Ah, the '80s. Lovely
It only takes a tiny blast of Cyndi Lauper to send her spinning off on a girls-only holiday to sunny
The smash hits crash on in with all the heterogeneity and logic of a Now That’s What I Call Music side 3 cassette tape, Moroder bangers rubbing up against dark new wave, sugary Chart Show ballads shimmying up to Top of the Pops party dance-a-longs. Then Emily Tierny, hot and haughty, arrives, bringing the plot (such as it is) along with enough lurex and sequins to confetti-cannon a cruise ship, Krystle to Berrabah’s Alexis.
Dynasty crashes into Hi-di-Hi, smears into Blind Date and Fawlty Towers, which is tricky, because subverting racist stereotypes is a risky game, and at times the attitudes towards body image, gender, race and age felt a little basic for the woke generation. But still the hits keep coming, as the boys join the Benidorm Barbie neon pastel playset, in a ripple of abs and unrestrained break dancing.