Marie Phillips
From the sublime to the ridiculous. Sublime being Broadway Week. Ridiculous being - well. I actually got an email from a friend saying “Your blog had better reflect fully the true awesomeness that was this week’s show.” I had to read it twice to make sure it didn’t say “awfulness”.
If last week had the celebrities pulling it out of the bag, this week had them hastily stuffing it back into the bag and chucking the bag into the nearest canal.
Jason and Kristina - the much anticipated Paso Doble! The training video is of a small, haggard man, chained to the bottom of a barrel, scraping away as if his life depends on it. Not really. But as it features Jason Donovan in a comedy moustache and ridiculous Spanish accent walking around a supermarket, it may as well be. The dance, meanwhile - to I Want It All by Queen is many long chalks away form being his best. Even the Paso faces are mildly disappointing. On the other hand, after three weeks at the top of the leader-board this is perfect timing for Jason to have a duff week, to keep the notoriously tall poppy-hating Strictly audience on side. To help Jason along a bit, Craig undermarks it with a 6.
Alex and James - the Rumba! Oh please god no. Must there be a rumba every week? Alex claims “I’m not into being sexy,” which is like a red rag to a bull (no Paso reference intended) to the Strictly costume people, who squeeze her into a lace catsuit with boobs ahoy up front. (I have written TITS in capital letters in my notebook.) Alex essentially walks her way through it, which I have to respect. In fact I respect anyone who cannot bring themselves to do a proper rumba, similarly to people who refuse to sing in church or won’t go to war on principle. Afterwards the judges have a go at James’s choreography and James hits the roof. James is not averse to hitting the roof, so I barely pay it any attention, but what I do not realise is that this is the first sally in CHOREOGRAPHY-GATE which will engulf this episode of Strictly like a sequined tsunami. Oh yes it will. But for now we must join Tess in her bower (Tess, who is wearing a dress of unspeakable purple despair). Tess asks Alex if she was thinking of anyone in particular during The Dance Of Love TM. Alex dodges the question. I immediately try to think which cast member she is secretly boffing backstage. Oh please let it be Harry.
Rory and Erin - the Cha Cha Cha! Another friend emailed ahead of time (I get a lot of Strictly emails) to say that this was “Likely to be one of the worst cha chas in the history of the show.” NOT WRONG, MY FRIEND. I am reminded of Tibor Fisher’s words, reviewing Martin Amis’s Yellow Dog: “It’s like your favourite uncle being caught in a school playground, masturbating.” Of course, this isn’t Rory’s fault, nor is it Erin’s. When called upon to cha cha, one must cha cha. One must grind one’s hips, one must shimmy in front of the judge’s table. The whole routine made me want to eat my own head with embarrassment. My toes literally curled. “I must be a terrible lover,” said Rory in the training footage. Oh, Rory, you poor, poor lamb. Anyway, the public put him out of his misery, which is probably for the best. He hadn’t done the samba yet.
Audley and Natalie - Foxtrot! They dance to ‘I Don’t Know What To Do With Myself’. Natalie interprets the lyrics quite literally by dancing ever more dementedly around the maypole that is Audley. Little do I know that this, too, is a foreshadowing of the dread tidal wave of CHOREOGRAPHY-GATE. Len says “I’m sitting here giving you a standing ovation.” Somebody needs to explain either standing ovations or jokes to Len. Alesha says “You should be proud.” This is more Alesha-code. It means “Slightly less shit than I anticipated.”
Nancy and Anton - Paso Doble! Halloween has come early as Nancy, dressed in shiny black rags, staggers around the dancefloor like a zombie, visibly counting aloud. Is she drunk? “Secretly there is talent there,” says Craig, but I think he means secret like the handwritten Prime Ministerial instructions regarding the deployment of mutually-assured destruction nuclear weapons, which are kept in a safe within another safe in a submarine.
Lulu and Brendan - Samba! They start with trumpets. THEY START WITH TRUMPETS. Miming the intro to Sir Duke. Stevie Wonder has never been happier to be blind. Trumpets jettisoned, this continues in standard, reasonably awful fashion, until a bizarrissimo bit when they run halfway up the stairs. SPOILER ALERT: THIS IS NOT THE WORST USE THAT THE STAIRS ARE GETTING TONIGHT. When Len points out that this may not be best demonstration of the choreographer’s art, James shouts ‘Whatever!’ from the gallery. James has fully lost it tonight. Maybe he is a soothsayer and he knows what is to come. But I don’t at this stage know what is to come, so I just wonder if he’s pissed off that his wife might win the damn competition again, and he definitely won’t. Because she is a better choreographer than he is. Oh yes.
Holly and Artem - The Viennese Waltz! Remember Audley the maypole? Holly and Artem are dancing what is otherwise a perfectly serviceable waltz around three completely rubbish wobbly plastic lampposts. It is ridiculously bollocks and everybody hates the poles. SPOILER ALERT: THIS IS EASILY NOT THE MOST STUPID CHOREOGRAPHY WE WILL SEE.
Chelsee and Pasha - the Quickstep! To Sing Sing - one of my favourite songs! And it is AWESOME. A brief window of brilliance in a night of dance doom. Chelsee plays an air hostess, for no reason whatsoever, except that it means that she can wear a fantastic outfit (I think she may have dumped her stylist). It is the first actual dance of the night. I mean, look at it:
“Chelsee, look at this! That’s for you and Pasha!” says Bruce. Yes, Bruce. Unlike Len, Chelsee knows what a standing ovation is. She isn’t six.
And then in happens. Harry and Aliona - the Waltz! OH GOD OH GOD AVERT YOUR EYES. So it starts off remarkably well. It was in the Viennese Waltz last year that Aliona deployed THE HORROR which was the swing (THE SWING! THE SWING!), so I am delighted that there are no props. And Harry is dancing beautifully. AND THEN OH MY GOD AND THEN AND THEN ALIONA MAKES THEM GO UP THE STAIRS AND HAVE A LITTLE WHISPER AND A KISS IT IS AN ABOMINATION OH GOD IN HEAVEN WHY WHY IT WAS GOING SO WELL.
It all kicks off. Len HATES it. Len says he was going to give it a 10 but has to mark it down for being so fucking STUPID. (He may not use these exact words.) (Also: he gives it an 8.) Craig - Craig! Usually a bastion of sanity! - defends it and its (gag trigger word alert) “storytelling”. Alesha, who I never normally give much credit to, is the voice of reason, pointing out that as a celeb you just have to dance what you’re given. Len insists. Alesha shouts “BUT HARRY DIDN’T DO THE CHOREOGRAPHY”. Then totally spoils her voice of reason status by giving it a 10, no doubt in solidarity with poor Harry being lumbered with this dance albatross (surely Aliona can never win this competition, if she was partnered by the splicing of Nelson Mandela and Fred Astaire she’d still have no chance as long as she was permitted to put together her own routines). Supportive as I am of Alesha’s sentiment I cannot condone the 10, because OH GOD NO SERIOUSLY NO NO WHY NO. Poor Harry.
Anyway. It all calms down now. Exhale.
Anita and Robin - American Smooth! This sort of passes me by in the wake of CHOREOGRAPHY-GATE. Now that the effect of Anita’s enthusiasm is wearing off on me, I notice more of her mistakes. The routine in pretty straight, which is because Robin is normal.
Robbie and Ola - Jive! To a piece of music called Love Man, which I have never heard before, and is extraordinarily brilliant. As, in many ways, is this dance. This, unlike Harry and A****a’s last week, is a proper jive, and Robbie breaks out a whole category of previously unseen dance face - the jive face! I like the jive face. I LOVE the jive face. In fact about halfway through this routine, somewhere around the kicks and flicks, I realise I am beginning to fancy Robbie, which is freakish, given how utterly unattractive I find him on any objective level of measurement. This is some kind of Strictly Stockholm Syndrome, and if it’s having this effect on me, I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s doing to the rest of the country. Is it too soon to call Robbie and Ola as winners? (Similarly to X Factor, in which a talented black girl alternates winning every year with a forgettable white boy, in Strictly a beautiful young woman alternates every year with a surprising sportsman, and 2011 is due a sporting win. If you put a bet on it, don’t forget my commission.) Craig gives it a 5. Baffling.
And last but not least, Russell and Flavia - Tango! And we know what that means: tango faces (and I’m not just talking about fake tan). 2011 is verily the year of the face. This routine is to Sweet Dreams, so the training video has a dream sequence (yawn - am I alone is actually wanting to see what really happens in the training room?) and the routine has a bed and a teddy bear. (When Bruce says afterwards “don’t leave your bear behind” I think he’s attempting a rude pun, but I am the only person who notices.) It’s not Russell’s best, but even his worst is above average. (One question though, did anybody catch what got them hysterical on Tess’s balcony? Seriously, they nearly collapsed with laughing but I totally missed the joke.)
And that’s it. Bad dances but big drama on Strictly. I’m not sure if I am dreading or desperate for what A****a’s going to come up with next week. Maybe she and James will have a scandalous affair, entirely conducted through the medium of poorly-choreographed dance, while Ola takes solace in Robbie. That’d be “storytelling” all right.
