dancing with the stars
Dancing With Myself
Nov 28th
To exist in the belly of a zeitgeist and never come close to understanding it is a frustrating fate. I’ve spent the last several months wondering how exactly I moved to the United States of Dancing with the Stars without even changing apartments or voting on any proposed legislation, but here I am. And I hate it. I hate it for permeating every form of media; I hate it for keeping Tom Bergeron on television; and most of all, I hate it for hypnotizing me into watching last night’s bloated, Celine Dion-fueled finale.
Before this season, my major beef with DwtS was that it took the hype and audience I’ve always thought was better reserved for So You Think You Can Dance. After all, SYTYCD is a dance competition where the people actually know how to dance and are free to perform less antiquated and more exciting routines set to contemporary tunes… and not orchestral muzak. There’s also the gakwer factor. A vast majority of DwtS contestants are pathetic at the start of the show, and even more are there by the end. If you’re lucky enough to ride the DwtS wave to legitimate success (like Joey Fatone or, apparently, Drew Lachey), more power to you. But you’re an exception to the rule. While your parents may always remember Marie Osmond as the slightly more feminine half of a beloved entertaining duo, most of us under 40 will forever think of her as that old cougar who fell ass over tea kettle after grinding with a man half her age.
As much as I’d like to be completely ambivalent about the competitors, I suppose I would have preferred prodigal Spice Girl Melanie Brown take away the giant, sequined golf-ball-and-tee-set trophy and the title of danciest star. Helio Castroneves’ toothy smile and saccharine spirit don’t set well with me, and I kept having flashbacks to Roberto Benigni’s chair-hurtling ’97 Oscar win whenever he was on screen last night. His stamina has impressed me though. He was already on the east coast this morning to dance for both Good Morning America and The View on zero sleep. If losing meant being able to go to bed, I would have preferred to be Brown. But based on her satellite interview with Diane Sawyer, I’m pretty sure all she did last night was drink.
“Walking [er, Watching] is the Hardest Thing”
Mar 19th
If you haven’t already heard, “charity campaigner” is the newest and most awesome euphemism for “whorish amputee.” And we can thank the hosts of Dancing With the Stars for that little gem. In what must be the most obvious and reprehensible ratings ploy in history, Monday’s premiere of DWtS brought with it the highly anticipated dancing debut of Heather Mills (McCartney).
Dancing With the Stars has become one of TV’s most inexplicable phenomena, and while I know very few who’ll admit to having ever watched it, I doubt I’ll still be able to say that on Tuesday. The perverse and glorious prospect of seeing Mills’ prosthetic leg fly off mid-Salsa is too appealing for even the most prim and proper. This is a sight that could bring in even the most obstinately anti-reality tubers among us. And it’s not news to the producers.
The show started with former 90210er Ian Ziering, an easy choice for this season’s champion seeing as how he’s paired with the winner of the previous two seasons and looks like he just woke up from being cryogenically frozen since 1994. What followed was a two-hour parade of the usual overweight, unrecognizable morons they try to pass off as a celebrities, all the while teasing us with flashes of Mills’ waxy leg. Just get on with it!
And a few minutes shy of ten, they finally did. After an impressively lengthy introduction that lacked any mention of Paul (what else is there to talk about?) and a quick highlight reel of Heather’s early trips and spills, the dancing began. She seemed to be carried most of the time by her poor sucker of a partner and looked so stiff and uncomfortable, you have to wonder if she’s regretting this mid-divorce publicity stunt she’s trying to pass off as a vehicle to inspire limbless children. The judges were courteous and she scored right down the middle, but no matter how many weeks America casts a vote for her leg to dislodge and take out a Leeza Gibbons, I don’t think we’ll ever get it. Heather isn’t taking any risks on this show. Smart on her part, because she just isn’t capable of busting the tight moves required of the most Star-tastic dancer, and she certainly shouldn’t be donning the obligatory bikini bottom and sequined pasties. Sorry amputee kids, looks like you can’t do everything.