This article was originally published on April 3, but I’m reprinting it today because it was picked up by Peter DiMuro with Dance/Metro DC and republished as part of their National Dance Week festivities.  I’m glad to help – thank you!

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I’m lucky enough to have a friend, Leslie Cooper, who works with the Alabama Ballet.  I’ve been pestering her for a while about watching a ballet practice, so she graciously set me up to watch the final dress rehearsal of the Ballet’s upcoming performance.  The show – running this weekend only – pairs Twyla Tharp’s Nine Sinatra Songs with award-winning resident choreographer Roger Van Fleteren’s new piece, Messin’ with Mozart.  After my preview, I recommend it.  (There’s also a fun-sounding special “Red Carpet Event” on Saturday night where a panel will give awards to attendees who are judged as the “Most Sophisticated, ” “Most Glamorous,” or “Most Innovative.”)  Some further information is available from Michael Huebner at this link.

For the record, I am not a particularly big dance enthusiast.  I was born and raised in the deep south, love college football, mostly prefer beer to wine, often don’t shave when I’m not required to, and use as few grooming products as I possibly can.  With the exception of an embarrassing breakdancing class my mother signed me up for as a kid, I have never danced in any formalized setting, my body looks nothing like a dancer’s, and I kind of feel like a cross between Michael Stipe and Chris Farley when I get on down with my bad self.  I admit that I’m completely unqualified to judge “good” dancing in any form.

Why did I feel compelled to write that last paragraph?  Because men aren’t supposed to like dance, that’s why, and there are people that’ll think it’s weird that I wanted to go to the ballet – by myself – and without having a pretty girl to dress up, hold hands with, and try to impress.  Why is that?  Even though I’m not a person that lives and breathes for the ballet, I do appreciate it and I’m almost always glad I made the effort to go.  So what exactly does a normally sports-watching man get out of going to a dance performance?  Here’s my list of what exactly I’m paying attention to when I get an opportunity to watch dance.

1. The Pretty Girls

Even though it’s among the finest of the fine arts, there’s no one forcing me to appreciate it solely on that level.  I’m unapologetic about watching it from a less-sophisticated viewpoint.  For the most part, dancers have spent years working on flexibility, strength, control, and grace.  They have beautiful, almost un-American bodies.  For performances, they fix up with pretty hair and pretty makeup.  Dance outfits are notoriously revealing and the ballet, in particular, puts a premium on showing off all those spectacular legs.  Maybe most importantly, you’re supposed to watch.  A big part of the fun in watching television and movies is that they remove the social stigma in staring, because the actors can’t catch you and they won’t think you’re being rude.  The same is true of dance, concerts, and the theater.  How often do you get a chance to really watch, linger over, and appreciate someone attractive without a lurking fear of being “caught”?  I honestly don’t know why more men don’t go to the ballet if just for this reason alone.

2. Falling in Love

Just like the ubiquitous drama masks, there are a few basic emotions that artists are trying to make you feel.  Comedy and tragedy of course.  But, unless they’re playing bad guys, every dancer wants you to fall in love with them.  If you don’t fall for someone up on stage – at least a little – then they simply haven’t done a good job.  When I go to performances, I always begin by watching everyone on the stage, but there’s almost always a favorite or two that draw my attention.  It’s different things with different dancers, just like meeting people in the real world, but I typically find someone that holds my attention during the rest of the performance.  During the dress rehearsal, I think it was Lily Ojea.  I have little concept of her skill level, technical mastery, concentration, or whether she’s mean to animals or kids in the real world, but she held my attention almost the whole time.  Je ne frickin’ sais quoi.  And that’s what’s supposed to happen, though it may be someone different every performance.  Find someone you like and watch them.  Allow yourself the simple joy of appreciating someone else’s performance.

3. It’s Fun, Right?

All the artistry and technical skill in the world might not matter – except to specialists – if it’s not fun.  I’d think this responsibility rests equally on the choreographer and the dancers.  If the steps aren’t fun, it’s hard for a dancer to have fun with it and, in turn, persuade the audience that it’s fun.  Transversely, if the most fun choreography in the world is given to boring people, then it can’t be fun for the audience.  A parallel I know much better is songwriting and singing.  If the song’s no good, it’s tough for any singer to make it sound decent.  But even the best song in the world can’t sound much good with a bad singer.

It’s fun to look for the fun.  Where did the choreographer add the playful touches?  Whether it’s one of the dancers chewing gum on stage; an intentionally stumbling, bumbling series of moves between a couple who can’t quite seem to get on the same page; or a gratuitous use of the “Junior Birdmen” goggles,  there should be a lot of mischief in a good piece.  Plus, much like individual singers, each dancer brings a unique, signature set of skills and talents to each move.  The little fingerprints of a dancer’s personality just can’t help but come out on a stage.  “Art is a wicked thing.  It is what we are.” I enjoy looking for each dancer’s strengths and trying to get an idea of why they’re an interesting person worth knowing and watching.  Dance must be at it’s best when the dancer’s strengths are matched precisely to the piece.

4. Pairing Up

It’s a natural human feeling upon seeing two people together to try and forge a connection in your head between those people.  I remember at least one photography exhibit where the artist took a series of black and white shots of paired up people.  Most of the people didn’t know one another, if I remember correctly, but seeing these people paired together for a picture, the audience couldn’t help but wonder.  Do they get along?  Do they like each other?  Would they like each other?  What do they have in common?  Do they come from the same place?

Put any two dancers together and the audience starts to wonder the same thing.  Do they like each other?  Are they similarly skilled?  Is one better than the other?  Are they frustrated with one another?  Do they speak the same language?  Does she like him more than he likes her?  Is it the other way around?  There’s often a couple at any dance that looks like they can barely stand to touch one another.  And there’s often that couple that looks like they’re on a honeymoon.  It’s a fun game to try and pick up on the social clues.

5. Visible and Invisible Difficulty

I’ve had this same discussion with both Leslie and another of my friends, who is a dancer and dance critic.  It’s easy to miss how difficult dance is, because the dancers are making it look so easy.

When an NFL defensive end forces his way around (or through) an offensive lineman to sack a quarterback, I have some intrinsic knowledge of how hard that is to do.  When Chipper Jones hits a 12-to-6 curveball out of the park for an opposite field home run, I know exactly how hard that is.  When LeBron dribbles around the defender and dunks, I know I can’t possibly do it.  But you can often see the stress of competition and physical exertion on their faces.  The difficulty of performing at that level is obvious.

Dancers, however, put on their best smiles even as they’re stretching and punishing their bodies.  It’s an important element of the craft to try and hide just how difficult it all is.  No matter how many bruises, bumps, strains, and sprains a particular move has caused oh-so-many times in practice, you’ve still got to go out there and make it seem effortless.  Smile and look pretty.

For men who are used to watching sports, I think it’s difficult to get over this flip-flop in emphasis.  Dancers are hiding the ball in a way that other athletes do not.  It’s part of the reason I like going to dance practice, as opposed to shows, and to any dance event that allows me to get up close and personal with the clopping, huffing, and sweating.  What they’re doing can be incredibly difficult.  One good way of watching and enjoying a dance performance is just to pick out all the things that look easy, but really aren’t, even if it’s just a specific turn of an ankle or a quietly, gracefully held position.  In the same way that I could never dunk a basketball, I could never do ballet.

For the casual fan, however, appreciation of the stress and difficulty itself probably can’t eclipse appreciation of the personalities which are expressed through the rigors of dancing.  For me, dance is a means to an end.  It chooses an interesting person with an artistic sensibility and asks that person to sculpt their body through intensive practice.  It observes that person’s individual skills and makeup and then prepares an activity which will stretch those talents and the confidence in being able to complete it on stage, in front of people, and while making it look effortless.  It’s under this sort of strain – complete with wobbles, slips, and winces – that artistry and character may be ideally expressed and exposed.

Final Score for the Alabama Ballet:  Pretty people?  Yes.  Did I fall a little?  Yes.  Was it fun?  Yes.  Dancer personalities?  Yes.  Difficulty?  I sure think so….