In a choice between watching the show drunk, or watching the show hungover, I think I made the right one. As it was, the sight of Russell Grant emerging from Flavia’s clam with glitter all over his face (ask Jimi Mistry…) was a wonderful restorative, whereas if the show had been the capper to a night of barely identifiable chicken burgers and trying to sing Thai pop-hits at an underground karaoke bar, the 157th iteration of “PUNCH THAT HOMO IN THE FACE!” from Len might have been enough for a spectacular vomit.
So yeah, Bruce has gone totally off-piste. Committing to calling Ola “Orla”, laughing at everything Len says far too loudly and longly, and at one point going on an extent incoherent rant about how boxing is gay which ended up with him screaming “HANDBAAAAAAAAAAG!” like Dame Edith Evans. I’d predict it was his last series, but that would basically be predicting his incoming death in all but name, and I’m not quite that tacky. Yet. We’ve got another month or so of Orla’s starfish choreography to put up with yet, give me time.
So anyway, yes, the two ladies mentioned above are responsible for the evening’s two most comedic pieces, one intentionally, the other…not so much. Flavia’s cha cha is a festival of camp pointing and pouting to Venus that’s so retro-tacky-queer all it’s missing is Adam West sprinting on from the side, spraying Russell with his special “Bat-Astrologer-Repelling-Spray” and dancing the Batusi. Ola on the other hand has Robbie dressed up like a gay porn tribute to Basshunter, stomping around to Alexandra Burke, snarling and sgurning and pouting to Alexandra Burke. Len calls him the best footballer ever to do the show. He’s not, but that was certainly the funniest they’ve managed as a profession since Schmeichal shook his body down.
Also weighing in on the comedy side of the scales is Bloody Lulu, who completely forgets her cha-cha, just flails around any old how, and finds it hilarious. After a while, so does Brenda, although that might be because Lulu appears to have introduced him to some of her special friends. Brenda’s looking refreshed.
The rest of the mid-table is taken up by Dan (here to represent for all the men who find dancing awkward in social situations, which is certainly a fresh new angle from a contestant on this show that I have definitely never seen before) and Audley, who are respectively competent yet miserable looking, and awful yet charming. Oh and Katya’s brought in a giant bench for no reason, but marriage seems to have done funny things to her brain (ie it appears to have turned it to a sweetly happy, mildly lobotomised, glowingly smiley mush) (ZOMG, MAYBE SHE’S PREGGERNANT!)
Which leaves Ladies Choice at the top of the table, with Holly and Anita tying for the top spot. Holly with a patented Artem SexyRihannaChaCha in which she blessedly does not fall on her arse, but which she dances as though it’s a tricky IKEA study-desk she has to put together, and Anita does a sweet Waltz, which is slightly marred for me by being danced to Three Times A Lady, which to me sounds a bit like a song for a woman with three boobies.
Maybe she does, maybe that’s her “Dead Nan”. Go on Anita! LIFT THE GLITTERBALL FOR TRIPLE-BREASTED WOMEN!