All of latin breathes a sigh of relief.
Return of the stats, you know that they’ll be back.
All aboard the Blackpool bus! No really, come on guys! Climb aboard! What do you mean you’ll see us there? No you can’t just drive yourself! It’s all pre-booked! Well ok, suit yourselves, Susan’s already up front wearing her own drivers hat, at least someone appreciates the effort we’ve been to. You are all going to actually turn up next week though right? Right? Guys?
Well, as they always say, the public always gets “sensible” after a SHOCK BOOT, which means this week they’ve voted in such a manner as to eliminate the person bottom of the leaderboard rather than the person who was second bottom. SUCH a marked improvement in voting decorum guys well done. Yes, it’s Ruth meeting her fate tonight, and as if to compound it she somehow manages to get even worse in the dance-off than she was on the night. I guess if you’re going to go out, go out big. Her dispatcher is the other foxtrot failure of the evening, as Jonnie’s Paralympian Hero vote stumbles in the face of Mollie King’s decorous Pretty Young Lady tears, and she finally gets the backing she needs to keep her safe. I wouldn’t place large bets on either of their mental stability moving forwards mind you.
Elsewhere we get a charming and emotional Rememberance Day routine only marred slightly by being done to a John Lewis version of 500 Miles, an even more charming and emotional routine by Anton & Nadiya (?) to a guest-performing Seal, a bunch of people (including Aston & Janette) go and sell poppies, and we get our usual parcel of dance genre reveals for next wee. Joe has a salsa to Ride On Time (YAHHHHHHHSS KWEEEEEEEEEN), Debbie has a samba that is breaking boundaries by being performed to a MEDLEY and then unbreaking them by having them be a medley of Spice Girls songs, and either most excitingly or least excitingly of all, we’re apparently getting the apotheosis of Kevin Clifton Blackpool pasos.
Onwards and northwards!
We’re told over and over and over and over and over and over tonight that everyone still remaining in the competition really really really wants to get to Blackpool, the magical land of ballroom sparkle and fizz and Gorka getting his teeth kn…I mean PURITY OF DAHNCE! And yet, I find it hard to remember a night when everyone on the show felt quite so much like they wanted to run back home, throw a duvet over their head, and get their interviews ready for the press saying that Week 8 really was a good run, and so much further than they ever expected to get.
In fairness, it may be that Susan’s emotional extremis is because she wants it a little too much, as she’s red of eye and wobbly of voice and completely incoherent from the second her (decent enough) tango is over, apparently overcome by the lyricism and philosophy of some Katy Perry lyrics. And some of the wobbles in the front-runners can be explained away that they’re on a dance they really didn’t want to have to do but, well, it was that or the samba, you can only skip one. Debbie masks her salsa insufficiencies with some truly RIDICULOUS lifts (which mostly go right, save for some protracted dismounts) and Joe emotes very very hard in his rumba but ends up trying maybe a bit too hard. Either way, the worst I can see on the cards for either of them is a victorious sprint through the dance-off. Lower down the order though? EVERYONE falls to bits. Gemma barely clings on to the edge of a Viennese Waltz, although her shoes go flying off into the judges desk, and Tallulah The Tango Queen apparently got lost somewhere on the Tube, as we’re stuck instead with Petunia The Prancing Paso Peasant for Mollie’s dance. Bless her she’s trying her hardest though, particularly in the VTs, apparently not having got the memo that they’re all SERIOUS TRAINING VTs this week. Where things really fall apart though, is in the foxtrots, making last week’s salsa face off look like a clash of titans. Jonnie lets his Adele song do all the work and walks through the rest and…the less said about Ruth’s effort the better. She caught a prop. That’s about as far as I’ll go. If we’re doing “fairness reigns in the week after a shock boot” then really one of these two is the only option.
Coming out dignity intact and still firing on all cylinders though? Just Davood and Alex really. Davood perhaps overmarked, even by Charleston standards, on an enthusiastic Cockernee knees-up of which the highlight again is a hoofing great lift at the end, but which he gives his all to, and Alexandra FINALLY taming the Beast in an Argentine Tango that absolutely sizzles, and in which her legs are (mostly) under control, finally. Now that’s over with, on to some more elegant and refined dances in the post Blackpool crawl to the final. If half of these people get that far without slashing their own tyres, metaphorically speaking.
Nothin’ but jls hatahs.