Boys Keep Swinging

Well, ring-a-ding-ding! With a show which feels far more cohesive than last year, those Strictly guys are back in the Fair City to pay homage to all things Sin City. The pace is quick, the routines flow like champagne, and the dad jokes (mostly) land this time. There's more shade thrown here than “RuPaul’s Drag Race”—and some of it’s pure filth. They know their audience.

Performance

“The Legends in Vegas: After Hours” by Ian Waite, James Jordan, Brendan Cole, Pasha Kovalev, and Vincent Simone

Place

Concert Hall, Perth, Scotland, October 28, 2026

Words

Lorna Irvine

Ian Waite, James Jordan, Brendan Cole, Pasha Kovalev, and Vincent Simone in “The Legends in Vegas: After Hours.” Photograph by Kate Hunter for the TCB Group

We all know the archetypes they're portraying. Ian Waite is the louche fella who mocks his own homosexuality; James Jordan and Brendan Cole are the two scathing big brothers, Pasha Kovalev is the sweetie pie you can take home to mother, and Vincent Simone is rakish and horny. These may be only slightly exaggerated personae.

The absolute refusal to play nicely is the show's strong suit. We're firmly entrenched in Rat Pack territory in the first half, but with some 2026 twists.The choreography is gorgeous, from top to bottom. Highlights include a charming duet between Ian Waite and Vincent Simone, to “Me And My Shadow.” Obviously, it essays Dean Martin and Sammy Davies Jr, but it's especially comical given the pair’s height difference, and they smoosh their faces together, also seemingly referencing the cheeky tango scene between Jack Lemmon and Joe E Brown in Some Like It Hot.

“The Legends in Vegas: After Hours.” Photograph by Kate Hunter for the TCB Group

Their female partners, too, have more agency this time around. For a routine to Ike and Tina Turner ‘s fabulous “Proud Mary” the poised, playful Polina Mayer dances around James Jordan on a chair, doing most of the heavy lifting. That is, until the song's tempo kicks up a notch, and the duo go hell for leather, referencing the shapes thrown by the mighty Ikettes in a hyper-caffeinated routine. Pretty damn impressive, when you consider Jordan's dreadful recent injuries (he burst his hernia, and his shoulder was also injured in 2019, requiring major surgery).

In the casino scene for “Luck Be A Lady,” Mayer, clad in a sparkly green dress, becomes a lucky dice, rolling over all five men. It's a really inventive piece of choreography. But she's no mere prop: she exudes goddess energy and humour. So too, with Victoria Martin, Lowri Beth, Julia Ruiz Fernandez and Rebecca Scott. All five complement the boys at every turn, flick, split and tumble, and actually open the show as hot pink-clad showgirls, complete with those large feather fans.

The quiet moments have an enormous impact too. Kovalev, looking every bit the matinee idol, revels in the more romantic ballroom numbers. A waltz to “Unchained Melody” is butter-smooth, and a hundred hearts flutter in the audience. So too, with Simone and Martin's sexy Argentine tango to “Libertango” which almost peels the wallpaper off the auditorium.

“The Legends in Vegas: After Hours.” Photograph by Kate Hunter for the TCB Group

There are even some fun divertissements and mashups. Mock-papparazzi images of the boys crashed out on roulette tables are a funny attention to detail. We're briefly whisked off to a typically tacky Vegas wedding in one witty scene. The Dixie Cups’ “Chapel Of Love” is fused with Raye’s “Where Is My Husband?” as the ladies strut and preen. But it's Waite who finally catches the bouquet. I like this nod to the past and present, playing with gendered expectations in marriage. “Your Song” does a similar thing, flitting between the original Elton John version, then into Ewan McGregor’s cover from Moulin Rouge. And “Survivor” by Destiny's Child receives an orchestral, thunderous makeover, as Jordan, now in a kilt, spins and swaggers like a rock star.

It's wonderful to see five dancers at the top of their game, from fleckerls to cartwheels. They may remark that collectively, they are 250 years old, but what a fine vintage. In true Rat Pack era parlance, “what a bunch of swells.” Long may they swing.

Lorna Irvine

Based in Glasgow, Lorna was delightfully corrupted by the work of Michael Clark in her early teens, and has never looked back. Passionate about dance, music, and theatre she writes regularly for the List, Across the Arts and Exeunt. She also wrote on dance, drama and whatever particular obsession she had that week for the Shimmy, the Skinny and TLG and has contributed to Mslexia, TYCI and the Vile Blog.

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