Series 10 - The Final

Well there we are - that was Strictly Come Dancing 2012.  So near, and yet so far – by which I refer, of course, to me and my sweepstake loss (damn you James Jordan).  But well done Louis!  And well done Beth, who is £14 richer.  Well, £13, if you don't count the £1 she put in.  Well, £11 currently, seeing as I've still got one or two stakers owing some money...  Ahem.  Don't worry Beth – you'll get your winnings, honest.

So, how was it for you? Much like the series itself, I found the final nearly amazing, but somehow also slightly lacklustre.  I don't want to be the Strictlycad of DOOM, but I must admit that I've struggled to turn the excitement levels all the way up to TEN! this year, and really get my teeth into proceedings – not because the standard has been bad, as it's clearly been very high indeed, but... well, I can't quite put my finger on it...  Perhaps the ensuing blow by blow blog critique will provide us with uplifting enlightenment about the particularities of 2012? (Sure it will, if for 'critique' you read 'bitching' and for 'uplifting enlightenment' you read 'filthy trash talk about the visibility of Robin's nipples'.)

Onwards then and hooray for an opening pro-dance - it feels like the series has been short on them, and the ones we have been treated to haven't always knocked my socks off.  This was a lively paso, full of gritted teeth and skirt sweeping, but clearly Wardrobe had run out of good fabric and were forced to source the male outfits out of bargain basement piss yellow satin and some old velvet slacks they'd found in the old Come Dancing cupboard; even Artem looked sickly - probably affected by the mothball smell from the flares (Anton was fine, he was wearing a recently dry-cleaned vintage pair from his own collection).  The four finalist pros also got a bit of a showcase, which Flavia totally won (an omen!) and the whole thing ended with the four celeb finalists being shot up onto a large screen, above their name in lights, each wobbling and looking terrified, which didn't quite make for the rousing opener, but was nonetheless enjoyable.

And then “For the final time from Television Centre” (sob - and sadly no mention that this might be Bruce's final time, grrrr), on came Tess in full body maxi foil with special gold sheen, which could only have been more mess dress if it had been a jumpsuit – I so wish it had.

On to the dancing then! Well, no, for tonight's final was the land of a thousand recaps, and it wasn't possible to get anything done without first having to watch a clip of something we'd seen before and/or a member of the public commenting on it.  (Plebs passing judgement on Strictly – imagine!  What next, getting them to write it down and blast it over the internet?)

Still, EVENTUALLY, it was time for the competition to actually begin - starting out with the Judges' Choice dances.  I have to applaud the attempt at high drama, whereby each dance was formally announced in a minimalist office setting, with each couple ushered in to face the judges to hear their fate, job interview style - if job interviews were carried out by a panel of four people in full evening wear.  It's only a shame they didn't use the Dragons' Den studio for added tension - maybe with Hilary Devey on hand to lend extra shoulder pad and all out terror.

Wisely the judges asked Denise to get her Week 2 jive on – a dance which only got four 8s last time because it wasn't coherent from a plot perspective to get one's ten paddle out a fortnight in.  It was aces (again), even if Craig only deigned it with a 9, but I was a bit disappointed that we didn't get a costume update (not even shiny braces for James), but I suppose these are times of Victorian austerity.

Dani was assigned the tango, and attempt #2 at feigning crazed lust for Vinthent without corpsing was successfully negotiated.  I've no idea who Vinthent was phone-sex-pesting this time, but Props had obviously given Dani a health and safety warning about the robustness of the phone box, as her thumps on the glass pane were rubbishly fake – what an error.  It's ALWAYS better when the set shakes.

The judges gave Kimba the ViennCheese Waltz which put her in the bottom two last time, so she must have been delighted.  It actually served her well – neatly showing her real improvement over the weeks, in spite of that salmon fillet dress, with less gorgonzola and more sweetness this time, though it did take all of my energy to mentally blur out Pasha's horrible hair.  Have I mentioned how bad his hair has been this year?  Maybe once or twice?  But.... seriously ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! *&"*%$ @>*%^$&(~)#

Finally, the equally bad-haired Louis redid his Dirty Dancing salsa, which you'll remember old Goodman was all grumpy about, because it didn't have any salsa in it, so gave Louis a 6 - which practically got him lynched by the studio audience. Len was less crotchety this time, as they'd apparently upped the salsa content (armography ahoy), but I didn't really notice much difference.  But the lift was still great and the boy knows how to pop a man-hip.

TALKING OF LIFTS!  Time to showdance (well, via more filler - duh)!  Whether or not you're a showdance fan (I'm on the 'not' side), it can absolutely be make or break time – just ask Erin (who messed it up by giving Colin Jackson a strap-on... puppet, that is) or Camilla (who claimed victory by giving the grey rinse army exactly what they wanted: 90 seconds of Tom Chambers tap-dancing and gurning).

The theme of Denise's showdance was 'A Massive V Sign To You The Great British Public'.  So you find my faux-humble 'not a trained dancer me' Essex schtick annoying and unlikeable and think that I'm too good and plan to vote me off first, do you?  WELL FINE.  Time to don an Ola Jordan sheer catsuit and perform a lengthy series of terrifyingly impressive lifts.   The haterz haterzed it, of course, but I thought it was a magnificent 'sod you all', which successfully served the only purpose it could – getting Dani kicked out before her.

Poor Dani, but I have to blame Vinthent for that Bohemian Crapsody. (OK, that's me being WAY harsh for the sake of a shoddy pun - it wasn't THAT bad at all, it just didn't quite come off.)  It started out ok, with the 'Mama (da da da daaaaa da) Just Killed A Man' rumba section going without a hitch, in spite of Dani's maternity mini-tent dress.   Unfortunately though, the 'I See A Little Silhouette-o Of A Man' and 'SO YOU THINK YOU CAN STOP ME AND SPIT IN MY EYE-AII-AIIIIII' paso sections were just too challenging, messy or under-rehearsed, and I think it made the audience a bit uneasy and after Denise's Lift City triumph, it was that much harder to see Dani as Top Three.  It would have been better as a standard paso, frankly - maybe with Vinthent in a wig of some description.  But that is the eternal showdance problem – Vinthent must have felt he had to go big (hahaha, but he so TEENY) or go home (and cue.).

Pasha went big too - by mainly applying that concept to Kimba's hair, which was MASSIVE. Indeed, their performance was much like back-combing itself (stay with me) – admirable size and volume, but always running the risk of unkempt messiness. The lifts had some dodgy moments (loose fuzz tendrils), but she successfully combatted that with major sass and all out frenzy (hairspraytastic), and no other dancer let quite as loose as Kimberley – she gave it her all.

She also pulled off the better costume change too, going from Farah Fawcett jumpsuit (the first one I have EVER liked and which the rest of Twitter found horrific) to a teeny little hot pink number with bum ruffle – which explained the slightly random VPL just before.  It also had shadow lap dancing, a ring of fire and the general throwing around of a Girl Aloud, so much to commend it.  One minor complaint - she should totally have danced it to The Show.

Finally, Louis was up, with what was widely expected to be a flip'n'trick frenzy, but turned out to be a Argentine Tango/rumba/contemporary dance mash-up to the strained notes of Dave Arch's singers properly struggling with Rule The World. I always had high hopes for this – not just because of the Olympic gymnast thing, but because Flavia has Showdance Form (yes, I'm thinking of that time she got Matt diAngelo to spin her by her mimsy and I immediately switched my glitterball allegiance away from Alesha).  And Flavs didn't disappoint - not just by dressing Louis in torso and bobsleigh tights, but by incorporating a lift where Louis strong-manned her above his head, then slowly lowered her to an upside-down vertical position, much like a sommelier offering a bottle of wine, only it wasn't wine, IT WAS A GROWN WOMAN AND HE DIDN'T DROP HER ON HER HEAD. Or indeed, on her mimsy.

It was so impressive Bruce must have stopped napping and acutally watched it - asking for two high fives afterwards and suggesting Louis join the Royal Ballet. Darcey diplomatically poo-poo-ed that notion by indicating that he didn't have a big enough “instep”, though she didn't elaborate on whether the tights were to blame.

And so to part two, where Tess returned in what looked like a gorgeous navy velvet dress with gauze shoulders and tasteful-in-a-bling-sort-of-way diamanté detail.  But "wait until the camera pans down" Mr Cad advised – and there speaks the voice of experience.   Turns out it was a peplum top (restrained by last week's standards) over mini skirt over net curtains. It was not good.

After – of course – some more VT recapping, which was a total waste of my time as it failed to reveal what Vinthent had lustily blabbered down the tango phone, it was time to announce which couple were about to have to stew in their unused dance finery for the rest of the evening – a visual and symbolic reminder that the odds had been defied and James Jordan was actually more popular than them.

Poor Dani, all trussed up in leopard skin with nowhere to jive.  But let's take this moment to say a bloody well done to Miss Harmer, for bringing many of us round and ultimately turning out to be a charming little dancer.  Vinth, my love, maybe next year – there's bound to be a little poptart they can throw at you. Then again, after Kristina-Colin-gate, anything is possible, and maybe you'll be asked to dance with Miranda. I think I'd boycott – EVERYONE knows Ian has to come back for Miranda, EVERYONE.  It is known, Khaleesi.

The last dance was the couples' favourite, so no surprise to see it waltz and samba-free.  Denise and James went for that divisive Cleopatra charleston which some LOVED and others (me included) weren't so enthused by, though the sound was better this time, which helped, and James ended the performance with a salmon dive across the floor, which I don't remember from Wembley, but was bloody hilarious. 

Kimba and Pasha opted for the When Doves Cry tango, which had left me oddly mardy and yearning for Rachel Beige Club 7's Argentine Tango, but I thought was truly tense and excellent on this occasion.  And I LOVED her dress this time - what was I thinking before?!

Finally (again – almost like the prod had decided to subliminally engineer us into thinking “best til last”) Louis re-performed his 'breakthrough' doctors and nurses charleston, which I really enjoyed before and did actually make me chuckle again – he gave good face and good swivel, and it reconciled me quite happily with the inevitable Louis win.

And then the dancing was done. Quick dance performance, the return of the celebs, Robbie Williams on to screech a ditty, then on to the results, right?  WRONG. The right answer was 'all of the above' plus HOURS of recap and chatback bumpf, with NO CLAUDIA IN CHARGE.

Though I was quite impressed that Robbie deigned to have Artem and Aliona on to perform to his song – they did their usual OTT dance-scrap where they have the most almighty diva-off and Artem seems determined to snap off at least one of Aliona's limbs by the end of the dance. (I actually found their writhing excessively long, but it was nothing compared to the low-cost vox pops filler that followed, including the continued futile attempt to get the 'Strictly Shimmy' to catch on - NO-ONE CARES.)

The Final Group dance was its usual hot mess drunks at a wedding, though the worst part was in fact the lady pro outfits, which can only be described as THE WORST SHORTS IN THE WORLD EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER.  (And regular readers will know that puts them at the very bottom of a very deep fashion pile)  Honestly – what a rubbish send off!  It's a bad day when even Natalie Lowe looks dodgy - but what good could possibly come from satin boxer short playsuits and cardboard tux bibs?   

The celeb involvement was carefully kept to a minimum, grouping the couples by order of elimination (very limited Johnny - phew), with marginally more screen time for those who lasted longer, thus culminating in neat little showcase for series' favourites Lisa and Robin and their traditional Robin humping Lisa lift.  I should have said this after their elimination, but if Robin hasn't earned himself a ringer for 2013, well... then he's the new Anton, and his Strictly career will be lengthy, if un-victorius.  The group dance ended with Jerry Hall high-kicking then falling on her arse, laughing, but in the most graceful way ever.  I still bloody love her.

And then the results! HAHAHAHAHA, are you kidding me? No, first some more filler, as they wheeled out the BBC abacus to count the votes.

AND THEN FINALLY, yes indeed - THE RESULTS, with Flavia nearly passing out with joy at winning and Louis looking quite pleased too - and so he should, he can finally get drunk now. They weren't my favourite couple – I always felt like Louis wasn't quite giving his all - but they did have a truly great final and are worthy winners in that sense.

Denise was never going to get it - she just didn't have the popular support and it will be interesting to see how this affects her next professional move and whether Andrew Lloyd Webber comes back calling (post Strictly tour, of course).  As for lovely, lovely Kimba, this has been a great move - I'm not sure her show choons album will reach Cheryl's sales figures or get Nicola's critically acclaimed album reviews, but am sure she'll do better than Nadine (well...), and there's no doubt she's won over middle England and is certainly their favourite Girl Aloud, whatever that might represent.

But was it the best series ever? Well, not for me - not even close, but it had some lovely moments (Michael's jive) and dispelled some myths about fat birds.  And I'm certainly looking forward to next year - can we possibly hope for no Bruce? That would make a huge difference for starters; Tess is perfectly able to steer the HMS Strictly.   I'd also like more training footage, more Claudia and more TessDressMess – this year has been maddingly tasteful (there's far less to blog about when a girl can't get her bitch on).  And La Bussell can stay – I really warmed to HER, YAH, her interesting COMMENTS, YAH and her POUTY FISTPUMP, YAH. 

On the other hand, the theme weeks can go, but I am willing to give fusion another chance – big of me, I know.  Maybe, in exchange, the Argentine Tango can be saved for the semi finals, even if there are seven couples in it.   I'm easy on the dance-off – it's useful to combat against joke characters, but this year there was no Widdecombe to hamper proceedings. And lastly, as many trained dancers as you want – for me, it's been great watching stage schoolers Denise, Kimberley, Dani, Lisa and, er, Sid out on the dance floor, already familiar with the perils of pan hands, the importance of pointing your toes and the vital tits and teeth mantra.

I think that's it then - thanks for reading, whoever you are! I might be back to bitch my way through the Christmas special, but when there's no JOURNEY (and, er, no money on it), it's just not the same. Thanks especially to Mr Cad for being my sometimes unwitting weekly co-watcher (apart from when he comes up with better gags than me – bah to that) and thanks too to my lovely sweepstakers - this time next year then? Go orn, go orn, let's totally do it again. Keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep gambling!