For all those dreaming of a camp Christmas, here it surely comes: Mariah Meets Rylan. Our own Rylan Clark, the nonpareil of reality TV stars, Essex boy and the nation’s guncle (“gay uncle” for those of you who couldn’t place the vibe though you were warmed by it nonetheless) is brought into the orbit of the greatest star in the seasonal firmament, Mariah Carey; she of the five-octave voice, multiple music awards, feted singer and songwriter, seller of 220m records and counting and all-round extraordinary talent.
Rylan is thrilled. Mariah is … less so. They sit opposite each other in remarkably cheap-looking cream boucle armchairs for a notional fireside chat to mark the 30th anniversary of her mega hit All I Want for Christmas Is You. He is energetic, funny – even witty when he gets a chance – and clearly a genuine devotee. She is … none of these things. Mariah sits – regally, do I need to say? – on one of the cheap chairs, a blank-faced queen ready to receive her due from a subject, but so ungraciously that it rapidly becomes dreadful to watch.
She gives Rylan nothing. Nothing. And my God, these are softball questions. There is nothing to distress or vex here. Most of her answers are echoing agreements that someone or something is “amazing”. Some of them are literally just an “Mmm” sound. She sits, unmoving, as if comatose with boredom – or, just possibly, away in her head composing the letters of dismissal to all those complicit in requiring her to sit before the cameras with this Ronald or Rylance person.
Sometimes the answers are longer, but no more meaningful. What was it about music she loved so much, asks Roland.
“It was always an escape for me. I just loved music in general.”
Her first Christmas album was a mix of genres, was it not? Yes. She wanted to do a version of Silent Night but Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) “is not technically a hymn”.
Does she really own Marilyn Monroe’s piano?
“There was an auction. And I got it from the auction.”
Roger points to a picture among the artfully arranged framed talking points on the table between them. Is that her with Miss Aretha Franklin?
“There’s a whole long story about that,” says Mariah. She doesn’t tell it. Miss Franklin is “amazing” though.
Other non-revelations include that she and Whitney Houston were really good friends, that she loves Capri (“It’s part of who I am”) and the UK, and adored George Michael. She also – make sure you’re seated for this one – is a big fan of Christmas.
There are just occasional – if inadvertent – glimpses of something almost revealing about the star. Like the fact that she wandered away from someone telling a story about Tom Cruise to go to the loo, where she came up with the germ of the song Hero. “I didn’t really care about the story,” she explains. She remembers Westlife, who joined her for a version of Against All Odds (Take a Look at Me Now). “They were great,” she says vaguely. “Really nice … I had already sung the song but we did some parts together.”
But of course she loves her Lambs! “The Lambily!” This is what her fans took to calling themselves after overhearing her entourage refer to each other by the nickname. “My Lambs are amazing.”
By this point, Robert is pedalling so hard that if Botox still allowed, sweat would be pouring off his brow. What a trouper. By this point, had I been treated with such borderline contempt by someone whose sole end of the bargain was to acknowledge with a smile and a couple of lively anecdotes the love people have had for her music around the world for the past three decades, I would have tipped that table of photographs over and headed back to LAX. But Rupert is made of sterner stuff. He marches them both through cringe-making set pieces without flinching, giving her tatty presents, demanding she show off her British accent (not bad, actually) and winkling an invitation to Capri out of her. It’s exhausting and he deserves a medal.
The only saving grace is that their interactions are interspersed with lengthy clips of her videos and other performances – including with Miss Franklin and Whitney Houston – that remind us of everything for which she is rightly revered.
The credits run over brief outtakes from the interview, either to pad out the material or to prove that it was indeed the real Mariah Carey rather than an animatronic doll, as she startles when a light blows or nearly smiles at another mishap. But I’d stick to the albums if I were you.
• Mariah Meets Rylan aired on BBC Two and is on iPlayer now.
