‘All political careers end in failure.” So declared the veteran British politician, Enoch Powell, whose own vaulting ambition finished in disappointment and recrimination back in the 1970s.
His words will be have resonated in the ears of statesmen the world over in recent months. But is there ever any way back for those in public office who have lost the trust and respect of the public? History would suggest not. Yet show business, it seems, may offer an unlikely road to redemption for disgraced politicians.
Been dumped from office? Approval ratings on the floor? Finding yourself the subject of humiliation and ridicule both in social media and the press? Don’t despair; just get out your dancing shoes and follow the example of Labour grandee Ed Balls.
If his name is unfamiliar to you, it’s hardly surprising. Mr Balls hasn’t been much in the public realm of late, ever since he lost his seat in Britain’s House of Commons.
Before the general election in 2015 he had been widely tipped to be the next chancellor of the exchequer; but not only did his party fail to win a majority, Mr Balls himself was rejected by his own constituency. One minute he was preparing for power, the next he was staring at the ruins of his career and wondering where it all went wrong.
But now Mr Balls has completed what was described by one pundit as "the greatest comeback since Lazarus" via the most improbable route – namely the BBC's flagship entertainment show Strictly Come Dancing.
The show, one of the most popular in the United Kingdom, is a televised dance competition in which celebrities perform a routine each week for the delectation of the viewing public. Each time one participant is voted off, until only a single triumphant champion is left standing at the end of the series.
Back in September, when Mr Balls’s inclusion in the celebrity line-up was announced, a nation rubbed its collective hands with glee. Here was a figure of fun just ripe for yet further humiliation.
Yet, despite possessing all the terpsichorean finesse of a carthorse with blisters, Mr Balls threw himself into his new occupation with disarming – indeed, at times alarming – gusto.
Since then he has sweated, heaved and dragged himself and his long suffering professional dancing partner, Katya Jones, through a series of stamina-sapping and increasingly complex routines, including the charleston, jive and quickstep. Each week he has tried so hard and performed with such spirit that, despite his manifest shortcomings, he has gained an army of admirers. And little wonder, for there’s nothing the British public likes more than a trier – especially if you’re prepared to make a fool of yourself in the process.
Mr Balls's elevation from zero to hero was confirmed a week or two back when he found himself required to perform a catchy routine known throughout the world as Gangnam style. Made popular by the South Korean pop star Psy, it basically requires the performer to mime the act of riding an imaginary horse. One might have thought this would be a bridge too far for Mr Balls – after all, he was once a respected economic guru – but no, on the contrary, he pranced and strutted as if riding an imaginary horse was the only thing he'd ever wanted to do. The result was a YouTube sensation and yet another reprieve from his adoring followers. His adventure may now be over – he was finally voted off the show last weekend, to the dismay of millions of viewers – but no matter, for in a few short weeks he has become something of a national treasure.
So what next now that the music has stopped? Mr Balls has already hinted at a possible return to front-line politics – but not yet because he's having too much fun. First he has a commitment to the Strictly Come Dancing Roadshow in the new year, after which there'll no doubt be all sorts of offers, from his own chat show though to appearances on myriad TV panel games.
So, Hillary Clinton should take heart. As both Mr Balls and president-elect Donald Trump have graphically demonstrated, the line between showbiz and politics is now so blurred as to be indistinguishable. It doesn’t really matter what you promise on the hustings, so long as you smile, send yourself up, and if required, do a good impression of a prancing horse. In which case, you too, could yet become the leader of the free world.
Michael Simkins is an actor and writer in London
On Twitter: @michael_simkins
