Sorry Ed, your Strictly debut was more Gene Jelly than Gene Kelly
Like alcoholics tumbling off the wagon, fans of Strictly Come
Dancing (BBC1) went from abstinence to mad over-indulgence in one lunge, as the contest returned with a double bill spanning two-and-a-half hours.
This was Strictly distilled to its purest essence. Unlike the gala opening three weeks ago, there were no star guests, no time for larks. instead, it was 15 pairs of dancers, 15 rapid-fire debuts and well under 15 minutes of fame apiece amid a blizzard of catchphrases.
For addicts, this was a glorious binge. For more casual viewers, the people who don’t really get hooked until the later stages — that is, most of us, and definitely me — it was much too much of a good thing.
in its rush to show us a set piece from every celebrity hoofer, Strictly slides too easily into the trap of being mechanical, more conveyor belt than ballroom. every showcase follows a rigid formula: a profile of the celeb, practice scenes and the 90-second dance.
Then it’s the judges’ comments — cheers for Len, laughs with Bruno, applause for Darcey, boos for mean old Craig — a quick chat with Claudia Winkleman and the score is revealed. And then . . . do it all over again. At this stage, it’s a sausage machine: churn, churn, churn.
There’s simply not enough variety, which makes it impossible to keep track of all the routines. That’s made harder because several of these ‘celebs’ are virtual unknowns. if you knew who Ore Oduba, Danny Mac or Melvin Odoom were before last month, you’re probably family.
The format might work better if the 15 contestants were split into three groups of five, with one group appearing each week. They’d have longer to rehearse and we’d have longer to get to know them.
instead, the two-parter, split over Friday and Saturday, was more a whirl of impressions. First to dance was Laura Whitmore, and if you didn’t know she was a TV presenter, you might have assumed she was a politician. ‘This one is a kipper,’ announced judge Bruno.
Was he talking about Ukip? Apparently not — kipper is how he pronounces ‘keeper’ in that cod italian accent.
The actual politician, albeit failed, was ed Balls. He was dressed in a lounge suit with a red tie (and, hedging his bets, a blue pocket hankie). The outfit might have doubled for the Labour Party conference this week, were it not for the rhinestones on the lapels. And his hair was slicked back so hard, he looked more like a gangster than a prancing politician.
During rehearsals, he is sporting a cut above one eyebrow — thanks to crashing into an automatic door while out and about hawking his new memoirs.
During the performance itself, there might have been no crashing into the set. But, struggling with an umbrella in a pretend storm, ed was failing to evoke memories of Gene kelly.
He was more like Gene Jelly — a wobbly mess. The kindest thing any of the judges could muster was Bruno’s comment: ‘ Very politically correct.’ ed scored the lowest marks of all, and it’s now odds-on that he’ll be first to be voted out. At least he’s used to being evicted by the electorate. The castaways on Celebrity
Island ( C4) were voting themselves off, in protest at their own laziness and stupidity. They couldn’t find food and they couldn’t be bothered to look for it. They’re supposed to be doing this to raise cash for cancer research, but two have quit already.
The food was there — a huge fish snoozed in clear water below a rocky outcrop and, if any of the celebs had thought to bring a pointy stick, it would have been Frying Tonight.
They had only twine and fishhooks, and Lydia from Towie managed to impale herself on one of those. There is a doctor in the camp, Dawn Harper from embarrassing Bodies, but a fishhook in the finger was too complex a surgical procedure for her.
The offshore emergency team had to be called in by radio, for a third time. Meanwhile, there were fat turkeys in the rainforest, squawking to be caught... but the real turkeys were back at camp.