‘You can’t win a sport without pain’: Why the BBC mustn’t make Strictly too soft
The “curse” of Strictly Come Dancing used to be shorthand for a little light infidelity between a celebrity and their professional dance partner, adding an extra frisson of excitement to the ballroom drama.
Over the past few weeks BBC bosses could be forgiven for thinking that Strictly, its biggest show, has itself been cursed. Executives at the corporation have been forced into a scrambled rearguard action after allegations of bad behaviour on the part of Strictly pros towards their amateur partners emerged.
Giovanni Pernice and Graziano di Prima, the sizzling Sicilian pros, have both left the show after complaints about how they treated their partners in rehearsals became public. Pernice, 33, has denied any wrongdoing after a series of partners complained; Di Prima, 30, expressed his “deep regret” for the “events that led to my departure” from the show but added “when the time is right I will share my story”. It has been alleged that he hit, kicked and spat at his Love Island alumnus partner, Zara McDermott, last year.
In a desperate attempt to keep the glitterball spinning and shiny, the BBC is beefing up its “welfare and support” for those taking part in the show, such as having a member of the production team in the rehearsal room at all times.
But the success of Strictly in recent years has been the astonishing routines that amateur dancers – pushed to the limit by their professional teachers and partners – have been able to perform in front of millions, from Rose Ayling-Ellis’s silent symphony with Pernice to Bill Bailey’s street dancing, choreographed by Oti Mabuse. While it is obviously beyond the pale for there to be any psychological or physical abuse in rehearsal rooms, some fear that a combination of fears of being cancelled and the permanent presence of a chaperone could lead to worse dancing on our screens. Will Strictly go soft?
“The whole dance environment is extraordinarily intimate, and the whole point of the show is to help dancers find something in themselves that they didn’t know was there: to bring out a form of emotion while they’re dancing, to encourage them to take risks in terms of the technique and to develop something that they’re doing with their bodies,” says Peter Lovatt, a dance psychologist.
“A really good dance professional will help people to do that. And although people might feel vulnerable, it might be a really good thing for them. If we have junior people observing the rehearsals then it might make some of the professional dancers intimidated and it might prevent them from pushing – in a good way – their dancers.”
Dance is not for the faint-hearted. The American dancer and choreographer Bob Fosse was a noted tyrant who didn’t see a sprained ankle as a good excuse to skip a show, but still revered as one of Broadway’s greats; Debbie Reynolds had just three months to learn how to dance for Singin’ in the Rain and spent 15 hours straight filming the Good Morning scene. “My feet were bleeding from hours of abuse,” she wrote in her memoir. “I couldn’t move.”
The professionals need to be robust with their charges as ballroom dancing is such a difficult discipline to master and the pursuit of perfection can cause clashes. “Sometimes that collision creates an amazing fusion of ideas and personalities, and sometimes it doesn’t. You’ve got two people moving together as one and that’s really hard,” he says. “I’ve been married to my wife for more than 35 years and we get frustrated just walking through the Tube network, because I walk faster than her.”
Lovatt, who goes by the nickname “Dr Dance”, was a guest on the show and its spin-off about a decade ago and tells me that the show is incredibly competitive behind the scenes. When he visited the set, the pro dancers had taped photographs of their six-packs to the wall of the green room as a way of showing off, while also doing press-up and pull-up competitions with the male sportsmen taking part. “They wanted to prove that they were fitter than the athletes,” he says. “It was a friendly rivalry.”
Former contestants have felt liberated to speak their minds about the show in the past few days. Ann Widdecombe told those complaining to “grow up”, while Edwina Currie said that “the thought of having chaperones in every rehearsal fills me with dread. I mean, you won’t be able to flirt” and the Rev Richard Coles said “no-one has been surprised that this stuff has surfaced”. Coles added of the pros: “It’s unsentimental, it’s brutal, and they work in regimes which are impossibly disciplined, I think, for people who aren’t used to that. So often it’s a bit of a culture shock for people coming into it.”
Esther Rantzen, the TV presenter who was paired with Anton du Beke in the second series, tells me that the show has moved too far from its original format in 2004, when amateurism was celebrated and there was not such a pursuit of perfection. “There’s too much pressure to try and turn it into an exquisite dance programme and they’ve forgotten that it’s an entertainment show,” she says. “This is a fun competition. The contestants should have more fun.”
The experiences of Amanda Abbington, who says her time with Pernice gave her post-traumatic stress disorder, and McDermott has made taking part in Strictly anything but fun. Show bosses are said to be in the unusual position of scrambling to find celebs — especially women — who are willing to put themselves through the wringer for this year’s 20th anniversary series. The only possible contender who has teased that they will be on the dancefloor this year is GK Barry, a social media influencer with little mainstream profile.
One top celebrity agent says that the months-long stream of relentlessly negative stories has been a “turn-off” and that “talent and their representatives are asking hard questions” of producers. It is thought that rumours of Ted Lasso star Hannah Waddingham or Nicola Roberts, the Girls Aloud singer, will take part in the autumn are wide of the mark. Even if they did take part, accomplished performers such as Waddingham and Roberts may find it patronising in the extreme to be told that they needed a chaperone during rehearsals.
Another agent, who has had a clutch of clients appear on Strictly, says he would be happy to put any of his charges on the show again — and that anybody signing up must be aware of the fact that it is not an easy ride. “They get blisters, bruised toes, damaged legs — it’s like any sport. It is pressure,” he says. “If you are someone who can’t deal with the pressure of a sporting environment, don’t do Strictly. It is a competitive show. You can’t win a sport without pain.”
Alan Yentob, the BBC’s former creative director who was instrumental in the launch of Strictly 20 years ago, says that the show’s importance to the corporation cannot be overstated. “It’s a very important brand, not just because it’s an entertainment show but because it has engaged the British public in a way that very few things have. It’s not all about making money, it’s about giving up a huge amount of your time, the kind of effort you have to make is enormous,” he says. “Everybody loves it. Something has gone wrong and they’re addressing it.”
At the end of each episode, hosts Tess Daly and Claudia Winkleman urge viewers to “keep dancing”. BBC bosses are desperate for Strictly to keep going too.