In the season premiere of “RuPaul’s Drag Race” Season 17, Suzie Toot wowed the judges, her fellow contestants, and viewers with a tap routine that proved she has serious dance chops. Her side-splitting Morse code interpretation of the Gettysburg Address secured her the season’s first win, and unleashed a wave of new fans.
Ms. Toot—born Benjamin Shaevitz—is no stranger to the spotlight: In 2023 she opened for Chappell Roan at Roan’s concert in Fort Lauderdale. Toot took a moment to talk about her love for tap, the overwhelming response to her tap number on “Drag Race,” her recent touring, and what she’s manifesting for the future.
What first drew you to tap dancing? I first discovered it as a sophomore in high school, when I was cast in a production of Mary Poppins. The year before, I’d been in another show and was a terrible dancer. None of us in the cast of Mary Poppins had tapped before, but I picked it up quickly. That gave me the drive to really dig into tap dancing. I started studying and I never looked back.
You’re a well-rounded dance and theater performer. What do you love about tap specifically? There’s a stylishness and coolness to tap dancing that I really connect with. When you do it successfully, it just feels good—it’s strong and powerful.
How did you start to incorporate tap into your drag? Through tap, I discovered the incredible divas of the [19]20s and ’30s, and became obsessed with their style. I wanted to be Betty Boop or Clara Bow—and why not pick up a pair of tap heels and start hoofing it? The pieces all came together, and adding the tap element to my performances in bars was fresh and exciting.
What has been the response to your tap routine on “Drag Race”? It has been incredible. I think it resonated because it was something people hadn’t really seen on the show before.
I’ve also had a number of Broadway-adjacent people and tap-focused Instagram pages reach out and comment, which has been validating. It has been amazing to connect with the tap community and see them embrace what I’m doing.
Who are your tap idols? Debbie Reynolds, Eleanor Powell, and Ruby Keeler are huge influences. I love Debbie Reynolds’ exaggerated femininity, and I try to channel it in my performances. She’s making fun of the feminine styles of the ’20s, and I’m making fun of her making fun of them. I’m also a huge fan of the Nicholas Brothers and their incredible athleticism and showmanship.
You’ve been touring the country lately—how has that experience been for you? I’m performing in a new city almost every Friday, and it has been amazing to experience the different drag scenes across the country, from Florida to New York to the Midwest. Getting to travel and do my art has been a dream, and people get so excited about the tap dancing.
I have plans to do even more large-scale tap-focused performances, whether that’s in YouTube videos, live shows, or even Broadway-style productions where dance is really the central focus.
Do you have a particular show in mind for your debut on the Great White Way? The Broadway revival of Sweet Charity, starring Suzie Toot. I’m manifesting it now.
The documentary film Obsessed with Light explores the innovative choreographer Loïe Fuller’s life—and her impact on dance, technology, fashion, and the nature of celebrity. Co-directed by Sabine Krayenbühl and Zeva Oelbaum, it had its world premiere at the Rome Film Festival in October of 2023, and has since been screened at festivals worldwide. Krayenbühl and Oelbaum sat down to talk about Obsessed with Light in advance of its theatrical release on December 6 at the Quad Cinema in New York City.
Why Loïe Fuller? What makes her work interesting to you?
Sabine Krayenbühl: It has always been our goal to highlight women that have been forgotten in history. I had worked on a documentary called Picasso and Braque Go to the Movies (2008). There was this clip of [Fuller in her famous] Serpentine Dance. [It] was so mesmerizing.
Zeva Oelbaum: We were surprised to discover her influence was all around us. Taylor Swift did an homage to Fuller as part of her performance of the song “Dress” on the Reputation tour. Artist William Kentridge and the work of fashion designer Alexander McQueen also presented themselves.
Where did you start your research, and what materials did you find?
SK: We started our research in 2018. The New York Public Library holds the biggest Loïe Fuller archive. There’s also an archive at the Library of Congress. She was in the newspapers everywhere. Everybody, even in the smallest communities, was writing about her and following her success.
ZO: Something we found interesting is that film clips were distributed through the Sears Roebuck catalog in the early 1900s. We happened upon a scholar in Europe who had collected all the catalogs, and the Serpentine Dance was one of the top film clips in every single one. We also went to the Maryhill Museum in Washington [state], which was co-founded by [Fuller].
SK: At the Maryhill Museum we found a treasure trove: original interviews recorded by a dance researcher in the early 1970s of dancers from Loïe Fuller’s troupe. We have the original voices of these people and their account of what it was like, working with Fuller.
ZO: In our research, we actually came across more than 45 different film clips of the serpentine dance, all hand-tinted in different, beautiful ways.
What aspects of Fuller’s life or work emerged as most surprising to you?
ZO: For me, the thing that was most surprising was what she was able to convince people to do for her. She came from the Midwest. She moved to New York and then to Paris without knowing anyone, without having money, without being considered beautiful. We also became very aware of her challenges—reviewers saying she was fat, that she didn’t have a dancer’s body, and that she was plain and unattractive.
When Fuller was at the height of her fame, how was she influencing young people, women in particular?
SK: It was important to her to promote younger talent. Isadora Duncan was one of the artists she promoted. Another example is that she commissioned Armande de Polignac, a young female composer, to do the music for one of her pieces.
ZO: She signed her own contracts. She was very entrepreneurial. She patented aspects of her work, including her costume and lighting inventions.
How did Fuller’s aesthetic influence the aesthetic of the film?
SK: We wanted to give the audience an understanding of how the work happened. So, we followed one of today’s experts on Fuller, Jody Sperling, and her Time Lapse Dance company as they reinterpreted Fuller’s work. By following the evolution of the piece Time Lapse was making, we could see how difficult it was to dance like that. How do you grapple with the fabric? How do you work with all the different elements, the light, the colors, the music, the shadows? We interviewed artists in front of a black screen—a reference to how Loïe Fuller performed in front of a black velvet curtain.
When you think about Fuller’s influence now and into the future, how do you see her work continuing to wiggle its way into our collective consciousness?
ZO: Anyone who’s been to a rock concert has seen a modern version of Loïe Fuller’s lighting effects. I think the way she thought about technology and combining it with art is very powerful. Our hope is that people will now be sensitized to identify the influence as being from Loïe Fuller.
SK: Yes, hopefully, in a hundred years, people will be saying “That’s the Loïe Fuller dance,” rather than “That’s the serpentine dance,” so this iconic invention actually has a name and a face to it. The influence surpasses dance—it goes to fashion, fine art, theater lighting, and stagecraft.
In the video series Dancer Diary, Haley Hilton chronicles her life as a dancer in New York City. Here, Hilton and her friend Libby Lloyd, a dancer on Broadway, rewatch the cult classic film Step Up.
On the surface, Netflix’s new film Emilia Pérez doesn’t sound like a natural fit for dance: The plot follows a violent drug cartel leader in Mexico who hires a lawyer to help plan a faux death in order to start a new life as a woman. Yet Damien Jalet’s choreography plays a major role in revealing the characters and the brutal world they live in. Here, ahead of the film’s November 13 release on Netflix, Jalet discusses how he collaborated with cast members, including Zoe Saldaña and Selena Gomez, to create movement that “raises the heartbeat of the film,” as he puts it.
How did you get involved with Emilia Pérez? I was in Mexico, actually, and had just got news that one of my tours was canceled because of a COVID wave. I was completely upset and told my partner it would be amazing timing for a cinema project. Less than 24 hours later, I got a call from director Jacques Audiard’s assistant. So there was a kind of a crazy alignment and evidence that it was meant to be. Yet the evidence quickly disappeared when I read the script—there was no real musical moment where they could dance. We had to invent it. And we had to find a dance language that would be right for this film, this reality, this context of violence.
Did you have any particular movement inspirations? In Mexico, you have a lot of street performers at traffic lights, and they have, like, 50 seconds to do their act and then to collect the money. So it’s entertaining, it’s uplifting. But underneath, there’s a real survivor energy, and a real sense of urgency. That’s something that I really wanted to inject in the film.
How did you integrate dance into this story in a way that felt authentic? It’s only when I got to know the cast that it came together. Because, obviously, dance can be a help, but it can also be an incredible obstacle for the actors. There is something about the visceral engagement you have when you dance—it can’t lie.
For example, with Karla Sofía Gascón, I think with her, a choreographic score would get in the way of her acting. A lot of the work we did with her was much more postural and about her physical transformation from [the cartel boss] Manitas to Emilia.
Then with Zoe, her way to be convincing is to get physical. Actually, there’s a gala scene that was not initially supposed to be truly a dance scene. It’s only when I understood how far Zoe could go that I stopped everybody during one meeting and I said, “Listen, I’d love to try something with her. Can you guys actually change the music?”
And Selena had a physical viscerality too—she would take movement really seriously, and really, really try to polish everything to make it as close as possible to how I envisioned it.
Zoe Saldaña as Rita in Emilia Pérez. Photo Shanna Besson/Pathé.
With both Saldaña and Gomez’s characters, dance functions as a way of releasing pent-up rage. Dance is used as a tool for resistance a lot in this film—a little bit like a weapon. In the gala scene, Zoe’s like a blade. She’s cutting heads with her gestures. With Selena’s character, there was really this cathartic sense of “What do I do with this anger? I’m going to dance it, and let it explode.” And it felt right for Selena, who is often presented as a polite, gentle girl, but she totally has that badass headbanging anger also in her.
How have people reacted to the film so far? The film is getting so many accolades and now is a contender for the Oscars. But there’s very little recognition for dancing in cinema. I’ve been watching a lot of films recently, and I see how much choreographers contribute. Dance is doing so much right now. We need to do more to fight for acknowledgment.
At historically Black colleges and universities in the American South, the real stars of any football game are the majorettes. Their signature dance style, created by Black women and femmes, has attracted a cultlike following. It’s all about no-holds-barred spectacle, combining the precision of a kick line with the winking sensuality of burlesque, boldly embodying the marching band’s tunes.
“The dancing is very explosive,” says J’aime Griffith, who is a professor at Grambling State University and the director of the school’s dance line, the Orchesis Dance Company. “You have to be able to see it from the other side of the stadium because we’re in a competition with the opposing band and dancers. We want to outdo them.”
More recently, majorette dance has entered the mainstream, taking center stage on reality television series, movies, and social media apps like TikTok. Along the way, the majorette community has been adjusting to the increased exposure, which has brought new challenges—and new opportunities.
Grambling State University’s Orchesis Dance Company performing at halftime. Photo by Trandon Welch, Courtesy Orchesis Dance Company.
The Evolution of Majorette Dance
In the HBCU legacy, majorette dance represents a combination of Africanist and European inventions. That aesthetic tension remains a pillar of the dancing, with today’s majorette choreography featuring an amalgam of jazz, hip hop, and ballet. Field routines—dances performed on the gridiron at halftime with the marching band—are as likely to include bucking, where the pelvis pumps front and back in a deep, wide stance, as they are a grand battement, a high balletic kick with pointed toes. Stand routines—a form of call-and-response danced in the bleachers just feet away from spectators—embody a similar formula at a lower vibration.
The Alcorn State University Golden Girls are hailed as the first example of HBCU majorette dance as we know it today. The squad debuted at the 1968 Orange Blossom Classic in Miami. Affectionately called “the mothers” by fans and other lines, their gold boots have become an iconic signature.
The first-ever line of the Alcorn State University Golden Girls. Courtesy the Golden Girls.
The Jackson State University Prancing J-Settes also played a formative role in the development of majorette dance. A collaboration with queer men, the team’s approach, called J-setting, is practiced widely today and mixes the percussiveness of West African dance with acrobatics. (Think Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies [Put a Ring on It]” music video, but with full-out stunts.)
The evolution of majorette dance reflects specific and sometimes conflicting agendas, says Dr. Thomas DeFrantz, a professor at Northwestern University and a leading scholar of Black studies and dance studies. “Many dance forms arise to help young people do what they need to do,” he says. “So majorette dance arrived to help young Black women be available to each other, be attractive to each other, be attractive to potential partners, and to be emblems of the community.”
Off the Field
But what happens when the dancing leaves—or is extracted from—the community that made it? Television series like Lifetime’s “Bring It” have brought majorette dance to a broader audience; Beyoncé’s HBCU homecoming-inspired performance at Coachella in 2018 put the phenomenon on a global stage. An Oprah- and H.E.R.-produced film about a Los Angeles–based ballerina turned majorette line dancer is currently in development. And the style has all but been absorbed into the digital zeitgeist via majorette-inspired dance challenges on TikTok.
That rising popularity has directly impacted the practice itself, says Griffith, who notes an inflow of commercial forms like heels dance, as well as more extreme tricks from competition dance and social media. Other dancers say the mainstream recognition is overdue, but has not come without its issues.
The Golden Girls performing a stand routine at an Alcorn State University football game. Photo by Dr. Kecia Ashley, Courtesy the Golden Girls.
“I do feel excited about it finally getting the spotlight,” says Sanaa Davis-McClain, a former captain of the Howard University Ooh La La! Dance Line. “But I also wish we could spotlight the teaching and the classes and the foundation.”
Howard University’s Ooh La La! Dance Line, with Sanaa Davis-McClain at front. Photo by Artina Austin, Courtesy Ooh La La! Dance Line.
Majorette dance has even made its way to non-HBCU campuses. In September 2022, a video posted to X (formerly Twitter) of a stand performance by the then-new Cardinal Divas of the University of Southern California spurred a flurry of reactions. The squad faces unique challenges—partly because HBCU culture isn’t sure how to feel about it.
The USC Cardinal Divas—founded by Princess Isis Lang, above with arms raised—faces unique challenges, partly because HBCU culture isn’t sure how to feel about it. Photo by Aziza Hutcherson, Courtesy the Cardinal Divas.
“People said that since I don’t go to an HBCU, I don’t have the privilege to do this, saying they need to be gatekeeping it,” says Princess Isis Lang, the founder and incoming assistant coach of the Cardinal Divas. That resistance to Lang, a Black woman, creating a team at what has historically been a predominantly white institution is a ripple effect of a history of white Americans co-opting, profiting off of, and failing to acknowledge the creators of Black cultural exponents.
The University of Southern California Cardinal Divas on the basketball court. Photo by @cancerblake, Courtesy the Cardinal Divas.
Giselle Edwards, a sophomore who dances on the Cardinal Divas line, measures the fullness of her experience differently. “My Blackness isn’t determined by where I go to school,” she says. “It doesn’t matter if I’m at an HBCU, USC, or a community college.” And many in the HBCU community support groups like the Cardinal Divas, including Dr. Kecia Ashley, the sponsor of the Golden Girls and a former squad member herself. “I look at other cultures attempting to emulate the style of dance that our culture does so well as a form of respect and admiration,” Ashley says. “And we love that.”
A Continuing Legacy
As the cultural landscape of majorette dance continues to shift, new growing pains will emerge. But there is an encouraging constant across its widening, multiplying contexts: Black women, who remain at the center. They continue to uplift its legacy.
“Being a majorette dancer has truly inspired me to go after my dreams,” says Davis-McClain, who is pursuing a commercial dance career in Los Angeles. “I think that in itself speaks to what kind of impact this culture is having on young ladies like me.”
The Golden Girls performing a field routine at an Alcorn State University football game. Photo by Raphael Photography, LLC, Courtesy the Golden Girls.
The new Hulu reality series “Playground,” with Megan Thee Stallion as an executive producer, is equal parts dancing and drama. The show’s namesake is Playground LA, the Los Angeles dance studio owned by Kenny Wormald and Robin Antin that serves as a frequent backdrop for viral class videos. “Playground” follows a group of the studio’s standout dancers as they navigate Los Angeles’ cutthroat commercial dance scene. There are rivalries, situationships, and real-deal auditions for Tinashe and Megan herself—all packaged in a format reminiscent of early-2000s reality shows.
Dancer and choreographer Dexter Carr, one of the show’s stars, took a moment to talk all things “Playground.”
Prior to filming “Playground,” were you a fan of reality television? Oh, 100 percent. To this day, I’m a reality TV junkie.
So, was filming this show what you expected? Did the cameras change the dynamic in the studio? It was basically like what I expected. They wanted it to be authentic. On any given night in class at Playground LA, you’re going to see people doing extraordinary things with their bodies; the cameras just captured what we always get to see.
Having our private conversations filmed didn’t actually amplify anything. We’ve all known each other for years, and we just committed. We had a meeting before filming where we were like, “Are we really going to do this? It could get a little ugly.” But we have so much love for one another and are so passionate about what we do, so we were totally down for the world to see the realness.
How was Megan Thee Stallion involved? We were all freaking out when we found out she was holding an audition. She was so honest and genuine. She really wanted to speak to these artists about more than just being backup dancers for her. She wanted to know about their artistry, how they’re pushing themselves to be better people, to make an impact on the world.
Why do you think it’s important for mainstream media to showcase the dance industry? Often, dancers are told to “shut up and dance.” If you’re a background dancer, you’re told to never talk to the artist. If something goes wrong in rehearsal, you just brush it off and deal with it later. Even on a platform like TikTok, people are choreographing these dances, but the people profiting off of the moves are never the original creators. So when we were brought on this show, we didn’t know if people would love it or hate it—but we did know that people would get to see what we do outside of the studio, that they’d hear our voices and opinions, and that they’d know where we stand.
Is there anything else you want audiences to know? If you’re watching the show, watch it with an open heart and open mind. We don’t always handle everything perfectly—there are some moments that I’m not super-proud of—but everything is real, and it happened, and all we can do is grow and learn from it.
Up to four company spots available. Two days of open classes. 380 hopeful dancers. These are the stakes laid out at the start of the fifth episode of the new ESPN+ series “Tryouts,” which takes viewers inside the pressure-cooker environment of a Mark Morris Dance Group audition.
The series, which premiered last month, tracks some of the country’s most intense tryouts and auditions. Rather than focusing exclusively on traditional sports, many of the episodes highlight more niche groups: a Monster Truck competition, Long Beach Lifeguards tryouts, and the USA curling team, among others.
The 40-minute MMDG episode, airing May 8, primarily follows four auditionees through rounds of callbacks and gives viewers a glimpse of their lives outside of the studio. (Spoiler alert: At least one of them makes it all the way through and is offered a spot in the company.) The cameras also turn to the other side of the room. Morris, MMDG president and executive director Nancy Umanoff, and company director Sam Black are interviewed about the audition process, and they share what they’re looking for in prospective dancers. And the episode offers contextual information about Morris’ legacy, showing footage of the choreographer and his company performing over the past three decades.
Throughout, there’s plenty of dancing, giving a sports viewership a true glimpse into the world of modern dance. As one of the auditionees says early on, “This is the major leagues.”
An exclusive “Tryouts” clip, focused on the MMDG auditions, is available below. The full episode will be available on ESPN+ on May 8.
Whether you like it, loathe it, or roll your eyes at it, you can’t miss it: Ballet-inspired clothing for the nondancing consumer is everywhere. The fashion and ballet worlds have a long and storied relationship, but ballet-aesthetic streetwear’s recent resurgence in popularity has been striking. According to fashion insiders, “balletcore” is already a defining trend of 2024.
Balletcore is also a subject of passionate debate among dancers. Many cringe at simplistic representations of the tools of their trade and, especially, at the use of models who appear to lack any ballet experience. Others think it’s a harmless or even potentially beneficial sign of admiration and respect for their art form.
However dancers feel about it, the renewed obsession with balletic fashion has the potential to affect both ballet’s place in today’s culture and the public perception of what ballet is.
A Trend With Deep Roots
Patricia Mears, deputy director at New York City’s The Museum at FIT (Fashion Institute of Technology) and a lifelong ballet fan, curated the museum’s 2020 exhibit, “Ballerina: Fashion’s Modern Muse.” She says the invigoration of ballet culture in the West during the 1920s and ’30s sparked a fascination with ballet dancers themselves, leading to an early version of balletcore.
A Pierre Balmain evening dress, 1949.A Christian Lacroix evening dress, circa 1990.A Pierre Balmain gown, 1960.
“The ballerina became much more respected in society, and, therefore, what she looked like was also more respected,” Mears says. “Women designers in particular began using class and rehearsal wear as a foundation for easy, knitted separates. It was a fascinating phenomenon.”
Something similar may be happening now, thanks in large part to social media. Dancers’ presence on various platforms gives the general public glimpses into the dancers’ offstage (albeit highly curated) lives—including what they wear when not in costume.
A 1990 dress by designer Carolyne Roehm. Courtesy The Museum at FIT (4)
Joffrey Ballet dancer Jeraldine Mendoza thinks seeing dancers as individuals this way fuels a sense of intrigue, fascination, and also relatability. “Now that ballet dancers are becoming visible as ‘real people’ online, more people see what we do on a daily basis,” Mendoza says. “And even though it might seem unreachable, they still want to touch it somehow.” Fashion offers an attainable way to emulate an aspirational lifestyle.
Mears agrees, adding that other current fashion trends are also making balletcore a natural fit for the times. “There’s a movement towards more relaxed clothing and individual styles with no rules,” she says. “I also see an undercurrent of interest, especially in young people, of searching for things that are true and beautiful. And ballet is one of those things.”
Ballet Fantasy Versus Ballet Reality
Balletcore is not, of course, supposed to be an exact reproduction of what dancers actually wear to work. Even so, the fashion world’s take on the ballet aesthetic frequently skews generic and somewhat outdated, favoring girlish balletic tropes like pastel colors, tulle, ribbons, and bows. As the ballet world makes strides towards inclusivity, could this disconnect between reality and what’s being sold to the public have negative repercussions for the ballet world, despite the benefits of the popularity boost?
Houston Ballet first soloist Harper Watters sees it both ways. “I have spent the majority of my career trying to shift people’s perception of what a ballet dancer looks like, who they are, and what interests them,” he says. “So when it comes to this cookie-cutter idea of ballet being pink, it’s frustrating since we all know there is so much more complexity and dimension to our world, and to our fashion.”
Watters also points out, though, that the influential fashion industry’s attention could be a very good thing. “I very much believe that visibility is currency, and there’s power in people talking about ballet and popularizing it,” he says. “Ballet has been a marginalized art form, so when fashion houses are tapping into it, I see it as an opportunity for the dance community to respond to it and shift people’s perspectives.”
Dance and fashion in dialogue in “Ballerina: Fashion’s Modern Muse.” A knit set by designer Vera Maxwell, circa 1959. Courtesy The Museum at FIT (2).From left: A Scott Barrie dress and belt, circa 1972; a Stephen Burrows ensemble, circa 1970; a Stephen Burrows evening dress and jacket, 1979; New York City Ballet’s Agon costume, circa 2010; Bonnie August for Danskin’s leotard and skirt, circa 1975; Bonnie August for Danskin’s unitard, circa 1985.
Touching a Nerve
Dancers tend to have strong reactions to representations of ballet in any mainstream context, from movies to TV shows to books. But fashion’s take on ballet has provoked especially visceral responses.
The risk that balletcore is devaluing the concept of what it means to be a dancer is real, says Katie Malia, who with Suzanne Jolie founded the popular Instagram account @modelsdoingballet. Malia and Jolie post examples of fashion brands featuring nondancers modeling ballet-inspired outfits (often including pointe shoes), resulting in ads that can be both hilarious and horrifying.
“I’m not a purist—tutus don’t have to only belong in the theater,” Malia says. “But there’s a lack of education, understanding, and respect of the art form. We need more people to take the craft seriously. Or else ballet becomes satire.”
Two more from the FIT exhibit: Rei Kawakubo for Comme des Garçons’ “Biker Ballerina” ensemble, spring/summer 2005Christian Louboutin’s “Fetish Ballerine” shoe, 2014. Courtesy The Museum at FIT (2).
Others aren’t as worried. While acknowledging that most balletcore pieces are nothing like what she or her colleagues wear, Mendoza still feels positive about the widening interest in a balletic aesthetic. “I think it’s flattering,” she says. “Yes, the clothes are a little stereotypical, but people want to be part of our world, and if wearing the clothes makes you feel good, that’s amazing.”
Fashion trends tend to come and go, but balletcore has proved remarkably durable. “There is a certain energy that putting on the uniform of a dancer gives you,” says Watters. “I wouldn’t be surprised if people feel ready to take on something, ready for a performance, by dressing like a dancer and emulating ballet in their fashion.”
Balletcore Done Right
Not all ballet-inspired fashion trades in stereotypical pink satin and ruffles. Some designers are collaborating with dance artists and companies, helping the consuming public connect the styles they admire with the dancers who inspired them.
➛ In addition to documenting egregious balletcore missteps, Katie Malia and Suzanne Jolie’s Instagram account @modelsdoingballet highlights good ballet-inspired fashion. Some of their favorite collaborations are Christian Dior’s work with choreographers Imre and Marne van Opstal, J. Crew’s with New York City Ballet, and Chanel’s with the Paris Opéra Ballet. “I’d love to see the obsession with balletcore turn into more students and audiences for ballet,” adds Malia.
➛ Watters, who’s known both inside and outside the dance world for his fashion sense, was tapped to create dance videos while wearing Betsey Johnson pieces for the designer’s Pride Month events. “I’m not going to put on something I don’t feel or look good in, and I felt really good about those pieces—you could definitely wear them for class or a performance opportunity,” he says. “I really appreciate anyone trying to dive into the mind of a dancer. I think it’s a powerful thing to tap into the dancers themselves and ask our opinion.”
Harper Watters with designer Betsey Johnson. Photo by Max Bronner, Courtesy Watters.
2024 was a big year for dance at the Oscars, including a history-making performance, a heart-pumping ensemble number, and a surprise addition to the “In Memoriam” segment.
We’re still rooting for a “Best Choreography” category as dance continues to be an integral part to each year’s nominated films. But until then, we still enjoy seeing our beloved artform on the Dolby Theater stage.
“Wahzhazhe” from Killers of the Flower Moon
Eight Osage Nation dancers joined Scott George and the Osage Tribal Singers in a historic performance of “Wahzhazhe (A Song For My People)” from Killers of the Flower Moon. George made Oscars history as the first Native American to receive a nomination for best original song with “Wahzhazhe.” He is also the first member of the Osage Nation to be nominated by the Academy.
As the dancers and singers followed the drum against a sunset backdrop, they invited the international audience to witness a simultaneously intimate and boundless celebration. A groundbreaking performance, it marked the first time members of the Osage Nation, or of any indigenous community, has danced on the Oscars stage.
It’s safe to say that the Oscars felt the “Kenergy” after Ryan Gosling and his ensemble of Kens took to the stage with Barbie’s tongue-in-cheek power ballad, “I’m Just Ken,” which was also nominated for best original song. The number, choreographed by Mandy Moore, featured several members from the film’s original cast, including Simu Liu and Kingsley Ben-Adir, and was complete with a kickline, unapologetic melodrama, cardboard cutout–ography, and on-the-nose references to Jack Cole’s choreography for “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend.” Oh, and Slash.
Best Actress winner Emma Stone later pointed to the performance as the culprit behind her tearing her dress. (Don’t worry, Emma, we were dancing too.)
A welcome surprise for some and an irritating visual distraction for others, this year’s “In Memoriam” tribute featured an ensemble of dancers that accompanied Andrea and Matteo Bocelli as they sang the former’s hit “Time to Say Goodbye.” This was not the first time dance has appeared in the segment; in 1996, Savion Glover tapped to “Singin’ in the Rain” in a tribute to the late Gene Kelly, who passed away that year. This year’s performance included a subtle and touching moment for the late Chita Rivera, who died on January 30—a simple weight shift and slow-motion hip sway, facing Rivera’s photo on the projection screen.
While the dancers brought stunning synchronicity and reverent artistry to Moore’s second choreographed work of the night, the performance has earned pushback from audience members who found them and the Bocellis distracting.
With the 96th Academy Awards coming our way on March 10, we’re taking a moment to acknowledge the most prominent dance in the films nominated for Oscars this year, as well as those movies’ choreographers.
The Oscars and dancemakers don’t have the easiest relationship. Although many of the films nominated inevitably include dancing, there’s no award for choreography. The past year has shown what may be the first signs of change: In March of 2023, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, which presents the Academy Awards, created a new Production and Technology branch, which will house choreographers admitted to the Academy. (That number, however, remains very small—withlast year’s addition of Fatima Robinson, it’s not even at double digits.) In 2025, the Academy will add an Oscar for casting, a development that could set a precedent for choreographers. And as of last month, IMDb started recognizing “choreographer” as a primary profession.
Hopefully, dancemakers will soon be able to chassé onto the Dolby Theatre stage to collect a golden statuette of their own. In the meantime, we’ll recognize their work here.
Margot Robbie (center) in Barbie. Courtesy Warner Bros. Pictures.
Barbie, Choreographed by Jennifer White
In an interview, director Greta Gerwig said that she fought hard to keep the “I’m Just Ken” dream ballet in Barbie. “I was like, ‘If people could follow that in Singin’ in the Rain, I think we’ll be fine,’ ” Gerwig reportedly said.
Gerwig has a good dance track record: For her 2019 film Little Women, she turned to choreographer Monica Bill Barnes. For Barbie, she broughton London–based choreographer and movement director Jennifer White, with associate choreographer Lisa Welham. White, who has a long list of film, music video, and stage credits, strikes the perfect balance of wittiness and whimsy in Barbie’s dream ballet and its earlier “Dance the Night” number.
Barbie is nominated for eight Academy Awards, including Best Picture, Best Supporting Actor (Ryan Gosling), and Best Supporting Actress (America Ferrera). It is available to stream on Max, and to rent or buy on Amazon’s Prime Video and Apple TV.
(From left) Taraji P. Henson, Fantasia Barrino, and Danielle Brooks in The Color Purple. Courtesy Warner Bros. Pictures.
The Color Purple, Choreographed by Fatima Robinson
The Color Purpleis a full-fledged movie musical: Its choreography, by Fatima Robinson, isn’t relegated to just one or two scenes. Based on the stage musical, which in turn is based on Alice Walker’s Pulitzer Prize–winning 1982 novel, the film follows Celie, a Black woman living in the rural American South in the early 1900s. Her long journey to empowerment is driven by strong female friendships and her bond with her sister. (The book was first adapted for film in 1985 by Steven Spielberg.)
Dance is everywhere in this movie: on the walk to church, in a crowded street, at a juke joint. Throughout, Robinson’s years of experience choreographing for major musical artists—Beyoncé, Britney Spears, Rihanna among them—shine through. The dancing is a blend of social dances from the film’s era, African forms, hip hop, and musical-theater–style movement.
The Color Purple is nominated for Best Supporting Actress (Danielle Brooks). It is available to stream on Max and to stream or buy on Amazon’s Prime Video and Apple TV.
Bradley Cooper in Maestro. Photo by Jason McDonald, courtesy Netflix.
Maestro, Choreographed by Justin Peck
Leonard Bernstein’s collaboration with Jerome Robbins is the stuff of legend: It produced West Side Story, On the Town, and works for New York City Ballet, including Fancy Free and Dybbuk. So it’s only fitting that Maestro, the Bernstein biopic starring and directed by Bradley Cooper, includes dance.
In a dreamlike dance scene choreographed by Justin Peck (with Craig Salstein as associate choreographer), Cooper and Carey Mulligan, playing Bernstein’s wife-to-be, Felicia Montealegre, watch a version of Fancy Free onstage that melts into an original dance number, which they become a part of. The list of dancers includes NYCB’s Harrison Coll and Sebastián Villarini Vélez, and freelancers Gaby Diaz, Benjamin Freemantle, and Jeanette Delgado. Peck is often called a creative descendent of Robbins; after choreographing 2021’s West Side Story, this feels like a natural progression.
Maestro is nominated for seven Academy Awards, including Best Picture, Best Actor (Cooper), and Best Actress (Mulligan). It is available to stream on Netflix.
Emma Stone in Poor Things. Courtesy Searchlight Pictures.
Poor Things, Choreographed by Constanza Macras
Poor Things, director Yorgos Lanthimos’ feminist abstraction of Frankenstein,stars Emma Stone as Bella Baxter, a grown woman reborn with the mind of a child. In a Victorian-era restaurant, Stone (who honed her dancing chops in La La Land and Broadway’s Cabaret) finds herself drawn to the music and takes to the dance floor. Rather than imitate the couples around her, she finds her own, intuitive movement style. For a while she’s joined by her lover, played by Mark Ruffalo, but, ultimately, she wants to dance on her own—a choice that helps further the film’s plot.
The scene is choreographed by Constanza Macras, a Berlin-based dancemaker who runs the dance and theater company DorkyPark and recently staged a production of Carmen for Switzerland’s Theater Basel. She first worked with Lanthimos on his 2018 The Favourite, whose dance scene also delightfully defies convention.
Poor Things is nominated for 11 Academy Awards, including Best Picture, Best Actress (Stone), and Best Director (Lanthimos). It will be available to stream on Hulu starting on March 7.
