What a stonker of a final. And what a send-off for head judge Len Goodman. Tribute fleckerls were danced, walnuts were pickled, grown men wept. And at the end of it all Ore Oduba pirouetted away with the glitterball. That is, at least, if a) it isn’t carried away on an ocean of his own tears and b) Joanne Clifton hasn’t swiped it already. (I know, I know. I’m just being mean. As I understand it, they both get given a glitterball.)
So I was right about Ore after all. What a shame I didn’t put any actual money on it. My personal winner was Danny. But I have no problem with Ore’s win. His story clearly appealed more to the public than Danny’s dancing. And on the night, there was little to choose between them. The real winners? Oti Mabuse and Joanne Clifton who brought a new level of choreography and show(wo)manship to this year’s show.
It’s a live final, though, and as an audience member you are caught between praying that nothing will go wrong and hoping that it will. Danny appeared to make at least one mistake in his quickstep and Oti’s heel got caught in her dress. This cost them dearly, though I suspect that by the time the phone lines opened people’s minds had already been made up. They then recovered and delivered a flawless samba and an extraordinary showdance which featured some kind of Freudian exploration of the soul and a large picture frame. I bought into it big time.
Ore fought back with an equally accomplished showdance which Joanne had peppered with “remember this?” bits of their best choreography across the series. They both looked tired in their jive, as did everyone in the end. It is a bloody gruelling process. What would have happened if Will Young (conspicuously absent) had stayed in? Would there have been four in the final and only two dances each? That might have been more humane.
Anyway. The surprise of the night was Louise’s showdance: not ambitious or flashy enough to win it for her, but strangely moving and rather beautiful. Bruno cried his big Italian tears. We were left wondering if she should have competed in ballet shoes throughout the whole thing. This was one dance where she really seemed to “get” it. In the rest of the final, Louise performed competently but her heart didn’t really seem to be in it. Meanwhile I felt hugely uncomfortable about the “surrendered wife” narrative around her. (This is the Guardian. I am contractually obliged to mention this.) Was her husband really so worried that her dancing would “embarrass” him? OK, she is a mum now. We get it. But she has sold 15 million records as a pop star and was a judge on So You Think You Can Dance. Odd.
For me, some of the most entertaining moments of the night came from Len’s highlights and from the “stars of the series” medley dance. This showcased not only the fact that the three finalists (four if we include Claudia, which we should) were so far ahead of the others that it really was a foregone conclusion, but also the fact that Strictly doesn’t actually teach you to dance (or turn you into a dancer), it teaches you to dance certain routines with a certain partner. That most of the contestants were unable to remember hardly anything was a reminder of exactly why the pros are pros.
As always, the judges were on hand to remind us constantly that this was the best Strictly final ever and the greatest night of all our lives. So what did it look like from their seats?
Darcey: woman of a thousand hairstyles
This has been a great series for Darcey. Gone is the hesitant people-pleaser who says “Yah?” at the end of every sentence. She has blossomed into a harsh-but-fair ballet mistress who always has a good word to say but is not afraid to give people a gentle push. She also appears, finally, to be really enjoying herself. I do wish we could have a Darceycam trained on her face so we could watch her facial expressions during the dances.
Bruno: the jack-in-the-box
![‘On a different class altogether! [sic] I am totally razzle-dazzled’ … Bruno on fine ebullient form.](https://media.guim.co.uk/ee9957de8b462dc2de6a32b66243cefaa5d5d6c7/0_164_3500_2100/1000.jpg)
Ah, Bruno. He has become more ebullient and springy as the series has progressed, mangling the English language as he takes Len’s eye out with his pas-de-bourree. There were some classics this week. To Danny on his showdance: “It was like a firework of passion!” To Ore: “On a different class altogether! [sic] I am totally razzle-dazzled.” And to Danny for his samba: “Another one for the history books! It will never be forgotten!” Only Bruno could get away with the cheesiest of cheesy remarks to Louise, which was actually adorable: “The best lift you gave was the one to my heart.” Bless him.
Len: the diamond geezer on a farewell tour
And so Len came to the final date of his farewell tour. I’m intrigued about why he’s stepping down. It makes sense. He’s 72. He’s done 14 series. Who could blame him if he’s had enough? But he’s still judging on Dancing With the Stars in the US, something the BBC has unsurprisingly been slow to mention. (“If you want to catch up with Len’s judging, you can still watch him on YouTube!”) At this weekend’s final he was the ultimate elder statesman: charming, patrician, respectable. He is indeed a diamond geezer and he will be missed. I’m not sure if money would have swung it for him to stay. But if it would have, the BBC should have coughed up.
Craig: the great choreographer trapped inside a pantomime dame
Craig’s audition to be the new head judge has been impressive. His tribute to Len here made it seem like the deal is in the bag. I hope it is. There is so much more to Craig than the whole “fab-u-lous” “dis-ah-sta” thing. His eye for detail is second to none and although he is harsh at times, he really is the only one who tells it like it is, without worrying whether the celebrity can take it and without caring whether they’ll like him. Fingers crossed (non-spatula-style) for a promotion for Craig and a new spot on the judging panel for Karen Hardy.
