Clashing Tempos
BALLET DANCER sits on a wheelchair, her leg clearly wounded. Enter MODERN DANCER.
Modern Dancer: Hey. I thought I’d dance for you.
Ballet Dancer: Why?
MD: To cheer you up. To distract you.
BD: That’s awfully arrogant.
MD: Fine then, maybe I just feel like dancing.
BD: Oh, here we go. The spirit of dance moves you, the Holy Ghost possesses your bones, and now you have to show it off in front of a captive audience. Where’s my aspirin?
MD: You’re so contemptuous and condescending. God, Don’t you ever just dance for fun?
BD: You’re one to talk about condescension, treating ambition and focus as a mental illness. Go ask a medical student if he ever stays up three days in a row for fun. Ask a law student why she can’t just take a month off. Ask astronauts why they look so stressed. See what they tell you.
MD: I see your point. But you’re not an astronaut, you’re a wounded ballerina. And I feel like dancing, so I will.
BD: Suit yourself. And I’m a ballet dancer with an injury, please don’t make it sound more ridiculous than it is. “Wounded ballerina,” it sounds like a book of bad poetry. Speaking of mediocre art, keep your leg straight.
MD: That’s not the way this dance goes.
BD: Oh I see. You’re out of tune, but you meant to sound flat, so it’s OK.
MD: Oh we’re going for a musical metaphor? It’s more like, there are a few discordant notes, but it’s part of the symphony’s larger harmonic structure.
BD: Did you just compare yourself to a whole symphony? You’re a dancer who can’t be bothered to stretch a muscle!
MD: Everyone’s a critic.
BD: So you’ve taken it one step further. You’ve dismissed the concept of criticism completely.
MD: Aren’t you an artist? Don’t you know it’s subjective?
BD: No, good art is subjective. Crappy art is recognizable as such.
MD: Jesus, if it means that much to you I’ll straighten my leg. Happy now?
BD: It’s nothing to be proud of.
MD: I’d like to see you do better from where you’re sitting.
Don’t cry. I’m just kidding. Of course you can. As I said, it’s all subjective. I’m just doing my thing, I’m enjoying myself.
BD: You’re a hedonist. You have no sense of discipline and resent those of us who do. It takes no practice to be wild.
MD: And you’re enjoying yourself too, I think. You can’t dance at the moment so you kick. You don’t like my music so you bang the pot louder. It DOES take practice to be that rude.
BD: Look down on my manners all you want. Meanwhile, thrust your chest forward, throw your head back, weave around the stage and call it art. A drunken robot could do that.
MD: You just basically described the routine of a wind-up toy.
BD: Did I? How embarrassing for you and the drunken robots.
MD: Ha ha. Your clever insult makes YOU look petty. Reducing what we do to mere tricks and jumps shows you have no imagination, that you’re not paying attention to real art, truth and subtlety, because you’ve decided the form is beneath you. That’s so…bland.
BD: Go watch people do a “let’s pretend we’re kernels of popcorn” exercise and tell me who’s bland.
MD: First of all, that sounds fun.
BD: Uh huh. If you’re five.
MD: Secondly, so what? If you don’t like one teacher, one choreographer, do you discount the medium?
BD: Don’t be silly. There are other reasons to dismiss the genre. It’s… generic. Modern dance, what does that even mean? If I do jumping jacks to catchy music, I could probably convince you it’s a sophisticated yet minimalist routine.
MD: That’s not modern dance, that’s post-modern dance! It’s…you…I’m making up a dance based on your argument! I’m calling it “The Strawman!”
BD: I see. Ballet dancers aren’t as concerned at winning arguments through reason. We’re too busy DANCING WELL.
MD: Bull. You just love how restricted and repressed you are. You’re comforted by the weight of your costumes, the tight lacing of your shoes, and not breathing feels as natural to you as breathing feels to us. The dancing itself? Well, that’s just a side effect. The real joy comes from your sense of burden. We danced our way out of that tiny box and onto a larger stage.
BD: You’re not more evolved than I am just because you forgot your fundamentals, or ignore them.
MD: But discipline isn’t beautiful. It doesn’t look graceful, your artificial grace. The more spectacular the pirouette, the more the audience cringes in pain. Do you think we’re stupid? That we don’t know your feet hurt?
BD: Why are you so soft, that you no longer tolerate pain? There’s no way to be a part time ballerina, and yes, that requires….You can’t “wing it” and stumble into your footing, then say, ha, I meant to do that.
MD: So you resent that our lives our easier, that our talent comes more naturally?
BD: We resent that you have a loose measurement for what constitutes talent.
MD: Do you really think so little of us? That anyone can do what we do? Wrong! Some of us are gifted, even though we didn’t have our backs broken into ugly straight angles by the time we were ten. You’re like those snobs who deny that a Shakespeare level genius can emerge without elite education.
BD: If geniuses emerge in middle age and later, from amateur night classes, then maybe the term gets thrown around too much.
MD: Fine then, who cares whether or not we’re anointed bright and shiny? You’re jealous because we dance out of love. You stopped loving it so long ago you’ve forgotten the beauty of dance.
BD: Don’t question my love. I sacrificed a literal leg for love. You just put on some comfortable pants and rocked out to fun music. Oh, maybe you memorized a few specific moves, some beats. But you’re self-indulgent. The audience is just watching you play with yourself. I’d rather watch a child color, or a teenager masturbate.
MD: Did you ever find to time for either activity? You were born so old, so cynical. You don’t have dance partners. You have adversaries. You’re on stage with them, trying to out-dance them, trying to prove you’re the best. Even when we don’t touch, we lift each other up. True collaboration makes for better art, even if it’s less symmetrical.
BD: Symmetry is beauty. It’s hard to achieve, but magnificent.
MD: Well, I’m sure your feet are equally calloused. They’re bumpy and beaten by your mistreatment of the part of your body you’re supposed to love, without which you can’t do art, but at least they’re symmetrical.
BD: That’s my business. My feet stay in my ballet slippers. That’s another thing. I’m so sick of looking at your feet. It’s as if you think you’re farmers or priestesses, so holy, so in touch with heaven and earth. But it’s a well-lit floor in an indoor theater. Why are you showing us your ugly, dirty feet?
MD: Come on, they’re not so bad. (Removes her shoes and socks)
BD: What are you doing? Put them away! I don’t want to see them!
MD: This is how your feet look now. Your calluses are barely there anymore, but your feet still know how to dance. The break in your leg? You can barely see the scar.
BD: I’m a ballet dancer. Any flaw is visible.
MD: Well, I’m not a ballet dancer, not anymore. And so I forget, sometimes, how hard it was. You’re right: I’m arrogant. It comes with being a dancer.
BD: I know ballet is as ballet does, but…You really don’t feel like a ballerina, on the inside?
MD: No. But I was. And it helped me. I’m a better modern dancer because of it, better than the people who didn’t first learn the structure before they played with it. I know I pretend I never compete with my fellow dancers..,I try, but I’m still human.
BD: We’re dancers.
MD: Besides being the same person and having the same DNA, dancing is what we have in common. It’s what binds us, foot to foot.
BD: Then do you think, for old times sake, you could do a few tour jetes? Give them a modern spin if you must.
MD: You taught me well. I’ll do my best.
BD: (Clapping) Yay! I’ve still got it!
MD: Yes and with a few new moves!
BD: Show off!
MD: …Sorry!
BD: I didn’t say stop!
Alaina Hammond is a poet, playwright, fiction writer, and visual artist. Her poems, short stories, paintings, drawings and photographs have been published both online and in print. @alainaheidelberger on Instagram. Playwright’s note: Clashing Tempos was originally produced at Manhattan Repertory Theatre, in February 2015. It starred Sarah Ann Masse as Ballet Dancer, and Arianna Taxman as Modern Dancer.