And so we live through the pain again.
The pain of allowing real people out there to break hearts as they break wind. With no thought as to who might laugh, who might cry and who might die of asphyxiation.
On this week’s So You Thigh You Can Dance, justice and injustice held hands and stroked each other like a policeman and a drug dealer in an especially tense French thriller.
Comfort is lovely. But Comfort was done. Just as she was done before. Would Kherington have done any better? Who can say? Yet few could argue that the viewers’ eyes did not take a vacation in Bermuda.
However, with the chaps, it would be reasonable to say (and we’re not necessarily here to be reasonable) that the viewers may have listened to the Pond a little too literally.
Yes, I asked all y’all to vote with your hearts. This did not mean that you were supposed to shut your eyelids while your eyes rolled down your bodies, along the floor, out to the patio to roll around on your hammock.
As I believe I mentioned when I first wafted helplessly into the pheromones of this show, Will was trying so hard to be perfect that he was failing to connect with the audience.
What was striking is that he really didn’t connect with either of his partners over the last two weeks.
Somehow, half way through each performance, he moved his eyes away in order, seemingly, to focus on the perfect arc his right arm was describing, almost as if that arm held such descriptive awe that it really was the ghost of Tim Russert, or the reincarnation of Lenny Bruce.
Yet here was the injustice.
Will’s James Brown solo showed all the wit, verve and abandon that his other dances simply didn’t.
If the solos are there to be judged, and if the ultimate aim is to find the best single dancer, then Will did not deserve to be extradited.
Mark, Joshua and Twitch were all fortunate.
And Calista Flockhart’s mom, who joined a Tia-less Maria and a tirelessly witless Teethy on the judging panel, was sharply honest in trying to point that out.
Twitch really didn’t have to do a whole lot of dancing in Tia’s quite fabulous dramatization of the Bobbit relationship. He performed it well. He danced very little.
But he emoted far too much, perhaps, when he discovered he might be in the bottom two. Turning away from the camera and squatting like an unhappy rabbit seemed just a little unnecessary. It was, however, pleasantly honest.
Mark was perhaps even more fortunate to get away with his misfortune. Not only was he asked to partner Comfort, but he then frantically tried to keep up with Napoleon and Josephine’s schoolboy routine and then dance something that may have been a foxtrot. Or a deertrot. Or a squirreltrot.
Mark, I am suspecting, has endeared himself sufficiently to those out there to have the largest remaining fan base. Perhaps he will suddenly have the blind fortune to draw Katee next week. That might make for a very interesting and, perhaps, expository evening.
And what of Joshua? Perhaps it is my naivete, but, again, his strength seemed to be his strength. And his slight weakness appeared to be his dancing. He seemed at times to be finding it hard to match Chelsie’s precision and verve. It was almost as if he was putting in so much effort that his body was trying too hard.
If that is not a tautologous tautology.
Whatever one might think of this show, and I am clinging to my joy at its essential honesty, there is still so much genuine talent remaining that one can only hope the performers have sufficient energy remaining to deliver something truly inspiring in the two weeks that remain.
Personally, I would very much like to see, at the very minimum, the return of Lil’C and Calista Flockhart’s mom.
Both could guide the viewers just enough to prevent further injustices being rained down on our fragile emotions.
Life is hard and the world is rough.
But if you want to boogie, children, you have to get tough.
I just made that up.
The Pond thanks Guylaine2007 for capturing a dog named Boogie.