A respectable critic understands what the definition and criteria of a great dance piece. He or she should be able to see artistic value in any performance and relate it to the other works of art if possible to give a deeper insight to the piece. A critic needs to support their complaints or praises with proof and write in a way that reflects the quality of the dance.

In Alastair Macaulay’s The Fluid Human Dance That Is Grand Central, He envisions Grand Central Terminal as a stage where the commuters are constantly “dancing.” As they speed past the “central, four-faced clock,” “every five minutes brings an alteration of tone, direction, pace.” Macaulay picks a very commonplace topic, but is able to view it with a fresh perspective. He states that before the tourists start arriving and pulling out their cameras, Grand Central exudes the vibe of a movie.  Macaulay notices the unscripted, quotidian actions that take place and correlates it to the first movement of Jerome Robbins’s ballet “Glass Pieces.

In Gia Kourla’s Hip-Hop, Folk and Karate Through a Strainer on a Hot Afternoon, she demonstrates her rather lackluster style. She critiques the dancers, and describes how she felt about the ambience. While it was descriptive, I didn’t feel that she had a strong voice in her review: “their technique was spotty, their point shoes dirty, and the fantasy of the numbers was watered down, especially in broad daylight.” She utilizes words like “dancegoer,” “juxtaposed,” and “vignettes.” But among other plain words, it comes across as forced.

Macaulay writes in a more exciting and vibrant voice whereas Kourla is straightforward and honest. Kourla does not appeal to me as much because she skips the essence of the dance by throwing down facts. Usually, the reviews that trigger emotions and express feelings through their writing attract me most.