A weighty issue

There has been some debate recently about Natalie Cassidy and her participation in SCD, with several critics suggesting that Natalie’s figure will render her incapable of achieving her full dance potential, and hinting that Natalie represents a template for all fuller-figured female dancers.

So what is the truth behind this? Is dance only for the young and slender with perfectly formed limbs? Is anybody who happens to weigh more than 8 stone to be automatically deemed lacking in grace and fluidity?

Dance is, of course, like all other aspects of showbiz, a lookist/sizeist industry. I have heard of dancers being rejected at auditions for all sorts of reasons – too tall, too short, too big, too “individual-looking”, too sweaty etc etc. Very often a dancer needs to meet a particular commercial ideal of beauty and size, as well as attaining high standards in dance. Sometimes that may be in keeping with the choreographer’s vision of the piece; in other cases it may be the producer’s view of the type of dancers that West End/Broadway audiences will pay to see on stage. But this is no different to the music, TV and film industries.

The musical (and film) “Chorus Line” is a perfect illustration of this. One of the auditionees is a young, newly “enhanced” dancer, Val, who sings a song detailing her previous failures at auditions. During the song, Val explains that she experienced rejection after rejection, until she finally sneaked a peak at her score card to reveal the verdict, (and the title of the song) “Dance: Ten; Looks: Three”. It was the moment of truth for her and so she:

“Left the theatre, called the doctor for my appointment to buy
Tits and ass
Bought myself a fancy pair
Tightened up the derriere
Did the nose, and all that goes with it”.

And suddenly she started getting booked for national tours. Fame at last!

‘Twas ever thus in the dance world. Why do we spend so much time pre-show “putting on the face”? Dance is such a physical activity, that on the one hand, it seems ridiculous to devote so much time to hair and make-up, when hair styles go awry, and make-up starts to run under the stage lights. Why do we wear elaborate costumes that look great to the audience, but risk tripping us up, getting caught in the scenery (or other dancers), or otherwise malfunctioning, when practice wear is so much more, well, practical? It is because dancers are not just selling their skill as a dancer; they are selling the dream of the performer.

A well-known instructor, whose workshops I have regularly attended, advises her students to “take care of all the things that are down to you”. Meaning that, on stage, things can and do go wrong, and you have no control over what happens in a live performance. Therefore, if you stay on top of the things that are down to you – paint your nails, take care of your costume, slick the lip stick on – then you can keep smiling, keep the audience believing in the dream, and they might not notice the chaos that is unfolding around you!

So looks and image are an established part of the professional dance world. But what about weight? The extreme end of the scale is obviously the ballet world. I have been privileged to go on a backstage tour of an English National Ballet performance, and to actually sit and watch company class. Seeing the dancers in class was a shock. They were no longer bathed in the rosy glow of stage lighting, nor resplendent in full make-up and costume, as they are during performance. Instead, dressed in simple tights and misshapen T-shirts, bare faces, under the glare of normal electric lighting, many of them looked fragile, pale and bony. Our guide then gave us a tour of the wardrobe department, and proudly showed off some of the tutus worn by the prima ballerina. Seasoned amateur dancers all of us, we gasped, and our guide looked embarrassed, for the tutus looked as though they would best fit a child of 11 or 12.

Of course there are clear-cut physical (as well as aesthetic) reasons for the need for ballet dancers to stay rigorously thin. The corps de ballet need to be a uniform size and shape for visual impact; male dancers need to execute bravura lifts; and any dancer doing pointe work needs to minimise the strain on her feet, ankles and knees. There are also logistical reasons: ballet companies (like other dance companies) provide costumes in just one size (due to expense and limits on how much equipment they can actually take on tour). The dancers need to fit the costumes, rather than the costumes fitting the dancer, especially if a dancer is an understudy, stepping into one of the principal’s roles.

The weight pressures are not so extreme for the Strictly pros, but they do still exist. The dreaded TV cameras add ten pounds, and our celebrity obsessed media are quick to mock a woman who does not fit their narrow stereotype of female beauty.

But what of an amateur, like Natalie Cassidy, for example, learning to dance? Are the criticisms directed at her due to aesthetic preconceptions of what a dancer should look like, or are there underlying physical requirements that prevent grace and elegance?

My first jazz teacher was one of the most fluid and lyrical dancers that I have ever seen. Her arms were graceful and she was so light on her feet she appeared to float. Her fluidity came from strength and control, as all dancers know, but to the onlooker, her dancing looked amazingly soft and liquid. She was 40 and around 13 or 14 stone. No-one ever noticed her size when she was on stage.

What seemed key to her success was that she knew and truly accepted her own body. I don’t remember ever seeing her attempt multiple jumps or leaps; but she could spin like a top – her average spins were five rotations. She knew what her strengths were, and when dancing solo, avoided any weaknesses. My teacher also kept herself thoroughly grounded in sound technique. Everything was perfectly executed, and whether it was balancing, spinning, floorwork, whatever, it was all tailored to support the body that she had then, not the body she had had as a younger dancer, or the body she may have secretly wished for. And when an audience watched her perform, every single person was always mesmerised by the beauty of her dance.

My ballet teacher no longer dances professionally, as two children and a couple of decades have taken a toll on her body. She no longer demonstrates some of the more arduous travelling steps and leaps, but her lines and poses are as striking as any bright young thing, if not more so, as she is imbued with that extra something that only age and experience can bring.

So I would say that I have seen at first hand that size does not in itself preclude grace, nor fluidity. With fitness, good technique, correct posture, core stability and muscle control, and more than anything, an innate musicality, there should be no reason why a trainee dancer like Natalie Cassidy couldn’t whisk us away on a flight of dance fantasy.