The John Sergeant factor

Lynne Patrick

 

There’s an interesting phenomenon in the world of British reality TV at the moment. Not that I watch reality TV. Not much, anyway. But I think Strictly Come Dancing (Dancing With the Stars in the US) scrapes in there, and to that I confess I’m addicted.

 

The phenomenon I have in mind relates to pleasing the audience instead of the pundits; doing it entertainingly rather than skilfully; enjoyment over high cultural value.

 

(Do I hear a chorus of what the heck’s she talking about? from across the Atlantic? Hang in there; all is about to be revealed.)

 

A small, twinkly, tubby man with the proverbial two left feet, no sense of rhythm and immense charm has survived to week ten of the current series of Strictly Come Dancing by virtue of one simple fact: the viewers love him.

 

The judges are so rude about him that a lesser man would be reduced to floods of tears. Fortunately John Sergeant is not a lesser man; he has more guts, chutzpah and layers of skin than Len, Bruno, Arlene and Craig put together; as the BBC’s former political editor he probably needed them all, and he didn’t shed them when he retired.

 

Public opinion views him quite differently.

 

Every Saturday evening John and his amazingly talented dancing partner Kristina Rihanoff garner a measly handful of points from the four ‘experts’ – and every week the viewers’ votes snatch them firmly away from the dreaded dance-off. The lower the score and the more vitriolic the comments, the more votes they get. Last week the four judges seemed to get the message; the comments were milder, the scores less abysmal – but the viewers were wise to them, and saved the unlikely couple anyway. This week I have an awful feeling they’ll be doing the jive. John and the jive were never meant to exist on the same planet. But I'm willing to bet it will be business as usual.

 

All of this begs the question, what price 'expert' opinion? And who are the real experts anyway?

 

How often does a West End or Broadway show turn out to be the hit of the season –  after the critics have poured loathing on it?

 

And perhaps more relevant to my own audience, how many critically acclaimed, even award winning books make it to the top of the bestsellers? I can think of half a dozen names of people the pundits load with praise. But when I look at the top ten sellers in the weekend papers, it’s Danielle Steele, James Patterson, Jeffrey Archer, or some other shining star who is loved by the public but despised by the posh media.

 

Sometimes we need, with great regret, to let an author go, for the simple reason that his or her books haven’t sold well enough. Quality, whatever that means, has nothing at all to do with it; it’s all about capturing the public imagination.

 

John Sergeant has certainly done that.

If he could distil and bottle whatever he uses to achieve it, I’d buy a case a week.