The Revolution: End of an Era Edition

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Anyone remember the first season of The Real World? Seven strangers living in a loft downtown who all had lives and jobs separate from the show. It felt fresh and exciting and new. The strings being pulled by the producers were invisible. These people didn’t know what they were getting into and viewers didn’t know what we were supposed to be looking for. Some hoped it would boost their musical career, others saw it as an opportunity to get out of whatever small town they were from (you’ll always be my favorite, Julie) but none of the roommates viewed it as an opportunity to snag 15 minutes by drunkenly fucking their way onto gossip blogs. But try to get on the Real World these days and that’s the kind of fun one will assume you’re looking to have. And when people tune in, if they are denied such shenanigans, well then, what’s the point? There’s a playbook now. Roles to fill. Expectations to be met. These kids know what they’re up for. Are you the gay one? The homophobe? The virgin? The party girl? The frat boy? The kid with the troubled past? You best pick an archetype and play that up otherwise you don’t have a shot of getting on the show.

In many ways, this is what So You Think You Can Dance has come to. Everyone knows the score. There are plenty of kids in this Top 20 who have been trying to get on the show for yeeears. And all of them have been watching it for at least as long.

To wit: The last eps from “Vegas Week.” Bubbly Blond Bird Brain (who’s name I will not bother to look up either online or deep in the recesses of my memories) and her BFF cry and carry on like lunatics before heading in front of the judges to hear their fate because they’ve seen this show and they know how it goes and they’re just sure they’re going to get split up in a moment of drama. BBBB and her Bestie were too narcissistic/dumb to realize there was a married couple sitting right behind them. Mr. And Mrs. Latin Ballroom were, of course, the two the producers planned to fuck with. Fortunately those plans were foiled by a girl who’d just been offered a part in some movie and had to bail from the show. I’m sure with careful rewatching I could come up with dozens more examples of contestants having memorized the script but you need no better example of their awareness and eagerness to play along than the seriousness with which Mary’s Hot Tamale Train tickets are now taken. Fucking absurd.

I suspect to some it seems an arbitrary distinction to draw but I find there to be a real difference between a season cast with group of dancers who consider a SYTYCD audition to be one in a line of many they attend in the hopes of kick starting their career and one cast with a group of dancers whose primary goal is to Get. On. This. Show. We’ve reached critical mass for the latter and it is because of this I must declare The Revolution as we’ve come to know and love it, dead and gone. That’s not to say I won’t keep watching and I certainly expect a few moments of awesome through out the season but it’s not the same. And it will never be the same. The Revolution is over.

I started to feel this way last season but the beginning of 6 has confirmed it: the show has lost its soul. I called it the Revolution only a teensy bit jokingly as I believed, as Debbie once said, that the show was evangelizing dance. That a reality TV show on Fox treated artistic growth, specifically growth as a dancer, as something compelling to watch, was rather revolutionary in my mind. I was blessed to have folks who supported my artistic goals. Not all kids are so lucky. It seemed the show had the potential to spark or encourage interest in the art form where it might have other wise lay dormant. This is good news. And in many ways, it still is. But it’s not the same. The show has become a self perpetuating machine, promoting the same sorts of dancers, with the same sorts of personalities doing the same sorts of pieces over and over and over and it all feels rather rote. I’m sure there are plenty of fans not bothered by this shift and that’s fine, but I can’t imagine anyone denying it’s occurred.

The loss of Mia is a fitting metaphor for the thing. Though, to be clear, I find her departure a symptom of the problem, not the cause. I saw a quote from her that I’m too lazy to search for in which she talked about shaving her head. She’d done it, she said, because she felt herself becoming too image driven. She didn’t go into further detail but you get the vibe that she left the show for similar reasons.

So, barring some stunning work of artistry or a compelling, wonky occurrence, I’m done blogging about the show. I’m glad we had the time we did with The Revolution. They have always been my most popular posts and I’m sure my traffic will suffer accordingly. But I can’t fake it. Long live So You Think You Can Dance, but The Revolution is no more.

* * * *

I do have a post script. After all the screeching and squealing and proselytizing of tap dance I’ve done on this blog I absolutely can’t let this moment pass with out comment. Derrick Grant is a fantastic human, dancer and choreographer. I’ve had the pleasure of his company more than once and the last thing I want to do is impugn him or his work. That being said, the performance he choreographed for the three tappers was a serious problem. The sound was unbearably bad. So bad that I’m almost convinced it was either over dubbed or they were tapping to a track. But the travesty wasn’t just limited to that first performance. All their solos have been disastrous. That Nigel had the gall to sit there and puff up his chest with pride for bringing tap to mainstream USA after that trio, and that he had the nerve to wax heartbroken after he kicked two of them off in the same night, well, it gets my hackles up. Nigel, sir, if you truly gave a fuck about tap you’d…

A. Learn what the hell you’re talking about. All that on and on about how you’re worried tap dance won’t excite viewers because the dancers’ upper bodies are so smooth while their feet are going like egg beaters was absurd. It belies an incredibly narrow understanding of tap. I’m sorry, is this not exciting enough for you?

Is his upper body too smooth? He sold out so many shows here at the Broad in Santa Monica that they added two more. I know cause I was on the waiting list.

Listen, Nigel’s not wrong that tap has the potential to be inaccessible to mainstream, uneducated audiences. Much of it is like jazz, you have to want to get it. Certain pieces will just never be appreciated by certain folks. Nothing to be done. But beyond that, the issue of inaccessibility comes in when dealing with less than skilled performers. With mediocre tap dancers (which is unfortunately what we’re dealing with in these three), unlike a mediocre contemporary dancer say, you have to contend with the aural cacophony of missed notes as well as the visual awkwardness of missed steps. Mistakes are much harder to forgive as an audience member. Tap can also become inaccessible when it sounds like shit. Which brings me to…

B. Treat the art form with some god damned respect. Making these kids tap on marley is not only un-ac-fucking-ceptable, it’s totally unnecessary. You know how hard it is to solve the problem? NOT HARD AT ALL. See that video up above? You know, the one with the greatest living tapper dancing on a 4×4 plywood platform, mic’d underneath? Sounded incredible didn’t it? You’re telling me, Nigel fucking Lythgoe (who I am using as a stand in for all producers of the show), that you can’t afford three fucking plywood 4×5 platforms? You should be ashamed. Do not, sir, pretend you give a fuck about bringing tap to mainstream USA. Your actions have proven otherwise.

And with that, “If A TV Falls In The Woods” throws the last shovel of earth onto the grave of the Revolution. Thanks for the good times, y’all. I’ll leave you with a bunch of you tube tap dance awesome to make up for the let down that is So You Think You Can Dance’s attempt to highlight the form.

(I know it’s shakey. If you can’t take it, skip to 1:20 for Savion’s RIDICULOUS solo.)

(Oh LOOK at that. Another simple plywood platform over Marley. Looks expensive and cumbersome.)

The incomparable Dormeshia Sumbry Edwards…

Some kids, for comparison, technically speaking…

And of course, the old stand by, Mash and Nick, messin’ round.

ETA: Cause I can’t resist, an excerpt from the Best Birthday of All Time.

done

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