Now it’s all-out war, as Strictly Come Dancing and The X Factor fight for ratings

First it was a battle for primetime schedules. Now it’s all-out war, as Strictly Come Dancing and The X Factor fight for ratings and news coverage. So which show would you defend to the last?

Give us glitz and high-kicks: Viv Groskop argues the case for Strictly

Strictly is special. We are not talking about some two-bit talent contest here. Those shows are not even in Strictly’s league. Strictly is life. Strictly is dance. It is everything Saturday-night television should be: high-kicks, sequins, glitz and glamour. Good old-fashioned entertainment of the kind most people can’t be bothered to make any more, but that has already grabbed more than 40 per cent of the TV audience.

It is also camp and downright weird. Where else would you find Paul Daniels and Gavin Henson sharing airtime, struck dumb with nerves as they adjust their satin cummerbunds? Or this year’s trump card Ann Widdecombe muttering darkly about her rise and fall? Or grown women on primetime television in barely there leopardskin leotards? 

As the battle for primetime ratings steps up, the pressure has never been so intense. The producers are working this year’s dancers so hard – ten hours a day, six days a week – that half of them succumbed to flu after the first show. Yet this is a fairy-tale world where the D-list soap actress becomes a glittering princess and the timid sportsman discovers his inner Casanova. It’s end-of-the-pier fun with bad jokes, spray-tanned politicians and pantomime judges. It’s slightly eccentric and sometimes homespun. It’s not afraid to be silly (welly boot opening number, anyone?) and it’s not afraid to make you cry. Felicity Kendal’s first dance had me blubbing from the off. Isn’t she lovely? I sound like my grandma. Strictly turns us all into our grandmas. And that is a good thing.

The X Factor is, by comparison, overblown, huge, American. It’s mean, nasty and addictive. Worst of all, it will manipulate your emotions and play you for a fool. Because when there is emotion, X Factor tears are crocodile tears. And someone is always crying all the way to the bank. There’s only one real winner on that show and we all know
who it is long before anyone has sung a note: Simon ‘Personal Fortune of £145 Million’ Cowell.

There’s none of that cynicism on Strictly. And as a result, it’s an easy show to ridicule. It has never been cool. Bruce’s gags often fall flat, Tess Daly’s megawatt smile is occasionally strained and Dave Arch’s long-suffering orchestra hits the odd bum note. But that’s half the charm.

Strictly doesn’t try to be something it’s not. It’s not slick or ambitious. Microphones get caught in people’s chest hair. Ask Karen Hardy and Mark Ramprakash, series four. Heels catch in dresses. See Jill Halfpenny in the final of series two. Even the professionals slip up sometimes. This happened to poor Ian Waite when he danced with Zoë Ball for the last time in series three. Fell flat on his face.

But this is why it’s so lovable. Anything can happen (well, almost anything; Ola will never wear a poloneck). Nothing is ever orchestrated or fake (except the tan, of course). Most of all, Strictly is reliable, trustworthy and familiar. It is your oldest friend dressed up for a night out on the town, wearing her best M&S control pants, having done her hair herself with some heated tongs. The X Factor, on the other hand, is the raucous hussy with the brassy highlights and too-tight dress who is flirting with your husband at a party.

I know who I would rather sit with on my sofa on a Saturday night. And it’s not that old tart.

The X ratings say it all: Judith Woods casts her vote for Simon and co

For me, the choice is simple. Ballroom dancing is for luvvies who’ve spent the summer secretly perfecting their paso doble. The X Factor is about raw talent, authentic transformation and moments of genuine, jaw-dropping astonishment. It’s also stealing the limelight in the battle of the headlines, with increasingly gripping stories charting the trials and triumphs of both contestants and judges. Gamu’s immigration plight has reduced us to tears. We’re gripped by the idea of 50-year-old Tesco checkout operator Mary beating flaky teenager Cher. And viewing figures are holding at 50 per cent plus.

So, Felicity Kendal can high-kick like a lipizzaner. Who would have guessed? All of us, actually. Meanwhile, The X Factor audiences are left breathless by Matt, a 27-year-old painter and decorator from Essex with the soulful falsetto of a superstar.

Yes, over the years, The X Factor has had its fair share of emotionally fragile contenders, fisticuffs – and Jedward. But that’s because it is a programme about ordinary people, where the dramas go deeper than a few dropped sequins. The X Factor is the culmination of the nation’s hopes and dreams; it is an opportunity that quite literally changes lives.

Strictly’s celebrities are hand-picked, professionally groomed and paid to perform. From the outset they are household names, a breed apart from the rest of us, and I for one feel entirely detached from them and their obligatory ‘this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done’ mantra that gets (fox)trotted out on every programme.

On The X Factor, contestants from every profession put their pride on the line – queueing for hours and enduring multiple auditions before they even make it in front of the judges. There is no cash reward just for turning up, and the majority will leave with nothing. The stakes couldn’t be any higher.

The choreographed soap opera of Strictly can’t compete with the gritty drama of The X Factor. Whoever wins the former will get a glitterball trophy; whoever wins the latter will get the chance to be a recording artist and to perform to millions.

Some previous entrants have had stratospheric careers: think Leona Lewis, Alexandra Burke, JLS. Others have crashed and burned, including the first winner Steve Brookstein and Scottish singer Leon Jackson. Who knows what fate has in store for last year’s winner little Joe McElderry, who recently came out as gay to general indifference?

This series already looks set to be a vintage year and in my household weekends revolve round The X Factor. My eight-year-old and I like to be in our jimjams by 7.30pm, snuggled on the sofa, knocking back wine (me) and hot chocolate (her) in a snapshot of cosy togetherness. Until five seconds in. Then the shouting starts – mostly at the TV but sometimes at each other. That’s how much we care.

For younger viewers, there are lessons, too: that it takes focus and effort to pursue a dream, that individualism is something to be applauded, that men can cry and, above all, that most contestants return to their lives, while the truly driven return to the auditions, year after year.  

This is the show where rough diamonds are polished, while over on the rhinestone-bedecked BBC, all that glisters is fool’s gold. Strictly is a short-lived spectacle. The unique joy of The X Factor is that it represents a beginning, not an end.

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk