Variety Is the Spice of "Dance"
So You Think You Can Dance by Kelsey McNeal/Fox
As we gear up for the biggest and truest reality extravaganza of the summer, the 2008 Olympics in Beijing, a few thoughts on my other favorite competition of TV's off-season: Fox's
So You Think You Can Dance, which wrapped its fourth season Thursday night with a smashing display of dancing versatility, flexibility, passion and unabashed emotion that puts the summer's other reality contests (including the cheesy-beyond-belief
America's Got Talent) to shame.
Now this is how you produce a finale. First, reprise the greatest hits from the season- did anyone else notice how many numbers Katee was asked to recreate, making me think she probably would have been the judges' pick. She certainly was mine. Kudos for rewarding her a surprise $50,000 bonus for being the top-ranked female. (Making me even more OK with Joshua winning; that charmer was my runner-up.) The Bollywood number rocked. The pas de deux was near perfection. The door routine sizzled.
Also enjoyed seeing another of my favorites, Mark, relive his best moments: partnering with Courtney in wacky Sonja's wild jazz number; and interpreting the stirring dance of the workaholic with Chelsie (a much better use of a briefcase than you'll ever see on
Deal Or No Deal).
Other highlights: the jaw-dropping battle of the poppers, Robert the "quitter" vs. Philip (who bowed out from pneumonia). The judges didn't hold Robert's lack of competitive spine against him in this dance-off, as all but Mia Michaels dubbed him the winner. And what other show allows its judges to practice what they preach, with Mary Murphy (blissfully silent for a change) nailing a hot Latin number with charismatic former contestant (now choreographer) Dimitri, followed later by Nigel Lythgoe tap-tap-tapping alongside a chorus line of Debbie Allen's young students. All great fun. As was the top five male dancers' jubilant Broadway routine to
Five Guys Named Moe.
One of the great things about
So You Think You Can Dance is how even a layman who previously knew little about dancing can begin to recognize signature styles of the show's distinctive recurring choreographers: Mia Michaels, the hip-hop duo of Tabitha and Napoleon D'Umo, and the phantasmagoric Wade Robson, who returned with his Cirque du Soleil troupe from a Vegas magic show to perform a wild requiem for a dead rabbit. (It felt like a jellicle number from
Cats with floppy ears.)
As
Dance neared its triumphant end, with a return visit from past dancers (though, oddly, not including last year's winner Sabra) in yet another lavish production number, I started missing the show before it was even over. The level of craft by these young dancers, pushing themselves to the limit and beyond, is extraordinary- if you watched the exhausting final competition night Wednesday, it's a miracle any of the final four were still standing. The invention and variety of the choreography is stunning, and reminds me that shows like this keep the old "variety show" spirit alive, reinvented and refreshed for a new generation. The judges are critical without being snotty, supportive without seeming like pushovers, and genuinely seem to treasure these contestants in what appears to be a mutual admiration society.
Don't get me wrong. I'll be there for
Dancing With the Stars this fall, and will likely grin my way through it as I do every season. But it's amateur hour compared to this show, and I'm sorry I didn't make a fuss when the Emmy nominations came out over the fact that
Dance failed to make the cut in the reality-competition category, when it totally deserves to. (Same goes for the glamorous Cat Deeley as host.) As Cat would say: Well done, guys.
See you next summer. Now on to Beijing.
