Series 12 - Week 4

Toodle-oo Tim - you massively surpassed expectations by surviving not one, but two Strictly culls, for which you can - and did - warmly thank Natbot's exemplary teaching skills. His exit speech and last dance were amongst the most touching and engaging we've seen in these past twelve years. Lovely, lovely stuff. 

And at least Tim got to leave dressed in the natty kind of flamboyant outfit he so clearly loves. I'm not a regular viewer of his show, um, Bargain Antiques Roadshow Hunt (that's the one where canny shoppers look for upmarket car boot sales, I think), but I get the vibe that Tim could comfortably present proceedings as a mature matador with pince-nez specs and bull-fighting Princess Leia hat (as Mr Cad called it; either way, a fitting tribute to Tim's eccentric rehearsal headgear). So let's gloss over his paso doble cape work and wish him well on his way to waltzing around overpriced mahogany with Mrs Tim. 

It's Isabelle who leaves the sweepstake this week.  Unlucky, perhaps, as Tim probably deserved to beat out Scott and Judy - well, as far as the dancing goes.  I love both Scott and Judy, but when this Strictly blogger can just cut and paste the comments from last week (“adorabad” and “another week of looking gorge but dancing awf”), it's probably time for things to move on, eh?  

I suppose Judy's “natural stiffness” held her in better stead with the tango than some other dances (please GOD, may we never be subjected to rumba week), but it all went a bit legs akimbo wobbly  bum shuffle when Anton less-than-gallantly chucked her across the floor and showed off some solo stamping. 

Joanne showed a little more partner-support with Scott, doing absolutely ALL the work in his lift, which turned out to be her take on the Rihanoff-Donovan thigh clamp (run, launch, and cling on for dear life with your thighs). It was still an undeniably engaging American Smooth, as it takes a special kind of killjoy to resist Scott's dance face, where concentration wrestles with trout pout, this week with added (erm) 'power fist'.

But heed this warning, dahhhnce lurvers (for it is harbinger of DOOM time): these hilarious japes won't be so jolly next week, when we'll very, very probably lose a really talented celeb to the phone-vote clout of Scott and Anton's fanbases.  It wouldn't be the first time and I'll tell you now - I'll be really quite grumpy about it.

Going by the last two weeks, it's Mark and Simon who might seem most at risk of an early 'shock' exit - fitness and good looks apparently have limited power against the years of du Beke gurning, not-teaching and smart-caj tie-wearing.  Mark's quickstep was ok but bland - I've now seen it twice and can barely remember it (something about a white suit, reminiscent of that time in Friends when Ross over-bleached his teeth?). 

And I'm afraid I didn't like Simon and Kristina's charleston at all – the dancing was good, yes, but I couldn't click with the randomness of the Pearly King thing (she's from VLADIVOSTOK, he's from MANCHESTER, via Kitts and Nevis, both quite some way from Lambeth).  Maybe it's because I've never liked the aesthetics of the Pearly Look - decorative shell-beading on a Salvation Army uniform is just not a look for me. (Although I did enjoy how Kristina's Pearly styling had something of the eighties gay icon about it - she was just a handlebar moustache away from the drag version of the Biker out the Village People at a San Fran street parade.)

There's perhaps a few other celebs risking next week's mid-table dangerzone and it will all depend on what dance they end up with next week. For starters, Alison is due some less vote-friendly ballroom, though I'm confident in her fanbase. Alison is a total joy tonic for these long autumn nights (and Aljaz is her delicious gin counterpart).  Even when she does go, I hope It Takes Two can use her for some backstage nosing - if she can take time away from flirting with Clooney.

Sunetra could also be in a vulnerable position.  She was ever charming (even on the ill-advised glitter bongos) but could still come unstuck with a tricky dance - just as Brendan came unstuck from his trousers when they ripped live on national television.   I'd try and act surprised, but come on.  This has been on the cards from the start.  Hey Brendan! Have you tried wearing clothes that fit you? BECAUSE MAYBE JUST MAYBE THEY WOULDN'T TEAR AT THE CROTCH MID-LUNGE THEN, HMMMM?  It takes a special kind of ego to insist that you're the same size you were ten years ago when Wardrobe first measured your belly circumference.  You've grown as a person, Brendan, both in character and in girth.  It's FINE.  Embrace it.  Some men would kill for an extra inch.

Speaking of impressive girth, Steve also risked trouser-malfunction, when he did a cracking (but crack-free) move where he slid backwards through Ola's legs in a half-split, before proceeding to chuck her about some more.  I quite liked his salsa, but the judges don't seem to err on the side of generosity with Steve's scores, so he could suffer slightly harsh totals (whereupon James Jordan will take HUGE delight in crying FOUL and CONSIPRACY that his wife can't be around a few more weeks to flog her sexy calender).  By the way, did you see his patchy chest wax?  I can only assume that Make Up spent too much time arguing over whose turn it was and didn't leave enough time to actually finish.

I bet Thom 'Thaaaam' Evans is always freshly waxed, don't you?  (I'll just pause and let you contemplate that - it's important to take time to think about the big things).  As for his dancing, Thaaam is now on an apparent upward trajectory (*cough* journey?! *cough*), so is probably (?) safe for now.  Course, he was particularly aided this week by the appearance of the Other Hot Evans Brother (THEY LOOK EXACTLY THE SAME), as well as another instalment of Ivetamazing's amazing rehearsal gear - a purple gypsy belly top and floaty matching skirt triumph. (Only Karen Hauer's 'pavement escort meets Fame!' dance-wear can rival it, seeing as we're without Robin Windsor's vests this series. *sad face*.)

Course, the REAL shocker would be losing one of Pixie, Frankie, Jake or Caroline.  In truth, I can't see it happening - they are all so very good; Jake so much so that I'm not even sure what could lose him the Glitterball now.  Yes it's only week four, but he's just BRILLIANT.  He pulled off an Elvis jive in an old man's monochrome sweater FFS.  He has to get the first (real) ten, right?

Of the two pop gals, I'm still veering towards Frankie - even though my favourite thing about her cha cha was the eye make-up (it was SO good). Pixie is growing on me, but I'm still not quite clicking with the emotional output.  Mind you, her ugly crying at the end seemed genuine - I just can't discount the theory that it was a reaction to Trent's horrific lilac metallic wet-look silk shirt. It was certainly enough to make me want to weep. 

Though, actually, that shirt was ok compared to the unacceptable use of lilac elsewhere.  Serious, WHO DECIDED TO USE LILAC TO MAKE PASHA'S TROUSERS?  LILAC MAN TROUSERS?!?! NO NO NO NO NO. Even universally-accepted ovary tingler Pasha Kovalev himself cannot look attractive in lilac trousers. That's just BASIC SCIENCE (however cheap the job lot lilac fabric might have been).  So no more please, I'm firmly over the lilac thing.  It's only fit for two things: old ladies' bath salts and Iveta's training ballgowns.

Cue Tess in a range of lilac jumpsuits for the next three months, probably.  *sigh*  So, she made it four week before throwing up a couple of numbers I didn't care for, but I'm not reinstating #tessdressmess yet!  The embroided feather work and reverse-nun neck scope weren't for me, but she's still wearing the Good Bra. And that's all I ever really hoped for - whilst the boobs remain wrangled, I pledge to remain less of a bitch about her clothes.  It's only fair. 

(I wasn't into her middle parting though.)

So what other delights have I missed? The judges are still dancing on, and Bruno is the one to watch in that respect - it won't be many more weeks before he over-bends and has to judge from behind the desk with a Brendan trouser split situation. (Let's hope it's not a week where he stands and air pumps his TEN! paddle repeatedly.)

And then there was Gaga - channelling a Cher-Streisand fusion (Madonna must be seething! Though so would you be if you'd not touched saturated fat since the early nineties). I'm not sure Gaga has the voice for crooning, but there's no doubt this was the blue ribbon event for the pro dancers. It was Natbot who emerged victorious - and she could barely contain herself.  Sod the conventions, there was NO WAY Trent was leading this one. I've not seen such emoting and beaming since Natalie Gumede TOUCHED THE DIVINE.  

Good old Natbot - it's always good to see hints of the crazy-eyed competitive ambition which earned her her nickname, even though I love her these days.  But in the end, she couldn't derail the Anton juggernaut - it remains to be seen who else he crushes in his path to November, by which point he'll want to sit at home in his velour slippers and will use his Jedi mind tricks (how else can you explain it?) to have his fans vote for someone else now.  We're some way off that state, I wager, but there's still plenty to be enjoying in the meantime.  Vote wisely, my friends, and keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep watching.