Give me Fred Astaire over this lot any day
AM I alone in thinking that the television programme Strictly Come Dancing is nothing but a load of terpsichorean tat?
I watched it recently out of curiosity and as far as I can see it’s made up of middle-aged presenters – Daley, Winkleman and Ball – trying to look 16, celebrities (the bane of modern television) making fools of themselves and professional dancers desperate for air-time.
Don’t get me wrong. I like dance when it’s done by the likes of Fred Astaire, Eleanor Powell or Gene Kelly, but this programme’s amateur dancers remind me of drunks trying to step on cockroaches.
More to the point, the programme itself seems to have permeated the national consciousness. It (along with certain “baking” programmes) has become the dominant theme in British culture; I have heard it referenced in antiques programmes, arts programmes, news items, radio shows and even wildlife documentaries.
Personally, I’ve had enough of judging panels giving their subjective opinions on everything from spaghetti bolognese to top tenors to dancing dogs and the doodle ally two-step.
Saturday nights used to be a time for a cracking good film, intelligent interviews and professional comedians.
I was hoping for a return to those halcyon days but the “brains” at the top of the broadcasting companies seem hell-bent on continuing their adherence and commitment to dumbing down. A Danse Macabre for any discerning viewer.