Last week on “So You Think You Could Dance,” a routine choreographed by Travis Wall to Nina Simone’s “Strange Fruit” sparked conversation. The piece featured talented dancers, fluid movements, and evocative lighting. Undoubtedly, the concept stemmed from a place of good intentions. However, the final execution presented some problematic aspects.
My relationship with “So You Think You Could Dance” is complex and enduring. I vividly remember being in the second row during the Season 2 tour in my city. I’ve even had the privilege of taking a class from Season 1 winner Nick Lazzarini. Melanie and Marco’s duets are permanently saved in my YouTube “Favorites.”
The show undeniably provides significant opportunities for dancers and choreographers. Yet, it often seems to hold the artistic depth and integrity of dance to a disappointingly low standard. The very nature of this competitive dance program, with its rapid pace, requires choreographers to create multiple routines for performers in a week or less. This learn-dance-eliminate cycle inherently means that the crucial processes of research, development, and in-depth discussion surrounding the dance – the very elements that give it substance – are condensed into a mere week.
While I hesitate to dwell on Travis Wall’s choice of costuming his dancers in attire reminiscent of 1800s plantation life, and while I won’t dissect his selection of a song deeply resonant within the Black community – perhaps beyond the full comprehension of those outside that community, including my own community of color – and while I’ll even set aside his employment of movement vocabulary that has become commercialized and divorced from the lived experiences of those most impacted by and leading conversations about race, and even though the cast wasn’t exclusively comprised of dancers of color—because dance is a universal form of expression, and conversations about race should involve everyone, irrespective of background or skin tone—there remains a central issue I cannot overlook.
The core problem lies in the fact that Travis Wall, a white man with considerable and respected credentials in dance, attempted to condense the profound and multifaceted topic of Blackness in America – encompassing its past, present, and future – into a hastily conceived creative process, likely spanning no more than seven days.
It’s conceivable, of course, that this piece was conceived months prior, perhaps after a period of immersion within communities bearing the weight of historical systemic and social oppression. Perhaps Wall engaged in thoughtful dialogue with his dancers, acknowledging his own position of privilege as a white individual, recognizing that his societal struggles are not visibly marked onto his skin in the same way. And I don’t doubt that Travis Wall, as an award-winning choreographer and prominent figure in commercial dance, engaged in some level of discussion with his dancers regarding the enduring ramifications of slavery in America. He, like any artist, possesses the right, even the responsibility, to respond to the current social climate. One doesn’t need to be Black to create or perform work addressing Black experiences and racism.
However, even if Travis Wall were a person of color, the superficiality of this approach would still be concerning.
Instead of using his platform to amplify the Black community’s ongoing call for equality, he seemed to offer a more palatable, white-centric plea for peace, symbolized by the dance’s conclusion: the darkest-skinned male dancer shaking hands with a white woman. Had Wall more consistently and thoughtfully integrated the dancers’ diverse skin tones throughout the entire piece, rather than just in the final moments, he might have achieved a more impactful and genuine call for equality. It’s worth noting that a statement as direct and potentially controversial as this might only be permissible on national television when presented by a white choreographer, without triggering widespread backlash. (Consider the national furor that erupted following Beyoncé’s “Formation” performance, which featured an entirely Black cast of dancers.)
Regrettably, Travis Wall appears to have fallen into the trap of “fast-food activism,” a phenomenon increasingly common in our social media-driven world. He has not only consumed it but is now serving it. It’s abundantly clear that the intended impact is significantly diminished when the creative process, particularly the crucial phases of research and deep incubation, is drastically abbreviated. A fleeting two-minute performance addressing racism, even accompanied by brief behind-the-scenes clips, cannot suddenly awaken a sense of profound understanding. Becoming true allies or accomplices necessitates genuine research, active listening, and sustained engagement. We must prioritize educating ourselves before leveraging our platforms to address complex social issues.
Numerous choreographers have dedicated their entire careers to narrating the multifaceted story of Blackness in America. Kyle Abraham, Camille Brown, Okwui Okpokwasili, and the collaborative artists of Urban Bush Women are just a few examples. Then there are countless unsung choreographers working multiple jobs to share their vital narratives within converted factories that serve as studios and theaters. In contrast, a white choreographer creates a fleeting, vaguely political two-minute piece and it goes viral, ironically undermining its own intended purpose.
Ultimately, dance serves as our way to respond to the human condition. Travis Wall’s piece, at its core, was likely a well-intentioned attempt at sympathy – importantly, not to be confused with empathy – towards people of color. For this intention, he deserves acknowledgement, but it must be coupled with a critical examination of his positionality as a white artist and the inherently superficial interpretation of American race relations that such a brief work inevitably presents.
Yes, “SYTYCD” undeniably brings dance to a broad audience and may well inspire a young person to begin their own dance journey. However, it often offers a superficial glimpse into our art form’s vast potential for profound communication and storytelling. As artists, we have a responsibility to hold each other accountable for showcasing the full spectrum of dance’s capabilities, rather than simply producing easily digestible content for mass media consumption.
