So it’s Blackpool Time, and as has been the case with Blackpool Week for the last few series, your appreciation of the evening probably hinged on your capacity to love overblown messes, because we’re getting nothing but tonight. Backing dancers, podiums, flamethrowers, circus performers, magic tricks, several Spice Girls, constantly billowing smoke machines, Joe’s great big clock out and dangling in the middle of the dancefloor from the second his routine starts…it’s a lot to take in.
First things first, dancewise, Alexandra takes absolutely everybody else performing tonight, lines them up against the wall, and machine-guns them down. It’s not even close. Pristine Blackpool old school musicals Charleston leaning quickstep, covering the entire floor and several props, and the one person tonight really to draw your attention solely and entirely to her despite the presence of backing dancers. Second things second, for the second time this series in fact, Kevin’s great big DREAM THEME falls flat on its arse, in the death slot, although at least last time that Game Of Thrones foxtrot wasn’t five years in the making. The whole thing is just an incoherent collapsed pudding, and Susan can’t hope to live up to it, especially in a flamenco section where he plonks her out on her own and lets her get on with it. She is at least genuinely good humoured about the tanking it gets from the judges in response. Third things third, it’s Gemma’s turn to be the Dark Horse again, as she gets exactly the same treatment Davood got last week – 38 for a nice-enough American Smooth foxtrot that might have sat more comfortably a little lower in a series where our Male Frontrunner hadn’t tripped over his own afro. Fourth things fourth, Joe’s salsa is exactly my flavour of goopy gayass mess, and I don’t even care that it doesn’t look much like a salsa and is pretty sloppy, because it was RIDE ON TIME! HURRRRRRRR HURR! HURRRRRRRR HURR! HUH-HURRRRRR HURR HURR HUH-HUH-HURRRRRRRRR HURRRRR! *waves glowsticks*
The other four contestants? There’s less to report. Mollie continues to Mollie, which is to say she gives off more light than heat in her Charleston, relying chiefly on AJ throwing her about as her soul leaves her body entirely, and Jonnie continues to Jonnie, which is to say his already noted bum situation gets even more noticable (as you’d expect it would) in a futuristic tango that relies a LOT on outside support. Davood meanwhile gets to be the male contestant who gets to basically stand on and watch doing nothing as the guest backing dancers fling his pro about in his James Bond (…in a mesh Fosse musicals top?) themed paso, and everyone, really, even the judges, even me, at this point is fed up with Debbie’s latin, as we get her fourth up-tempo out-of-hold number in 6 weeks. Even the Spice Girls theming can’t really save it from feeling a bit done to death. Hopefully she moves on to nothing but elegant ballroom from here to the final, with maximum waftage, but they might have to rely on a bit of public largesse to get there.
Oh and speaking of sloppy messes, Peter Kay’s there for the Terms & Conditions and he’s not sober.