Strictly Come Dancing reached the semi-final this week, but it felt a bit less exciting than in previous years. This weekend, the contestants were taking on two dances as they fought to make it to next week’s grand final.

There were a LOT of emotions on display as the four remaining celebrities took to the dance floor to showcase their talents.

It was a fun week with some nice dances but as far as Strictly semi-finals go, it wasn’t earth-shattering. We even found ourselves zoning out during the competitors’ VTs as we heard how much they love their mum/dad/sister/brother/insert family member here.

Here’s what we thought of everything that happened in the Strictly Come Dancing semi-final.

Karen and Carlos were emotional (Credit: BBC)

Karen and Carlos got emotional

Former Lioness Karen Carney has been brilliant in this year’s competition, but she has proved her worth – as judge Anton du Beke said – by being a bit “crash, bang wallop”. She’s thrown herself into dances with real enthusiasm and gusto.

But this week she was dancing a Waltz to One Moment in Time by Whitney Houston. And she showed everyone that she could bring the sensitivity to the dance floor too.

By the end of the dance both Karen and her partner Carlos Gu were sobbing. Anton was emotional too as he told her that he’d never thought she could dance that way, and his heart “skips a beat” to see it.

Head judge Shirley Ballas was also choked with tears as she complimented the dance.

Karen won 39 from the judges for her Waltz.

And she won the same score for her second dance – a Salsa. The judges really enjoyed her Latin moves with Motsi Mabuse saying she wished she could have joined her on the dance floor! High praise, indeed!

Amber wowed the judges with her Couple’s Choice (Credit: BBC)

Amber and Nikita got top marks

West End star Amber Davies was saved in the dance off last week, sending actor Lewis Cope and his partner Katya Jones home.

Amber took to social media during the week to share that she’d been sent some hateful messages about her success in the dance off. Her partner Nikita Kuzmin also admitted it had been tough.

But they pulled it out of the bag!

Their first dance was a Tango, which was dramatic and sharp, but oddly attracted criticism from Anton and Shirley.

In a twist, Craig Revel Horwood, know to be the toughest judge, said his fellow judges were being “unnecessarily harsh”!

But he scored Amber a 9 anyway – the same as Anton. Make it make sense. Amber won 37 points for the Tango.

It was her Couple’s Choice, though, that brought the house down. Her old-Hollywood-style dance to Fly Me to the Moon was a winner.

“Absolutely beautiful in every way,” said Shirley.

A thrilled Amber and Nikita won top marks – 40 – from the judges.

George went for it in his Samba (Credit: BBC)

George let loose!

YouTuber George Clarke has been tipped as favourite to win the whole competition and this week it felt like he just went for it!

“You certainly let loose!” commented Craig about the energetic Samba George danced with partner Alexis Warr. “What it lacked in technique, it made up for in entertainment!”

George’s second dance was a Charleston inspired by the Inbetweeners. It was funny and quirky and the judges all agreed it suited George perfectly.

He was given 35 points for his Samba, and 37 for his Charleston. Not too shabby.

Bal showed off her Salsa skills (Credit: BBC)

Bal gave it her all!

EastEnders star Balvinder Sopal has been in FIVE dance-offs this series. But this week she proved she was supposed to be in the semi-final, when she danced a fabulous Salsa to a Gloria Estefan medly.

“What a start,” said a stunned Anton. While Shirley said it reminded her of dancing Salsa in Cuba.

Bal won 35 points from the judges for her Salsa.

Though she confessed she hadn’t enjoyed learning the Waltz at first, her second dance was a snowy Parisian joy. With a little awkwardness when she got her dress caught as she struggled to get up off the floor.

We loved it, and the judges did too, praising how natural she was.

Bal scored 35 for her Waltz, and the same for her Salsa.

But sadly it wasn’t enough.

Bal said goodbye (Credit: BBC)

Dance-off drama!

Despite getting a perfect score, Amber and Nikita were in the dance-off again this week, taking on Bal and Julian.

Just like last week, the judges chose to save Amber.

So Bal’s time on Strictly has come to an end – we’ll miss the ultimate comeback queen.

Despite the emotions of the results show, we were delighted to see a very Christmassy performance by Kylie, plus a wintery treat from the band James.

We always enjoy Strictly, that’s true. But this week’s semi-final did fall a bit flat for us. We’re not sure why. Was it the absence of Lewis and Katya? The knowledge that everything’s changing as presenters Claudia and Tess say goodbye? Who knows?

But we’re still feeling pretty excited about next week’s final, anyway.

The semi-final arrived wrapped in the kind of expectation that Strictly Come Dancing has trained its audience to feel almost instinctively. This is the stage where the competition sharpens, where sentimentality collides with technique, and where the narrative threads spun since week one are meant to tighten into something irresistible. And yet, despite the perfect score, despite the visible tears, despite the familiar swell of music and applause, the evening somehow struggled to lift itself off the ballroom floor. Everything that should have made it soar was present, and still there was a curious sense of flatness, as though the show had hit all its marks without quite hitting its heart.

A perfect score in Strictly is supposed to be a moment of electricity. The paddles go up, the audience roars, and the contestant’s journey feels suddenly justified, even mythologised. This time, the moment came and went with surprising speed. The judges praised the dance in all the expected ways, reaching for superlatives that have long since become part of the show’s shared language. Technically, it was hard to argue. The lines were clean, the timing impeccable, the performance committed. And yet the reaction felt muted, less like an eruption and more like a polite acknowledgement that, yes, this was very good indeed.

Part of the issue may be that Strictly has become too accomplished at manufacturing its own high points. When everything is framed as historic, emotional, or life-changing, those labels inevitably lose some of their power. A perfect score no longer feels rare in the way it once did; it feels almost scheduled. Viewers have learned to anticipate it, to see it not as a spontaneous response but as the logical conclusion of a carefully edited arc. The surprise is gone, and without surprise, even excellence can feel routine.

The tears, too, flowed freely. Contestants spoke about how much the experience had meant to them, how transformative it had been, how proud they were of what they had achieved. Partners hugged, eyes glistening, voices catching as they described weeks of hard work and personal growth. None of this felt insincere. On the contrary, it was all entirely believable. But sincerity alone does not guarantee emotional impact, especially when the same emotional beats are played again and again.

There is a difference between emotion that arises naturally and emotion that feels expected. In the semi-final, the tears often seemed to arrive on cue, almost as another box to be ticked alongside choreography and costume. The show lingered on close-ups of trembling lips and damp eyes, inviting the audience to feel something profound. Instead, it risked producing the opposite effect: a sense of emotional fatigue. When everyone is crying, it becomes harder to care why.

Another contributing factor to the flatness was the pacing of the evening. Semi-finals are notoriously packed, with multiple dances per couple and little room to breathe. This intensity can be thrilling, but it can also be overwhelming. Dance followed dance, each introduced as more important than the last, until the distinctions between them began to blur. Rather than building towards a climax, the show felt like a series of peaks stacked so closely together that none of them stood out.

The judges, too, seemed caught in this relentless upward pressure. Their comments were overwhelmingly positive, often focusing on how far the contestants had come rather than offering detailed critique. While this warmth is understandable at such a late stage, it also removes a layer of tension. Strictly is at its best when praise and criticism coexist, when a glowing performance is sharpened by a pointed observation or a dissenting view. In the semi-final, consensus reigned, and with it came a certain dullness.

This is not to say that the dancing was poor. On the contrary, the standard was impressively high across the board. But technical excellence alone does not make compelling television. What viewers crave, often without realising it, is contrast: between good and great, between confidence and vulnerability, between success and struggle. In smoothing out those contrasts, the semi-final inadvertently smoothed out much of its drama.

There was also a sense that the narratives had run their course. By the time the semi-final arrives, we know these contestants well. We know who started as the underdog, who surprised everyone, who has battled injury or self-doubt. These stories have been told, retold, and polished into neat packages. While they remain touching, they no longer feel fresh. The semi-final did little to add new layers, instead revisiting familiar ground with diminishing returns.

The show’s reliance on backstory is understandable. Strictly is as much about personal journeys as it is about dance. But there is a risk in leaning too heavily on what has already been established. Without new revelations or unexpected turns, the emotional beats can feel recycled. The semi-final, which should feel like a turning point, instead felt like a recap, albeit a lavishly produced one.

Audience reaction plays a crucial role in how Strictly feels at home, and here too there was a subtle sense of disengagement. The applause was loud, the cheers enthusiastic, but they lacked the raw edge that signals genuine surprise or excitement. It was as if everyone present knew they were witnessing something technically impressive but emotionally predictable. The energy was there, but it never quite tipped into exhilaration.

One might argue that this flatness is an inevitable consequence of the show’s success. After so many years on air, Strictly has refined its formula to near perfection. The lighting, the music, the choreography, the judging, the storytelling: all are executed with professional polish. But perfection can be its own enemy. When everything runs smoothly, there is little room for the messy, unpredictable moments that often make live television truly compelling.

The semi-final also suffered from the shadow of the final looming too large. Much of the commentary, both from the judges and the presenters, was oriented towards what might happen next week rather than what was happening now. Dances were framed as “final-worthy” or “the dance you’d want to take into the final,” subtly shifting attention away from the present moment. In doing so, the semi-final felt less like an event in its own right and more like a rehearsal for something better.

This forward-looking focus can drain urgency from the competition. If the real payoff is always just around the corner, then the current episode risks feeling like a means to an end. The semi-final should be a moment of culmination, where everything so far comes into sharp relief. Instead, it sometimes felt like a holding pattern, marking time until the grand finale.

Even the perfect score, that supposed pinnacle, was framed less as a triumph in itself and more as a signal of potential future success. The judges spoke about how this performance set the bar for the final, how it showed what the contestant was capable of achieving. While intended as praise, this framing subtly diminished the achievement by treating it as a stepping stone rather than a destination.

There is also the question of stakes. By the semi-final, the remaining contestants are all strong, and elimination feels less shocking than it might earlier in the series. Losing someone at this stage is sad, but it is no longer surprising. The margins between competitors are slim, and the outcome can feel almost arbitrary. This can sap tension from the proceedings, making the results feel more procedural than dramatic.

The emotional weight of departure speeches, often a highlight earlier in the season, also seemed lighter. Contestants spoke eloquently about gratitude and growth, but there was an air of acceptance rather than heartbreak. Perhaps this is a sign of maturity, of understanding that reaching the semi-final is an achievement in itself. But it also meant that the goodbye lacked the sting that can make such moments unforgettable.

Another factor contributing to the evening’s flatness was the familiarity of the dances themselves. While the choreography was inventive, the formats and themes followed well-worn paths. Grand orchestral arrangements, sweeping ballads, dramatic lighting: all effective, but all expected. There were few moments that genuinely surprised, few creative risks that might have jolted the audience into a new way of seeing the contestants.

Risk-taking is a delicate balance in a competition judged partly on technique. Contestants at this stage are understandably cautious, aiming to deliver clean, crowd-pleasing performances rather than experimental ones. But caution can come at the cost of excitement. The semi-final felt safe, impeccably executed but reluctant to push boundaries.

The professional dancers, as always, were exemplary. Their ability to showcase their partners’ strengths while masking weaknesses is a testament to their skill. Yet even here, the formula was evident. The routines were designed to maximise impact within familiar frameworks, leaving little room for individuality to break through. When every dance aims to be epic, the effect can be numbing.

It is worth considering how much of this flatness is a matter of expectation. Strictly has delivered so many genuinely thrilling semi-finals over the years that the bar is exceptionally high. When an episode fails to meet that internal benchmark, it can feel disappointing even if it is objectively strong. The problem is not that the semi-final was bad television, but that it was less than the show at its best.

Nostalgia plays a role here too. Viewers often compare current episodes to iconic moments from past seasons: unexpected breakthroughs, shocking eliminations, dances that entered the show’s folklore. Against that backdrop, a competent, polished semi-final can seem underwhelming. Memory has a way of sharpening the peaks and smoothing out the troughs, making the present feel flatter by comparison.

The judges’ chemistry, usually a source of lively debate, also felt subdued. Disagreements were minimal, and when they did arise, they were quickly smoothed over. While harmony can be pleasant, it does little to spark conversation or controversy. A dissenting voice, even a mild one, can add texture and interest. Without it, the judging segment felt like a chorus singing in unison.

Presentation choices further reinforced the sense of predictability. The camera work, while slick, followed familiar patterns, lingering on expected moments and cutting away just as predictably. The musical arrangements swelled at the right times, the lighting shifted on cue. All of this contributed to a feeling of inevitability, as though the show were running on well-oiled rails.

This sense of inevitability extended to the outcomes themselves. While the competition remained technically open, the narrative strongly suggested who was likely to progress. When viewers feel they can see the ending coming, their engagement inevitably wanes. Suspense is not just about uncertainty of outcome, but about uncertainty of experience. The semi-final offered few surprises on either front.

It is also worth reflecting on how the show balances celebration and competition. In recent years, Strictly has leaned increasingly towards the former, emphasising joy, inclusion, and personal growth. These values are admirable and have broadened the show’s appeal. But in doing so, the competitive edge has softened. The semi-final, in particular, felt more like a showcase than a contest.

There is a fine line between warmth and complacency. When everyone is praised, when every journey is celebrated, it can become difficult to distinguish truly exceptional moments from merely good ones. The semi-final suffered from this flattening effect, where highs and lows were compressed into a narrow emotional range.

The audience at home may also be experiencing a form of Strictly saturation. With spin-offs, social media coverage, and constant behind-the-scenes content, the show is more present than ever. By the time the semi-final arrives, viewers may feel they have already seen and heard everything there is to know. The sense of occasion diminishes when the curtain has been partially lifted all along.

This overexposure can blunt emotional responses. Moments that might once have felt intimate or revelatory now feel familiar, even rehearsed. The semi-final, rather than cutting through this noise, seemed to blend into it, offering refinement rather than revelation.

Yet for all these criticisms, it is important to acknowledge what the semi-final did achieve. It showcased a group of contestants who had clearly worked extraordinarily hard, who delivered performances of a high standard under intense pressure. It provided moments of beauty, grace, and genuine feeling. The flatness was not a failure of effort or talent, but of impact.

Perhaps the problem lies in the structure of the show itself. The semi-final is tasked with being both a climax and a prelude, both an endpoint and a gateway. It must honour the journey so far while still leaving room for the final to outshine it. This is a difficult balance to strike, and this time, it tipped too far towards restraint.

The perfect score, in this context, felt less like a culmination and more like a placeholder. It ticked the box of achievement without delivering the emotional release that should accompany it. The tears flowed, but they did not cleanse or cathartically reset the narrative. Instead, they sat atop an already full emotional reservoir, spilling over without changing the overall level.

What might have lifted the semi-final is a moment of genuine disruption: a surprising song choice, an unconventional routine, a sharply divided judging panel, or even a technical mishap that revealed something new about a contestant. Such moments remind viewers that live television is alive, that anything can happen. In their absence, the show felt curiously inert.

There is also the question of how Strictly defines success at this stage. If the goal is to produce flawless, polished routines, then the semi-final succeeded admirably. If the goal is to create unforgettable television, the results were more mixed. The distinction between these aims matters, because they do not always align.

The semi-final’s flatness may ultimately be a sign that Strictly needs to recalibrate its approach to its later stages. Raising the stakes does not always mean adding more spectacle or emotion; sometimes it means allowing space for imperfection, for disagreement, for genuine risk. Without these elements, even the most impressive performances can feel oddly weightless.

As the final approaches, the hope is that the show will rediscover some of its unpredictability. The contestants deserve a platform that allows their individuality to shine through the polish, and the audience deserves moments that surprise as well as impress. The semi-final, for all its strengths, reminded us that perfection is not the same as excitement.

In the end, the evening was a study in contrasts. A perfect score that did not quite thrill. Tears that did not quite move. Dancing that was technically superb but emotionally restrained. It was good television, even very good television, but it stopped short of greatness. That lingering sense of flatness was not the absence of quality, but the absence of spark.

Strictly Come Dancing remains a remarkable achievement in live entertainment, capable of bringing millions together around a shared experience. One underwhelming semi-final does not diminish that legacy. But it does serve as a reminder that even the most successful formulas need occasional reinvention. Without it, the show risks mistaking smoothness for momentum.

As viewers look ahead to the final, there is still time for Strictly to surprise, to move, to remind us why we care so deeply in the first place. The semi-final may have felt flat, but it also highlighted what is missing when everything goes according to plan. Sometimes, it is the unplanned moments that make the dance truly come alive.

By the time the credits rolled, what lingered was not disappointment exactly, but a quieter, more elusive feeling: a sense of something unresolved. The semi-final had done almost everything it was supposed to do. It had showcased excellence, celebrated growth, honoured effort, and reaffirmed why Strictly Come Dancing remains such a central fixture in the cultural calendar. And yet, when the music faded and the lights dimmed, there was a curious hollowness, as though the evening had brushed past something vital without quite touching it. This was not a failure of talent or intention, but a reminder that emotional connection cannot be engineered with absolute precision, no matter how refined the machinery becomes.

Strictly has always thrived on the illusion that anything might happen. It is a show built on transformation, not just of celebrities learning to dance, but of expectations being gently, sometimes dramatically, overturned. The semi-final should feel like the moment when those transformations crystallise, when weeks of tentative steps and cautious optimism suddenly coalesce into something bold and undeniable. This time, that crystallisation never fully occurred. Instead, everything remained in a state of polished suspension, beautiful to look at but strangely untethered.

Perhaps part of the problem lies in how success is framed. When improvement is continuous and upward, when every week is better than the last, there is no rupture, no jolt. Growth becomes linear, predictable, and therefore less emotionally gripping. In earlier stages of the competition, progress feels miraculous because it defies expectation. In the semi-final, progress is assumed. The narrative shifts from “can they do it?” to “how well will they do it?” and in that shift, some of the magic quietly slips away.

The contestants themselves seemed aware of this shift, even if only subconsciously. Their performances were confident, assured, and controlled. Gone were the flashes of panic, the raw edges that once made their dancing feel urgent. This composure is, in many ways, the mark of success. But it also creates distance. Watching someone struggle invites empathy; watching someone excel invites admiration. Admiration, however, is cooler, less visceral. The semi-final leaned heavily towards admiration, leaving empathy behind.

The emotional speeches reinforced this dynamic. Words of gratitude, pride, and reflection filled the ballroom, and they were heartfelt. But they were also retrospective, looking back rather than reaching forward. The semi-final became a space of closure rather than anticipation, as though the emotional work of the series had already been done. This backward gaze softened the competitive edge and dulled the sense of urgency that should propel the show towards its finale.

In earlier seasons, the semi-final often felt dangerous. Dancers took risks because they had to, because safety was not enough. This time, safety prevailed. Every routine was carefully constructed to minimise error, to maximise approval. The result was a sequence of performances that were undeniably strong but rarely startling. Surprise is a fragile thing in entertainment; it requires vulnerability, and vulnerability requires the possibility of failure. Without that possibility, the emotional stakes flatten.

The judges, perhaps unintentionally, mirrored this caution. Their praise was generous, their criticisms gentle. There was kindness in this approach, and respect for the contestants’ journeys. But there was also a reluctance to disturb the calm. Strong opinions were softened, disagreements quickly resolved. The judging panel became a chorus of affirmation rather than a forum of debate, and while this created warmth, it drained tension. Conflict, even mild, is not inherently negative; it is often the engine of engagement.

What was missing, above all, was a moment that felt uncontrollable. Strictly’s most memorable scenes are rarely the ones that go exactly to plan. They are the missed steps turned into triumphs, the emotional breakthroughs that catch even the performers off guard, the judging disagreements that spill into genuine debate. The semi-final had none of this messiness. It was elegant, composed, and self-assured, but it was also sealed off from the unexpected.

This sense of emotional insulation extended to the audience’s role in the evening. Applause came easily, but it did not swell into collective awe. Viewers were invited to appreciate rather than participate, to observe excellence rather than be swept up in it. The communal thrill that Strictly can generate, that feeling of everyone holding their breath together, was largely absent. The show unfolded before us, not with us.

There is a deeper question here about longevity and evolution. A programme that has run for so many years inevitably accumulates habits, rhythms, and expectations. These can be comforting, but they can also become constraints. The semi-final felt bound by its own history, careful not to disrupt the shape that viewers recognise. But in doing so, it sacrificed some of the vitality that once made that shape feel alive.

Emotion in television is not simply about intensity; it is about contrast. Joy feels brighter after struggle, triumph feels sweeter after doubt. When those contrasts are smoothed out, when struggle is confined to earlier episodes and triumph is assumed in later ones, the emotional palette narrows. The semi-final existed almost entirely in a register of competence and affirmation. There were few shadows to give the light depth.

And yet, beneath this smooth surface, there were flickers of something more potent. In fleeting expressions, in the way a dancer inhaled before the music began, in a partner’s hand held just a fraction longer than necessary, there were hints of vulnerability. These moments passed quickly, often overshadowed by the spectacle surrounding them. But they suggested that the raw material for something more affecting was still there, waiting for space to emerge.

The structure of the show leaves little room for such space. The semi-final is densely packed, relentlessly forward-moving. There is barely time to sit with a feeling before the next performance demands attention. Emotion becomes cumulative rather than concentrated, spreading thinly across the evening. The result is saturation rather than immersion. Viewers are given so much to feel that they end up feeling less.

This is where the sense of flatness becomes most pronounced. Flatness does not mean emptiness; it means lack of dimension. The semi-final had plenty of feeling, but it existed on a single plane. There were no sudden drops, no sharp rises, no moments of silence to make the sound matter more. Everything was elevated, and so nothing truly soared.

As the final approaches, the semi-final’s emotional restraint raises an important question: what remains to be said? If tears have already been shed, if perfect scores have already been awarded, if journeys have already been celebrated, what emotional ground is left unexplored? The risk is that the final, rather than feeling like a culmination, will simply feel like a repetition at a higher volume.

And yet, there is also hope in this restraint. Perhaps the semi-final’s flatness is not an endpoint but a pause, a moment of held breath before something more expansive. Perhaps the contestants, having proven their technical mastery, will allow themselves greater emotional freedom in the final. Perhaps the show itself will loosen its grip, inviting unpredictability back into the ballroom.

Strictly has always been at its most powerful when it trusts the audience to meet it halfway, when it allows moments to breathe rather than insisting on their significance. The semi-final, by contrast, seemed eager to tell us how much everything mattered, leaving little room for us to discover that meaning for ourselves. Emotion, like dance, is most compelling when it feels lived rather than declared.

In reflecting on the evening, it becomes clear that the sense of flatness was not born of apathy, but of care. Everyone involved cared deeply about doing justice to the moment, about honouring the work that had gone into the series. In that care, they may have erred on the side of caution, choosing reverence over risk. The result was a semi-final that was respectful, polished, and earnest, but emotionally contained.

There is a certain irony in this. Strictly is a show that celebrates letting go, trusting the body, embracing movement as expression. Yet its semi-final felt tightly held, choreographed not just in steps but in feeling. The dancers moved freely, but the emotions were guided along familiar paths. The show danced beautifully, but it did not quite lose itself in the music.

Ultimately, the semi-final leaves us with a sense of longing rather than satisfaction. Longing for the unexpected, for the imperfect, for the moment that makes the heart race without warning. Longing for a reminder that even at the highest level, uncertainty still has a place. This longing is not a criticism so much as a testament to what Strictly can be when it allows itself to be vulnerable.

The tears, when they came, were real, but they flowed into an already full emotional landscape. The perfect score was deserved, but it arrived without the shock that once made such moments iconic. The evening was moving, but not transformative. It touched the surface of feeling without plunging beneath it.

And perhaps that is the lasting image of this semi-final: a beautifully executed dance that never quite leaves the ground. Graceful, controlled, impressive, but hovering just inches above the floor, never surrendering to the full force of gravity or flight. As viewers, we watched with appreciation, with warmth, and with a quiet wish for more.

Strictly Come Dancing remains capable of that “more.” Its history is proof enough. The semi-final may have felt flat, but it also clarified what gives the show its depth: contrast, risk, and genuine surprise. As the final beckons, there is still time for those elements to reassert themselves, to remind us that dance is not just about precision, but about release.

In the end, the semi-final was not an emotional crescendo, but a sustained note, held carefully and confidently. Whether that note resolves into something richer in the final remains to be seen. What is certain is that the longing it leaves behind is itself a form of engagement, a quiet hope that the next step will finally tip from excellence into exhilaration, and that the dance, at last, will truly take flight.