on him. Go,
Marija!
Guardian Unlimited © Guardian News and Media Limited 2007
prokomentarisati 
4 Germaine Greer & Guardian
4 that asshole Mark Savage
, predstavnik Roma da je Marijina porodica učestvovala u njihovoj izbornoj kampanji.
