All Balls and Glitter (31 page)

The pressure of live television is unbelievable. I don’t think people realize how much goes into it. It’s one thing turning up as a judge, but choreographing it, being there for the contestants, ensuring everyone is emotionally prepared and knows what they’re doing, which camera they should be looking at, and so on, is a humungous task. On top of that, the nature of the show was that the contestants were all amateurs; I’m used to working with professionals.

Some of the Marias took direction better than others, but then that’s a skill that either comes naturally or not. If I want to extract more charisma or emotion from a performer, what I will say to
someone with training will be completely different to what I would say to an amateur. Someone like the eventual winner, Connie Fisher, who had been to stage school, could understand my language, so I could work economically with her. I always trusted her on stage.

There was a lot of hard work involved, but also a lot of fun. I remember that in one session, we were rehearsing a group routine when I said, ‘Take four steps back.’ Leanne Dobinson (aka Baby Maria) took four massive steps and just disappeared. She had danced herself off the set and into the orchestra pit! The other girls walked forward for the next phrase and Leanne wasn’t in her place in the line-up. Instead, there was the sound of crashing cymbals and this almighty scream. We all howled with laughter.

Connie Fisher stood out from the beginning for me as one of the contestants who had potential, along with Siobhan Dillon, who came third. I thought Siobhan was very good. There was one week when the pressure was getting really intense, and she was having trouble with her rendition of ‘Chains’ by Tina Arena. The girls trusted me to make them look good on stage, so they would come to me if they were feeling terrible about themselves, or nervous. Siobhan came to see me, very upset, saying, ‘I have a problem with the music and I don’t know if I can do it.’

I said to her encouragingly, ‘Trust yourself, Siobhan, trust your instinct. What you did in rehearsal was great, so don’t question it. Go for it even more.’

It was a difficult song, as it demanded a lot emotionally. I’d staged the opening with her on all fours, banging on the floor. She’s a beautiful girl and she’d always looked great standing still and singing, but we needed to see another side of her character, which I was trying to bring out. I think we saw it. She did really well.

An interesting observation about being a choreographer on the programme, rather than a judge, was that I was treated more
like staff. I didn’t get cars to take me to the studio; I had to get the Tube. When I was on set, there was no dressing room for me, so I felt a bit in limbo. I’m used to working in that way backstage in a theatre, of course, because that’s my everyday job, but it was strange to be treated so differently at the BBC. I wasn’t allowed to sit in the studio and watch the show, either. I had to enjoy it from the green room. In fairness, it would have looked odd, having me in the audience, because my face is so recognizably part of another BBC production.

Speaking of which, the fourth series of
Strictly
was about to kick off. There were more contestants than ever before – fourteen in total – and the likes of Spice Girl Emma Bunton, rugby player Matt Dawson and cricketer Mark Ramprakash were taking part. What’s great about
Strictly
is that it’s not one of those shows that people only do if their career is limping or failing. It isn’t about putting a D-lister back on the A-list. A lot of people used to imagine that’s what it was, but it’s about human endeavour. The line-up for the new run was the best yet.

Mark Ramprakash, as it turned out, had
the
hottest salsa – so spicy that it has yet to be topped. Mark was extraordinary: definitely the best male celebrity to date. The use of his hips showed such control. He exuded an air of show business and displayed a performance skill the likes of which we had never seen before on
SCD
, and may not see again.

The funny thing about Mark was that nothing kicked in with him until the Thursday of each week. He had terrible trouble on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, could never remember it – but he always pulled it together. By Saturday night, he was astounding.

Another particularly memorable contestant from the 2006 crop was actress Claire King. Her rumba with dance partner Brendan Cole was one of the filthiest I’ve seen in my entire life.

I adored having a drink with Claire after the live programme. She’s a wild woman. She’s out there, she’s on it, she’s great
company and she loves to party. She just has incredible spirit – she goes for it, without a care, and you have to do that to be as free as a dancer.

For a live show,
Strictly Come Dancing
has been relatively free of monumental cock-ups, but season four was when our luck ran out. In week four, a microphone cable got tangled around Mark Ramprakash and Karen Hardy during their salsa. It was awful. They were just going into this fantastic routine when the wire became caught on their embroidered clothing. They couldn’t move apart. Poor Karen was devastated, but Mark appealed for another go and they were allowed to start again, which was fair. That’s the only time we’ve had to stop the show.

We’ve been told that if someone has an injury or let’s say, God forbid, a heart attack on the dance floor, the cameras will cut to the judges, the floor team will remove the body – and then we’ll carry on! Thankfully, it’s never happened.

The contestants do have medical checks before they start, reassuringly. Still, you can’t really tell how they will fare once they start dancing. Ballroom is a lot more physical than people realize. It’s a sport and people get injured. People use muscles they didn’t even know they had. Even sportsmen find some of the dances physically challenging, because they are not used to the moves, even small ones like the rise and fall, which test different muscles to the ones they regularly employ. On the
Strictly Come Dancing
tour in 2008, for example, the performers were dancing every night and were fine; but we went bowling one night and everyone woke up with sore buttocks!

Some of the contestants go from doing absolutely no exercise, like Kate Garraway did in 2007, to doing forty hours a week. She was pushing her body a lot, so she was very sore to start with. A lot of the contestants find the same.

Bless Kate. She was a great sport. She was no good at dancing, but she was all for having a go, and took every bad comment on
the chin. She enjoyed herself and we thought she was magnificent, especially as she had the most punishing schedule. Beyond the physical endurance, what kills most of the celebrities is the arduous twenty to thirty hours of training they have to put in each week, which is a nightmare to maintain, particularly when they have other work on the go at the same time.

On series three, for example, Bill Turnbull had to go into the office at four in the morning to do his job, as did his co-contestant Fiona Phillips, and her co-presenter Kate on series five. I spoke to Kate in make-up once and she was just exhausted. I said to her, ‘I don’t know how you do this.’ I really meant that. She had to be at the
GMTV
studios at 4 a.m. to go through the content of her show, work from 4 a.m. to 11 a.m., and then she had to dance the rest of the time. Plus she had an eighteen-month-old baby to look after when she got home.

I guess it all comes down to passion. On season four,
Jan Ravens was certainly passionate about the programme. Jan is known mainly as a comedian and impressionist – but she was taking
Strictly
so seriously that she wasn’t making anyone laugh.

Some celebrities are not used to being themselves or ‘playing’ themselves on TV. It’s one thing doing an interview as yourself, but quite another when you are out of your comfort zone in front of millions, live. Jan’s career as an actress, and a bloody good one at that, meant that she was always portraying characters or doing impressions of other people. She hadn’t had to be just Jan Ravens until the show, and maybe she found that to be too much exposure, though obviously I can’t speak for how she felt. The show is very raw and a massive challenge, not only physically but emotionally too. Jan took every little bit of criticism to heart, whereas the sportsmen and women, like Denise Lewis, don’t. Denise’s attitude was, ‘Bring it on! Criticize me so I’m better next week.’ That is the only way to accept it, otherwise you can get yourself into a real state.

Jan was knocked out in the fifth show, after dancing the
Viennese waltz with her partner, Anton Du Beke. Her dancing up until then had been pretty ordinary, but I actually thought this particular performance was her personal best, so I said so. I also had a small criticism, as I often do, and said she was ‘kicking like a mule’ when taking her backward steps. I mentioned it only so it could be corrected the following week if she was kept in. After all, if you’re not told what’s wrong with your dancing, how on earth are you ever going to be able to fix it? You’ll only end up making the same mistakes time and time again, and receiving identical comments.

Jan picked up on my remark about it being her best dance yet and asked, ‘Why didn’t you give me any more points than last week then?’

I replied with total honesty, ‘Because it wasn’t worth any more.’

After the result is announced on air, the losing contestants always have a leaving chat with Brucie, where they usually say things like how much fun they’ve had, their thank yous, how it’s changed their lives and so on. Jan decided to be a little different. She came over to the judges’ desk and spat, ‘I hope you’re happy now!’ (This, incidentally, has since become one of Graham Norton’s favourite impressions.)

I’d given her a general critique of her dancing and while it wasn’t always favourable – I can’t deny that – it wasn’t entirely my fault she lost: there were millions of viewers voting too, and they control 50 per cent of the result. What may have upset her most of all was that the public weren’t behind her and voting to keep her in. Being kicked out, especially in the early rounds, is a bitter pill to swallow because it means the nation isn’t supporting you. There’s nothing you can do about that, though – that’s life. You can’t win everything. The show’s for charity at the end of day, so why not make people laugh, and give us all some entertainment along the way?

To blame the judges is ludicrous, because there are 12 million people who have the option to vote. I was shocked by her
outburst, totally taken by surprise. It was the first time we’d had an aggressive reaction on the show following elimination, and I felt she was being a bad sport. But I brushed it off and thought nothing more of it. She did her final dance, the credits rolled and it seemed everyone was back on an even keel.

After the live programme wound up, I made my way as usual to the BBC bar, where we always go post-show to chill out and talk about the evening’s events.

I was strolling along the corridor on level four, towards the bar, when I spotted Jan standing outside, engrossed in conversation. As I walked towards her, I began to feel slightly nervous and found myself avoiding eye contact. I didn’t know what to say because of her obvious antipathy towards me. Her comments had definitely been directed at me, and that line – ‘I hope you’re happy now!’ – kept going through my head.

‘I shouldn’t go past her and smile,’ I thought as I drew closer. ‘That will look horrible. But if I choose to ignore her, that would be even worse. I have to say something.’

The BBC corridor is a long, curving walkway, which allows you to see someone who is quite far away. You then have to make a choice about how to behave and what to say as you are moving towards that person. That night, the walk seemed endless, but I made the decision to congratulate her and be pleasant, and pretend she hadn’t said what she had.

As I walked, I rehearsed my little speech: ‘Congratulations and commiserations,’ I would say, ‘but you did a great job for charity and well done.’

I began to speak, but Jan turned round and said, ‘Not now. Not now,’ and brushed me off. I said, ‘I just wanted to say you did a great job.’ She put her hand up to my face and was backing away, saying, ‘Leave me alone.’

Perhaps foolishly, I carried on. ‘There’s no need to take this so personally,’ I shouted, as she was backing even further away.

‘Just leave it!’ she yelled.

She was retreating from me as if I was trying to attack her, which of course I wasn’t. I was thinking, ‘This is mad,’ but I went after her anyway to try to calm her down.

The BBC bar has double doors and one of them was open. Jan’s husband Max spotted what was happening and flew out of the bar, just as I’d had enough and turned to walk away. He started effing and blinding at me, saying, ‘Leave her alone. You’ve done enough already. Keep away from her!’

Then he shoved me in the chest, three times. He’s half my size, which made it quite comical, but it was shocking at the time. He just went crazy.

I was extremely embarrassed by the whole incident because it happened in front of five of my friends, who were following me to the bar. They couldn’t believe it. They were saying, ‘Oh my God! Does this happen every time someone goes out?’

Of course, the answer is no. Generally, people are gracious and will say, ‘No hard feelings. It’s just a show, love,’ or something along those lines. And that’s what it is. It’s entertainment, pure and simple.

The next morning, I was on
Something for the Weekend
, a TV chat show framed around a delicious Sunday lunch, and they asked me what I thought about the previous night’s
SCD
.

‘The BBC bar was exciting, darling,’ I replied. And I told them the story, live on air. The presenter, Tim Lovejoy, was completely flummoxed. He was speechless.

The following Monday, the story exploded and the aftermath went on for weeks. In retrospect, I should have said nothing, but it had happened and we had about thirty witnesses. I was mortified that someone had taken this so much to heart that their husband felt the need to jump to their defence.

On Mondays, I always appear on Claudia Winkleman’s show,
It Takes Two
, with the person who went out of
Strictly Come Dancing
the Saturday before. You can imagine the tension in the air when we all arrived at the studio.