Jeez, I'm a miserable old sod gettin' to be....
My daughter wanted to watch Strictly Come Dancing last night, so I thought I'd give it a chance. And maybe I'd glean some insight into what all the fuss is about.
Thinking it might be something I wouldn't probably enjoy, I've mainly managed to avoid it over the past few years. However, I had realised that it bore little resemblance to its illustrious forerunner Come Dancing, which if memory serves used to be (rather ironically) quite a bit 'stricter'. My distant recollections of the original show include Angela Rippon, and people who could actually ...... er .......... dance.
Call me old fashioned if you will, but what I endured this past evening reminded me less of a show about dancing, but more of a strange mixture of boring back stories about a group of E-list 'celebrities' (on yet another jolly that I've paid for) and 4th-rate pantomime.
Another characteristic this tripe seems to share with other 'talent' shows is the way the judges seem to be more the centre of attention than the competitors themselves. Due to their continual over-exposure and constant attention, it could be argued that the judges of Strictly Come Dancing are actually higher up the celebrity pecking order than the show-biz luvvies taking part....
First there's Mr D'Arcey - the former ballet dancer looks down her nose at nearly everyone as if to let us all know that she was a 'proper' dancer. And by god, what a nose! It looks like the bastard child of Michael Jackson's hooter and Kevin Bacon's conk has been mercilessly chiselled into shape and then slapped on the front of her physog.
Then 'It get's a ten from Len' comes along. He's obviously the good guy in this particular pantomime, although I'm surprised he finds the time to fit in a bit of adjudicating between all the other celebrity vehicles he's currently involved in. And, of course, with all the time he spends shopping in Iceland...... yeah, right. That's probably a bit unfair seeing as I reckon he's actually a bit of a posh boy deep down, he probably gets his prawn rings and balti pasties delivered.
Then we have 'Frank' Bruno. Bruno really wants to be the star of the show. An uneasy cross between Louis Spence and Danny La Rue, he is quite simply the hammiest thing on TV since Kermit The Frog's bell-end - and he certainly wouldn't be welcome in the local mosque. Based on what I saw last night, it can only be a matter of time before he actually explodes on set. That would get a ten from me.
Finally, we have what every pantomime demands - a good old-fashioned villain. Even better, he's got a double-barrelled name, although I find it quite difficult to take seriously anyone related to a malteser. If anything, at least this guy is honest enough to accurately describe the talentless performances spread before him.
Ringmaster Tess of the D'Urbervilles seems hard pushed to keep everything running smoothly, and she doesn't seem to get much help from old Brucie these days. He just stands there talking drivel, pouting a lot to camera, and occasionally wiping his fringe out of his eyes. He looks ill to me. poor bugger. I think he should consider giving up one of his presenting jobs at his age - I'd suggest giving the old heave-ho to that Film review show that nobody watches anymore since Barry Norman retired to concentrate on producing his rather delicious brand of pickled onions.
Then, of course, we have the 'live' audience. This mob would probably be happier grinning through the local am-dram's unrehearsed version of Ali Baba and the 40 Thieves than a bit of Shakespeare no doubt. Every feckin' comment made by one of the judges is immediately responded to by this uneducated bunch of hyperactive cretins. I saw a pattern emerge after just a few turns had graced the dance floor with their inadequacies. 'Nice' remarks by a judge were met with a holler of cheers and much whooping in the aisles. Indifferent 'constructive' comments received a 'knowing' and respectful round of applause. And, of course, anything perceived as unfair or dismissive was immediately met with an enthusiastic round of booing and hissing from the peanut gallery.
I half expected the ghost of Judith Chalmers to enter stage right and a announce "He's behind you".
Dreadful.
post edited by SteveStrummerUK - 2014/10/19 10:36:38