Modern Dance and the Personal Narrative

I read Zita Allen’s “The Revolution Will Be Danced” and Arlene Croce’s “Discussing the Undiscussable” before viewing the excerpt from “Still/Here,” so there were many preconceived notions running through my head. Allen’s historical piece made it seem somber, while Croce’s anger-driven review made me expect a confrontational performance. What I found instead was something completely different: dancers dressed in deep red moving against a dark blue background, a flow to their movements that gives a sense of unity and understanding and a togetherness that exists in tragic times. Croce’s personal afflictions to Bill T. Jones’ work and his attitude toward her critique should not have hindered her from viewing such a moving performance, one rich in both history and emotion. It strongly reminded me of the movie “RENT,” which deals with many aspects of life in New York City during the late 80s/early 90s, and especially that of AIDS.

“Still/Here” spoke to me as a less political and more humanitarian view of the AIDS epidemic. The performace served to give marginalized groups a voice through the medium of dance, which Arlene Croce called a highly politicized and aggressively personal move, as if art should not be either. Zita Allen’s piece traced the history and influence of minority groups, especially that of African Americans, on modern dance. An entire art form shaped and molded by people Croce deems “dissed,” “abused,” and “disenfranchised.” They are not inherently incorrect adjectives, but they are an oversimplification of the struggles faced by African Americans, by women, by the gay community, and they also serve to erase these groups’ contributions to an art form Croce claims to honor and love.
Yet Croce, without even viewing the show, chooses to silence these groups and tell them how they should be treating their art. In her description of the show as “victim art,” the word “victim” is a choice one in this context as it attempts to paint them as pitiful and defenseless. Yes, these groups are victims of a system that Croce herself is a part of, a system that takes away their voices and thrusts them into a world that does not care for them. But they are not asking for our pity. Instead, they are trying to convey their story, one which happens to involve sickness and suffering, through their performance. “Tell me how to fight this disease,” the narrator of “Still/Here” repeats, but it seems as though what is also being fought is the world.
As Allen stated in “The Revolution Will Be Danced,” the 80s mentality of “me first” was an important one for marginalized groups as it allowed them to use art to tell their stories. Dancers who perform in shows such as Jones’ “Still/Here” understand the importance of giving voices to those who cannot speak for themselves. They are upholding their group and talking back, which Croce interprets as not understanding criticism when instead it is them responding to it. This act alone proves that these choreographers and performers are not asking to be viewed as victims or martyrs, but as people who have been victimized and are now taking a stand. It is them showing us their explanations, their vulnerability, and even their defenses, not, as Croce puts it, “intimidating” us into complacency with their work. The difference between the two is a stark one, but it is a difference that Croce misses.

 

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