STRICTLY COME DANCING LIVE (Wembley Arena and touring)
VERDICT: Cha-cha-charming!
Rating:
Sequinned hyperbole is the order of the night at Strictly Come Dancing’s road show.
From the blasting music to the judges’ scripted putdowns, from rugby player Ben Cohen’s biceps to knicker-model Abbey Clancy’s almost twangable inner thighs, everything is madly, merrily exaggerated.
The glitter ball hanging over the ballroom is bigger than a Nasa space pod. The singers who come prancing on are noisier and warblier — and fatter — than Christmas turkeys.
They smack their palms together till the things must sting, such is their determination to agitate the crowd of crisp-munching family groups and hen parties.
Some audience members (ladies, refreshed) scream at the contestants, declaring undying love for beefy Ben or newsreader Susanna (Reid) and her bespectacled partner, Kevin from Grimsby.
In the middle stands the compere — not Sir Bruce Forsyth, who like the Queen’s older Rolls-Royces is nowadays reserved for state occasions, but bouncy, bubbly, cartoon-Mancunian chubby chops Lisa Riley. She is wearing a spangled housecoat like a cross between Norah Batty and Dame Edna.
Welcome to Las Vegas with a northern English twist. Tinsel Town on Tyne.
Each celebrity gets to do two brief turns with her or her professional dance partner. Judges Len Goodman, Bruno Tonioli and Craig Revel Horwood pass formulaic comment.
Our Lisa does a wee spot of chunter, then off skip the dance couples like Morecambe and Wise. Next! The very air pulsates, so loud is the amplification.
Pop singer Nicky Byrne (male) and his glamourpuss Karen do the Charleston. Susanna (‘GO SUSANNA!!’ yells a devotee behind me, so hard the voice splinters) and twitchy Kevin give us a paso doble, Susanna flipping Kev’ around as though he were the steering wheel of an amusement-arcade machine.
VERDICT: Cha-cha-charming!
Rating:
Sequinned hyperbole is the order of the night at Strictly Come Dancing’s road show.
From the blasting music to the judges’ scripted putdowns, from rugby player Ben Cohen’s biceps to knicker-model Abbey Clancy’s almost twangable inner thighs, everything is madly, merrily exaggerated.
The glitter ball hanging over the ballroom is bigger than a Nasa space pod. The singers who come prancing on are noisier and warblier — and fatter — than Christmas turkeys.
They smack their palms together till the things must sting, such is their determination to agitate the crowd of crisp-munching family groups and hen parties.
Some audience members (ladies, refreshed) scream at the contestants, declaring undying love for beefy Ben or newsreader Susanna (Reid) and her bespectacled partner, Kevin from Grimsby.
In the middle stands the compere — not Sir Bruce Forsyth, who like the Queen’s older Rolls-Royces is nowadays reserved for state occasions, but bouncy, bubbly, cartoon-Mancunian chubby chops Lisa Riley. She is wearing a spangled housecoat like a cross between Norah Batty and Dame Edna.
Welcome to Las Vegas with a northern English twist. Tinsel Town on Tyne.
Each celebrity gets to do two brief turns with her or her professional dance partner. Judges Len Goodman, Bruno Tonioli and Craig Revel Horwood pass formulaic comment.
Our Lisa does a wee spot of chunter, then off skip the dance couples like Morecambe and Wise. Next! The very air pulsates, so loud is the amplification.
Pop singer Nicky Byrne (male) and his glamourpuss Karen do the Charleston. Susanna (‘GO SUSANNA!!’ yells a devotee behind me, so hard the voice splinters) and twitchy Kevin give us a paso doble, Susanna flipping Kev’ around as though he were the steering wheel of an amusement-arcade machine.
No comments:
Post a Comment
your comments are welcome