Dance Movies (pt. II)

All That Jazz

Center Stage

Okay, everyone, places, places! I hope you’re well and warmed up, dear reader, because this week we’re tackling another round of movies surrounding the art of dance. As I stated in my previous dance double feature, and particularly within my ballet movie double feature, the topic of dance will always be equally thrilling and triggering to this former ballerina. Dance and choir—my main extracurriculars throughout my youth—gave me a profound appreciation for the power of a collective, and the satisfaction that comes from performing cohesively as a group. These activities also provided me with a slew of new insecurities and a hyper-awareness of the ways in which I move and sound—but despite any performance-related PTSD, I’ve come away from these experiences with an adoration and sympathy towards those who are afflicted with the sickness of loving to be on stage. Dance sequences in musicals, or random dance breaks that occur for the sake of fun absurdity can be an exhilarating trip to be taken on, but movies where this art form is a main character, are bound to be filled to the brim with synchronized, syncopated drama. The form, the precision, the rigidly rehearsed routines that somehow feel fluid and free—I never tire of watching it all, and though I don’t practice ballet anymore, I still often feel inspired to dance. I never made it far enough into my dance career to really experience the dramatics that are possible in such a competitive and exhausting environment, but both of tonight’s films really illustrate the triumphs and traumas that can exist when you mix strong personalities with strong, creative athletes.

We have to immediately get into the first film because there is so much ground to cover within its story and the creators behind it, this is Bob Fosse’s magnificent mind fuck of a movie: All That Jazz. For those who do not have a dance background, who have never seen Chicago or have never taken note of the significance of an outstretched, energetic jazz hand, Bob Fosse was a legendary dancer, performer, choreographer, director, writer, producer, actor, instructor, womanizer, substance-appreciator, titan of Broadway and Hollywood who innovated and created a seemingly endless supply of dances and trademarks throughout his career. He was born on June 23rd, 1927, and by the time he was 13 years old, he’d already begun touring with Charles Grass as “The Riff Brothers”, and became known in the world of vaudeville and burlesque houses. At 15, Fosse choreographed his first dance number and earned his first full credit as a choreographer in a film called Hold Evry’thing! A Streamlined Extravaganza in Two Parts, thus kicking off his involvement in variety shows, films, and eventually, Broadway stages. He dreamed of being the next Fred Astaire, but I would argue, Fosse’s impact is even more significant. Notable distinctions of Fosse’s style include the use of turned-in knees, the “Fosse Amoeba”, sideways shuffling, rolled shoulders, and jazz hands. Inspired by Astaire, Fosse used props such as bowler hats, canes, and chairs, but built upon this aesthetic with his own sensual, free-wheeling yet precise style that he made look effortless and cool. His artistry translated naturally to film—whether he was starring, choreographing, or directing. He choreographed stage shows and films like The Pajama Game, Damn Yankees, Bells Are Ringing, New Girl in Town, Redhead, The Conquering Hero, How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, Little Me, Pleasures and Principals, Sweet Charity, Pippin, Liza, Chicago, Dancin’, Big Deal, and yet another production of Sweet Charity right before his death, but his influence can still be felt today—as I witness bitches on TikTok do moves they don’t even know were created by Fosse. Even on this most recent season of Ru Paul’s Drag Race, the great Lydia Butthole Collins often executed a move where she sweeps one leg behind the other as it bends—something I didn’t register as “Fosse” until I saw a dancer pull off the same easy-looking-but-hard-to-do move in this first film. Bob Fosse was an assidious workaholic, lover, and boss who juggled several projects and women at once—particularly in 1974, when he was editing his film Lenny while simultaneously choreographing Chicago which led to him suffering a heart attack and undergoing open heart surgery—an intense period which inspired his 1979 film All That Jazz. In this semi-autobiographical opera of a story, we open on famed choreographer and director Joe Gideon (Roy Scheider) preparing for another hectic day ahead, as he takes his eyedrops, antacid, some Dexedrine, and a cigarette he forgot to extinguish before stepping into the shower. “It’s showtime!” he exclaims to himself in the mirror, before we cut to a tense audition stage where at least a hundred hopeful dancers compete for their chance to be cast. Joe is an impossibly tough judge and a relentless perfectionist, and I’d say that he goes mad in his pursuit of putting on a great show, but he was clearly already pretty insane before this chapter of his life. He always has a cig in his mouth, a rhythm in his hips, and he is incredibly focused when he’s not overbooked. Every single dancer falls silent when he enters the room and worships the ground he prances on. He’s like a god to them—one who is not merciful but one who certainly cares about putting on an impeccable show. As more dancers are cut and the cast begins to take shape, we see two women exiting, one saying, “Fuck him, he never picks me” to which the other responds, “Well I did fuck him and he never picks me either.” Joe asks one of the male dancers, “Autumn? Is that your real name? You sure you don’t wanna change that?”, to which Autumn responds, “Yes, sir, but if you give me the job I’ll change it.” He holds the futures and fates of all of these young performers in his jazz hands, but this is just another show for Joe. And before we can blink he’s onto his next gig, editing the fictional version of Fosse’s real film Lenny, and before we can process that, he’s back at his apartment, entertaining a dancer gal who dreams of being a movie star, for whom Joe does not see the vision. Between the rehearsals and the production meetings and the time in the editing room and the time spent with various mistresses, Joe hardly has time for his only child, Michelle, and his main girlfriend Kate (Ann Reinking, Fosse’s actual gf for a time on which this character is based but she still had to audition many times.) But every person in his complex life puts up with his chaos, for the sake of seeing his magic come to fruition. As Kate says so eloquently, “I just wish you weren’t so generous with your cock.” Even his ex-wife and mother of his child—who is clearly based on Fosse’s real-life former wife, the equally legendary dancer Gwen Verdon—knows Joe’s M.O. all too well, and can recall the names of his mistresses better than he can. As we observe Joe’s stressful day-to-days, we are intermittently shown these bizarre, Moulin-Rouge-meets-Cabaret-esque dream sequences, where Jessica Lange as the angel of death asks Joe about his life, his childhood, the never-ending madness and messiness he is responsible for. In one such sequence, she asks Joe if he believes in love, and he replies, “I believe in saying ‘I love you.’” And this is just one of the many lines in All That Jazz that knocked the wind right out of me. I knew Fosse could dance and act and direct and edit—and WOW is the editing in this film stunning and considerate and immaculate—but I didn’t know that Fosse (along with his co-writer Robert Alan Aurthur) could write so beautifully. So many lines of dialogue were some of the funniest and most devastating things I’ve ever heard. I thought this narrative would be more of a biopic, more of a straight up dance movie, and yet what All That Jazz pulls off is so much more meaningful. I could attempt to summarize and synopsize All That Jazz for you, dear reader, I could try to connect the dots of what is one of the most haunting and groovy depictions of life, death, and dance that I’ve ever witnessed, but I truly feel that this is a film that must be seen to be appreciated. It is all at once a joyfully vibrant showcase of the sexy-creepy-crawly-jazzy style of movement that Fosse created and mastered, and a deeply dark and sad portrayal of an artistic genius’ unrelenting pursuit for greatness. It is mordantly funny and unexpectedly moving—I knew dance movies could trigger my dance-history-PTSD but I didn’t expect my existential anxieties to be triggered as well. It’s so fucking dazzling it brought a tear to my eye and its final act is one of the best climaxes I’ve ever seen put to film. It all reminded me of one of my first scary strict Russian ballet teachers (in kindergarten) who I recall once saying something to the effect of: “If it hurts, pretend it doesn’t.” Real dancers are wild like that. Real artists can be absolutely terrifying but then they make shit like this sometimes so maybe the intensity is worth it. It is the kind of film that sounds horrendously pretentious on paper, but All That Jazz proves that some egotistical narcissists really know what they’re doing.

Speaking of self-centered artists who know what they’re doing, let’s get into tonight’s next film—a far less existential but still thoroughly dramatic film centered upon those who partake in the art of dance, this is Nicholas Hynter’s film from the year 2000: Center Stage. Moving away from the seasoned professionals and diving into the world of ballet students, Center Stage follows a handful of dancers hoping to make it into the American Ballet Academy (loosely based on the School of American Ballet) in New York City. After a series of auditions held across the country, just twelve ballet dancers are selected to dance in their year-long program—which will mold them into performers who are good enough to potentially be hired by the ABA and other impressive ballet companies across the country. We follow the tough, gum-chewing rebel with heaps of talent Eva (Zoë Saldaña, in her film debut), the bitchy know-it-all with perfect technique Maureen (Susan May Pratt), the sweet and shockingly-straight Charlie (Sascha Radetsky), the cheerful and gay Eric (Shakiem Evans), and the underdog with imperfect feet and form Jody (Amanda Schull) who has been admitted even though her classmates and teachers are increasingly unimpressed with her abilities. Pollyanna Jody, gritty Eva, and uptight Maureen are all roommates, and while Jody and Eva become unlikely friends quickly, Maureen (and her severe mother) is so devoted to this sport and to being a bitch that she has no time for friends or fun or food—as we come to learn. We soon learn that the ABA, well-renowned and classy as it is, has just been rocked by a rather juicy scandal: the director of the school, Jonathan Reeves (Peter Gallagher) just married his best student, Kathleen Donahue (Julie Kent), who is the former girlfriend of the best male dancer in the program, Cooper Nielson (Ethan Stiefel.) Cooper and Kathleen still work for the company, Jonathan still runs it like the navy, and the tension between the three is still very thick. Jonathan explains to the freshman class that at the end of the year, a final dance workshop will determine the three boys and three girls who will be asked to join the company full-time. The workshop will also allow the students to showcase their talent to other ballet companies nationwide, so a lead role is beyond coveted. The stakes are high, the anxiety is palpable, and poor, flat-footed Jody works her ass off, but her strict teacher, Juliette Simone (Donna Murphy), isn’t seeing much progress. All Jody wants to be is a ballerina, and yet her spirit is slowly but surely being worn down. Simultaneously, Maureen is losing her joie de vivre as her controlling mother (who helicoptered her way into a job at the school) pushes her further into her narrow scope of perfection—not even wanting to hear a joke Maureen learned from her new knock-off Paul Rudd bf (Eion Bailey) and instead only exclusively wanting to discuss ballet and the politics at this school when they speak to one another. All the while Eva and the instructors are learning that she’s actually incredibly talented, if she could only adhere to the dress code and their no-profanity policy. The film is desperately trying to get us to root for the blonde-haired, blue-eyed, girl-next-door Jody, but Zoë Saldaña as Eva is clearly the standout of this class of freshmen—her tenacity and inability to accept bullshit, combined with her genuine talent, make her impossible to look away from (and she would’ve made a more compelling main protagonist, tbh.) All of the dance drama and interpersonal drama builds to an impressive and extensive performance-centric climax that mirrored the ambition of All That Jazz’s final act, which is really saying something. Center Stage is overflowing with every flavor of drama—but never to the point of being heavy-handed or too much like an episode of Degrassi—it was just the right amount of absurd and believable. I loved the not-so-elegant details associated with this elegant activity that they took the time to show, from the blistered toes as a result of wearing pointe shoes, to the secret dorm dedicated to smoking cigarettes, to the brutal but accurate depictions of eating disorders and the brazen ways in which this dance institution enforces and encourages them. If I have any criticism for Center Stage, it’s that perhaps it tried to fit too many subplots in, but the more I research the real dancers in this film, the more their personal stories seem significant and worth exploring. Particularly with a subplot involving the top student Cooper Nielson and a potential ballet academy donor who is obsessed with him—which is allegedly based on a real situation Ethan Stiefel experienced. The fashion, the soundtrack, the simultaneous hopefulness and cynicism, was all so deliciously, deliriously 90s/early 2000s, I really couldn’t get enough. And with each Mandy Moore needle drop and hormonal expression of love for the sport of ballet, I wondered why I never saw this film when I was an actual ballerina, during this very era. The dancing in this is extreme and a thrill to watch. Ethan Stiefel in particular was superhuman in his skills, putting ballet bros like Baryshnikov to shame. Center Stage accomplished the impossible task of showing how insane artists are, while still making them all sympathetic—even the really crazy bitches. The entire ensemble is superb, even those of whom were clearly dancers and not actors, and I’ll just never get over the fact that Zoë Saldaña won an Oscar for Emilia Pérez and not this, or Avatar, or literally anything else she’s in. It’d be like if Pacino won an Oscar for his cameo in Adam Sandler’s Jack and Jill instead of for… * checks notes * …Scent of a Woman? Okay, random, but I digress. All in all, Center Stage is far more entertaining, layered, and exciting than I’d anticipated, and much like All That Jazz, it just made me want to get on my feet and dance. You may never see me dance, dear reader, unless you take me out and buy me a drink (or two), but I thank you for seeing my writing and rambling another week—it takes two to tango, after all!