Post by Teddy Bear on Oct 10, 2009 17:34:42 GMT
When what is considered by many to be BBC's 'Jewel in the Crown', namely Strictly Come Dancing, comes under fire, what's left? It's not just for one thing, but a variety of reasons as detailed below.
Strictly Come Dancing's sequins are losing their shine
Lacking direction and beset by scandal, the flagship dance show symbolises the failings of the BBC.
by Neil Midgley
Along with Doctor Who, Strictly Come Dancing is one of the programmes that senior BBC executives always trot out as examples of the corporation’s transcendent glory. Both thrill millions, both are thick with layers of Union Flag-waving cultural history, and both have lucratively colonised the rest of the world – to the great relief of the hard-pressed licence-fee payer. But after the procession of disasters that has befallen Strictly in recent times, it looks as if the Doctor is – not for the first time – now alone in his mission. The sacking of Arlene Phillips, an unleavened roster of Z-list “celebrities”, unduly aggressive scheduling against ITV, hundreds of complaints about new judge Alesha Dixon, the backstage hurling of racial slurs and the increasingly erratic behaviour of Bruce Forsyth, Mr Strictly himself, have conspired to rub the shine off Strictly’s sequins.
The first inkling that something was really wrong came in the dog days of summer at the Strictly press launch. The BBC used to throw launch parties at the drop of a hat but, in these straitened times, Strictly is almost unique in meriting a swish venue, external caterers and the presence of on-screen talent. Dozens of hacks duly assembled at a subterranean ballroom, pencils poised to report the all-new pro-celebrity line-up. Bruce Forsyth stepped out to host the event, to warm applause.
But then Brucie started on about the lighting, asking for it to be turned up so he could see the assembled crowd. On and on he went about the lights, to the evident discomfort of the many BBC types whose carefully choreographed event this was. Things went from bad to worse when he produced a sheaf of handouts and started walking up and down the room to give them to the journalists: covered in figures, they were supposed to show that the last series of Strictly had been unfairly compared in the ratings to its arch-rival on ITV1, The X Factor. (Even on a fairly careful reading, the figures were at best inconclusive.) Those BBC types could only look on helplessly as Forsyth hijacked their minutely-planned PR message: expensive disco-ball events are for promoting new programmes, not settling old scores.
Almost inconceivably, Forsyth – a titan of light entertainment for decades – seemed suddenly to be not an asset, but a liability. It was the first time, but sadly not the last. When the programme aired and Dixon’s performance came under attack from both press and punters, the obvious and best thing to do was for the whole show to rise above it without comment. Yet the following Saturday night, Forsyth made a point of sympathising, on-screen, with Dixon about the terrible week that she’d had, and of telling her how well he thought she was doing. Given that his trademark is to tell the worst dancers that they are his “favourites”, his praise had a hollow ring. And it also showed that either Forsyth, the show’s producers or both, were letting the relentless criticism get to them.
Earlier in the year, BBC One controller Jay Hunt had made an admirable stab at arguing that Phillips’s sacking was an editorial, rather than an ageist, decision. Yet that rationale was undermined when the pro-Arlene protesters started scoring big wins: Phillips was rehired for two new BBC One talent shows in 2010, The Wizard of Oz (with Andrew Lloyd Webber) and So You Think You Can Dance. If the original problem had genuinely been Phillips’s performance rather than her pensionability, it’s hard to see how she could have been rehabilitated so quickly. Mark Thompson, the BBC’s director-general, also issued an edict demanding more older women on screen. Again, a craven move unless the ageism outcry had some justification.
That wasn’t the first Strictly-flavoured incongruity to issue from Thompson. Last year, when the Government and Ofcom were busy deciding whether to nick some of the licence fee to help out ITV, Mr Thompson helped to trumpet a BBC now “rooted in partnership” – and came up with ITV-friendly schemes such as sharing regional news resources. But in June this year, Lord Carter said he would take some of the licence fee anyway. September rolled round, and the BBC decided on the most aggressive scheduling ever of Strictly against its ITV competitor, The X Factor. In BBC-land, apparently, it’s OK to do your best to undermine ITV’s biggest shows, as long as you offer them some footage of a fete in Grantham to pad their regional news.
It’s not just ITV executives who scratch their heads trying to work out some kind of consistency in BBC decisions. This week, the furore has grown ever louder about the four-letter racial slur that Strictly pro Anton du Beke aimed at his partner, the actress Laila Rouass, behind the scenes. But because du Beke apologised, he has (so far) survived. So did Jeremy Clarkson, when he took an equally profane off-screen pop at Gordon Brown. But Carol Thatcher, unapologetic about her use of the word “golliwog”, was fired. So it appears that it’s the apology, not the offence, that’s the key. Unless you’re former BBC One controller Peter Fincham, who apologised profusely for mis-edited footage of the Queen in 2007, but had to go anyway.
Despite the holes in BBC reasoning, Antongate might just have had a chance of blowing over – had it not been for the choice intervention of one B Forsyth. He took to the airwaves on Thursday to defend Du Beke, suggesting that people needed a “sense of humour” about Du Beke’s use of the word “Paki”. Forsyth was rapidly forced to issue a “clarification” in which he said that “the use of racially offensive language is never… funny”. Complaints about the incident, unsurprisingly, soared on the back of his remarks.
Meanwhile, Strictly Come Dancing is comprehensively losing its ratings war with The X Factor. Watching the two programmes shows why: The X Factor is ambitious, inclusive and energetic, with the quality of its production a masterclass in how to execute a talent show.
Strictly has, intrinsically, a slightly narrower appeal to an older audience, but previous series have glowed with Saturday-night reassurance – and have thrown up attention-grabbing characters such as John Sergeant, last year’s “dancing pig”.
This year, Forsyth seems tense, his rapport with both the studio audience and his co-host Tess Daly strained. It is impossible for anyone outside the BBC to really know what goes on behind the scenes, but Forsyth’s faltering performance smacks of a big name who is not being properly directed. He is a legend, for sure, but BBC executives must show enough spine to tell him when he’s getting it wrong.
Indeed Strictly itself, having been a jewel in the BBC’s crown, is coming instead to represent those things that are so irritating and self-destructive about the corporation. BBC management is by turns aggressive and contrite, its high-profile decisions flapping in the breeze of public opinion and press criticism. When dealing with its errant stars, its sanctions are hard to reconcile – except to the extent that they are always expedient. Strictly will recover if it gets strong creative leadership with a clear purpose. And so will the BBC.
Lacking direction and beset by scandal, the flagship dance show symbolises the failings of the BBC.
by Neil Midgley
Along with Doctor Who, Strictly Come Dancing is one of the programmes that senior BBC executives always trot out as examples of the corporation’s transcendent glory. Both thrill millions, both are thick with layers of Union Flag-waving cultural history, and both have lucratively colonised the rest of the world – to the great relief of the hard-pressed licence-fee payer. But after the procession of disasters that has befallen Strictly in recent times, it looks as if the Doctor is – not for the first time – now alone in his mission. The sacking of Arlene Phillips, an unleavened roster of Z-list “celebrities”, unduly aggressive scheduling against ITV, hundreds of complaints about new judge Alesha Dixon, the backstage hurling of racial slurs and the increasingly erratic behaviour of Bruce Forsyth, Mr Strictly himself, have conspired to rub the shine off Strictly’s sequins.
The first inkling that something was really wrong came in the dog days of summer at the Strictly press launch. The BBC used to throw launch parties at the drop of a hat but, in these straitened times, Strictly is almost unique in meriting a swish venue, external caterers and the presence of on-screen talent. Dozens of hacks duly assembled at a subterranean ballroom, pencils poised to report the all-new pro-celebrity line-up. Bruce Forsyth stepped out to host the event, to warm applause.
But then Brucie started on about the lighting, asking for it to be turned up so he could see the assembled crowd. On and on he went about the lights, to the evident discomfort of the many BBC types whose carefully choreographed event this was. Things went from bad to worse when he produced a sheaf of handouts and started walking up and down the room to give them to the journalists: covered in figures, they were supposed to show that the last series of Strictly had been unfairly compared in the ratings to its arch-rival on ITV1, The X Factor. (Even on a fairly careful reading, the figures were at best inconclusive.) Those BBC types could only look on helplessly as Forsyth hijacked their minutely-planned PR message: expensive disco-ball events are for promoting new programmes, not settling old scores.
Almost inconceivably, Forsyth – a titan of light entertainment for decades – seemed suddenly to be not an asset, but a liability. It was the first time, but sadly not the last. When the programme aired and Dixon’s performance came under attack from both press and punters, the obvious and best thing to do was for the whole show to rise above it without comment. Yet the following Saturday night, Forsyth made a point of sympathising, on-screen, with Dixon about the terrible week that she’d had, and of telling her how well he thought she was doing. Given that his trademark is to tell the worst dancers that they are his “favourites”, his praise had a hollow ring. And it also showed that either Forsyth, the show’s producers or both, were letting the relentless criticism get to them.
Earlier in the year, BBC One controller Jay Hunt had made an admirable stab at arguing that Phillips’s sacking was an editorial, rather than an ageist, decision. Yet that rationale was undermined when the pro-Arlene protesters started scoring big wins: Phillips was rehired for two new BBC One talent shows in 2010, The Wizard of Oz (with Andrew Lloyd Webber) and So You Think You Can Dance. If the original problem had genuinely been Phillips’s performance rather than her pensionability, it’s hard to see how she could have been rehabilitated so quickly. Mark Thompson, the BBC’s director-general, also issued an edict demanding more older women on screen. Again, a craven move unless the ageism outcry had some justification.
That wasn’t the first Strictly-flavoured incongruity to issue from Thompson. Last year, when the Government and Ofcom were busy deciding whether to nick some of the licence fee to help out ITV, Mr Thompson helped to trumpet a BBC now “rooted in partnership” – and came up with ITV-friendly schemes such as sharing regional news resources. But in June this year, Lord Carter said he would take some of the licence fee anyway. September rolled round, and the BBC decided on the most aggressive scheduling ever of Strictly against its ITV competitor, The X Factor. In BBC-land, apparently, it’s OK to do your best to undermine ITV’s biggest shows, as long as you offer them some footage of a fete in Grantham to pad their regional news.
It’s not just ITV executives who scratch their heads trying to work out some kind of consistency in BBC decisions. This week, the furore has grown ever louder about the four-letter racial slur that Strictly pro Anton du Beke aimed at his partner, the actress Laila Rouass, behind the scenes. But because du Beke apologised, he has (so far) survived. So did Jeremy Clarkson, when he took an equally profane off-screen pop at Gordon Brown. But Carol Thatcher, unapologetic about her use of the word “golliwog”, was fired. So it appears that it’s the apology, not the offence, that’s the key. Unless you’re former BBC One controller Peter Fincham, who apologised profusely for mis-edited footage of the Queen in 2007, but had to go anyway.
Despite the holes in BBC reasoning, Antongate might just have had a chance of blowing over – had it not been for the choice intervention of one B Forsyth. He took to the airwaves on Thursday to defend Du Beke, suggesting that people needed a “sense of humour” about Du Beke’s use of the word “Paki”. Forsyth was rapidly forced to issue a “clarification” in which he said that “the use of racially offensive language is never… funny”. Complaints about the incident, unsurprisingly, soared on the back of his remarks.
Meanwhile, Strictly Come Dancing is comprehensively losing its ratings war with The X Factor. Watching the two programmes shows why: The X Factor is ambitious, inclusive and energetic, with the quality of its production a masterclass in how to execute a talent show.
Strictly has, intrinsically, a slightly narrower appeal to an older audience, but previous series have glowed with Saturday-night reassurance – and have thrown up attention-grabbing characters such as John Sergeant, last year’s “dancing pig”.
This year, Forsyth seems tense, his rapport with both the studio audience and his co-host Tess Daly strained. It is impossible for anyone outside the BBC to really know what goes on behind the scenes, but Forsyth’s faltering performance smacks of a big name who is not being properly directed. He is a legend, for sure, but BBC executives must show enough spine to tell him when he’s getting it wrong.
Indeed Strictly itself, having been a jewel in the BBC’s crown, is coming instead to represent those things that are so irritating and self-destructive about the corporation. BBC management is by turns aggressive and contrite, its high-profile decisions flapping in the breeze of public opinion and press criticism. When dealing with its errant stars, its sanctions are hard to reconcile – except to the extent that they are always expedient. Strictly will recover if it gets strong creative leadership with a clear purpose. And so will the BBC.