(CBS) The 1980s were a time of excitement and strife. How could we not expect the same when “Dancing with the Stars” regressed back to a past that some can remember and few can understand?
As we waited for the big hair and 텍사스 포커 big shoulders we wondered whose shoulders would be big enough to cope with the big pressure of, well, big-time dancing.
Pictures: “Dancing with the Stars” Season 13
First into the den of iniquity was World Cup goalkeeper, Hope Solo. “Hope is the most athletic performer we have on the show, but it doesn’t make her the most feminine,” offered judge Carrie Ann Inaba before Solo’s dance.
This would be code for: soccer players are less girlie than, well, choreographers.
The tango is, allegedly, about a love/hate relationship. Solo and partner Maksim Chmerkovskiy called each other donkey’s holes during rehearsals, which boded well for artistic tension. Solo began in a large, shiny red coat, which might once have belonged to Dr. Evil – in a phase in which he was unsure of his sexuality. She soon whipped it off to reveal her Buenos Aires 4 a.m. look – a see-through top and a florid bottom.
What was revealed, though, is that Solo truly doesn’t have confidence in her sexy side. Chmerkovskiy seemed, at times, to be carrying her around the dance floor, as Solo pouted while her body doubted.
“You were too filleted and willowy,” said judge Len Goodman of Solo. “I don’t know how Max controlled you. It was too loose-limbed.”
“I thought you got the ’80s superbitch down to a T,” claimed Bruno Tonioli. He went on with references to Blake Carrington and, if I’m not mistaken, Nancy Reagan. No, I am mistaken. But Tonioli was full of wind here, and he had no sails.
Inaba made a lot of shrieking noises and decided that “less is more.”
Next we had someone who unquestionably believes that more is more – Carson Kressley.
Kressley was scared. But he put on some legwarmers in rehearsals to get in the ’80s mood. His was to be a jive – which, in a way, is what he’s done every week, regardless of what the dance was supposed to be – to the tune of one of the great all-time songs: Wham’s “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go.”
Kressley’s partner, Anna Trebunskaya, performed as a lady cheerleader. And – what fun – so did Kressley. Well, he was supposed to be a boy, but he had the pom-poms.
Sadly, he also had the jitterbugs, in all the most difficult ways. His sense of timing was that of a thwarted lover declaring that she had an objection during a wedding ceremony. His legs danced to something from a Missouri bar jukebox while his arms and legs were hearing Mozart. Or, perhaps Brahms and Liszt being played simultaneously at 156 rpm.
“That was loopier than a Loony-Tune,” declared Tonioli. He did admit that the actual jiving was “minimal.”
“I didn’t see much technique anywhere,” said Inaba.
While Kressley came on to Goodman, the wily old judge huffed: “I’m not sure that was good enough, really.”
Nancy Grace offered a huge revelation: in the ’80s, she was a cheerleader in Georgia – for football and basketball. A cheerleader with dark hair, indeed. She even demonstrated some of her moves and chants. They were spirited, in the same way that your uncle is spirited after a few Sambucas at his daughter’s wedding.
“I don’t want to see some older lady come out like some young floozy,” warned Goodman before Grace graced the floor.
Her partner, Tristan McManus, worried during rehearsals that Grace wasn’t much of a listener. “I’ve seen you do that on your show,” he whined, with truth as his foundation.
“When you’re talking, I can’t focus on my feelings,” said the diva. No, you haven’t suddenly tuned into “All My Children.” Grace really said that.
Grace, who was faced with a rumba, tried to show her version of sexy. “That’s drunk sexy,” said McManus, who is Irish and therefore a connoisseur of drunk sexy. “If you had better balance, you wouldn’t fall over,” he told her.
Grace, who was costumed to ever so slightly resemble the Poisoned Dwarf from “Dallas,” offered tipsy-sexy. She wandered around, fluttered her impossibly long lashes and let McManus be her guide. Pretty it wasn’t. But, unlike last week, at least she didn’t fall over.
“It was appropriate, but I want to see real passion when you’re dancing,” said Inaba. She uttered the word “drab.”
Goodman called it “simple, but very effective”, although he noticed “a few unstable moments.”
“It wasn’t slutty,” soothed Tonioli.
J.R. Martinez isn’t slutty either. He said he was always dancing with his mom. This week he had the samba. But his partner, the aggressively strident Karina Smirnoff, declared his movements in rehearsal to be “Un-Latin.”
Cogito Ergo Samba, he was not.
But, after a visit to samba club, Martinez discovered his inner Jose. Martinez was sometimes a little ahead of the music, but he feels the music in the same way that Grace feels Casey Anthony’s guilt.
He certainly doesn’t yet match up with some of this show’s past greats – like Apolo Anton Ohno or, um, Nick Lachey’s little brother – but Tonioli described him as “a sex machine.”
“Look, the Kardashians are gagging,” he added, a line that simply deserves its own discreet, knowing paragraph. Or perhaps its own reality show.
Talking of gagging and Kardashians, next was little brother Rob Kardashian.
Earlier this week, he had declared he didn’t consider himself sexy, which shocked a world that surely craved his naked pleasure in its boudoir.
Romeo, a “Dancing with the Stars” alum, attempted to help Kardashian find his inner Gerard Butler. Or Clive Owen. Or, at least, Owen Wilson.
His Lionel Richie-backed rumba said “Hello,” without ever making one believe that the “Goodbye” would come in the morning. Yes, he tried to stroke and grab partner Cheryl Burke in many of the suggestive places, but he still moves like a Hoover – and not even as animated as J.Edgar.
The judges, though, seemed moved.
“We start to see Rob the Heartthrob,” purred Tonioli. Inaba said that, like a tortoise, he was making progress.
Even Goodman was impressed with Kardashian’s masculinity. However, he added: “Don’t keep trying to do the splits because you could ruin your potential.” Goodman had rehearsed that for several minutes.
Then we were ready for the star of the show, Chaz Bono. Whatever some might mutter, Bono has become the most endearing presence, the most uplifting advertisement for decency in the face of unreason. Still, his dancing hadn’t yet reached the decently consistent level.
Just to intimidate him a little, this week he had to perform a samba. “You look like you’re scared of it,” said his exceptionally gifted partner, Lacey Schwimmer.
Schwimmer quickly realized that Bono is shy. The mere idea of him shaking his bottom in front of millions of people is not something that comes entirely natural to him. She surmised that Bono was shy because of his portliness. It so happens that Schwimmer’s dad, Buddy, is a world-famous dancer, the inventor of the West Coast Swing – and, importantly, not exactly a small man.
Lacey wanted her daddy to show Chaz that big guys can shake it. Daddy, ever the showman, declared: “We have more to shake.”
In the real thing, Bono shook everything he had with every ounce of determination he could muster. As an act of psychological liberation, it was wonderful to watch. As a dance, perhaps not so much, but Bono has become very much a crowd favorite.
“That’s the most dancing I’ve seen you do in all of the routines,” said Inaba.
“A gallant effort,” said Goodman. “You really gave it a go.”
Tonioli loved the fact that Bono gave it the wiggle.
David Arquette was asked to dance the tango to “Tainted Love.” Oh, those wickedly amusing producers. This was his best dance of the competition so far – although that is a little like praising the Kansas City Royals for winning two games in a row.
Arquette is still subject to arbitrary movements that have nothing to do with the dance or the music that is playing. He tends to be a series of twitches, rather than flows. He managed to pull some unpleasant faces, culled from the Johnny Rotten/Rat Scabies/Billy Idol catalogue. He strutted with some purpose, although you just know that partner Kym Johnson – a consummately patient professional – was leading him by the nose, the arm and the thrusted hip.
Goodman liked it. “It has a great ’80s feel,” he said. He even termed it, unjustly, “fantastic”.
“You need to work on musicality,” said Inaba, adding a little sobriety to the unreasonable enthusiasm.
Arquette also needs to work on his Len Goodman impression, which was patently awful.
And, finally, pre-season favorite, Ricki Lake. In the ’80s, Lake said she was “eating a lot.” John Waters – director of “Hairspray” – the man who had taken Lake from obscurity and thrust her toward, well, talk shows, turned up at rehearsal.
“Go, baby, go,” was Waters’ considered advice.
This foxtrot was pleasant and correct, though the eye was almost permanently drawn to the drapes that someone had stolen from a downscale Vegas hotel 30 years ago and suddenly hung over most of Lake’s body.
“I look ridiculous,” said Lake, when she’d finished.
“You went off-rhythm,” said Tonioli. “It didn’t gel.”
Goodman claimed to be a funkateer. He merely resents seeing it in the foxtrot. Goodman is good at resenting. He must have learned it in the ’80s.
TOP TWO: J.R. Martinez and, um, no one elseBOTTOM THREE: Carson Cressley, Nancy Grace, Hope Solo
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