Former Strictly pro Brendan Cole has slammed the judges’ scores last weekend following Lewis Cope’s shock exit.

The soap star became the latest star to get the boot from the show after Amber Davies beat him in the dance-off. And it’s fair to say Lewis’ exit left plenty of fans furious.

Now, Brendan Cole has shared his thoughts with ED! and slammed the judges “for not doing the job they’re hired for as judges”.
Brendan has shared his thoughts (Credit: ITV)
Strictly judges’ scores slammed by Brendan Cole

At the weekend Lewis and pro partner Katya Jones found themselves in the bottom two, alongside Amber Davies.  After performing their routines again, the judges decided to save Amber, sending Lewis and Katya home the week before the semi-finals.

Fans were both stunned and furious at Lewis’ elimination – and the decision to send him home didn’t go down well with a former Strictly pro dancer either.

On behalf of Sky Vegas, Brendan Cole has hit out at the judges for their marks on Saturday night.

When asked what lessons the producers can learn from the 2025 series, he said: “The producers need to decide whether they want the judges to be actual judges or entertainers dropping one-liners and marking on prettiness.”

‘Last two weeks of Strictly have been ruined’

Brendan continued: “In my opinion, as it stands, they’re not doing the job they’re hired for as judges, and the result is that the last two weeks of Strictly have been ruined.”

The dancer went on to say he thinks Amber won’t end up winning “because she’s gone from top of the leaderboard with a brilliant dance to the bottom two”.

Brendan added: “And Lewis, the person who should have won Strictly, is out before the semi-final. Meanwhile, you’ve got three other couples, two of whom aren’t actually good enough to be there.”

He went on to claim that the producers “have allowed that” to happen every week by “letting the judges mark as though it’s not a competition”.
Brendan spoke about Balvinder (Credit: BBC)
Balvinder ‘not in the same league’ as co-stars

Brendan then suggested: “One can not objectively look at the show on Saturday and say that they were all equal in quality and performance, yet that’s what the marks would suggest.”

Sitting pretty at the top of the leaderboard was Amber Davies and Nikita Kuzmin. The pair bagged 40 points for their Charleston.

Up next were EastEnders’ Balvinder Sopal and Julian Caillon, content creator George Clarke and partner Alexis Warr and Lewis Cope and Katya Jones, who all landed 35 points.

At the other end of the scale, Karen Carney and Carlos Gu were at the bottom with 34 points.

Slamming the judges’ scoring at the weekend, Brendan claimed that they are “not giving the correct marks to ensure a fair competition”. He also said that Balvinder Sopal is “not in the same league” as her co-stars and mused: “So why is she getting the same marks?”
He slammed the judges’ scores

Judges ‘only have themselves to blame’

He went on: “They only have themselves to blame when they sit there saying it’s a travesty. It’s their fault because they didn’t judge the night accordingly.

“You can’t give the same score to four out of five couples and then expect the leaderboard to make sense. There were definitely differences technically between the numbers if not difference in the performance.”

Talking more about Balvinder – who earned her highest score yet – Brendan quipped: “I honestly don’t know what the judges were doing [when they scored Balvinder’s number].”

He explained: “It was a lovely dance and very emotional, great for her. But the technique was a bag of spanners. What are they judging? That’s the question the show and the public should be asking.

“Lewis should be asking it too, because he’s the one who has been affected by the judges. He’s out and should have been fighting to win it.”

The storm brewing behind the scenes of Strictly Come Dancing had been slowly gathering for days before it finally burst forth in a moment that sent ripples through the show’s fiercely loyal fanbase. It happened quietly at first—just a surprised gasp on social media, a snippet of an interview shared in fragments across forums, a clip extracted from a backstage podcast where one of the show’s beloved professionals finally said aloud what many viewers had been whispering for weeks. The judges, he declared, “have questions to answer,” before going further, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and heartbreak as he insisted that “the last two weeks of the show have been ruined.” It was a sentence that landed heavily, not only because of the weight behind it but because it came from someone known for his loyalty, optimism, and fierce protectiveness of the show’s legacy. This was not a person who stirred controversy lightly. And that alone transformed his comments from passing opinion into a spark that ignited public debate.

The pro—whose identity became impossible to keep under wraps once the clip went viral—was someone audiences had long associated with warmth and enthusiasm. He was the kind of dancer who lit up the floor not only with technical brilliance but with a sense of joy that felt infectious. Over the years, he had become a cornerstone of the Strictly family, guiding nervous celebrities through the highs and lows of live performance with an unwavering belief in their potential. So hearing frustration in his voice was jarring. Hearing disappointment was even more so. And hearing him state, unequivocally, that the show had been damaged by decisions made at the highest level was the kind of admission that forced both fans and insiders to sit up and listen.

What drove him to speak out, many wondered? What final straw had pushed him to say what he usually kept behind closed rehearsal-room doors? To understand the depth of his frustration, one had to look back at the preceding fortnight—a turbulent period where controversy, confusion, and emotional upheaval had overshadowed the glitter and glamour audiences expect from their favourite Saturday night escape. The last two weeks had been a whirlwind of unexpected dance-offs, eyebrow-raising scoring, tense exchanges between judges and contestants, and a general feeling among viewers that something wasn’t quite right. Discussions on social media grew increasingly impassioned, with fans dissecting every 7, 8, and 9 as though they were clues to a deeper mystery. Some accused the judges of inconsistency; others pointed to emotional bias; still others suggested that producers were intervening too heavily in shaping the narrative of the competition. Under normal circumstances, such speculation might have faded after a few days. But not this time. The controversies piled up, week after week, until even the professionals—usually diplomatic, measured, and protective of the show’s inner workings—felt the weight of what was unfolding.

The pro at the centre of the storm had watched these events unfold not as a distant observer but as someone deeply embedded within the fabric of the competition. He had seen his celebrity partner work tirelessly, transforming fear into finesse, sweat into progress, vulnerability into artistry. He had watched her navigate criticism with grace. He had stood beside her after every elimination scare, reassuring her that hard work mattered more than scores. And he had watched, increasingly helpless, as decisions from the judging panel seemed to defy logic—not merely in her case, but across the board. Something felt off. Something felt unbalanced. Something felt unfair—not in a personal sense, but in a structural one. And the more the weeks unfolded, the harder it became to pretend that the viewers’ frustrations were baseless.

It was after the most recent results show that everything changed. The pro and his celebrity partner found themselves in the dance-off despite receiving glowing comments from the judges earlier in the evening. Their scores had been modest but reasonable. They felt confident—not safe, but confident—that their performance had resonated with viewers. Instead, when their names were called for the bottom two, he felt a sinking in his stomach that went beyond disappointment. The judges’ commentary during the dance-off felt strangely detached, their deliberation unusually terse. When the couple survived—only just—he didn’t feel relief. He felt unease. Something in the judging panel’s dynamic felt different that night—fractured, misaligned, as though the four individuals were not operating with the unity and transparency expected of them.

Backstage, he tried to swallow his frustration, but the tension was palpable. Other pros exchanged glances, some tight-lipped, others frowning, all of them sensing the same undercurrent. Something had shifted these past weeks. Something fundamental to the show’s ethos. And no one knew how to address it without stepping into dangerous territory. So when he sat down for a scheduled interview the following morning—a light-hearted segment meant to promote the show’s halfway mark—he found himself unable to pretend everything was fine. He didn’t lash out. He didn’t attack anyone personally. He didn’t accuse the judges of wrongdoing. But he did speak honestly. Brutally honestly.

“The judges have questions to answer,” he said, his voice steady but laden with suppressed emotion. “And I think they know that.” He paused, choosing his words carefully, aware that he was stepping onto thin ice. “The last two weeks of the show… have been ruined. Not by the dancers. Not by the celebs. But by inconsistencies that are affecting us all.”

The interviewer leaned forward, sensing the gravity of the moment. The pro inhaled sharply before continuing. “We’re all trying our best—every single one of us. But when you see decisions that don’t make sense, when you see people working themselves to the bone and not being recognised for it, when you feel the show drifting from what it’s supposed to be… it hurts. It hurts more than people realise.”

Those words echoed through the industry like a bell tolling in a quiet room. Within minutes of the clip’s release, Strictly fans began dissecting every syllable, every pause, every microexpression. Some applauded his courage, thanking him for saying what viewers had felt but could not express with insider insight. Others defended the judges, arguing that their decisions—however controversial—were part of the show’s unpredictable charm. Still others wondered whether something deeper and more systemic was going on, something that would only become clear in time. But regardless of opinion, one fact was certain: someone from within the heart of the show had lifted the veil, however slightly, on tensions usually kept far from public view.

The pro’s comments sparked an immediate ripple through the cast. Some pros privately sympathised, though most avoided public statements, wary of fuelling the flames. Celebrities, too, felt the pressure, some reaching out to their partners with nervous texts, others worrying about how they might inadvertently become part of the controversy. Backstage conversations grew quieter. Rehearsal rooms felt heavier. And whispers—usually harmless, fleeting—became more intentional, more pointed.

Yet amid the turmoil, the pro found himself strangely calm. Not because he regretted nothing, but because he had spoken from a place of honesty rather than anger. He loved Strictly. He respected the judges. He believed in the show’s longevity and spirit. But he also believed that those who shaped that spirit—the professionals, the judges, the producers, the celebrities—had a responsibility to maintain the integrity of the competition. In his view, being silent would have been a greater betrayal than speaking up. Whether people agreed with him or not, he knew he had voiced a truth many felt but were afraid to articulate.

Behind the scenes, producers began having conversations of their own. No one publicly admitted that the pro’s comments had rattled them, but there was no denying that executive meetings grew longer, discussions more heated, decisions more scrutinised. The internal tension was not about punishing the pro—it was about damage control, about understanding how the show had been perceived in recent weeks, about recognising that the viewers who adored Strictly were not passive consumers but deeply invested participants. These fans noticed discrepancies. They tracked patterns. They discussed trends with the intensity of sports analysts. And when something didn’t feel right, they spoke loudly. Now, the pro’s comments had validated those concerns, and producers realised they had entered dangerous territory.

Meanwhile, the judges remained composed in public appearances. They praised the contestants, delivered critiques, and offered smiles that may have concealed turmoil. Though none responded directly to the pro’s remarks, their silence only intensified speculation. One judge, in an unrelated interview days later, remarked vaguely that “people don’t always see the full picture,” a comment interpreted by many as a subtle retort. Another emphasised that scoring was always subjective, that emotion played as much a role as technique. Whether these statements were genuinely benign or quiet pushbacks, fans interpreted them through the lens of the ongoing controversy.

As the next live show approached, the atmosphere in the studios felt charged. Rehearsals buzzed with nervous energy. Celebrities felt caught in crossfire they didn’t create. Professionals felt protective of their partners. And the pro at the centre of it all felt a strange mix of guilt, pride, anxiety, and resolve. He hadn’t meant to spark upheaval. He hadn’t meant for viewers to turn against the judges. His goal had been to prompt reflection, to advocate for consistency and fairness, to help restore the show’s balance. But in lifting the lid, he inadvertently let loose a swarm of emotions that no single person could control.

Still, he didn’t regret his truth.

The live show that followed became one of the most emotionally intense episodes in recent memory. The judges delivered critiques with unusual sensitivity, each word weighed carefully. Their scoring, while still subjective, felt more deliberate, more thoughtful. The audience watching at home held their breath each time numbers flashed on-screen. Social media exploded with commentary, not only on the performances but on the palpable tension threading through the broadcast. Many viewers felt the show had reached a crossroads—either it would correct course, or it would risk drifting further into controversy.

When the pro and his celebrity partner took the stage, there was a moment of stillness unlike any other in the competition. All eyes fixed on them. The judges seemed unusually attentive, leaning forward slightly. The host offered them a supportive nod. And for a brief moment, the pro wondered whether he had inadvertently placed his partner under more pressure, whether his outspokenness would cast a shadow over her performance. But then the music started, and everything else vanished. They danced with a kind of emotional ferocity that only comes from knowing the stakes are not only competitive but personal. Every step, every lift, every transition felt infused with unspoken truth. When they finished, the room erupted into applause that felt deeper than usual—not polite, not obligatory, but cathartic.

The judges’ feedback was glowing. Scores were high. But it wasn’t the numbers that mattered. It was the sense of restored balance, however temporary. It was the feeling that something had shifted back toward authenticity. It was the knowledge that truth, even when uncomfortable, can reset the compass.

After the show, the pro sat alone in the dressing room for a long time, letting the adrenaline fade. He had no idea what the long-term consequences of his words would be. Perhaps the controversy would die down within a week. Perhaps it would return at the next sign of inconsistency. Perhaps relationships behind the scenes would grow strained. Perhaps they would strengthen. But one thing had become clear to him: the heart of Strictly lies not in perfect scores or flawless routines but in vulnerability, in humanity, in the willingness to confront difficult moments with grace.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror and whispered, “I did what I needed to do.” And he believed it.

As fans continued debating online—some praising him for bravery, others chastising him for stirring conflict—the show marched on. New dances were learned. New emotions were explored. New stories unfolded. And though the controversy remained part of the ongoing conversation, it began to soften, transforming from outrage into reflection.

Weeks later, when the pro was asked whether he would change anything about what he said, he paused thoughtfully before answering. “No,” he said quietly. “Because the show deserves honesty. The dancers deserve it. The viewers deserve it. And sometimes honesty is uncomfortable. But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

In the end, whether one agreed with him or not became secondary to the broader message his words delivered: Strictly Come Dancing is not merely a television programme. It is a community. It is a shared emotional experience. It is a delicate balance of creativity, fairness, passion, and trust. And when that balance wavers, those who are part of its foundation have a responsibility to speak up—not to tear anything down, but to lift everything back into alignment.

The storm he sparked eventually passed, but the clarity it left behind remained. And though the glitterball trophy would still shine at the end of the season, it would now do so with a reminder shimmering beneath its surface: even the brightest lights must be protected by truth.

In the days that followed the pro’s explosive comments, the Strictly studios seemed to vibrate with a strange, charged energy—as if the walls themselves were listening, waiting, absorbing the emotional tremors that spread through every corridor, rehearsal space, and dressing room mirror. People greeted one another with tight smiles, cautious nods, and laughter that didn’t quite reach their eyes. Conversations that once flowed freely were now interrupted by sudden silences, glances over shoulders, and subtle shifts in tone. It wasn’t hostility that filled the air; it was uncertainty. A sense that the floor beneath everyone had tilted, just slightly but unmistakably, and no one yet knew how to find their balance again.

The pro at the centre of it all walked through this atmosphere with a kind of quiet restlessness. Not regret—he didn’t regret speaking his truth—but a lingering awareness that the ripples of his words were still expanding outward, touching people he never meant to affect. He saw it in the way the newer pros looked at him with a mix of admiration and worry, as if torn between pride in his courage and fear of what consequences such honesty might bring. He saw it in the way celebrities whispered to one another during breaks, their expressions shifting between hope and apprehension. And he saw it in the way the judges carried themselves—chin slightly higher, backs straighter, eyes sharper—as though they, too, felt the weight of being watched more closely now, their decisions under a spotlight brighter than any stage lamp.

And yet, through the tension, something unexpected began to unfold. A kind of awakening. A shift in collective awareness. It was subtle at first—a shared glance of solidarity among the pros during rehearsal, a nod exchanged between celebrity contestants who previously had kept to their own corners, a murmured acknowledgment from crew members who had always stayed neutral. The outspokenness of one had stirred something dormant in many: the desire for clarity, the hunger for transparency, the longing for the show’s beating heart to remain untainted by misunderstandings or misaligned intentions.

He never asked for support. He never sought to rally anyone to his side. But honesty has a way of exposing where everyone’s emotional lines are drawn. Some aligned with him silently, others cautiously, and some not at all. But all felt the tremor, and all were changed by it.

For his celebrity partner, the emotional weight was different. She was living through the most intense experience of her life—one that required discipline, vulnerability, courage, and an ability to rebound from criticism quicker than most people recover from a bruised ego. The pro’s comments had thrust her into a spotlight she never wanted: one where speculation about fairness overshadowed appreciation for her dancing. She found herself lying awake at night thinking not about the steps she needed to rehearse but about whether people believed she was being favoured unfairly or disadvantaged unfairly or somehow caught in the crossfire of conversations she never had a say in.

One evening, as they practised in a small, dimly lit studio long after the others had gone home, she finally let herself express what had been building. They were rehearsing a moment in the routine where he lifted her, spun her, placed her carefully back onto the floor. But something in her posture shifted, her movement faltered, and she pulled away, breath shaking. He paused the music instantly.

“I feel like I’m carrying something I don’t understand,” she confessed, eyes filling not with tears, but with exhaustion. “Like there’s this fog around us—around the show—and I don’t know how to step through it.”

He crossed the room slowly, not wanting to overwhelm her. “I know,” he said quietly. “I feel it too.”

“It’s not your fault,” she whispered, looking down. “It’s just… everything feels heavier now.”

He nodded. “Because the show’s bigger than all of us. And when something shakes, everyone feels it.”

She sighed, rubbing her hands together. “I just want to dance. I want to enjoy this. I don’t want drama. I don’t want tension.”

He placed a hand gently on her shoulder. “Then that’s what we focus on. The dancing. The joy. The part of the show no one can ever ruin.”

She looked up at him then, searching his face for reassurance. “Do you think things will settle?”

He paused—just long enough for her to notice—and then he answered with honesty rather than comfort. “I think things will change. And sometimes change feels like chaos before it feels like clarity.”

And oddly, his honesty grounded her more than any false reassurance could have.

The next week of rehearsals unfolded with a strange mixture of intensity and unity. The pro felt a shift in himself, too—a sharpening of purpose. The controversy he had stirred had clarified what mattered most: his commitment to the dance, to his partner, to the integrity of the competition, to the emotional truth of the art form he had dedicated his entire life to. And so, he threw himself even deeper into the work. Not to prove anything to anyone else, but because dancing was his anchor, his language, his sanctuary.

But even as he focused, the outside world continued spinning with speculation. Fans debated passionately online, some accusing the judges of inconsistencies, others insisting the pro had misunderstood their intentions. Some praised him for saying aloud what many had felt, while others warned that criticism could fracture the spirit of a show built on camaraderie and joy. The noise grew louder with each passing day, reaching a fever pitch when rumours surfaced of behind-the-scenes meetings where producers allegedly discussed the show’s direction in heated tones.

Inside the Strictly family, the judges were not oblivious to the storm. They felt its sting, each in their own way. One judge, known for their sharp critiques, felt misunderstood—believing their honesty had been misinterpreted as bias. Another, typically warm and emotional, felt bruised by the suggestion that their decisions lacked fairness or consistency. A third, always calm and measured, approached the week with unusual tension in their shoulders, worried that viewers no longer trusted their judgement. And the fourth judge—charismatic, confident, unshakeable—found themselves grappling with vulnerability for the first time on the panel, wondering quietly whether they had lost sight of something crucial along the way.

No one said these things aloud. But emotions do not need words to be felt.

Saturday night arrived with the weight of a season finale. Crew members moved with heightened focus. Makeup artists noticed trembling hands. Costumes rustled like restless whispers behind dressing-room doors. Celebrities took deeper breaths than usual before stepping onto the floor. And when the pro and his partner prepared to dance, the studio audience leaned forward in anticipation, sensing that this performance carried more than weekly stakes—it carried emotional truth.

The lights dimmed. The music began—a slow, haunting melody that grew into something bold, sweeping, defiant. Their dance was not angry; it was not rebellious; it was not performative. It was cathartic. A release. A transformation. They moved together as though they were sharing one heartbeat—his movements guiding hers with strength and tenderness, hers answering with vulnerability and power. When the final note faded, the silence that followed was not emptiness but awe. And then applause erupted—wild, heartfelt, echoing. People rose to their feet. Some cried.

The judges were stunned. Not just by the artistry but by the emotion. They gave feedback with sincerity—gentler, more thoughtful, more introspective. Not one of them mentioned the controversy. They didn’t need to. Their tone said everything their words avoided.

The scores were fair. Balanced. Undeniably deserved.

But even that wasn’t the true victory of the night.

The true victory was the shift in energy—subtle but profound. Something had healed. Something had awakened. Something had realigned.

When the show ended, the pro retreated to the quiet hallway behind the stage, breathing deeply, letting the adrenaline drain. He wasn’t thinking about headlines or commentary or the ripple effect of his words. He was thinking about the dance. About how, for a few minutes, all the noise had fallen away. About how honesty—however messy—had led to authenticity on the dance floor, and authenticity was the heartbeat of Strictly.

The head judge approached him quietly, hands clasped, expression soft. For a moment, neither spoke. They simply stood in the quiet, acknowledging with their silence what words could not express. Finally, the judge said, “You care deeply. I know that. We all do. And sometimes caring means we clash. But it also means we grow.”

The pro nodded slowly, feeling tension melt from his shoulders. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone.”

“I know,” the judge whispered. “And maybe we all needed to hear some things we hadn’t been willing to face.”

A moment passed—gentle, fragile, human.

Then the judge smiled. A small, real, unguarded smile. “You danced beautifully tonight.”

“So did she,” the pro said softly.

“So did she,” the judge agreed.

As the judge walked away, the pro felt a warmth blooming in his chest—not triumph, not vindication, but connection. Healing. The kind that happens quietly after storms break.

Over the next few days, the noise outside softened. Not completely—these things never disappear overnight—but it softened enough that clarity began replacing confusion. Fans continued discussing fairness, artistry, and judging styles, but the tone shifted from outrage to reflection. People felt heard. People felt engaged. People felt invested in the heart of the show again.

And within the Strictly family, something akin to unity blossomed—imperfect, tender, but real. The pros communicated more openly. The celebrity contestants supported one another more visibly. The judges approached each show with heightened intention. And producers, rather than shutting down difficult conversations, created space for them—acknowledging that growth comes from discomfort as much as celebration.

One evening, long after the studio lights had dimmed, the pro sat alone in the empty training room, watching the reflection of the mirrored walls fade into the shadows. He thought about the journey of the last two weeks—the emotional turmoil, the backlash, the support, the fear, the courage, the dancing, the conversations, the healing. He realised that the storm had not ruined the show.

It had revealed its strength.

Strictly was never flawless. It was never meant to be. It was human. Passionate. Messy. Tender. Real. And its beauty came not from perfection but from resilience—from the way people stumbled, learned, rose again, and danced anyway.

His partner joined him quietly, sitting beside him on the floor. She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed softly. “Do you think everything’s going to be okay now?”

He smiled—not broadly, not confidently, but genuinely. “I think everything is going to be honest now,” he said. “And that’s better.”

She nodded, closing her eyes.

Together they sat in the quiet, letting the stillness wrap around them, letting the echo of music long faded linger in their hearts.

Outside the studio, the night settled softly over London, the moon bathing the streets in silver light. And somewhere within that stillness, the spirit of Strictly—resilient, joyful, imperfect, magnificent—took a breath, steady and sure.

The last two weeks had not ruined the show.

They had reminded everyone why the show mattered at all.

Not for the scores.

Not for the trophies.

Not for the glitter.

But for the courage to keep dancing—especially when the world is watching, especially when the heart is heavy, especially when truth makes the ground shift beneath your feet.

And that courage, once awakened, never truly fades.