My Dancing with the Stars Obsession
Over the course of five seasons (I missed the first, but everyone says it wasn’t that good), I have become obsessed with Dancing with the Stars. Like, maniacally “don’t speak to me, my show is on” obsessed. While watching DWTS, I laugh like a insane person and clap my hands like a toddler playing patty-cake. Who is this demented woman whooping and hollering as Maks shimmies around the floor with an Amazonian volleyball player? (Note to Mel B and Maks: You were robbed!)
This will be my only meditation on DWTS because, like live theater, I love it too much to become a critic. (For weekly recaps, see Annie Barrett’s invaluable and hilarious missives on ew.com and the astute blogger of “Idol Thoughts,” who has forgotten more about reality TV than I could ever know.) But let me make this unoriginal observation: The true “stars” are the partners, especially the cutie-pie Hough siblings, sexy Maks and dashing Mark Ballas (who, alas, will be soon be gone, saddled as he is this season by Kim Kardashian). Somebody give those four a dance show on Broadway! They are tremendously talented choreographers, along with Cheryl Burke, a pro I used to like before she won twice and got conceited.
Think about the challenge these professional dancers face when trying to teach random B-list people to mambo and waltz, sometimes in the same episode. Yes, there are ringers, like Lance Bass, Toni (”my heart condition”) Braxton and last season’s winner, Kristi Yamaguchi. But most of the time, these so-called celebrities start pretty close to square one, and the pros whip ‘em into shape so that watching the top couples is always entertaining. The cleavage! The headgear! The wondrous panel of judges, particularly the oil-and-vinegar combo of Len and Bruno! That uber-annoying Samantha! The proud spouses and kids maniacally clapping (like Kathy!) on the front row. Who needs an antidepressant when you can start your week with Dancing with the Stars?
Tags: Dancing with the Stars