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Strictly week 5: Strictly Come Haunting

In the alternate-universe narrative I maintain for Russell, he was once the biggest queen on the circuit. From Miami to Brighton to Sydney, the queers, dykes, fag hags and fag stags would fill the clubs every night almost breaking into riots to see the glorious Mama Rose perform. 

But after a time it became too much. 

The fame.

The boys.The alcohol. 

Well, darling, one can never have too many boys. But, still it became such a strain on Mama Rose that he started dusting his margarita glasses with crushed painkillers rather than sugar or salt. Eventually, it all fell apart and Mama Rose slipped into anonymity and legend. 

Now, his estranged niece, daughter of his ridiculous heterosexual brother (honestly, how embarrassing!) has come to ask Mama Rose for help. Innocent little Flavia dreams of winning the glitter-ball trophy.

“Honey, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” says Mama Rose, signalling with a swizzle stick to one of his be-thonged cabana boys that another cocktail is desired.

“Please,” begs Flavia. “I know I can win.”

“You think it’s that easy, do you?” snaps Mama Rose. “This is the glitter-ball trophy, sweetie. Do you even understand that? You think you can just show up with your little abs and white teeth and they’ll just hand you the glitter-ball trophy?! Ha!! They. Will. Tear. You. Apart.”

“Uncle Russell…”

“Uncle Russell, indeed. Don’t play the family card on me, darling. I will never understand what went wrong with my brother that he ended up with a woman. Ugh. I feel ill thinking about it.”

“Mama Rose, please. Please. I know I can win. I know we can win.”

And so Mama Rose came back. And word spread. And again they cheered his name from the balconies.

But now, the old ghosts have come back, too. The old fears. And new pain. Mama Rose is not the vibrant queen he used to be. And this past weekend he was out of it. Tired and moody, removed. Maybe Mama Rose just doesn’t have it in him anymore. Can Flavia pull him back? Can the greatest be great again?

Strictly week 4: Pasha's weekend

Somehow, bafflingly, the combination of James, who usually gets his partners to behave like absolute whores during the rumba, and Alex, whom I would like to lock in a shed and keep for personal use, created a situation that was wholly not sexy. It’s like taking the best chocolate in the world, combining it with the best raspberries in the world and discovering it tastes like garlic butter. What the hell?

More on my blog: Dancing the Polka with Miss El Cajon

Strictly week 3: All aboard the J-Train

The whole thing had the feel of a parade float having broken loose and careening down a hill toward a raging Sandinista gun battle. Aboard the float, the performers know they are going to die but decide to give one last performance, to jive their way to bullet-riddled glory. So, there’s Anita: trying desperately not to fall over on the out-of-control float, bracing herself for the deathly sting of hot lead, frantically working toward the climax of the routine before coming into the crossfire. And looking so darn likeable doing it.

More on my blog: Dancing the Polka with Miss El Cajon

Strictly Week 2: God save the dancing queen

If you don’t like Russell Grant, there is something very wrong with you. No, really; you are suppressing some kind of deep psychological trauma and if you don’t seek help soon you may be a danger to yourself or others. I cannot imagine what kind of sick, twisted, miserable state of mind a person would need to be in to sit and watch Russell mincing about the dance floor and not feel at least a modicum of joy. If you are such a person, I pray for you.

More on my blog: Dancing the Polka with Miss El Cajon