Amber Davies’ Broadway Brilliance Sparks Strictly Controversy—Is Her Experience Unfair?

Mia Reynolds, 12/7/2025Explore the dazzling chaos of Strictly Come Dancing's Musicals Week, where Amber Davies' flawless performance sparks debate over advantage versus experience. Amid tears, nostalgia, and unexpected twists, the show reveals its true heart—vulnerability and the beauty of letting the world see you dance.

Headlines can’t resist a perfect score, and Amber Davies—dazzling beside Nikita Kuzmin—delivered just that. Their Charleston to “Sit Down, You’re Rockin’ The Boat,” drawn straight from the neon-drenched dreams of Guys and Dolls, shimmered with West End confidence. It was technically immaculate—almost too much so, if Twitter is to be believed. Scrolling through the feed mid-broadcast (never advised after a glass of wine, yet here we are), opinions cut in both directions: “Amber just essentially doing her day job. Bound to get a 40,” read one; another chimed, “Performing musicals is her day job so a 40 is imminent!!” The recurring argument—experience versus advantage—reared up again. The longer Strictly keeps blurring those lines, the livelier the living room debates seem to get.

Yet, for all the shine, it was Balvinder Sopal—so familiar to EastEnders viewers—who peeled back any façade and offered up something fragile. Her Viennese Waltz, set to “Never Enough” from The Greatest Showman, moved with a tremulous sincerity. Watching it was less like witnessing performance and more like being drawn into a confession—bare, hesitant, and, as evidenced by the tears streaking down her cheeks (and half the front row), deeply human. Judge Motsi Mabuse leapt from her spot, enveloping Sopal in a moment that felt more genuine than most reality TV hugs. By the time her nieces appeared on the big screen with their shakily recorded encouragement, tissue boxes everywhere made themselves useful. Sopal’s reward? Thirty-five points, yes—but maybe more valuable, a surge of empathy from an audience notorious for its salty pragmatism.

Strictly, in true BBC fashion, doesn’t dwell in one emotional register for long. What followed next played out somewhere between the pages of a storybook and a fever dream—Tom Fletcher, proudly waving the McFly flag, strode onstage to duet with a somewhat bewitched Paddington (Paddington! On Strictly! In 2025, the yearning for nostalgia clearly knows no bounds). This wasn’t just a cameo: the animatronic bear, part-puppeteer and part-wizardry, sang “The Explorer & The Bear” from Paddington: The Musical, creating a moment pitched precisely between utter kitsch and unexpected sweetness. Tweets rolled in faster than the credits: “Paddington was so beautiful! Made me tear up! Paddington is alive!!!” Sometimes, only a gentle, well-dressed bear can suspend disbelief for a primetime crowd.

Of course, TV loves a twist. Mid-episode, George Clarke—famous for rebuilding houses and, as he confessed, famously unwilling to indulge in showtunes—ran smack into a surprise courtesy of Andrew Lloyd Webber. The Phantom himself (or at least his video stand-in) materialized, offering tongue-in-cheek threats: embrace musicals or face catastrophe. By the end, even George’s trademark skepticism melted. “I have now been converted as a fan of musicals.” If 2025 gives us anything, it’s proof that even the staunchest cynic may eventually learn to love a tap-dance break.

The leaderboard, meanwhile, proved less forgiving. Lewis Cope and Katya Jones, long pegged as crowd-pleasers, found themselves wading through salsa to “Dance at the Gym” from West Side Story—buoyant on paper, a bit muddy in execution. Shirley Ballas didn’t mince words: “It was OK but it wasn’t your best dance for me by far.” Lewis grinned through the judges’ feedback, quipping, “I did until those comments. I’m only joking, I did. I thought it was fun.” That familiar moment: the post-performance balloon, popped by a blunt needle.

No week is truly complete without a tease for what’s to come. Celeb gossip columns will no doubt be sharpening their pencils for the upcoming Chicago-inspired “Cell Block Tango” group number, complete with female pro dancers in barely-there costumes, performing choreography just audacious enough to stir up Monday-morning radio chatter. Choreographer Elizabeth Honan summed it up: “Cell Block Tango is about six merry widows who have all murdered their husbands, and they all individually tell their story... All the female dancers are just going in and you feel it in every part of your body.” Katya Jones, ever game, upped the ante: “We have pushed the boundaries further than ever before.” Even for Strictly, that’s saying something.

All razzle and dazzle aside, tucked behind the rhinestones is the program’s heartbeat—a patchwork of public vulnerability. Week after week, under the capricious glare of stage lights, the ballroom reveals itself as confessional booth, theatre, and playground, all rolled into one. West End veterans trade comfort for controversy. Soap stars serve up emotion in doses too big to fake. Iconic bears remind everyone why gentle stories endure. And, in the end, amid the applause and jitters, the truth remains: sometimes, dancing isn’t about perfection. It’s about letting the world see you—seams, sequins, and all.

Sequins caught the lights while mascara took its chances, trailing down more than one cheek as Strictly Come Dancing’s Musicals Week unspooled its usual chaos—equal parts glitter, heartache, and a dash of dry British wit. Every December, Strictly transforms its ballroom into a pulsing shrine to West End glitz, and 2025 proved no exception. Perhaps it was the sense of anticipation crackling before the first eight-count; maybe it was the knowledge that, this year, the competition wasn’t just about choreography but rawness. Either way, the air seemed fuller than usual—thick with nerves, ambition, and the type of vulnerability usually reserved for late-night taxi rides home.Headlines can’t resist a perfect score, and Amber Davies—dazzling beside Nikita Kuzmin—delivered just that. Their Charleston to “Sit Down, You’re Rockin’ The Boat,” drawn straight from the neon-drenched dreams of Guys and Dolls, shimmered with West End confidence. It was technically immaculate—almost too much so, if Twitter is to be believed. Scrolling through the feed mid-broadcast (never advised after a glass of wine, yet here we are), opinions cut in both directions: “Amber just essentially doing her day job. Bound to get a 40,” read one; another chimed, “Performing musicals is her day job so a 40 is imminent!!” The recurring argument—experience versus advantage—reared up again. The longer Strictly keeps blurring those lines, the livelier the living room debates seem to get.Yet, for all the shine, it was Balvinder Sopal—so familiar to EastEnders viewers—who peeled back any façade and offered up something fragile. Her Viennese Waltz, set to “Never Enough” from The Greatest Showman, moved with a tremulous sincerity. Watching it was less like witnessing performance and more like being drawn into a confession—bare, hesitant, and, as evidenced by the tears streaking down her cheeks (and half the front row), deeply human. Judge Motsi Mabuse leapt from her spot, enveloping Sopal in a moment that felt more genuine than most reality TV hugs. By the time her nieces appeared on the big screen with their shakily recorded encouragement, tissue boxes everywhere made themselves useful. Sopal’s reward? Thirty-five points, yes—but maybe more valuable, a surge of empathy from an audience notorious for its salty pragmatism.Strictly, in true BBC fashion, doesn’t dwell in one emotional register for long. What followed next played out somewhere between the pages of a storybook and a fever dream—Tom Fletcher, proudly waving the McFly flag, strode onstage to duet with a somewhat bewitched Paddington (Paddington! On Strictly! In 2025, the yearning for nostalgia clearly knows no bounds). This wasn’t just a cameo: the animatronic bear, part-puppeteer and part-wizardry, sang “The Explorer & The Bear” from Paddington: The Musical, creating a moment pitched precisely between utter kitsch and unexpected sweetness. Tweets rolled in faster than the credits: “Paddington was so beautiful! Made me tear up! Paddington is alive!!!” Sometimes, only a gentle, well-dressed bear can suspend disbelief for a primetime crowd.Of course, TV loves a twist. Mid-episode, George Clarke—famous for rebuilding houses and, as he confessed, famously unwilling to indulge in showtunes—ran smack into a surprise courtesy of Andrew Lloyd Webber. The Phantom himself (or at least his video stand-in) materialized, offering tongue-in-cheek threats: embrace musicals or face catastrophe. By the end, even George’s trademark skepticism melted. “I have now been converted as a fan of musicals.” If 2025 gives us anything, it’s proof that even the staunchest cynic may eventually learn to love a tap-dance break.The leaderboard, meanwhile, proved less forgiving. Lewis Cope and Katya Jones, long pegged as crowd-pleasers, found themselves wading through salsa to “Dance at the Gym” from West Side Story—buoyant on paper, a bit muddy in execution. Shirley Ballas didn’t mince words: “It was OK but it wasn’t your best dance for me by far.” Lewis grinned through the judges’ feedback, quipping, “I did until those comments. I’m only joking, I did. I thought it was fun.” That familiar moment: the post-performance balloon, popped by a blunt needle.No week is truly complete without a tease for what’s to come. Celeb gossip columns will no doubt be sharpening their pencils for the upcoming Chicago-inspired “Cell Block Tango” group number, complete with female pro dancers in barely-there costumes, performing choreography just audacious enough to stir up Monday-morning radio chatter. Choreographer Elizabeth Honan summed it up: “Cell Block Tango is about six merry widows who have all murdered their husbands, and they all individually tell their story... All the female dancers are just going in and you feel it in every part of your body.” Katya Jones, ever game, upped the ante: “We have pushed the boundaries further than ever before.” Even for Strictly, that’s saying something.All razzle and dazzle aside, tucked behind the rhinestones is the program’s heartbeat—a patchwork of public vulnerability. Week after week, under the capricious glare of stage lights, the ballroom reveals itself as confessional booth, theatre, and playground, all rolled into one. West End veterans trade comfort for controversy. Soap stars serve up emotion in doses too big to fake. Iconic bears remind everyone why gentle stories endure. And, in the end, amid the applause and jitters, the truth remains: sometimes, dancing isn’t about perfection. It’s about letting the world see you—seams, sequins, and all.