The show is back but different
Strictly Come Dancing has returned. It is back on BBC One. The programme began its 24th series on Saturday night, pairing fifteen celebrities with fifteen professional dancers under the familiar glitterball. The show looked the same. The music was the same. But the biggest story was not the contestants or the choreography. The story was the hosts. They are new.
This represents the most significant change to the programme in recent memory. Long serving presenters Tess Daly and Claudia Winkleman departed at Christmas. Their exit marked the end of a specific era for the Saturday night institution, a show one critic described as a 'rare refuge of joy'. For years, the duo had been central to the show's appeal and a key reason for viewer loyalty. Some commentators believed their departure threatened to be a lethal blow from which the format might not recover. The BBC had to act.
The corporation has taken a considerable risk. Instead of finding a new duo, it has introduced a trio of new presenters to front the flagship entertainment show. The decision surprised many. On the launch night of 19 September, the focus was almost entirely on the new team, who generated more immediate excitement and online discussion than the celebrities taking to the floor for the first time. The presenters were the main event. This was unusual.
The BBC’s gamble comes at a crucial moment. There was a growing feeling that the format had become tired. One review suggested the show was stalked by 'enshittification', arguing that it had long felt too repetitive and that the celebrity lineups were getting feebler each year. The change in presenters is a direct response to this perceived decline, a strategic choice to make the programme feel genuinely fresh before it is too late. The corporation is betting that a new lineup can revitalise an ageing, but essential, national institution. It is a bet the BBC believes it cannot afford to lose. A lot is riding on this series.
An era ends at the BBC
Tess Daly and Claudia Winkleman have left the show. Their departure was final. After the Christmas special, they bowed out for good, concluding a long and defining period for the BBC's flagship Saturday night programme. The presenters were described by critics as 'long-serving' and 'much-loved'. Their exit was not a small adjustment. It represented a fundamental shift for a format that had relied on their presence for years, building a loyal audience around their familiar style and on screen partnership. The institution had lost its anchors.
Their importance to the show's identity cannot be overstated. Some observers felt the loss could prove to be a 'lethal blow'. That is a stark assessment. It points to a role that went far beyond reading an autocue or introducing the next couple onto the Elstree Studios dance floor. They were the public face of the entire operation, the conduit through which the glamour, the drama, and the sheer joy of the competition reached millions of viewers every single weekend. Their chemistry was a vital ingredient. It was part of the brand. Now that ingredient is gone. The recipe has changed forever.
For many, Daly and Winkleman were synonymous with the programme itself. They provided stability. Over the course of twenty four series, celebrities have come and gone, judges have changed, and professional dancers have retired to be replaced by new faces. The presenters, however, remained a constant, a reliable and comforting presence for an audience that returned year after year for its autumn fix of sequins and spectacle. This consistency was a key part of the show’s enduring national appeal, creating a bond with viewers that translated directly into ratings and cultural relevance. They were part of the Saturday night ritual. A very British ritual.
Their exit closes a significant chapter. It is the end of an era. The BBC now faces the difficult task of rebuilding a core part of the show’s DNA without alienating the audience that made it a success in the first place. This is a delicate operation. The departure of such established figures created a vacuum at the centre of the production, a void that the corporation knew it had to fill with something compelling enough to keep the public watching. Finding a replacement was not just a casting decision. It was a strategic imperative for the future of one of the BBC's most valuable properties. The old guard had moved on. The real test was about to begin.
A surprising new trio takes the floor
The BBC’s answer was a surprise. The corporation did not attempt a like for like replacement, choosing instead to entirely reconfigure the presenting format that had defined the programme for over a decade. Two became three. This was a deliberate strategic choice, a decision to build something new rather than risk creating a pale imitation of the established partnership between Daly and Winkleman. It meant altering the fundamental arithmetic of the show, a high stakes intervention in a formula that had been delivering consistent ratings since its twenty fourth series began. The gamble was considerable. It was a major risk.
The first signs were positive. On the night of the launch show, Saturday 19 September, all eyes were on the new presenting team as they made their debut. The focus was on them. For what one liveblog noted was the first time ever, the hosts themselves generated more excitement than the fifteen celebrities waiting to be paired with their professional partners. This completely upended the usual order of business for the ballroom extravaganza, turning the presenters into the main event of the evening. The curiosity was immense. On launch night at least, the BBC’s big bet seemed to be working. The audience was intrigued.
Initial reviews captured this complex debut. One critic noted the trio looked 'terrified'. The fear was visible. Yet that same report stated that their nervous energy helped the show feel 'genuinely fresh', a welcome change for a programme that some felt was becoming dangerously repetitive. A fresh start was needed. The show had long faced accusations of growing stale, with concerns that celebrity lineups were getting feebler each year and that the format itself was at risk of ossifying into predictable television. The departure of the previous hosts, seen by some as a potentially 'lethal blow', created an opportunity for the corporation to address this perception of decline directly.
This is just the beginning. The novelty of a new lineup may have carried the launch show, but the real test is sustaining audience engagement across an entire series, all the way to the Christmas final. The trio’s job is not simply to introduce the dancers. They must justify the corporation's decision to break with a winning formula and prove that three hosts are better than two. Their developing chemistry, their rapport with the judges, and their ability to connect with the millions watching at home will now be scrutinised weekly, a running commentary that will determine if they can carry the weight of a national institution. The real work starts now.
The problem of keeping a format fresh
The challenge for any long running television programme is survival. *Strictly Come Dancing* is now in its twenty fourth series. That is a remarkable run. The show’s structure is a national comfort, a predictable autumn ritual of sequins, score paddles and slow motion replays that leads the country towards Christmas. But that very predictability contains a risk. Critics argued the show had felt repetitive for years. One review suggested a slow degradation was stalking the programme, a decline felt by viewers who returned each year out of loyalty but with diminishing excitement. The core is unchanged. A celebrity learns to dance. They perform on Saturday. The public votes. The cycle repeats until December.
Keeping the cast list compelling is a huge annual effort. Fifteen celebrities are required each year. They must be famous enough to attract viewers but also free for three solid months of gruelling training and public scrutiny from September onwards. The pool of available names is not infinite. This has led to a perception, voiced by some observers, that the celebrity lineups have become weaker over time. A review in the *Guardian* noted that the casts seemed to get 'feebler each year'. This creates an immediate problem. Viewers need to recognise the stars. That same review admitted some of this year's contestants are 'hard to identify', a difficult starting point for a programme that relies on audience investment in the competitors' personal journeys. It is a difficult balance for the BBC's casting directors to strike.
Audience fatigue is the ultimate threat. A format can die from familiarity. Even a beloved institution can lose its hold on the public imagination if it offers nothing new, becoming a museum piece rather than living entertainment. The danger was real. The show has been described as a 'rare refuge of joy'. But joy can curdle into routine. The BBC was not blind to the risk of ossification, the possibility that the glitter would lose its sparkle and the ballroom would feel empty. Changing the hosts was a dramatic, even dangerous, solution to this creeping problem of format exhaustion. It was an attempt to inject novelty at the very top of the programme, a direct admission that something had to change. The dancing alone is not enough. The entire spectacle needs to feel vital.
It takes more than dancers to make the show
The presenters and dancers command the attention. They are the face of the programme. But they are only a small part of the operation. Behind the cameras is a production team numbering in the hundreds, a temporary factory dedicated to manufacturing two hours of live television every week. The machinery is vast. Its smooth running is essential for the illusion of effortless entertainment that reaches the screen. Every sequin, every camera angle, and every note of music is the result of a complex logistical process that begins long before the celebrities take their first steps in the training room. This is the hidden engine of Strictly Come Dancing.
One of these unseen workers is Morgan Wyn. He is from Caernarfon. BBC News Wales reported that he is now living in London, working as a makeup artist for the show. His job, and that of his colleagues, is to deliver the visual transformation that underpins the programme's entire aesthetic, turning fifteen celebrities into figures of ballroom 'glamour'. This is a huge task. The makeup team is just one part of a vast creative organisation that makes the spectacle happen every Saturday. The work is crucial. Without the skills of people like Mr Wyn, the show would lose the very sparkle that defines it for millions of viewers.
The makeup department does not work alone. It is one component in a much larger machine. Costume designers create the elaborate outfits. Lighting directors craft the atmosphere in the studio. A live orchestra and singers provide the soundtrack for every single dance, a feat of scheduling and musicianship that has to be repeated weekly. These teams are all interdependent. The lighting must complement the makeup. The costumes must allow the dancers to move. The music must match the choreography. Together, they are responsible for creating what one Guardian critic described as the specific mixture of 'glitz, glamour and giddy entertainment' that has kept the programme on air for twenty four series. The pressure is immense. It is their combined effort that generates the world the viewers enter for two hours.
This production collective is now under the same pressure as the new presenters. The change at the top of the show sends a signal through the entire organisation. Everyone’s work is under scrutiny. The BBC’s gamble is not just on the new hosts. It is a bet on the whole creative and technical apparatus, a belief that the assembled teams can help refresh a format that risked becoming too familiar. Their professionalism has always been a constant, a bedrock of quality beneath the changing cast of celebrities. Now, that professionalism is being asked to do more. It must help make the whole enterprise feel new again, from the first dance on the launch show until the glitterball is awarded at Christmas. The test is for everybody.
The real test begins now
The launch show is over. The reviews are in. They are positive. One critic for the Guardian wrote that the new presenters helped the 24th series feel ‘genuinely fresh’, a welcome change for a show that had started to feel repetitive. This early response matters. It is not the whole story. The first night, Saturday 19 September, was a carefully managed introduction, a single evening designed to calm nerves and build excitement for the competition ahead. The true trial begins now. It is a long road to Christmas. The success of this reboot will not be decided by a handful of positive newspaper columns but by the aggregated decisions of millions of people choosing to tune in every single week.
This is the long game. The BBC’s gamble hinges on its ability to hold an audience for three solid months. That is the challenge. Holding attention is much harder than capturing it for a single launch event. The initial curiosity about the new hosts will fade. The show must then stand on the quality of its contestants, the drama of their progress, and the chemistry between the fifteen celebrities and their professional dance partners. Week after week, through sambas and salsas, the production must deliver a spectacle compelling enough to keep viewers from changing the channel. It must prove it is still, as the Guardian put it, a ‘refuge of joy’. Failure is not an option for a programme the BBC considers a national institution. The pressure is on.
The corporation replaced a beloved duo. It was a significant risk. Tess Daly and Claudia Winkleman had presented the show together for a long time, becoming synonymous with the programme’s identity and a reliable anchor for viewer loyalty. Their departure was described as a potential ‘lethal blow’. The BBC is now waiting to see if the audience accepts their replacements over the long term, moving from initial excitement to genuine affection. The ratings will be scrutinised. Every Saturday night’s viewing figures will be a new data point in an ongoing experiment. The final numbers in December will provide the definitive answer on whether the choice to change the lineup was a masterstroke or a miscalculation.
The celebrity cast now carries the weight of expectation. They are the story. In recent years, critics had suggested the lineups were getting 'feebler', contributing to a sense of decay that threatened the show's popular appeal. This year’s fifteen contestants, now paired with their dancers, must reverse that trend. They must provide the narrative drive, the personal journeys, and the memorable performances that transform a dance competition into compelling television drama. Their success is the show's success. The ultimate judgment belongs to the audience. That judgment will be delivered slowly, week by week, until a winner is crowned in the Christmas final.
Sources. BBC News Wales: Yr artist colur o Gaernarfon sy'n gweithio ar Strictly Come Dancing. Guardian UK: Strictly Come Dancing review – delighted new hosts helps show feel genuinely fresh. Evening Standard: Strictly 2026 launch show LIVE: Couples lineup, guest stars and fan reaction.
Analysis. Drafted with AI assistance from the sources listed above and reviewed by an editor before publication. Jnews links to the organisations it writes about.
