#79 Dance like 11 million people are watching
19/12/21 18:28
I thought I’d done my last blog before Christmas, my Top Ten TV shows of 2021, but there was a notable absence and now I find myself compelled to rectify my omission. The shows I chose were all comedies or dramas and it felt erroneous to include Strictly, but after watching the big finish, I decided it deserves a blog all to itself. You can read many gushingly warm takes on the BBC’s crowning glory – for example, the excellent Julia Raeside writes a spot-on column for the iPaper – so I realise I’m just another praise-bauble on its compliment-tree, but the final flourish of this magnificent event filled me with such joy that I just have to share it.
The entire series has been a triumph – a twirling, sashaying, perfectly-executed fleckerl that deserves the 10 paddle from a grateful nation. It’s kept us going as a family for months – every Saturday, we assemble on the sofa with our ready-meal curries to gorge on gorgeousness. We savour the developing friendships, speculate on the romances, admire the outfits, punch the air after the routines and predict the judge’s scores. I adore each and every one of the panel – Anton’s choked-up incoherence, Shirley’s warm authority, Motsi’s flamboyant empathy, Craig’s irrepressible snark. They all look fab-u-lous.
The professional dancers are ridiculously hot, the celebrities absurdly game, the house band impressively versatile. I love the fact that this flagship show is presented by two women – I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but Brucie was rubbish. Claudia, with her wonderfully cartoonish appearance, is droll and quick-witted, entirely engaged in the process, Saturday’s blinked-back tears demonstrating her investment. Tess, on the other hand, couldn’t give a shit, and I applaud her complete lack of any emotion other than rictus faux-enthusiasm – it’s really quite breathtaking how few fucks she gives. For the final, she even dressed as if she was ready to go back to her local luxury spa for a facial straight after. If wrap parties were allowed, Claudia would definitely stay for a few bevvies and a gas, but Tess would be outta there.
But let’s come to the contestants. This year has been a stellar line-up, not just because many of them were properly famous, but because many of them were properly endearing, dynamic characters to boot. The valiant Ugo, determined, eloquent Tilly, supreme Dad-dancer Greg (with wife Emma Thompson whooping it up in the audience), human space-hopper Rhys. Then there was the spectacular AJ, with endless legs I shall forever envy, whose showstopping Charleston blurred the line between amateur and pro. It was heart-breaking to see her sequinned medical boot on the side-lines – she fully deserved her place in the final, but one day she’ll be back to host the whole thing, so she may have lost the battle but she’ll win the war.
And in the end, you couldn’t get a more endearing, dynamic duo than our two remaining finalists – the gentle, jaw-droppingly hench John and the sweetly irreverent Rose. I’ve so enjoyed the radiant Ms Ayling-Ellis continually pricking the brooding hero persona of her partner Gio - my two greatest memories of the series will be her heart-stopping semi-silent sequence, and her gleefully laughing in Pernice’s face as she mocked his bad breath. This Rose has thorns, and I love her all the more for it. Are they an item? Honestly, I doubt it – though I winced, along with the rest of the country, at the mention of her boyfriend, whose presence felt decidedly de trop. The thing is, I don’t think Gio is good enough for Rose, because I don’t think anyone is good enough for Rose. She’s the nation’s sweetheart, and we’re not good enough for her either.
John and Johannes are the nation’s gay best friends. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve cried watching them – almost as many times as Johannes has cried. I remember seeing the original Come Dancing as a child, when the very idea of two men waltzing together would have been viewed as sacrilegious and utterly impossible. The fact that we’re here now, slavering over their sexy-as-hell routines and discussing the implications of their partnership, suggests that despite the current toxic binfire of absolutely everything, there’s a glimmer of light on a horizon that seems a little bit broader.
Progress is being made. Strictly’s first deaf contestant has inspired a surge in people learning British Sign Language. The director of one firm offering BSL courses said that enrolments have gone up by more than 2,000% since Rose has been on the show. And as for a same-sex couple dancing, just last year, Ann Widdecombe told the Sunday Times ‘I don’t think it is what viewers of Strictly, especially families, are looking for.’ Well, the votes proved otherwise, so fuck you, you rancid old trout.
Visibility is important. Representation is important. For the gay community and the deaf community, John and Rose have done so much. But they represented more than her disability and his sexuality – they showed us hope and humour, graft, guts, grace and goodwill. It would have been lovely to see them both share the glitterball as a beacon of inclusivity and progression, but John was victorious anyway, and in fact we’re all winners. Strictly brought us together in a moment of exultation, and the glow of it will linger long after the studio lights have been switched off and Tess has gone for her skin peel.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, Auntie, for a monumental Christmas gift. I’ll treasure it.
The entire series has been a triumph – a twirling, sashaying, perfectly-executed fleckerl that deserves the 10 paddle from a grateful nation. It’s kept us going as a family for months – every Saturday, we assemble on the sofa with our ready-meal curries to gorge on gorgeousness. We savour the developing friendships, speculate on the romances, admire the outfits, punch the air after the routines and predict the judge’s scores. I adore each and every one of the panel – Anton’s choked-up incoherence, Shirley’s warm authority, Motsi’s flamboyant empathy, Craig’s irrepressible snark. They all look fab-u-lous.
The professional dancers are ridiculously hot, the celebrities absurdly game, the house band impressively versatile. I love the fact that this flagship show is presented by two women – I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but Brucie was rubbish. Claudia, with her wonderfully cartoonish appearance, is droll and quick-witted, entirely engaged in the process, Saturday’s blinked-back tears demonstrating her investment. Tess, on the other hand, couldn’t give a shit, and I applaud her complete lack of any emotion other than rictus faux-enthusiasm – it’s really quite breathtaking how few fucks she gives. For the final, she even dressed as if she was ready to go back to her local luxury spa for a facial straight after. If wrap parties were allowed, Claudia would definitely stay for a few bevvies and a gas, but Tess would be outta there.
But let’s come to the contestants. This year has been a stellar line-up, not just because many of them were properly famous, but because many of them were properly endearing, dynamic characters to boot. The valiant Ugo, determined, eloquent Tilly, supreme Dad-dancer Greg (with wife Emma Thompson whooping it up in the audience), human space-hopper Rhys. Then there was the spectacular AJ, with endless legs I shall forever envy, whose showstopping Charleston blurred the line between amateur and pro. It was heart-breaking to see her sequinned medical boot on the side-lines – she fully deserved her place in the final, but one day she’ll be back to host the whole thing, so she may have lost the battle but she’ll win the war.
And in the end, you couldn’t get a more endearing, dynamic duo than our two remaining finalists – the gentle, jaw-droppingly hench John and the sweetly irreverent Rose. I’ve so enjoyed the radiant Ms Ayling-Ellis continually pricking the brooding hero persona of her partner Gio - my two greatest memories of the series will be her heart-stopping semi-silent sequence, and her gleefully laughing in Pernice’s face as she mocked his bad breath. This Rose has thorns, and I love her all the more for it. Are they an item? Honestly, I doubt it – though I winced, along with the rest of the country, at the mention of her boyfriend, whose presence felt decidedly de trop. The thing is, I don’t think Gio is good enough for Rose, because I don’t think anyone is good enough for Rose. She’s the nation’s sweetheart, and we’re not good enough for her either.
John and Johannes are the nation’s gay best friends. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve cried watching them – almost as many times as Johannes has cried. I remember seeing the original Come Dancing as a child, when the very idea of two men waltzing together would have been viewed as sacrilegious and utterly impossible. The fact that we’re here now, slavering over their sexy-as-hell routines and discussing the implications of their partnership, suggests that despite the current toxic binfire of absolutely everything, there’s a glimmer of light on a horizon that seems a little bit broader.
Progress is being made. Strictly’s first deaf contestant has inspired a surge in people learning British Sign Language. The director of one firm offering BSL courses said that enrolments have gone up by more than 2,000% since Rose has been on the show. And as for a same-sex couple dancing, just last year, Ann Widdecombe told the Sunday Times ‘I don’t think it is what viewers of Strictly, especially families, are looking for.’ Well, the votes proved otherwise, so fuck you, you rancid old trout.
Visibility is important. Representation is important. For the gay community and the deaf community, John and Rose have done so much. But they represented more than her disability and his sexuality – they showed us hope and humour, graft, guts, grace and goodwill. It would have been lovely to see them both share the glitterball as a beacon of inclusivity and progression, but John was victorious anyway, and in fact we’re all winners. Strictly brought us together in a moment of exultation, and the glow of it will linger long after the studio lights have been switched off and Tess has gone for her skin peel.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, Auntie, for a monumental Christmas gift. I’ll treasure it.
- Strictly Come Dancing, BBC One
