The Word, Series 3, Episode 8, 18/12/92

The Word – Christmas Special (18 Dec 1992)

Open wide for Jesus Jones performing “The Devil You Know,” because nothing says festive like a cheery hymn to bad decisions. Around them, the studio throws a full panto at the wall: dames, principals, a map of Britain bristling with tinsel pins, and a rolling invitation for any C-list Cinderella within cab distance to swing by for mince pies and mulled wine. One limo even has a cow in the back seat, because health & safety is for January.

On the couch:

Dolph Lundgren, billed as the “sensitive Swede”—ex-karate champ, MIT scholarship escapee, ex-club bouncer, ex-Grace Jones plus-one—explains that being 6'5" with a sniper’s jawline doesn’t preclude feelings or a 158-ish IQ. He wants better scripts, fewer body counts, maybe a European historical epic; the show gifts him a Viking-ish helmet because development money is tight.

Nigel Benn drops by for the “seconds out” quota, glowering warmly and proving you can be a national treasure and still look like you headbutt Christmas.

Field pieces do the whiplash thing:

“Men who’d rather starve than dress down” meets the sapeurs: West African style obsessives dropping small-car money on Versace suits, JM Weston shoes, and wardrobes they want burying with the body. Highlights include the line “I’d rather buy jackets than food,” which is the most honest fashion manifesto of the decade.

Kids who’d like to be Trevor McDonald: tiny newsreaders auditioning for gravitas while their ears still believe in Santa.

Back in PantoLand, Katie corrals a parade of fairytale refugees (Puss in Boots, Dames, Nolan Sister bonus content) and receives a crash course in British cross-dressing tradition: boys play girls, girls play boys, and everyone plays to the gallery. Catchphrases are aggressively deployed; the mince pie room becomes NATO for sequins.

Live music keeps the baubles from falling:

Jesus Jones (slick, bright, apocalyptic cheer).

Nu Colors bring gospel-lift R&B to rinse the brandy butter out of the monitors.

Final score: one towering Swede pitching “sensitive but explosive,” one champ in fight-week charisma, one nation’s worth of dames in foundation garments, kids auditioning for News at Ten, and a couture cult that treats dinner as optional. Tacky, turbocharged, unmistakably 1992 — The Word is the only show that can segue from pantomime moo-cow to European art-house Dolph without changing its glitter.