And then there were five. Awful Ashley finally left the ‘Nancy’ house to find a quiet place to stick pins into an effigy of Lord Rubber. Uncharacteristically cruel, the latex Lord had told her not to miss the last bus out of dodgy city. For a man whose vast fortune rests on slavishly giving the public exactly what they want, the curiously likeable Lord, has been, with Ashley, an angry Piper unwilling to let those who pay him call the tune. So tenaciously did argumentative Ash cling on, one began to wonder whether an SAS SWAT team might have to be called in to prise her grip from the door to fame. As Nancy at least.

But the Good lord was quite right, so manifestly less talented than the others left in the competition, if the peculiar Peer’s barbs didn’t see her off, the sweet DVO must have delivered the coup de grace with “that was too cruise ship for me.” A well-oiled stiletto to the heart. Only the good Ashley could take that and come back for more.

The best moment on Saturday, in this endlessly surreal show, was Barry Humphries commiserating with genuine ‘sisterly’ feeling with Jodie about how hard it is to dance in high heels. There’s esoteric professional inside knowledge for you. Though if I were Big Barry I wouldn’t be accepting any cups of tea from Rachel’s pretty hand for a while – having last week likened her to Georgia Brown he bitch-slapped her this week as a mere understudy. I thought she was going to spontaneously combust on live TV.

BB’s absolutely perfect for this show whose sexual tone and undertone is deliciously anarchic. After hermaphroditic Humph, the whole gay spectrum is nicely book-ended by John Barrowman proving he is not just an impossibly pretty face at one end, and Graham Norton’s let’s-see-whose-got-the-biggest-behind-the-bike-sheds smirk, at the other. Lord Rubber always looks asexual to me but we gather this would be a seriously dangerous assumption on the part of any unsuspecting Lady or lady, judging by the lovingly nurtured legend that it is not only the Good lord’s estate that is exceptionally well endowed. Unlike most of the female population of the UK, I can easily forgive the delectable Denise her relationship with Luvlee Lee of Joseph fame. Indeed with her informed and sometimes feisty sense of humour, I might just find it in my heart to forgive DVO anything. But Julie Delpy still has my heart.

So its numinous, nervous Niamh; jolly jumbly Jodie; ruthless radiant Rachel; Sexy Samantha from the Isle of Sam; and jiggly just delicious Jessie to fight it out. Things are getting tough, for this competition has been lucky enough to actually find some absolutely first class, and diverse talent. There will however be tears before the fortnight’s out as the Olivers are getting to the last one in, three out stage. The only dry eyes in the house when that one hits our screens will probably be the kids themselves, unnervingly composed, assured and professional from their nimble feet to their tastefully tangled locks. If the little blonde kid doesn’t get in I think my wife’s going to lead a march on London.

Choice of song is the potential fiddle-factor in the show. Not that I would suspect it of course. But last week strangely everyone was given a lousy, inappropriate song, except perversely Ashley who grandstanded her way through putting the pop-eyed Peer into a hissy fit, with a sort of Burly Chassis version of Hey Big Spender. It was great fun to watch the younger three go ape and what ALW called the ‘less-young’ group (nice sucking-up milord) going seductive. Though I have to say, and not wishing to be ungallant, despite her wonderful personality, the thought of Jodie heading full steam ahead with sexual intent would scare the bejesus out of me.

So the circus rolls on. For me, taking the casting issue seriously, Niamh takes it. She moves better, acts better, has a shaman’s eyes and is learning to use them. The others could all act the role of Nancy, this extraordinary, unbelievably young woman could be her. Niamh’s Nancy would make you cry.

Great crit!
I have to say that, though I watch this, I can't summon up great enthusiasm for it. Yeah, it's good Saturday night entertainment (ish) and the Olivers are fabulous. I'm also strangely hypnotised by the Rubber Lord. However, for me the programme was flawed from the start: unlike Sound of Music and Joseph, this is a show in which Nancy's ACTING talents are far, far more important than her singing ones, so to show the women singing every week seems rather beside the point (especially since they're singing from genres totally different from the Oliver one). So, yes, I'll watch it to the end, but it's not living up to its predecessors.
Susiex

Thanks Susie

I do so agree. I think in the end that's why I favour Niamh - I can see her getting the vulnerabiliy and the strength - not toughness. It would be interesting to cast Nancy at the age Dickens wrote her. I also agree the concept here was dodgy from the start for the very reasons you cite. What has rescued it has been that they actually happened upon some very committed candidates with a lot of real singing talent. So the set pieces and and the other genres singing has been entertaining in its own right but a bit irrelevant to the choice of a Nancy.

Regards

Z

Hey, Zettel - hilarious crit. I've absolutely no idea what you're talking about, since I have been banned from watching Saturday evening telly in our house due to my constantly broken oath not to mutter and curse all the way through Dr Who - instead of taking it on the entertainment double chin like what one should because after all it's just a bit of a laugh. But I read your crits for the same reason I read Nancy Banks Smith's - they make me laugh. I'd like to say you've inspired me to watch this nancy boy/girl/boy-girl/tranny-drag/ALW show but I can't because I banned myself from anything Webbery some time ago. It happened 20 or so years back, one afternoon in the council shed when my fellow signwriter, Steve, and I decided to spend a few hours light opera-ing to each other. Previously, we'd rapped it up all day, blinging our mahl sticks with gold leaf as we did so; then there was bluegrass day, which resulted in permanent ironic smirks and a frozen, cocked, eyebrow each, and heavy metal which left us hoarse and tightly wound testicularly speaking. Anyway, light opera day meant deep baritoning everything - a request for a cup of tea, for instance, would be sung with real feeling and longing (and without much acual tea it must be said). Everything rhymed of course and there were even the beginnings of tunes. Then, feeling we'd earned a touch of Radio 3, we turned on the wireless only to hear what at first we thought must have been a recording of our afternoon's verbal dribbling - some droning nonsense about the Music of the Night: no tune, words like mushy peas that have been made with tinned processed instead of proper dried ones - but then we realised it was even worse than us!

Terry - thanks NBS is elevated company - ta.

Still smiling from your crazy day.

I'm a bit worried about all this banning stuff - rebel! Watch the Nancys - you've got nothing to lose but your brains.

Regards

Z

Zettel,

Now you mention it, I'm a bit worried about all this banning, too. I mean, I banned myself from church at 13 because I didn't feel anything at the confirmation ceremony; I was thrown out of the boy scouts for starting a revolution at summer camp; I was asked to quit teacher training college for - well, asking too many questions, basically; I banned myself from joining my posh local golf club at 16 because the club secretary who interviewed me was only interested in what my father did for a living and where I lived, not that I was passionate about the game . . . I even stopped reading comics in 1984 because - well, I don't even remember now. Has all this made me happy? Well, actually it has. Nevertheless, I'm going to follow your advice and watch the Nancys. Really. It's time to get down with the, um - what am I getting down with, exactly? And can I look away every time ALW appears on screen?

Terry

Why not Terry - the rest of all do.

regards

Z