The pageant that appeals and appals in equal measure has consolidated Europe better than the EU, writes Derek Scally
Imagine a Martian crash-landed this evening in Istanbul, home to this year's Eurovision Song Contest. Would he see a three-hour musical celebration of cultural diversity or a worthless pile of cultural Styrofoam?
The debate about the merits of the Eurovision has been running as long as the 48-year-old contest itself. But it never spoils the fun for the 150 million people, from Reykjavik to Tel Aviv, who tune in every year for a musical pageant that appeals and appals in equal measure.
Ireland's cultural critics may sniff, but our collective consciousness is filled with Eurovision memories since Butch Moore first represented Ireland in 1965, came in a respectable sixth place and returned from Naples a hero. From Dana's wide-eyed All Kinds of Everything through Johnny Logan's double win to Linda Martin, Niamh Kavanagh and Harrington-McGettigan, our winners are part of Irish history. Even hardened Eurovision cynics can smile at Ireland's most famous Eurovision song that wasn't: Father Ted and Father Dougal's My Lovely Horse.
The most common criticism of the Eurovision, that it produces irrelevant Europap, is not just itself irrelevant but untrue. The 1990s Celtic-lite trend was ushered in by 1994's Riverdance interval act and capitalised on with success in the following two years by Norway's Secret Garden and Ireland's Eimear "The Voice" Quinn. Last year's Turkish winner, Sertab Erener's Everyway that I Can, was a huge success across Europe by building on the growing trend of Oriental-ethnic dance music.
Ireland's record seven wins may have bred a haughty disdain towards the Eurovision, yet the song contest and the You're a Star selection programme - from which Chris Doran emerged as the Irish representative - are ratings hits for RTÉ.
In Istanbul, the build-up to tonight's contest has been as crazy as ever, filled with chaotic dress rehearsals and an endless round of delegation receptions. As the number of participants has grown, so too have the rules. New this year was a qualifier competition on Wednesday night to pick the last 10 participants for tonight. Worries about messing with the classic Eurovision formula proved unfounded: if anything the semi-final was even more insane than the usual show.
So-bad-it's-good moments included histrionic Israeli David D'Or, who failed to make tonight's cut, and Bosnia's Deen, a lisping blonde whippet whose song has the incomprehensible yet ironic lyrics: "I'm lyin', I'm late, I'm losing my weight/You call me, you wait, take your shoes and go straight/because you want to dance with me/in the disco".
Ukraine's Ruslana, a Catherine Zeta-Jones lookalike in Xena Warrior Princess gear, is determined to win with her song, Europop meets Carpathian Mountain music.
"Every year we see how important the Eurovision is for these countries in central and eastern Europe," says a Eurovision spokesman. "They realise that 150 million people are watching them and if that means one more person knows where Kiev is, that can only be a good thing." Despite wins in the last two years, the Baltic countries were left licking their wounds on Wednesday after all three failed to make the cut for tonight. Slovenia's Sonny and Cher-style couple, called Platin, consoled themselves yesterday by getting married, as planned, on a Bosphorus river boat.
The sheer logistics of organising the contest appear to have overwhelmed the Turkish national broadcaster, TRT. The producer of Woodstock '99 was drafted in at the last minute to get the show on the road. The press centre proved to be a mess of dodgy Internet connections, broken photocopiers and frazzled though friendly staff.
"It's just chaos here," remarked one frustrated British woman on Thursday afternoon. "Turkey in the EU? I think they should be more interested in getting through the next few days. I bloody well wouldn't let them in with the mess I've seen."
Despite that outburst, however, politics barely featured in this year's contest: only the Macedonians kicked up a fuss at being called "Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia" and wore T-shirts bearing the slogan "Don't FYR us".
The press conferences were, as usual, soft-focus affairs, hijacked by fans who stand up without fail every time to say: "We think you're great, we think you're amazing. Will you please sing for us?"
The good will in the Istanbul air this week seemed infectious. Even hardened cynical Eurovision veterans have to admit the song contest - particularly its compelling "nul points" voting system - has brought Europe together in a way never managed by the 80,000 pages of the EU's Acquis Communautaire law book.
"There's no malice here. I know I sound like a happy clappy Christian, but everyone's so lovely," admitted one newly-recruited Eurovision representative in Istanbul. "The music is so cheesy but I quite like it."
The 49th Eurovision Song Contest is on RTÉ 1 and BBC1 at 8 p.m.