'Dancing With the Stars' is a guilty pleasure

DWTS isn't about strategy or cunning or back-stabbing. It's about hard work. Now there's some reality.

BY DIANE WERTS

Newsday

Dancing with the Stars.">

DAMIAN DOVARGANES / AP

Academy Award winning actress Marlee Matlin tries to keep up with her partner, Fabian Sanchez, during a rehearsal for Dancing with the Stars.

Everyone's got a TV weakness. You know what I mean. You loathe live-audience sitcoms, but somehow love The King of Queens. You're a quality-drama freak, yet right there for The A-Team. And then there's that whole home-shopping watching thing.

So here I am, mulling why I'm such a sucker for Dancing With the Stars. I tired of Survivor long ago, had enough pseudo-romance after Joe Millionaire, and feel no need to see Donald Trump on The Apprentice ever again. Yet as the stars put on their Dancing shoes Monday night on ABC, I was there, watching until the home-audience tribe speaks by voting this season's trophy winner in May.

I could say I watch to star gaze/gawk. Who doesn't wanna see deaf actress Marlee Matlin face the music and dance? Heck, it's cheap fun just imagining hulking cynic neo-hipster Penn Jillette attempting to fox-trot.

But it's more than that. There's something that sets DWTS apart -- above -- other reality competitions. Actually, there are several:

We already know the characters -- or think we do. No setup necessary here, none of that tedious who's who that fills the premiere of other reality competitions. The recognition factor of DWTS is proclaimed by its title, though a few competitors seem more like guest stars. (Stacy Keibler? Shandi Finnessey?) So this show doesn't get to define cast personalities the way others can position competitors as The Gay Guy, The Pageant Babe or The Gravedigger. We already know who these individuals are. Yet we also learn how wrong our assumptions can be.

These contestants have something to lose. The dancing stars can come off smarter or nicer than we thought. Or dumber and meaner. Where regular folks stand to gain from their competition stints, performers who've already accomplished such things are putting themselves on the line, very publicly -- and vulnerably.

We see the stars without makeup. Sometimes figuratively, but also literally, and in high-definition. While the stars get the full Hollywood treatment for onstage performances, they're fairly naked in both grooming and emotion in that casual footage shot during training sessions. We can assume the producers do them some favors in editing, but they can't be on guard every second while struggling to master an ability that's foreign to them.

They have to learn a real skill, out of their comfort zone. Sure, some stars seem to have had previous dancing experience. (Yes, you, Mario Lopez.) But most really are truly challenged by something more difficult than they'd expected and over which they have little command. Watch them being dressed down by their professional partners. Stars are generally control freaks, because people let them be, and here they're so absolutely not in charge that it's fascinating psychology. Dancing With the Stars isn't about strategy, for the most part, or cunning, or back-stabbing. It's about hard work. Now there's some reality.

They're at our mercy. Of course the stars do play (pander) to the audience. (Yes, you, Marie Osmond.) They have to win our votes. They can't stand on previous fame/accomplishments, or rely on pure talent/improvement. They need us to like them, root for them, phone for them. The power!

That's entertainment. DWTS is a textbook example of savvy production construction. First, there's great casting. Gushy but frank American babe Carrie Ann Inaba. Stern British grandfather/taskmaster Len Goodman. Bubbly Italian language-mangler Bruno Tonioli. Host Tom Bergeron makes the ideal referee/commentator -- relaxed, warm, witty, sometimes even cutting. He feels like one of us, making the optimum host for this sort of semi-campy show. (And grinny co-host Samantha Harris? We love mocking the eye candy, too.)

But the whole show is smartly designed, from the cheesy ballroom with the rear stage steps, to the glitzy ice-skating-spectacular costumes, to the whooping live audience stocked with star pals, to the backstage interview pit with fellow contestants perched on sofas as a forced-smile backdrop. There's a delirious retro feel, akin to a variety/game/talkfest mashup. Bergeron even introduces the bandleader weekly, in his own Johnny Carson-Doc Severinsen flashback.

What's not to love? And that's the point. Where so many reality shows are mean-spirited, product-pushing, shamelessly tear-jerking or designed to elicit bad behavior, Dancing With the Stars is one big gleeful crowd-pleaser. It's competitive, yes, but not cutthroat. It's delightful rather than down-and-dirty.

It's just great TV. And that's my biggest weakness of all.

The boy who loved life and defied the odds against a terrible illness

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Brave Owen: Lost his fight against cancer four years ago

Two months earlier, the family learned that a tumour on Owen's brain had spread to his spine. He had already undergone nearly two years of treatment and further surgery was not an option.

Sharon and her husband Liam had to face the unthinkable. "Our beautiful little boy was dying," Sharon recalls, "and now it only remained for us to make his final time as happy and comfortable as was humanly possible.

"The day he started school was the proudest of his life. I stayed on, watching through a window as, for a few wonderful hours, my bright funny son enjoyed the experience of being just like other children.

"His little hand shot up and down as he enthusiastically answered the teacher's questions, and on the drive home he was bubbling over with excitement."

Owen went to school one more day. But his deteriorating condition meant it was impractical for him ever to return. Yet until the day he died in 2004, two years later, Owen never gave up on his dream of going back and being with his friends.

Three years on, Sharon Dempsey finally felt strong enough to relive the time she spent caring for him. That experience, and what she learned from it, has been put into her book, Extreme Parenting, which she hopes will provide some comfort and guidance to other parents.

"I finally realised there was something positive that could be retrieved from such a harrowing experience," says Sharon, 38. "When Owen was ill, we had nothing to guide us through what is probably the most distressing and complicated thing you can ever experience as a parent.

"Looking after a seriously ill child is a constant juggling act between the very natural instinct to protect and mollycoddle them, and the need still to be a parent and provide them with discipline and boundaries.

"You also have to fight for them, to ensure that they get the best possible care. As well as dealing with your own fears, you're trying to provide as normal a family life as possible for your other children."

Kate, their daughter, was five when Owen was diagnosed.

"I called the book Extreme Parenting because I felt that we were, indeed, living on the edge of our parenting skills. Anyone who has cared for, or is caring for, a chronically or terminally ill child will know exactly what I mean."

She hopes the book will help parents of children with less serious illnesses, such as asthma, too.

"We all, to a lesser or greater degree, experience the same dilemmas," she explains.

Owen was born three years after his sister. His affectionate nature and smile ensured he was loved by everyone who knew him.

The family were living in Cardiff, where Liam was a financial manager. Sharon, a writer and PR consultant, organised her career around the children and loved being a hands-on mother.

When Owen went off his food in February 2000, she thought it was another virus. He had suffered with them regularly since the age of 14 months.

Sharon recalls: "As usual, the GP found nothing wrong. But two days later, at lunchtime, Owen started tilting his head. Something made me phone a friend who was a nurse. She told me to wait until she arrived to take us to hospital."

At University Hospital in Cardiff, it became clear this was no simple virus. "Owen was dragging his feet when he walked, the walk became a shuffle, then he simply stood still," says Sharon.

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Sharon Dempsey, pictured with her daughter Sarah, who is two next month, hopes she can help other parents with ill children by sharing her son's story

"The doctors tried to get him to walk to me, but he couldn't. It was heartbreaking to see. A few hours later, one of the doctors took me to one side and said that she was worried there may be something seriously wrong with Owen's brain.

"She explained she'd requested a neurological team to carry out a CT scan. I had this feeling of dread."

After the scan, his parents were taken into a room which seemed to be crowded with doctors.

"The neurologist broke the news to us with great kindness and care. He explained that there was large mass ? a tumour ? at the back of Owen's head, wrapped around the brain.

"For him to have any chance of survival, he'd need surgery within a few days."

The doctors explained that the surgery itself was extremely high risk, and could blind or paralyse him.

"As the neurologist spoke, we broke down," says Sharon. "Liam and I were literally hanging on to each other."

That night, sitting by Owen's bed, they formulated a plan. "We decided we would make sure that he was as happy as possible, and that his needs always came first no matter how bad or sad we were feeling.

"Coming up with a strategy gives you the feeling that you are not totally helpless. Owen never had a night in hospital without either Liam or myself by his side. And whenever any unpleasant procedure was done, we shared that experience with him."

Sharon and Liam carried their son to theatre, not knowing if it was the last time they would ever hold their little boy again.

As Liam kept a vigil at the hospital, Sharon went home to Kate, who was being cared for by friends.

"I had to prepare her for the fact that she might not see her brother again. Later, as she grew up, we were able to tell her more complicated things, and she became good at accepting that we weren't able to give her as much attention as Owen."

After a nine-hour operation, the surgeon explained he'd managed to remove about 95 per cent of the tumour. It was an ependymoma tumour, which affects around 30 children in the UK each year. There is no known cause.

"Owen had only a 25 per cent chance of surviving and a 75 per cent chance that the tumour would grow back and the cancer eventually spread," says Sharon.

"We knew that these were poor odds, but the doctors were upbeat. It was all such shock. Just a few days earlier, we had been a normal family.

"As he regained consciousness, Owen was in terrible pain. We asked the intensive care nurses for pain relief, but because he was only allowed it every four hours, and there was still an hour to go, they were sticking to it."

Only when Owen struggled so much that he dislodged the needle in his artery did a doctor arrive and immediately agree Owen could have his pain relief early.

"It wasn't neglect, but a lack of empathy with this poor little boy," says his mother. "I learned a valuable lesson that night. You need to forget any embarrassment or our natural inclination to be polite.

"Sick children need someone in their corner to fight for them ? and if you have to shout to get what they need, then so be it.

"As parents, we know our child and their needs better than anyone else, and a good healthcare professional should respect that."

Three weeks later, Owen went home for a brief respite before chemotherapy began. To beat such an aggressive cancer, Owen would need 16 months of treatment, with one week in hospital followed by one week at home to recover.

"Within a day of the chemotherapy, he would be vomiting and unable to eat, complaining of sore joints. He hated being in hospital.

"He was often very sick, lost weight and suffered from painful constipation. Liam took him to have his hair shaved before it fell out, and Owen was very upset by his bald head.

"It was heartbreaking because we knew we were doing the best thing, but Owen didn't understand that.We were frightened that he would be angry and resent us."

As she talked to the other parents of children in hospital, Sharon realised that this was a familiar worry.

"We made sure that we included Owen in our conversations with the doctors," she says. "We let him see that we had a good relationship with them and that we trusted them, so he trusted them, too."

By June 2001, the treatment was finished. Owen joined a nursery and made good friends. The family went to Disneyland in Paris, and there were days on the beach and trips to the zoo.

Regular blood checks and three monthly MRI scans were the only physical reminder of the possibility that the cancer might return.

But a year later ? just before Owen was due to start school ? a scan showed the tumour had grown back. There was also a big mass on his lower spine. It was inoperable.

"Quite quickly, the effects of the tumour became apparent," says Sharon. "Owen was often tired, he felt sick and had dreadful headaches.

"At almost five, he understood more, and he would ask us what he had to do to get better. He never gave up fighting."

Computer games became hugely significant. "We bought him a PlayStation 2 that he absolutely loved," says Sharon.

"Owen couldn't run or play football, but he could fly in this virtual world. All the other kids in the street would play with him, and it was a boost that he could beat them all.

"It was heartbreaking when, as the cancer spread along his spine, the nerves to his hands were damaged and he could no longer work the controls. But still he never gave up.

"In February 2004, he was talking about learning the violin and going back to school. On the night of March 1, he spoke his last words. 'Night night,' he said as he fell asleep."

He died the next morning.

"After the funeral, we were hit by the most dreadful grief. There was no sense of relief that his suffering was over because he had never wanted to die. At times, we hardly knew how to cope."

In April 2006, Sharon had a baby daughter, Sarah, and last year finally felt ready to write down everything that she had learned through Owen's illness and death.

"Although Owen was terribly ill, he was still a little boy who loved to play and learn and who wanted above all to be normal. I hope what we learned will help other families make the right choices for their child."

• Extreme Parenting: Parenting Your Child With Chronic Illness by Sharon Dempsey is published on March 27 (Jessica Kingsley, £13.99).

• Starlight is a national charity which grants wishes to seriously and terminally ill children. Visit www.starlight.org.uk

• REACT is a small charity that offers immediate assistance to disadvantaged parents with potentially terminally ill children. Visit www.reactcharity.org

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