Thank god it’s over.
What absolute sweet relief this is for my Sunday and Monday evenings. I can now return to my usual scheduled programming of a cup of Dilmah and death-scrolling Instagram, while my partner and I simultaneously ignore each other. Yes, please.
We start this evening’s viewings with one last hurrah with our look Sharp Dancers, who remain in virtually the same outfits they did on night one. But tonight for the grand finale, they are wearing red bedazzled bras, which are kind of like the famous Victoria’s Secret Fantasy Bras, but s**t.
“You don’t always get to work with professionals, do you Rhys?” queries host Clinton Randell to judge Rhys Darby. “Not yet,” replies Darby, and I feel my soul and his soul intertwine in a spiteful little way. It’s lovely.
As Tuatara kicks off the night’s vocal performances, I find myself screaming at the TV “It’s xxxxx bloody xxxxxxxx how could they not possibly guess it’s xxxxx bloody xxxxxxxx.”
He’s brilliant, because of course he is, and the performance is worthy of any stage in the world. But for the love of God, the jig is up. Just guess him already!
“I’m just kind of going through a whole lot of different people and I’m kind of between Mitch James and Benny Tipene and a few others,” says judge Sharyn Casey, which echoes a vibe of someone in their first year at the Otago Halls of Residence.
James Roque is the only one who makes a guess and goes for Guy Sebastian and Ladi6 mentions someone from L.A.B before declaring she knows who it is. However, this is not exciting for us, because we all know who it is too.
Medusa is up next and I know this voice well indeed as I “dubbed” it off the radio many times in the year 1999.
Casey guesses Joe Cotton from TrueBliss, who it absolutely is, before Darby guesses the same. The momentum is building and I am loving it until Ladi ruins it and then Roque sets fire to it with a guess of Megan Mansell.
Sheep arrives and just between me and ewe, my excitement spikes as he is brilliant and always brings the heat to the D-floor.
Casey guesses Israel Dagg, Darby goes Olympic skier Nico Porteous, and Ladi confesses she has been singing with this person all summer and reveals it’s Troy Kingi – but yet she wouldn’t throw Tuatara under the bus like that?! I smell a rat!
And just like that, on the night where everyone gets unmasked, it’s time to lose our first singer and that singer is Medusa.
When her mask comes off I am not at all surprised to see one of my heroes from the year 1999 – Joe Cotton from TrueBliss and she is looking great! Seriously, what has she been using on her skin?! I’ll take a vial or two of that thanks.
And then we erratically jump to our second lot of performances for the night with the singers reusing songs they have done before – just like wardrobe reused the crap out of that 10-pack of white masks.
Sheep goes for Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get it On, and Tuatara goes for DNCE’s Cake By the Ocean. They are both great but I’ve now watched over 11 hours of this show, and it’s like that weird last 30 minutes of a long-haul flight, where you just desperately want off the plane.
Let me grab my bag from the overhead locker, smack myself with it during its descent, and go. Please.
For some reason, the studio audience vote for the ultimate winner tonight – who wins nothing – because this show makes no sense, so somehow that makes sense.
And the results are in … TUATARA is the winner of New Zealand’s first (and dear lord let it be the last) season of The Masked Singer.
This means Sheep is first to get unmasked and behind that weird giant Sheep head is the insane talent that is Troy Kingi.
I adore him, his humble nature and his answer to why he decided to do the show. “My main motivation was my kids. I know that they are going to think I am super cool,” the singer and actor declares. Swoon.
Then came the clues. The bloody terrible clues, which I honestly stopped listening to in episode two. “Stone-cold genius refers to being from Kerikeri, known for its historic stone store.” Yeah, it’s a no from me dawg.
Then came the moment we all had been kind of waiting for. Tuatara was to be unmasked and he would finally crawl out from under his rock and emerge. And it would be over.
“Take it off!” scream the judges. “Turn it off!” screams my husband.
Finally, under the mask was, OF COURSE, Jason bloody Kerrison. Oh god, it feels good to get that off my chest.
He’s loved the experience, he’s lovely, and he’s been sporting a slick as hell hairdo under that Tuatara head. So overall we are pleased.
“Thanks to Denise and the team that made this suit,” shares Kerrison, and I have to hand it to Denise, this is one of her better costumes. And while I have you here Denise, I am very sorry for savaging Alien and Orange Roughy, but they didn’t let your talent shine the way Tuatara did.
Kerrison’s parting advice to any celeb who gets asked to do season two: “Oh give it a hoon bro. Give it a hoon.”
And that to me is the absolute mood of this season. Small NZ celeb pool, a show premise with absolutely no point, a host without the most and a costuming budget of $12 – “No worries,” scream the show’s producers … “Just give it a hoon!”
And give it a hoon they did.
The entire series of The Masked Singer NZ is now available to catch up on ThreeNow.
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