“We will not have another disaaaahstrous week,” they said. “We will have jazz hands, and the movie musical equivalent of Stars in Their Eyes, and Ann Summers’ take on a Disney dressing-up box!” they said. “We will have props, and pizzazz, and incongruous ghostly backing dancers, and the hills will be alive with the sound of unearned 10s!” they said.
And what the producers want, the producers get. Now, I’m not saying Musicals Week was a total bust. After all, we had Susanna falling foul of ANOTHER sofa, Mark’s Simba samba, Craig’s Phantom of the Campera and the escalation of Pivot Warz (this week’s victor: spinny Sophie. Runner-up: Ashley, as Ola even managed to get them in a rumba).
What was missing was ballroom dancing. In the battle for the choreographer’s soul, Artem took the baton from Brendan, but was so determined to change the world through MEANGINGFUL REACHING, he forgot the foxtrot. Aljaz dismissed salsa altogether and bafflingly – I repeat, BAFFLINGLY – landed a perfect score for wedding-dance disco; Kevin sold the tap better than the slivers of quickstep; Ola interpreted rumba as static smoulder; and Anya… had Charleston.