This post brought to you by MyEvilTwin.
The sixth graders were performing a hybrid version of The Nutcracker before Christmas break and the eighth graders, as basically the elder statesmen of the school, were going to help. Specifically, anyone with dance “training” was wanted to choreograph the various numbers. I’d had ballet lessons and wore pointe shoes, which apparently gained me enough cred to be assigned the finale – the “Waltz of the Flowers” and the Prince and Clara’s final dance together (I don’t know what happened to the “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” either. It was an adaptation, don’t ask.)
I’m not going to lie, I felt cool. “Cool” was not really a part of the vocabulary of my middle-school life, so that was a treat. It should also tell you something that my version of “cool” was choreographing a section of a ballet adapted into a sixth grade play by someone’s parents. Frankly, my definition hasn’t changed that much.
The dancers cast as The Flowers were the best in the group. (Was this objectively true? I have no idea! But I believed it.) We took our assignment very seriously, like true artistes, and rehearsed constantly. I listened to Tchaikovsky obsessively and took to wearing leg warmers. I’m actually a little surprised I didn’t start tapping out rhythms with a cane and yelling at the girls in a cartoonish Russian accent. We were all very smug about the obvious superiority of our segment, pretty certain that our performance would elevate this pedestrian Christmas pageant to a transcendent experience that people would remember forever. You can probably guess that we were wrong, even if everything had gone as planned. You can probably also guess that we were insufferable.
The Prince and Clara would close the play, dancing together after the Waltz, with the Flowers remaining onstage to dance behind them. Their dance was very short, probably about 45 seconds in total. It was kept purposely brief because they would learn it only a few days before dress rehearsal, since, as the main characters, they had lines, blocking, and other dances to learn. I had the routine planned out and ready to go, so on our first rehearsal together, I thought things went very smoothly, and that they had taken to the steps pretty easily.
I must have been slowly coming down with something, because promptly the next day, I was laid out with bronchitis. Rehearsals went on, and I was assured that the Prince and Clara were practicing. I returned the day before dress rehearsal, and something was off; the Flowers had funny looks on their faces. One of them screwed up the courage to break some bad news.
“The Prince and Clara don’t want to do your dance. They were embarrassed to dance together. He doesn’t want to touch her hand,” she said.
I thought, “Suck it up, kids! This is the theatre!” I asked what their alternative was.
“Well, Pat’s mom came to help,” she paused, clearly not wanting to continue, “She suggested they do…the Macarena.” I laughed, but she was, evidently, not joking. My vision! It was in peril.
I went to see Pat’s mom, also known as The Director. I felt certain I could reason with her and make her see sense. First, I made the case that ballet dancers sometimes have to touch each other and the Prince and Clara should probably overcome their embarrassment for art’s sake. When that was shot down, I conceded that I could take out the part where he twirls her (hand touching!) and the part where we faked our best impression of a “lift” for sixth graders (holding her waist!) It was a compromise of my vision, sure, but at least it would be ballet. She wanted none of it. Pat’s mom had a vision, too, and hers definitely included the Macarena.
In the gauzy soft focus of a seventeen year old memory, I remember knowing that my choreography was brilliant, perhaps second only to Balanchine, and not to be tossed aside for some trendy party dance. I puffed up like a blowfish and demanded to be taken seriously. I may have called Pat’s mom “bourgeois.” You can imagine how well this went over.
I stewed. Through two dress rehearsals and three performances, I stewed. My choreography was ruined. The play was ruined. Hell, the entire art form of ballet was ruined, forever tainted by this unforgivable mistake. I sat in the back of the auditorium, emphatically hating the play as only an eighth grader can hate something. In a fit of pique, I think I even asked to have my name removed from the program, but they’d already been run through the mimeograph (yes, my school still used a mimeograph in the late 90’s).
It is only after some honest soul searching that I am able to admit that the audience loved it. Loved. It. The juxtaposition of a popular line dance, performed down-tempo to a classical Christmas composition is comic gold to an auditorium full of parents. Pat’s mom, you know your demographic. Bravo. Many years too late, perhaps, but bravo.
The scars incurred in middle school are perhaps the hardest to forget. I still twitch a little when Macarena comes on, which is really only at weddings and other DJ-ed events these days. I hope the kids playing the Prince and Clara grew out never wanting to touch other people. Until proven otherwise, I’m going to assume they eventually fell in love and got married to each other, and someone told this story at their wedding. At which point they would, of course, dance the Macarena.
I also hope that somewhere there is a film reel with an outtake of Natalie Portman doing the Chicken Dance to the music of Swan Lake in the finale of Black Swan. Pat’s mom was right. Comedy gold.
Macarena tutorial courtesy of the very informative macarena.com
Tags: christmas, Liz Labacz, the macarena, weird true tales
You’re right about the scars of that era of school lasting longest. You;re just starting to take yourself seriously as an individual, with your own opinions, and it hurts so much to have those punctured and dismissed by the adults around you. (I’m not sure what 6th grade translates to in Proper English Schooling, What is that in years?)
I still remember, with deep bitterness, being passed over for a role in the school play in favour for a teachers pet, even though my audition had been so good the audience were speechless.
(I have done the Macarena at goth and metal nights. It can be done to almost any song with almost any beat and is the best thing)
6th grade is 11 and 12 year olds. And it really is the age when things start to sting the most.
It is. It’s the age you start developing an ego and things start to *Matter*, but you don’t have the life experience to know when things aren’t really that big a deal.
That is right.
You're right about the scars of that era of school lasting longest. You;re just starting to take yourself seriously as an individual, with your own opinions, and it hurts so much to have those punctured and dismissed by the adults around you. (I'm not sure what 6th grade translates to in Proper English Schooling, What is that in years?)
I still remember, with deep bitterness, being passed over for a role in the school play in favour for a teachers pet, even though my audition had been so good the audience were speechless.
(I have done the Macarena at goth and metal nights. It can be done to almost any song with almost any beat and is the best thing)
That video is a marvel of 90’s fashion.
And oh my word, can we talk about girlfriend in the silver suit? With that action at 2:50? No wonder the boys can’t have her.
This is amazing. In your defense, the macarena is TOTALLY bourgeois.
I can imagine being a parent in an audience delightfully taken by surprise with an irreverent pop dance break, and goodness knows I’m no canonist about adaptations. But I do think it was a bit mean of Pat’s Mom to place so much creative direction in your hands only to take it away! I remember similar experiences at a free summer arts camp I went to throughout middle and high school; my “art” was “writing,” and the scriptwriting committee of teenagers would “write” a “script” with very little guidance or supervision, and it was about what you’d expect in terms of plot coherence and level of intellect. The whole thing would be thrown out and replaced year after year by a script hacked out by the teachers when they weren’t running musical rehearsals. My remaining contribution was to dance and sing in the back row of huge ensemble numbers, which honestly is an experience I’m glad I had, but otherwise it was a very clear lesson that my contributions weren’t valued and, just like the rest of the school year, camp was just killing time.
i understand that it would be a lot more work for already-overworked teachers to collaborate or guide students through creative responsibilities. It just struck me quite close to home and made me sad that Pat’s mom, comedic genius though she may be, sacrificed a Teaching Moment to the Macarena.
Completely agree with this! If you’re gonna have the kids take charge, let them. Don’t take it away and replace it with… THE MACARENA.
Can’t agree more. If the idea is to have the kids choreograph the production, let them do it, as over-serious and “insufferable” as it might be. The Macarena may be comedy gold, but it’s condescending and disrespectful to those who took the production seriously.
(Also, Balanchine was probably turning over in his grave.)
I can imagine being a parent in an audience delightfully taken by surprise with an irreverent pop dance break, and goodness knows I'm no canonist about adaptations. But I do think it was a bit mean of Pat's Mom to place so much creative direction in your hands only to take it away! I remember similar experiences at a free summer arts camp I went to throughout middle and high school; my "art" was "writing," and the scriptwriting committee of teenagers would "write" a "script" with very little guidance or supervision, and it was about what you'd expect in terms of plot coherence and level of intellect. The whole thing would be thrown out and replaced year after year by a script hacked out by the teachers when they weren't running musical rehearsals. My remaining contribution was to dance and sing in the back row of huge ensemble numbers, which honestly is an experience I'm glad I had, but otherwise it was a very clear lesson that my contributions weren't valued and, just like the rest of the school year, camp was just killing time.
i understand that it would be a lot more work for already-overworked teachers to collaborate or guide students through creative responsibilities. It just struck me quite close to home and made me sad that Pat's mom, comedic genius though she may be, sacrificed a Teaching Moment to the Macarena.
It is. It's the age you start developing an ego and things start to *Matter*, but you don't have the life experience to know when things aren't really that big a deal.
Can't agree more. If the idea is to have the kids choreograph the production, let them do it, as over-serious and "insufferable" as it might be. The Macarena may be comedy gold, but it's condescending and disrespectful to those who took the production seriously.
(Also, Balanchine was probably turning over in his grave.)