Sue Katz: Consenting Adult

America’s Best Dance Crew – Better Than the Rest

What’s so hot about dance? It’s sexy, skilled, athletic, artistic. With a little explanation, it’s accessible to any viewer who loves movement and rhythm. It’s generally collaborative – whether in couples, a crew or an ensemble, which adds a whole raft of appealing dimensions.

As a dancer, it’s gratifying to see the many different dance shows on mainstream TV (including PBS’s real-life American ballroom competitions). The high-profile shows are predicated on some sort of combination of goofy judges (never more than one woman), audience voting and bubbly, tightly scripted contestants. Generally dumped into the “reality show” genre, they are really more like sports competitions. The number of competitors gets whittled down – like on “American Idol” – until the winner is the last one standing. Before I get to the one I truly love – “America’s Best Dance Crew” – I’m going to touch on two others.

“Dancing With the Stars” is probably the most pathetic of the shows, with its ageism (“not bad for a 60-or-70-or this season an 80-year-old”) and its sexist insistence on conflating role/gender – as in leading/men and following/women. The cross marketing is getting a bit tired, too. However, it has given an incredible boost to professional Ballroom and Latin American dancers who are tasked with turning a gaggle of B-listers into Pavlovas. For a professional partner dancer, being on “Dancing With the Stars” brings a level of celebrity and wealth never before available in their field.

“So You Think You Can Dance” is the one I used to wish, in its first years, had been around when I was young so that I could’ve tried out. Here talented young dancers in one genre – from hip-hop to jazz to salsa – are challenged week after week to work with assigned partners and varied choreographers. The production is repulsively self-congratulatory and cheesy, but there is no denying that it is the first television show to introduce and highlight individual choreographers. The dancers step up in amazing ways – and the condescension of the judges is palpable, even when they are lauding the dancers’ performances.

Both of these shows are about transformation – for that’s what dance is about. When I am teaching a new group of Ballroom and Latin American dance students I always give them homework: go see the Japanese movie “Shall We Dance” (or even the not-too-bad American version with Richard Gere.) The film is all about the transformation dance can render in even the least-talented civilian earthling. In “Dancing With The Stars,” it is often the athletes and performers who win – including Apollo Anton Ohno, Kristy Yamaguchi, Shawn Johnson and Donny Osmond, so the sense of transformation is relative. But in “So You Think You Can Dance,” you find untrained street dancers taking on the most complicated and sophisticated dance styles – and nailing them. You see them absorb the regimen of make-up, costume, heels, staging and camera work. You see them pulled off of farms and factories and becoming astounding artists.

All of which goes to prove my life theory that achievement is more about opportunity than talent. But that, as my friend says, is another story.

And now, finally, onto the best of the rest: “America’s Best Dance Crew.” Here you have competing crews – groups – of dancers who develop their own styles of hip-hop. This year the emphasis is on challenges – from integrating magic tricks to riffing off well-known dance videos (like that of Beyonce) to interpreting the smooth moves of Usher. Unlike the other shows, the judges are reasonable, clear and encouraging, especially Lil’ Mama (Niatia Kirkland - see photo on left) a hip-hop singer and choreographer herself. They don’t speak down to the crews, they don’t attack them, and when they are critical they aren’t mean. It makes for a whole different atmosphere.

Randy Jackson – of “American Idol” fame – is the producer and Mario Lopez (who was robbed when he came in 2nd in 2006 on “Dancing With The Stars”) is the MC. The stylish show introduces the amazing world of street crews to American TV viewers and there is no denying the artistry, athleticism and innovation of this movement. This year’s crop of crews included some really interesting constellations. For example, these three sizzling crews have already been eliminated: Saltare features professional jump-ropers who integrate their sport with their dance. Heavy Impact members are generously-sized dancers out to kill the equation of sedentary with fat. And Jungle Boogie folks specialize in the Southern “Crankin” style, led by their only woman member (photo at left).

But why not check them out yourselves? This irresistible clip shows the whole “Usher” round in less than five minutes by eliminating all the chat, judges and commercials and showing you only the brilliance. Enjoy.

Charles Coe on Peter Graves and "Mission Impossible"

My first-ever guest blogger! You have heard me mention my friend the writer Charles Coe many times (photo by Penny Pimentel). Today he sent out a piece on the late Peter Graves, remembering what made Mission Impossible so extraordinary. Luckily he agreed to let me post it here. Enjoy!

Greetings Earthlings,
 
Something has gone down that I simply can’t let pass without comment: the death of Peter Graves.
 
A lot of folks—especially younger ones—know him for his hilarious performance as, “that pilot dude” in Airplane, a film that basically invented the goofball parody genre. As great as Graves was in that role, I’ll always remember him for his starring role in one of the greatest television shows of all time: Mission Impossible. If your only experience with the MI franchise is Tom Cruise on a motorcycle, you owe it to yourself to check out the original.
 
That the intelligence and sophistication of the TV plots blows the movies out the water is a given. But that’s almost always the case with film adaptations. There was another reason Mission Impossible was for me a life-changing television show; it was the first series to feature as a regular character a black person who happened to be a competent and serious professional.
 
During television’s “Golden Age” the most prominent blacks on television were Amos and Andy and, a little later, Jack Benny’s Rochester. These were talented men—and I hesitate to judge them from an “enlightened” twenty-first century perspective—but they were basically clowns, the image of black people white audiences of the day would find acceptable and entertaining. This was a time when there were so few African Americans on television that anyone in a black family watching alone would yell, “Hey, come here! Quick!” whenever a black face popped up..
 
Then in the early sixties, we started seeing black people as guests in more substantial roles—usually noble, admirable characters in some kind of jam the white star came along to bail them out of. (The innocent black man accused of rape/robbery/murder/, the black farmer whose land the ruthless cattle baron was trying to grab, the troubled high school student no one had been able to reach but the patient, dedicated white teacher--usually some dishy young blonde, which intentionally or not created a whole other subtext.)
 
But then along came Mission Impossible, with a black man (Greg Morris) who was a serious, scary smart, highly competent fellow. You also had a cool, tough woman (Barbara Bain). And what blew my mind was that no one ever mentioned that he was black or she was a woman. They were simply members of a high-functioning team of world-class agents. I cannot overstate how radical this all was at the time.
 
These were good guy con artists; they’d use the bad guy’s greed and duplicity to bait their hook, and at the end of the show, as the villain’s world is crashing around him the team drives off without a word, wearing their little 5 percent “gotcha” smiles.
 
And running the operation, as cool as the other side of the pillow, was the silver-haired smoothie, Peter Graves…
 
Bon Voyage, dude.
 
Charles Coe

Oscars – I Still Can’t Shake the Exasperation

Here it is, a five days later, and I still can’t get certain Oscar irritations out of my mind.

I’m an Academy Awards patriot – I never miss them and I view the end, even when I have to get up at dawn the next day. By 6:00pm, I’m watching the E cable channel (that’s E for Entertainment) as they cover the red carpet, my favorite bit of the event.

This year, almost every woman presenter – and only the women – when asked on the Carpet if they were nervous about presenting, answered with the same concern: “I hope I can get down the stairs without falling.” What had happened at rehearsal? It was a persistent and mystifying comment - until, that is, the program began and I noted two things: the shoes and the stage.

Foot Binding
Every single woman was wearing unspeakably high heels – I really did not see an exception, and believe me I was looking. The set was obviously designed by a dickhead in sneakers because no woman descended its over-sized steps without support, generally from one or two men. The stair’s large increments clearly made them treacherous for women in heels. And the women were in heels.

During the show, more than one woman, looking like she had just escaped with her life, commented on her relief to have made it safely to the mic. Many of the presenters appeared shaken, flubbing their lines or nearly hyperventilating. If you weren’t looking for it, you may not have noticed it. But if you were in my living room where I was screaming at the TV over and over again, you wouldn’t have missed it. And my guests (all men, by coincidence) did not miss it. In the end, they were practically yelling themselves.

The other comment I heard several times on the Red Carpet was, “No, I won’t be going to the parties. I have to run home and take off my Choos.” See an example to the left of Jimmy Choo’s high-end shoes, a common Hollywood accessory.

When the clothes you are required to wear – and don’t talk to me about choice: with the universality of stilettos there and of complaints about them clearly it’s a “work requirement” – prevent you from fleeing danger, something is very wrong. Anyone who has followed my writing knows that stemming from the trauma of laws in my youth making it illegal NOT to be wearing three items of “gender appropriate” clothing, I have forever railed against dress codes of any sort.

Health and Safety
High heels of the height seen at the Oscars are not just a cultural or a fashion issue: this is a health and safety matter. I’m not going to go into all the nasties produced by wearing heels, but this article does (“corns and calluses to hammertoes, arthritis, chronic knee pain, sprained ankles and back problems”).

What bothers me, as a martial artist and former instructor of self-defense, is the dependence that wearing these stilts engenders. One after another woman who was, in her real life, young, buff, athletic and agile needed to lean on a man – or often on two – in order to descend these ignorantly designed stage stairs. What if there had been a fire? What if a young non-celebrity woman imitating the dress of her favorite star was being chased on the street by an evil-doer? These shoes aren’t a joke: they’re a form of control.

Body Binding
And the dresses were quite an obstruction to movement, also. If they didn’t have trains that had to be schlepted around by an underling, they were so tight that they bent the woman’s torso over. Miley Cyrus looked like she was in a vise, not a dress, and her shoulders were oddly humped forward (see photo). The gowns featured big wire constructs on the shoulder or acres of under-layers or strangely solidified bodices. I love sparkly and shimmery fabrics more than most, but to my eyes, many of these garments looked ridiculous, silly, the conceits of high-fashion designers. Why can’t women in that industry wear clothes one can walk and sit in? The men generally wore tuxedos and flat shoes.

Again, the thing that freaked me out was the lack of exceptions, the absence of variety, the uniform donning of overdone full-length gowns. Not only were there no knee-length dresses, there were no pants whatsoever. None. Explain that to me. I remember the 1970s Academy Awards when lots of women wore tuxedos or fancy suits – where there was some sort of individuality in the activity of dressing up. Last year it was only Ellen, and she didn’t appear to be at this Oscar ceremony. Even the butch dykes were in high drag (I’m talking to you Jane Lynch from “Glee”). It was excruciating to watch.

Men’s Memoriam
Following the traditional clip honoring the industry luminaries who had passed away in the last year, there were myriad complaints at the exclusion of Bea Arthur and Farrah Fawcett. I’ve looked the list over: 31 people were mentioned; 6 of them were women. Have women stopped dying?

Allow me to give my own toast: Bea Arthur (photo from the 1987 Golden Globes) was an amazing entertainer (who dealt with abortion and aging and homophobia on television) and activist (she left $300,000 in her will to an agency dealing with lgbt youth homelessness). One excuse was that she was more of a TV star and not in enough movies, but Michael Jackson – primarily a recording artist – was on the Oscar list with only two mainstream films. Arthur was in several films (including “Mame” and Mel Brooks’ “History of the World.”)

The Results
Everyone was all, Oh, cool, a woman director has beat her ex-husband for the big awards. But I just couldn’t get excited over Kathryn Bigelow, director of “The Hurt Locker”, and certainly didn’t see her as feminist symbol. The film was about war, had no women in it and was repetitious. None of the other key people involved with the production appeared to be women. And when she gave her acceptance speeches, she pandered to a false idea of “supporting” our troops in Iraq – whereas the real way to support them is to bring them back from a brutal war and occupation based on lies and disrespect for the Iraqi people. Her military flag-waving made me gag.

Why Bigelow, when no other woman had won best director? Perhaps her work makes her like an honorary guy to these men. She dealt with bombs and blood and out-of-context bravado, without taking a point of view or noting the impact of the behavior of her characters on the people whose country they had invaded.

Good News
I was thrilled that “Up” got a couple of Oscars because in truth it was the best thing I saw last year. Yay, Ed Asner (photo at left). I was glad “Precious” won a thing or two (Go Mo’Nique with your proud hairy legs and theoretically open relationship; and go Sapphire, the writer of the book “Push” on which the film's based). But basically I didn’t care about any of the other feature film winners. In an earlier posting I reviewed the live action shorts and am thrilled that my favorite “The New Tenants” won the Oscar: it is awesome and crazed short cinema. However, at the risk of parroting the Academy Awards habit of outstaying its welcome, I am going to come to an abrupt halt here and go finish eating my leftovers from Oscar night.