Black Dance as a Freedom Song

by Karyn D. Collins
SeeingBlack.com Dance Critic

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The PBS documentary "Free To Dance'' is must-see TV. Though the program is not without its problems, it is a wonderfully rich history of the contributions Black artists have made to American modern dance.

When people think of African-American influence on modern dance, many think of the late Alvin Ailey. For many, that's where the list begins and ends. More savvy dance fans may be able to come up with the names of pioneers like Katherine Dunham and Pearl Primus. But this documentary illustrates that Dunham and Primus made substantial contributions not only as dancers, choreographers and directors but also as anthropologists. Dunham was the first to devote serious study to the indigenous dances of Africa and the Caribbean. She later used that information as the basis for her own dance technique and for the choreography created for her own influential company in the United States.

What Dunham did for the Caribbean, Primus did for West African dance and culture. Her anthropological studies in West Africa led directly to an increased interest in and awareness of the dances and culture in these countries. As a choreographer, her work also focused attention on the lives of African Americans in the rural south. Among her most famous works was "Strange Fruit,'' a chilling solo about lynching.

In "Free To Dance,'' we also learn about the artistry of the generation of choreographers that succeeded Dunham and Primus—Donald McKayle and Talley Beatty from the 1950s and '60s, Gus Solomons, Eleo Pomare and Ailey from the 1960s, '70s and '80s, and current figures on the scene like Garth Fagan, Bill T. Jones, Jawole Willa Jo Zollar (Urban Bush Women), and Ronald K. Brown.

The emphasis here is on the tremendous force and grace of body movement, including beautiful traditional African dances, footage of important classic works and archival film of rarely seen dances from the Caribbean and Africa actually shot by Dunham and Primus.

Those familiar with this subject may find some of the documentary's shortcomings particularly distressing. To be certain, producer-director Madison D. Lacy (who also wrote the documentary with Adam Zucker) had a formidable task to boil so much information down to three one-hour segments. But viewers watching the first hour may wonder if it's worth the effort to soldier on through the remaining two hours. Titled "What Do You Dance?' it' is the weakest of the three. It focuses on the early development of modern dance and returns repeatedly to a theme of how fascinated White people were with the free movement and dances of African Americans.

More troubling than this rather patronizing and simplistic tone is the first hour's lack of context with regard to slavery and prejudice. The impact of slavery is given nary a mention, nor is any attempt made to reflect how African Americans may have felt about the way White people viewed them. It isn’t a total loss. The chronicles of a dancer named Edna Guy provides some historical context. Through a series of letters between Guy and modern dance pioneer Ruth St. Denis, we learn that Guy repeatedly fought for a place in the St. Denis company but was constantly rebuffed. Guy's struggle symbolizes the fight many many African Americans waged to find a place in the dance world.

In the second hour, "Steps of the Gods,'' the documentary takes on a richer hue. Here, the focus is on Dunham and Primus, chronicling both artists and their significant contributions to the dance world. The linkage between then and now is brought home when we're shown current students at the Ailey school in New York taking a Dunham technique class. The Primus lineage is reflected in a performance of a West African dance by the African American Dance Ensemble of Durham, N.C.

The careers of Beatty, McKayle and Ailey are rightly shown as outgrowths of those of the two pioneers and it's intriguing to see how each of these men took the lessons learned from Dunham and Primus and developed them into a new dialect all their own. Finally, here, the viewer gets historical context not only about the impact of slavery and segregation but about the divergent views of critics and audiences about Black dancers.

The third hour, "Go for What You Know'' skims over the period from the 1960s to the present. While one is again reminded of the difficult of fitting so much material into one hour, the third segment does a fine job at consolidating the information into a very deftly executed chronicle.

Some peculiar conclusions are drawn. At one point the work of Garth Fagan is called similar to that of Ailey's in terms of accessibility. I would argue that Fagan's work is considerably more abstract and challenging for audiences to decipher. But this is a small quibble, not enough to damn the whole enterprise. Given the amount of material to cover here, it's not surprising that some oversimplifications occurred. The focus on three choreographers in particular is enlightening and provides rich commentary on the complex debate that marks this period in the dance world: What does it mean to be a Black choreographer and is such a term even valid or necessary anymore?

Jones, for example, eloquently maintains that he is a choreographer who happens to be Black. While his work as a solo artist and with the company he formed with his partner, the late Arnie Zane, sometimes touches on his Blackness, it is not the source of or even a primary inspiration for his artistry.

Solomons, part of the avant garde band of artists that exploded onto the scene during the 1960s and '70s, recalls his confusion and anger during the Black Power Movement as a Black man who had never before confronted issues of race. Critics expressed disappointment that his work wasn't Black enough. In the interview here, Solomons is frank about his resentment over these expectations.

And then there's Pomare, the poster-child for the Black socio-political dancers. Pomare’s works on life in all its ugly glory, frequently shocked critics and audiences alike and, as one one critic points out here, cost him financial support from funders uncomfortable with the themes of his dance pieces. Pomare, defiant to the end, recalls with a delicious bit of attitude, "I was very conscious of not wanting to appeal to an audience who was there just to see the beauty of the Negro.''

Moments like these are truly fascinating, allowing us a window into the hearts and minds of artists whose work and concepts, in many cases, were sometimes marginalized or misinterpreted. On the one hand, one cannot discount the documentary's frustrating miscues. The narration (by the actor Blair Underwood) is sometimes married with inappropriate or misleading images. For example, in the first segment, as historian Katrina Hazzard Donald says, "Dance goes to the core of our very identity as African Americans and individuals'' we're shown a shake your booty street scene from Beatty's "The Stackup." This is exactly the type of negative association that many African Americans in the dance world have been fighting against. They want the world to know that there's more to African Americans dancing than just shake-your-butt kind of stuff.

Another unfortunate aspect of "Free To Dance'' is its emphasis on individual choreographers without mentioning other major dancemakers like Rod Rodgers and Louis Johnson. Also troubling is the omission of significant individual dancers like Carmen de Lavallade (seen only in reference to Ailey) and her cousin Janet Collins as well as more recent dancers like Carolyn Brown of the Paul Taylor Dance Company who broke the color barrier Edna Guy struggled with.

The most egregious omission may be the absence of any discussion of the substantial contribution of regional companies such as Philadanco of Philadelphia , Dayton Contemporary Dance Company (DCDC) in Ohio, and Cleo Parker Robinson Dance in Denver. These companies played a significant role in spreading awareness of many of the profiled choreographers, as well as providing opportunities for African-American dancers and choreographers outside of New York.

It's telling that "Free To Dance'' relies heavily on footage of the Dayton company and its substantial repertoire of revivals of classic works. That role—as a source for these revivals—should have merited at the very least a sentence.

Related Sites:

• PBS Great Performances: Free to Dance
  http://www.pbs.org/wnet/freetodance

-- June 29, 2001

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