Can You Dance While You Shoot?

This is how I mark my dance exercises, post-practice, in my calendar. It’s a song title, by an amazing Israeli electro singer/songwriter, Noga Erez, whose politically charged music I have been working out to on and off for I think about a year now. If she is still a stranger to you, check out her stuff. Its jaw-droppingly gorgeous, avant-garde wall of sound and her distinct, alto singing voice makes you want to burst into movement immediately when you do.

On that note, I have been called away for the last coupla months, so the writing has been a bit more intermittent than before. When I started this blog, I made a promise to myself that it would be for the writing and the stories, first and foremost, and I would never apologize for or lament if longer intervals happened between entries. So, not apologizing, exactly, but just acknowledging here that I get it, you say it’s my fault, yeah ok I get it, you ain’t pick up your calls, I’m like Forget it, to paraphrase Kanye West here.

Further on that note, apropos Rihanna, and her fabulous song Jump from the album Unapologetic, from whence I lifted the lyric excerpt, I would like to now tell you what it is exactly that I have been doing. Some might have guessed, since I laid the hints quite thickly just there and have brushed on the topic in one of my earlier stories this spring.

When one has a day job, the time for extracurricular artwork is limited at best. When yet another passion raises its head after a long hiatus, it is even more challenging to keep the threads together. This is something I was discussing with another writer some time ago, you may remember the lovely Roxanne? She is not like me, she is an actual accomplished, published writer, a very successful one, and does not need to hold on to the proverbial waitressing job to keep herself afloat from month to month. We were talking about time management, and she, too, lamented the fact that she didn’t seem to have enough time to do everything she wanted, that it was a constant race for her as well, and there were always a million things that she needed to just put on the back burner simply for the lack of time.

I can relate. So well.

The reason I have been struggling to have time to write down two sentences for the past few months is this: I have been dancing. Yep. To paraphrase that legendary T-shirt of Ariel’s in Footloose, I have been dancing my ass off. I have been summoned once more by The Gods of Dance Floor, or perhaps not Gods, but The Court Jesters, to show them what I’ve got. I read somewhere that in the world of exercise, you really haven’t seen nothing until you have seen a dancer practice. I don’t know if that is true exactly in my case, but I have been going at it full throttle, and with all my might and heart, and soaked lots and lots of new dancing gear with brand-new sweat. It’s like the great Bey tells us, a little sweat never hurt nobody, it is quite the other way around.

We were discussing this at work the other day, on a rare lull during the early summer consumer craze. Bacall, who didn’t know what was going on, asked me if I went to the gym or something, since I seemed to be all fit and dubiously in shape. A gym nut herself, she is in most excellent physical shape, and being almost twenty years my junior, coming from her it felt like the most outstanding compliment ever, for her to notice my almost middle-aged self’s fitness or otherwise.

Author’s note: not only is Bacall in exquisite physical shape, she is also a great beauty, and even more so, since she seems to be totally oblivious to this attribute. One could just look at her face for hours. I mean of course people are always beautiful, but in this case, there is beauty, and then there is Bacall. I’m not kidding with the pseudonym. This is something I talked about with Weaver once behind Bacall’s back: that she is so gorgeous it feels almost like the natural order of things, like a law, to stare. Sometimes I like to observe people who stand in line only to find themselves face to face with her. You should see their faces. They just light up like those old-fashioned light bulbs, suddenly full of smiles and benevolence. It makes my day. To be in the presence of such rare beauty is a gift itself. But she is also one of the gentlest, most delicate and natural people I know, completely lacking in any pretense or artificiality. She also blushes easily, which is a feature I love and respect in a person, being a fellow blusher myself. Blushing means you haven’t lost that sense of innocence yet, that there are still things in life to make you react, to surprise you, to shock, to become emotional about. Blushing means you haven’t yet become totally jaded.

Anyhow, the matter of my solitary dancing sessions became a topic there, as we were wolfing down generous slices of Brita cake, another one of Roberts’ masterpieces she had brought to work with her that day. Roberts, always full of the sincerest false modesty about her delicious pastries, couldn’t look at us while we ate her product, so she was out front, like we say, serving people things, while Bacall, myself, and Hanks were at the back, shamelessly helping ourselves to her baked goods.

“Do you train daily?” Bacall asked as she ladled a piece on a plate.

“Sometimes. I mean, it’s not like I’m training for the Olympics or anything, but I kind of had to start doing something with myself, other than those walkathons of mine, since I threw my back out for the third time on this job.”

“Oh my god, when did you throw your back out?”

“The last time was I think three years ago. The first time was the absolute worst. It was so bad I couldn’t get up at all for three days. Walking was impossible, sitting up hurt like hell. I mean, how can she even manage the meringue? Good god, this is so good. And the crust?”

“I know, I have no idea how this is possible. It tastes like heaven.”

“Roberts! We are loving this goddamn cake! Do you think she heard me this time?”

“I think she heard you the first time.”

“The other times have not been quite as bad, and I have finally smarted up since that first recognition of the judas that is my weak middle. The long walks are fine as general exercise, and the doctors have told me to always try to walk as much as I can, especially after an incident, but that doesn’t really grow any core muscles, and that’s where my problem really lies.”

“Does anyone want this last piece?”

“Do not touch it, Hanks, I mean it! I did go a bit overboard with the training when I first got seriously into my living room dancing routine, and two years ago, in Paris, I lost both my calves to excessive exercise. I mean those enormous walks of ours? After six months of daily ninety-minute dancing exercises, the twenty-k walks just pushed them right over the edge. I couldn’t dance at all for almost a year afterwards, the calves just - froze. God, this is so good. Hanks, just what do you think you’re doing, sneaking off with the cake server? You get back here this second!”

“What you gonna do, moonwalk all over me?”

“Well I might, man! You don’t know, I could be Michael Jackson when I’m home alone, jamming with Beyoncé. Besides, if I’m ever called in front of the grand jury to testify on your eating habits after that heart surgery of yours, buddy, you’ll be in so much trouble. You will be punished, I’ll force you to practice the Formation moves with me.”

“I know. But save me one more piece, it was so delicious.”

“Practice what?” Roberts asked. “Oh no, is this another one of your insane promotional ideas, like that time you wanted us all to dress as bananas?”

“So delicious”, affirmed Bacall.

Did you see the magnificent Magic Mike XXL? And I mean the sequel, not the first one? For me, it is so a dance movie, even if at first glance the dancing appears to be hidden under thin layers of semi-naked men showing off their built-up bodies. It is one of those films I like to watch to make myself feel better, and when I say this, I know what you all are thinking. And why not?

But it isn’t all about Hey man, let’s see you take off that shirt. I mean sure, why not that, too. But the shirtlessness of the hunky men, however beautiful they may be, isn’t the main attraction for me in this movie.

The main attraction is something along the lines of Hey man, just how exactly did you manage the dolphin dive just now? The almost liquid ease of Joe Manganiello executing this extremely difficult breakdance move as part of his impromptu tease performance in the convenience store? Come on! Jeez. The choreographers, both women by the way, stated in an interview that doing the move was Manganiello’s own idea, that he had told them he had learned this cool dance move, and could he do it as part of the scene, and the ladies had been all flabbergasted, giving him a round-eyed, exited Yes! A similar incredible blink-and-you-miss-it move comes in about half way into the movie, in Rome’s mansion, and it is executed by Stephen Boss as Malik, one of Domina’s male entertainers. I actually believe they all can do it if they wish, looking at the upper body musculature of every single actor and dancer in the film. I don’t think I could ever manage it. I think there would be nothing left of my living room if I tried it. The chandeliers, if I had any, the furniture, all would be thrashed, and broken bones and sprained muscles would be all I had to show for all my troubles. I mean breakdancing in general? I have no idea how anyone can make their body move like that. It is pure sorcery.

One of the things that always makes me feel especially good about Magic Mike XXL is the man himself, Channing Tatum. I read somewhere once, that prior to being cast in Step Up, he had no previous dance training whatsoever, and he had to learn everything from scratch. Sure, to look at him it is obvious that he does have an athlete’s background, and indeed he does. But I love to see a person who knows how to move, and even more so, since the freestyle dancing seems to be such a natural part of his person, it just flows out of him, and to know that he had to learn it in adulthood, that he didn’t start as a five-year-old dance prodigy, and still his moves kill me every time, well, it gives me silly, child-like hope. That one day, maybe I will move like Channing and be as smooth and cool as him. And perhaps I, too, will be able to pull off wearing a tank top the relaxed, nonchalant way he does.

If you are still having doubts on the merits of the film, just check out the welding scene at the beginning of the movie, where Mike sort of dissolves into this complicated solo dance slash tease performance in the workshop while working on some materials for his furniture. Now there is some serious moving going on right there, and like another workmate of mine, Adams, who is an insane Channing Tatum fan, says, that just might be the most important scene in the history of film ever. At least if you count by how many people it makes ridiculously happy. I think Flashdance’s welder-goddess Alex just might get a run here for her money there, and that is saying something. The scene where she is onstage, doing her chair routine, and yanks the cord to release the water to splash all over her? That is your point of comparison.

“I see somebody got their smile back!” is the final line of Magic Mike XXL, if memory serves me correctly, and this, in my not so humble opinion, is what stuff should really be about. Sure, there is a time to be serious and somber, but there sure as heckfire is also a time to be merry, to smile, and to dance. A similar point is made by the young Kevin Bacon in the pivotal Exculpation of Dance -Speech scene in the aforementioned, wonderful Footloose: coincidentally, this is the exact same scene where Lori Singer wears the provocative T-shirt in support of Ren’s case. Do things just for fun. It is good for you. Like Roberts’ Brita cake, it isn’t always about how many calories or abstinence or preferring cookies to cake, a point made first by Magic Mike on film, and then by me in many a discussion at work. Even if cake isn’t normally what you’d have, trying, just trying a little, might prove to be the most pleasurable deviation from the endless boxes of Oreos.

The Brita cake was outstanding. When I tell people I love Magic Mike XXL they usually look at me with total incredulity, I can see a thought bubble forming above their heads, and the writing there is not at all complementary. I realize the idea seems kind of sleazy and unattractive, perhaps, and one may develop a distinct smell of self-tanning lotion and testosterone and crude locker room talk in their nose when the subject comes up. But I am telling you, it is not gross, or embarrassing, or sleazy. I think every woman on this earth should see it even once in her life, because, like Donald Glover says in the movie, those guys are healers. Magic Mike XXL is empowering, humorous, warm, and endearing; a kick-ass movie about friendship and Solidarity, sister! and ambition, it reminds us to appreciate the beauty in all of us, how to learn to laugh at our troubles, to turn our frowns upside down, and, of course, first and foremost, it is a movie about moving your body to the beat and having the time of your life doing so.

Some days it is possible to eat your cake and dance to it too.

I have written about dancing before and will again. If there is even one person out there who will be inspired to jam a little to some fine music in his or her living room after reading this, I have reached my goal. Get moving, friends, and who cares if we dance like Mr. Bean, as long as it makes us all sweaty and happy. And happy you’ll be, I swear. Oh, I see Channing now.

Off the Radar, album by Noga Erez, 2017, and especially Toy, Pity, Dance While You Shoot for dancing.

Jump, by Rihanna/Pony, by Ginuwine, 2012/1996.

Magic Mike XXL, directed by Gregory Jacobs, 2015.

Footloose, directed by Herbert Ross, 1984.

Flashdance, directed by Adrian Lyne, 1983.