The BBC is not giving up on Saturday nights (or the license fee) without a fight
On Strictly Come Dancing’s launch show it was as if the entire BBC budget for several years had been spent on the opening credits to bring us “Strictly Street”, a place where no sane person would want to live (Saturday, BBC1). I bought Natalie as the Chief Toast-Maker and Bruno as the Head Glitter-Shoveller on the Strictly Express. But Darcy as a British Rail tea lady? Not likely.
This launch night felt as if finally someone at the BBC had finally felt the cool, ambitious breath of Simon Cowell upon their neck as they threw everything (including a sequin-encrusted kitchen sink) at this opener. This was a reminder that a lot is riding on this series. This is the BBC’s flagship show and one of its major cash cows (with the format selling abroad for squillions). But until recent years it has struggled to compete with the reality talent behemoths peddled by Cowell.
Grayson Perry tweeted: “Strictly is already feeling as familiar as a paper round. #creativestagnation” And he knows about art. From the sofa, though, this show felt as if it had serious ambition. We shall see. Early doors my money is on the beady eye and biceps of Peter Andre. Incidentally, I do wish they would let Darcy Bussell actually dance instead of posing. Does her insurance company not let her or something?
#Strictly is already feeling as familiar as a paper round #creativestagnation
— Grayson Perry (@Alan_Measles) September 5, 2015
Electric shocks but no tingles in Chatterley
“Seething sexual passion across the class divide...” promised the breathy continuity announcer as a record-breaking grandfather clock on Antiques Roadshow melted uneasily into Lady Chatterley’s Lover (BBC1, Sunday). Within the first few seconds Mellors (Richard Madden aka Robb Stark in Game of Thrones) had marked himself out as a troublemaker at Chatterley’s Colliery. Seconds later it was Downton Abbey Central round at the Chatterleys’ gaff. And then Clifford Herbert was in a wheelchair because of the war and wanting to kill himself. And before he knew it he was giving Mellors a job as gamekeeper…
This is not an easy piece to adapt in 90 minutes. It didn’t really help that whilst the actors excelled, the characters were all largely unlikeable. Mellors was moody, Lady Chatterley was snooty and poor Clifford Herbert was devoid of any charisma even once he’d tried to electric-shock himself into virility. Where was Downton Abbey’s famous “tingle” when we needed it?
In the spirit of DH Lawrence (“The human soul needs beauty more than bread”) there were beautiful things about this piece: the costumes, the cinematography, the performances. But something didn’t quite take off. Maybe it needed more breathing space. Or a labrador.
The Xtra Factor has more X Factor than The X Factor
They’ve pulled out all the stops with new judges and presenters. And it does seem fresher. But the rawness and silliness have gone out of The X Factor (Saturday, Sunday, ITV1). For several seasons now I have had suspicions about the incidental VTs, the ones where contestants are seen “behind the scenes” speaking to each other or offering insights into their lives.
They now feel completely rehearsed and scripted, with a nasty whiff of Towie about them (ie neither quite documentary nor quite acting). Anyone who is “going through to the next round” already seems to have had their hair and make-up done professionally and gets airbrushed/Vaseline-lens special treatment in the waiting area. Where’s the jeopardy? The only thing that’s left on this show that’s real is the expression on Simon Cowell’s face spelling out his disdain and horror, especially during the interminable Wagner-style Copacabana.
Over on The Xtra Factor (Saturday, Sunday, ITV1), things are a lot more fun and the two presenters, Saturdays singer Rochelle Humes and Kiss FM DJ Melvin Odoom, utterly adorable. At last all the fakery is stripped away in favour of pleasingly eccentric and childish games. Like Meryl versus Cheryl, where Melvin in a Meryl Streep wig competes with Cheryl in a series of pointless tasks. It’s not going to win a Bafta. But it’s as sweet and innocent as The X Factor is artificial.
