The Greatest Dancer
(BBC1, Saturday)
***
Manhunt
(STV, last night)
****


IN the light entertainment equivalent of Napoleon sweeping into Moscow, Simon Cowell brought his brand of talent-show-cum-ducking-stool into the heart of Saturday nights on BBC1 with The Greatest Dancer.

Made for Auntie by Syco, Cowell’s production company, it was a mash-up of X Factor and Britain’s Got Talent that proved to be both highly entertaining and quietly appalling. Only Cowell, the PT Barnum of our day, could concoct such a nakedly populist brew.

Hosts Alesha Dixon and Jordan Banjo explained the rules. Three “dance captains” (don’t call them judges), Cheryl, Strictly professional dancer Oti Mabuse, and Broadway star Matthew Morrison, could comment on performances, but only the theatre audience had a vote. If an act scored 75 per cent, it went on to the next round with the chance to win £50,000 and a spot on Strictly.

“The people are dancing for the people and it’s in the people’s hands,” said Morrison. That was the problem. If an act had youngsters in it, or there was a heartwarming story to tell, it went through. In the case of 14-year-old Ellie from Livingston, obvious talent took her onwards. As for street dancers Frobacks, whipping their shirts off was enough to get Cheryl on her feet and throwing them the kind of look a cat gives a canary. 

It was Oti, however, who took the Strictly glitterball for enthusiasm, storming the stage to dance a samba with a troupe of seven-year-olds. If a star was born on Saturday night it was the South African dancer with legs that make Cyd Charisse look like Janette Krankie.

Events turned awkward with the appearance of Yass, a ballet dancer from Kazakhstan. No matter how much the dance captains encouraged the audience, the crowd was having none of it and he was out the door. “It’s like Brexit part two,” said one disgusted Yass supporter. “I wish I had an override button,” sighed Morrison.

The final act was Andrew, a young man with Down’s syndrome. What followed could have been buttocks-clenchingly cringeworthy and patronising, save for Andrew’s mum (“If you fall over, just carry on”), and Andrew himself. The kid could certainly dance, and the sheer joy it gave him turned Cheryl into a heap of sobs and smiles. She was not alone.

Clever old Cowell. Just as his star begins to fade on ITV, he has found a new home and a hit. Then again, look what happened to Boney after Moscow.
Also in territories new this weekend was Martin Clunes. The Doc Martin star played Detective Chief Inspector Colin Sutton in Manhunt, a drama based on the true story of how the killer of Milly Dowler was eventually caught. 

Written by Ed Whitmore from Sutton’s memoir, the first of three episodes (continuing tonight) inevitably showed the DCI in a good light as a decent, dedicated, old school policeman out to get justice for the dead.

Clunes dialled everything down, becoming greyness personified to play the copper who described himself as being more John Major than Churchill when it came to addressing the troops. Similarly, the production was high end but never showy, with obvious effort being made to avoid sensationalism. There were no close-ups of victims, for example, and more time was given to a scene of parents going to the spot where their daughter had died than the post-mortem.

For all the restraint this was still a tough watch, knowing, as we did, the horrific reality that lay behind the drama. Just as Sutton, skilfully played by Clunes, kept the dignity of victims to the fore, so Manhunt will be judged by how it fares in the same task.