All Balls and Glitter (38 page)

Back on British soil, in May 2008 I was asked to present the Villain of the Year prize at the British Soap Awards. I can’t imagine why they picked me for that one. Jack P. Shepherd from
Coronation Street
was the winner.

It was a terrifying night. Everyone else could have fun, but I couldn’t let my hair down until I’d done my bit. I was panicking about getting the name wrong, after looking at the video of the shortlist and then coming back to the autocue.

It was strange having to present. I’d never done that sort of thing before. People assume that because you’re on television you can do it automatically, but on
Strictly
I work organically, in that I watch something and then comment on it. Put a script in my hand, place me in front of an autocue, and I am a fish out of water. It’s not as easy as it may look. Indeed, many full-time presenters specifically train for it. I knew it would be a challenge for me, but I said yes because I wanted to try it. I don’t think I made a complete fool of myself.

Soon after that, I appeared on ITV’s
An Audience with Neil Diamond
, and was invited to ask a question. I knew he had once danced with Diana, Princess of Wales, so I wanted to know what
that had been like. Back in Ballarat when I was growing up, my mum always had Neil Diamond playing in the house. ‘Beautiful Noise’ was her favourite song. She would have loved to have met him, but sadly she wasn’t there. The fact that I got a dialogue with him was amazing. I was able to tell him that his music had inspired me to dance, and that my first ever
pas de deux
had been performed to ‘Love on the Rocks’
.

In early summer 2008, my schedule became dominated by my latest Watermill Theatre production,
Sunset Boulevard
. It was another extraordinary task, as all the musicals I have had the pleasure to direct at the Watermill have been.

The casting for this show was critical. Kathryn Evans was my first thought for the role of the faded film star Norma Desmond. I had seen her in numerous productions and always thought her the underdog of West End leading ladies. She had a voice and range that were ideal for the role; she could still dance any of her contemporaries off the stage; and, of course, she was an actress of the highest order.

In short, she was perfect, but she had been out of the business for a while. A couple of years before, Kathryn had suffered a terrible car accident in Ipswich, not far from where she lives with her husband, Peter Purves of
Blue Peter
fame, in Suffolk. She broke her leg in two places, as well as her collarbone, and she wasn’t sure if she would ever get back on stage again.

It was my job to convince her to do it, because I knew she was the only one who could – who had the craftsmanship as an actor and a vocal musician, understood the character, was the right age … and would consider working, initially, for a lot less money than usual at the Watermill. To my delight, she said yes.

Kathryn came in with great trepidation. After her time away from the stage, I hoped the experience would give her a platform from which to relaunch herself, as with Gloria Swanson in the movie version of
Sunset
. There was a sense of life imitating art in that, although Kathryn’s personality is very different from
Norma’s. Kathryn is actually quite shy, which is such a contradiction because on stage she’s so out there, and shockingly believable.

Next in the casting came the leading man, who would play opposite Norma as the young writer, Joe Gillis. So who would a film star of fifty fall in love with?

Ben Goddard, who had been my leading man in
Martin Guerre
the year before, sprang to mind. Not only was he stunning in that part with a fabulous singing voice, but he also played the piano, flute, guitar, saxophone, double bass, bass guitar, drums, banjo, classical organ and mandolin. Such multiple talents were essential for my vision of the musical.

Remembering him from
Martin Guerre
, I basically offered him the job, without seeing him. We arranged to meet for a drink in a London bar to discuss it further. When he walked in, it turned out that he was 5 stone overweight, with a waist measuring 42 inches. I couldn’t believe it. As tactfully as I could, I broached the subject with a question.

‘You do realize, darling, that the character of Joe Gillis opens act two in a pair of Speedos, sitting round a swimming pool?’ I enquired.

It wasn’t subtle and he knew exactly what I was getting at.

‘Don’t worry, Craig,’ he told me. ‘I’ll turn up for rehearsals and I’ll be trim.’

And he was. He put his mind to it, went running every morning, and by the time the show opened at the Watermill, he looked amazing and had lost 10 inches from his waist. He’s a driving force in any company, a true leading man.

It was the first time I had ever directed any of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s material. I was slightly apprehensive about making the show smaller, reducing his score unashamedly and placing it in the hands of twelve multi-talented actor/musicians in a space the size of my living room. Thankfully, it worked out brilliantly. I even received a phone call from ‘the Lord’ himself to congratulate us on our achievement.

Andrew and I were no strangers, as we’d worked together on the
Maria
show for the BBC. In fact, I can remember singing ‘Greatest Love of All’ in an impromptu karaoke evening at Andrew’s home during filming, which was, I’m sure, an unforgettable experience for all concerned.

Andrew wanted to come to see
Sunset
, and for me to sit with him and chat about it afterwards. Naturally, I was a nervous wreck, but I tried to hide it. The show is only a couple of hours long, but every second of that performance was terrifying. I felt I was holding my breath for the entire time, from the moment the curtain went up right through to the curtain calls.

It was a great relief when, at the end, Andrew turned to me and said, ‘Congratulations, Craig, you’ve done a wonderful job.’ I could finally exhale.

Generously, Andrew took Grant and me out for dinner that evening and we stayed overnight at his opulent country home, which is not very far from the Watermill. It was filled with the most incredible pre-Raphaelite oil paintings and beautiful furniture. We had a fabulous night’s sleep after some delicious wine, and then awoke to a breakfast that was fit only for a king – or queen in my case. Andrew is a very charming man and lots of fun to be around.

Summer 2008 also saw me attend the Caudwell Children’s Legend Ball. The people behind it run a marvellous charity, which provides specialist wheelchairs for disabled children. They even have chairs that lift the kids up and help them to dance, which I think is brilliant. Thanks to the popularity of
Strictly Come Dancing
, I’m fortunate to have the opportunity to help all sorts of charities. As well as supporting Children in Need, which is the fundamental backbone of
SCD
, and pursuing my ambassadorship with Teach First, I’m also involved in Performing Arts Workshops summer schools in Milton Keynes and have worked with Dr Miriam Stoppard of the ‘Love Your Bones’ campaign. This drive aims to increase awareness and understanding
of osteoporosis; I created a ‘Boogie For Your Bones’ dance for the National Osteoporosis Society for World Osteoporosis Day. Without
SCD
, none of this would be possible.

All the children at the Caudwell event were
Strictly Come Dancing
fans. They were thrilled that some of the dancers and judges were there. I was thrilled because Whitney Houston was performing. It meant so much to me that I was literally rendered speechless. It was so good to see her back on track again as she’s been through some terrible times; we all saw that publicly. It must have been difficult for someone who is that huge a star to have been seen like that.

All the ladies from
Loose Women
were on my table. It was a fabulous night. I was having a wonderful time with people like Ronan Keating and Louis Walsh, with whom I get on very well.

Then I went backstage to meet Whitney. Suddenly, I became all dumb and stupid. I was awestruck – and filled with memories. I wanted to tell her about Lavish singing ‘Greatest Love of All’, how I’d used that as my audition song; to describe the drag circuits of Melbourne and Sydney and Lavish’s rapturous reception. I wanted to explain that the song had helped me through the break-up with Lloyd and put me on a happier path. But – for once in my life – I said nothing.

S
eries six of
Strictly Come Dancing
, which began on 20 September 2008, proved to be something of a rollercoaster ride. Once again, fourteen celebrities were competing, but the competition seemed to focus – at least as far as the press were concerned – on just one man: the now notorious John Sergeant. To this day, everyone remembers his horrendous/hilarious paso doble, when he was Neanderthal man dragging his poor partner Kristina Rihanoff across the floor; he may as well have had her by the hair and danced with a club in his hand.

Yet after the public continued to vote him in, despite his technically challenged dancing, he cut his losses and did a runner in week ten, announcing to a press conference on 19 November that he was pulling out ‘in case he won’.

As far as I’m concerned, John Sergeant was lacking courage and determination: a gutless wonder, to use an old Aussie term. I don’t think he had the strength to stay. I believe he should have honoured his contract, because he knew what he was getting himself into when he signed up. It’s not as if it was the first series we’d ever done.

He also knew that if he danced badly he would be ridiculed, naturally – but for his dance alone. Len touched slightly on the personal when he mentioned John’s weight, but Arlene never
called him the ‘dancing pig’, as the media reported. In fact, it was the press that labelled him that, but the story went round the world.

My dad was listening to the radio in Australia and heard: ‘The judges of
Strictly Come Dancing
, the UK’s equivalent to
Dancing with the Stars
, have called a political journalist a “dancing pig”. Do you think this is fair? Should they be sacked?’ This was in my home town of Ballarat, which struck me as bizarre. Who cares about John Sergeant?

The answer to that, unfortunately, is that everybody cared about John Sergeant because he made it that way. What other country in the world backs a quitter? Only in Britain would people say, ‘Poor John Sergeant. Imagine how terrible he would feel if he had won.’

At the time, a lot of people were calling for our heads. Mind you, we’re used to that. There hasn’t been a season without someone screaming: ‘Get him off our television!’

With everyone baying for our blood, the frustrating thing was that it seemed as though John Sergeant’s was the only voice being heard. The BBC didn’t want us to expand on the situation – and quite rightly, because it would only make a ridiculous story drag on. (In my opinion, there wasn’t a story in the first place. A journalist had left a game show. So what?)

Yet the media turned it into the biggest splash ever, even in the broadsheets. Len Goodman was on the front page of the
Telegraph
, for goodness’ sake. I couldn’t believe it. When I saw that, I said wryly, ‘Look, darling, you’ve finally made it.’

John’s abrupt departure was soon overtaken in dramatic terms, however, by a logistical problem that nobody saw coming. On 13 December, the semi-final, the top two couples – Rachel Stevens and Vincent Simone, and Lisa Snowdon and Brendan Cole – received exactly the same judges’ score … with the consequence that Tom Chambers would be in the dance-off whatever happened: the viewers’ votes couldn’t save him.

The first sign of the controversy was when Tess Daly announced, live on TV, ‘There’s a problem with the voting and we’ll be coming back.’ The judges were as bemused as the rest of the world. The four of us were saying to each other, ‘What’s going on? What’s happening?’ We had no clue whatsoever.

Then Bruce and Tess revealed that all three couples were going through and we thought, ‘How is that possible?’ Clearly Tom had the lowest score. Yet it was the fairest solution – and because we would normally have had three couples in the final anyway, it rebalanced the outcome.

The incredible thing is that the flaw in the system had always been there, but it had never cropped up before because we had never had two couples ranking the same at that stage. It took six series for the possibility to come to light.

I was confused at the time, and I still am. The following week, I was on breakfast television and the presenter said, ‘Craig, you’re the sensible one. What is going on with the voting?’

I replied, ‘Darling, I haven’t a clue. I’m still in the dark, and we’re coming up to the final.’

Eventually, the decision was made that if the same thing happened in the final, Len, as the head judge, would have the last word on the couples’ ranking. In a professional competition, the judges watch several couples at once, confer, and then the head judge decides who should win.

In ours, because the contestants dance individually, the scores are based entirely on our own opinions. I have no idea what marks the others are going to give until they hit their buzzers and start to pick up their paddles. We can’t rig it in any way. But in real judging, if there’s a tie, the head judge makes a decision.

In fact, that had to happen in the 2008 Christmas special – we had a four-way tie at the top of the leader board, so we had to stop filming for an hour while Len ranked them all. Luckily, that show was pre-recorded and didn’t involve viewer voting, just votes
from members of the studio audience, so it wasn’t quite such a drama as the semi-final.

The BBC cut the backstage green room for series six. It used to be great having guests chilling out in a VIP green room, where you could visit them between the filming of the Saturday and Sunday shows.

Instead, we judges had our own little green room – because the producers had come up with the idea of filming us backstage between the programmes. In the Sunday episode, they’d show us relaxing over a glass of wine and talking about the contestants, airing our dirty laundry.