When Sutton Coldfield Cat announced that Katee was not going to win, Twitch draped his arm around Joshua as they walked off the stage.
Joshua didn’t drape his arm around Twitch.
Instead, he looked back around towards Katee and, I suggest, thought: “She was the best. I know she was the best. This ain’t quite right.”
Thankfully, making Josh the winner wasn’t quite wrong either.
But the baleful tossing of fifty grand in Katee’s direction suggested the producers knew they couldn’t unskew the demographics and that Katee, had, indeed, been the best.
One must offer the hearty suspicion that a large majority of the voters might well have been of the female gender and somehow they found it easier to vote for entertaining chaps.
I can’t think of any other reason that Twitch was still standing there at the end.
Why they couldn’t vote for a girl, the best girl, the best dancers all being girls, I could not possibly say. Someone suggested to me it was a weird kind of self-hate. (This was a shrink. A female shrink.)
Someone else thought it was sheer envy at the talents of other women. Who can really say? I have a gut feeling that the majority of the voters are girls between the ages of 8 and 17. And they only think about lurve, don’t they?
The producers’ throwing fifty grand into Katee’s upturned hat perhaps also reflected a touch of self-hate on their part because having a street dancer win rather helps the show’s cred on the, um, street.
Hell, let me say it, Joshua winning was better PR for a show that is now reaching for truly global pretensions.
Still, there was so much more genuine art, talent and humanity in two hours of So You Thigh You Can Dance than in a million hours of American Idol.
These people didn’t merely want to be famous. They wanted to be famous for doing what they do very, very well. And if that doesn’t at least allow your little heart to skip a beat, then please do get a job teaching tap at Gitmo.
Talking of rushes to judgment, I could not help but watch Maria twirling in her red lampshade and think far too vividly of Marie Osmond in Dancing With The Stars.
And it was utterly impossible to look at Hell’s Teeth dancing the lugubrious fandango with a bunch of kids and not be tempted to call Child Services.
Why these people feel the need to mug so incessantly for camera time when their shrieks, slithering lilts and embarrassing tilts at humor have already been the price we have paid, in advance, for watching something that actually pleases for the right reasons, is entirely beyond my cogitations.
Yes, I made that last sentence deliberately convoluted in order to describe just how much these preeners test our patience.
So what of the future for Joshua and Katee?
Dancing behind Rhianna? Even less visibly behind Beyonce?
Ah, that $250,000 should be a lot more when you think of what The Blessed Archuleta and The Sous Chef Cook might earn.
The Pond thanks Dominic’s pics for giving us a sense of finality.