Eddie Izzard is lining up his targets. He’s taking issue with dictatorial authority figures, with God, royals and priests, right-wingers and high-profile liars. These days, he doesn’t merely natter about the colour of his nail varnish, though that’s still in the mix. In his new solo show, Force Majeure - trumpeted as the most extensive comedy tour ever, taking him from Cardiff to Kathmandu - his transvestism is mentioned, but only en passant.

The latter years of Michael Jackson were a sorry saga of debt, lawsuits and sordid allegations about his private life, with the artist seeming an increasingly desperate and isolated figure. Director Spike Lee aims to salvage Jackson's artistic reputation, and this sprawling two-hours-plus documentary keeps its lenses firmly focused on Jackson's musical and performing gifts.

Not the least interesting aspect of Give Us The Money, an examination of the effectiveness of famous pop stars campaigning to end poverty in Africa, was how historical it felt. Homing in specifically on Bob Geldof and Bono, who between then have spent decades hectoring the public, berating politicians and schmoozing billionaires with a view to alleviating the sufferings of millions of starving Africans, it was a glimpse into a lost world of stadium rock, furry non-HD video and political yesterday's men, like Gordon Brown and George W Bush.

Bon Iver’s eponymous second album is nearly a year-and-a-half old now, so its bigger, richer sound – compared to the homemade sparseness of the debut – is well established. Nevertheless, it was hard not to wonder how any band assembled by Justin Vernon would function in the hangar-like Wembley Arena. Would success claim another victim?

Sunderland-born Dave Stewart has embraced the life of a wandering troubadour virtually since he was born. He had a record deal with folk-rockers Longdancer at the start of the Seventies, though he didn't start to enjoy commercial success until the end of the decade, when he was with The Tourists. They're possibly best remembered for their cover of the Dusty Springfield hit "I Only Want To Be With You", but more importantly, it was the band which brought Stewart together with Annie Lennox.

The X Factor has made it far easier for fans to connect with artists from the get-go - as far as the viewer is concerned, the life story of each auditionee starts at episode one. Following JLS from that first audition to a third sold-out arena tour in the space of just four years has instilled a sense of pride in even the youngest of fans. 

The X Factor has been rewriting the Gregorian calendar since its inception in September 2004. It’s now more acceptable (nay, expected) for major label pop acts’ careers to fall like dominos after the first year, while at the other end of the scale we’re sped into an accelerated, broader-spanning nostalgia - a longing sensation triggered mere minutes after the ITV1+1 broadcast. It’s with this in mind that the staging and characterisation of The X Factor Live caused such intrigue.

And we're done. As you'd expect for a grand final, everything was pumped up yet further. A guest spot by Coldplay came over like a Nazi rally styled by kindergarten teachers who once took an E, all rainbow squiggles and brain-obliterating strobes. The fact that the TV sound mix revealed Chris Martin's vocal weaknesses and the flimsiness of the songs beneath the band's bombast couldn't ruin the gloriously dumb spectacle.

It has been four years since Alan Carr toured with a live show, and he's been much missed from the circuit. From his first appearances at the Edinburgh Fringe when he entertained audiences with tales of his past life as a call-centre worker and being the woefully non-sporty son of a football-manager father, he was destined for stardom.

Not everyone likes Lee Evans and his bespoke brand of simian gurning and jerky rubberised motion. But he is very much to the taste of a majority of the comedy-going classes. Few other stand-ups – you can count them on one hand – could spend a season touring the UK’s soulless edge-of-town arenas and not have to worry about performing to empty banks of raised seating. Evans tore into two sets of an hour each last night at Wembley Arena without, apparently, a thought of conserving any energy for the five nights still to come and the long list of bookings beyond. Such is his hypnotic hold that for an encore he even sang a sad song at the piano about a funny man and (almost) nobody left.