My relationship with the “So You Think You Can Dance Series” is complex and enduring. From attending live shows early in the series’ run to admiring memorable performances online, I’ve witnessed firsthand the opportunities it creates for dancers and choreographers. However, a recurring issue persists: the show often seems to prioritize entertainment over the profound artistic potential inherent in dance. This tension is highlighted by a recent performance choreographed by Travis Wall to Nina Simone’s “Strange Fruit.” While the piece featured talented dancers, fluid movements, and evocative lighting, its conceptual execution sparked debate and revealed some of the inherent limitations within the “So You Think You Can Dance series” format.
The nature of this competitive dance show, part of the broader “So You Think You Can Dance series,” demands rapid choreography. Dances are created and rehearsed in a week or less, a cycle of learn-dance-eliminate that inevitably compresses the artistic process. The in-depth research, thoughtful discussion, and organic development typically crucial to impactful dance are condensed, sometimes to the detriment of the final piece. This accelerated timeline is a defining characteristic of the “So You Think You Can Dance series,” and it significantly shapes the kind of work that can be presented.
The specific choreography in question, Travis Wall’s interpretation of “Strange Fruit,” brought these inherent challenges into sharp focus. While acknowledging the choreographer’s likely good intentions, certain aspects of the performance raised concerns. These are not criticisms of Travis Wall’s talent or credentials, but rather an analysis of how even accomplished choreographers can encounter pitfalls within the fast-paced, high-exposure environment of the “So You Think You Can Dance series.”
One could overlook certain artistic choices – such as costuming reminiscent of plantation era clothing – and even sidestep debate about the appropriateness of a white choreographer interpreting a song deeply resonant within the Black community. One might also set aside concerns about movement vocabulary that could be perceived as commercially influenced rather than drawing from the lived experiences and artistic expressions of those most directly impacted by racial injustice. The diversity of the dancers themselves is less of a central issue, as dance should indeed be a universal language for responding to and discussing complex societal issues like race, regardless of background.
However, the core issue remains: could the “So You Think You Can Dance series” format, in this instance, have allowed for a truly meaningful exploration of the historical and ongoing realities of Blackness in America? The concern is not about who has the right to create art about race, but about the depth and nuance achievable when addressing such weighty topics within the constraints of a televised dance competition. Even with the best intentions, reducing such a complex subject to a week-long creative process, as is typical in the “So You Think You Can Dance series,” risks superficiality.
It is conceivable that Travis Wall engaged in extensive research and dialogue prior to the week of choreography for “So You Think You Can Dance.” Perhaps he discussed issues of privilege and systemic oppression with his dancers. Given his established career and accolades within commercial dance, it’s plausible he approached the subject with a degree of thoughtfulness. The point is not to question his intent, but to examine the limitations of the platform itself – the “So You Think You Can Dance series” – in fostering genuinely deep and impactful artistic statements on sensitive social issues.
Even if the choreographer were a person of color, the inherent constraints of the “So You Think You Can Dance series” format would still raise concerns about the potential for a nuanced and fully realized exploration of such a profound topic. The issue isn’t solely about individual artistic choices, but about the framework within which these choices are made and presented to a mass audience.
The choreography’s ending, featuring a handshake between the darkest-skinned male dancer and a white female dancer, could be interpreted in various ways. However, it arguably shifted the focus from a call for equality to a plea for peace, potentially diluting the intended message. Had the choreography more consistently engaged with the dancers’ diverse skin tones throughout the entire piece, rather than just in the final moments, it might have offered a more potent statement on equality. It’s also worth considering the different reception such a piece might receive depending on the choreographer’s background. Would a Black choreographer presenting such a direct statement on race on national television within the “So You Think You Can Dance series” face different levels of scrutiny or criticism compared to a white choreographer? Beyoncé’s “Formation” performance serves as a relevant example of the varied reactions to artistic expressions of Black identity.
This situation, within the context of the “So You Think You Can Dance series,” unfortunately echoes a broader trend of “fast-food activism.” In a media-saturated world, complex issues are often reduced to easily digestible, quickly consumed content. While the intention may be to raise awareness, the impact can be diluted when the creative process, especially the crucial stages of research and deep engagement, is truncated. A brief, two-minute dance piece, even when accompanied by short behind-the-scenes clips typical of the “So You Think You Can Dance series,” cannot truly awaken viewers to the complexities of racism or foster genuine allyship. Meaningful engagement requires sustained effort, education, and a willingness to listen and learn.
There is a wealth of choreographers whose life’s work is dedicated to narrating the multifaceted stories of Blackness in America. Artists like Kyle Abraham, Camille Brown, Okwui Okpokwasili, and the Urban Bush Women collective, among countless others working in less mainstream venues, consistently delve into these narratives with depth and commitment. In contrast, within the “So You Think You Can Dance series,” a brief, politically themed piece by a white choreographer can quickly go viral, potentially overshadowing the ongoing, deeply researched work of artists who have dedicated their careers to these issues.
Dance, at its core, is a powerful medium for responding to the human experience. Travis Wall’s “Strange Fruit” choreography, presented on the “So You Think You Can Dance series,” likely stemmed from a place of sympathy – a well-intentioned, albeit perhaps surface-level, response to racial dynamics in America. While such artistic responses are valuable and should be encouraged, it’s crucial to critically examine the limitations of platforms like the “So You Think You Can Dance series” when addressing profoundly complex social issues. As artists and viewers, we should hold ourselves and these platforms accountable for fostering dance that not only entertains but also engages with the full depth and breadth of human experience, moving beyond fleeting moments of awareness towards sustained understanding and meaningful dialogue. The “So You Think You Can Dance series” has the potential to introduce dance to a wide audience, and that is commendable. However, it’s equally important to ensure that this introduction reflects the art form’s capacity for profound communication and storytelling, rather than presenting a diluted version of its artistic possibilities.
