DRIVE-BY CLOWNING
By J. Camp
I am struck by RIZE like a car
window hit by a brick.
The
2005 dance documentary, produced and directed by David LaChappelle, brings to
my mind a proverb that involves a young and successful executive speeding down
a street in the ‘hood in his new Jaguar, when a brick suddenly smashes into his
window.
Slamming
on the brakes, the angry driver jumps out of the car, grabs the nearest kid and
shouts, "Why the hell do you do that?”
The young boy apologizes. "I'm
sorry but I didn't know what else to do." The kid’s brother has tumbled
out of his wheelchair into the gutter. In the proverb, throwing the brick was
to way to get the driver’s notice. The executive helps the kid and his brother
and the message is: Don't go through life so fast that someone has to throw a
brick at you to get your attention or kill you trying.
Perhaps a proverb of sappy poignancy, it reminds me that
many of us are like the driver. Oblivious to the plight of many people around
the globe, we go through our comfortable lives in rarefied environments,
deciding between soy or rice milk for our lattes, without ever checking-in with
the daily suffering and poverty occurring throughout the country
contemporaneously with our lives of self-indulgence. Taking a look occasionally
keeps me grounded, compassionate and appreciative.
RIZE,
the proverbial brick in question, opens with stock footage of the Watts riot,
which occurred in 1965. I am surprised, believing I am about to see a
documentary about dance and instead, I am seeing citizens beaten, cars on fire,
and hearing sirens wailing after civilian silhouettes running through the
smoke, an oddly familiar sight.
The
film then moves to footage from the 1992 Rodney King Riots. I witnessed the
1992 riots in South Central Los Angeles following the Rodney King verdict
personally from the relative safety of a tall, downtown Los Angeles office building. Behind thick,
tinted bulletproof windows, I, along with several wealthy attorneys, watched in
horror as plumes of smoke rose from South Central, the scene below resembling a
jungle-less Apocalypse Now. As I stood terrified, leaning forward with
such intensity that I smeared the glass with my forehead, I heard the
evacuation alarm sound. The alarm was due to a bomb threat and I suddenly found
myself navigating my way down thirty-eight flights of stairs behind some rather
large legal secretaries, one still holding a slice of foamy, overly-iced white
birthday cake in one of her thick hands. Once outside, a policeman suggested I
beware of snipers as I exited the building. Apparently that afternoon, my
potential choices were to be blown up or shot.
For
me, it was a horrifying ordeal that lasted a few hours. For the children in
South Central Los Angeles, that feeling of fear and the arrival of random death
at any moment is the standard under which they exist. On that day in 1992, the
proverbial brick smashed the window of my psyche, and once again while watching
RIZE. At first confusing to me, it became clear quickly that LaChappelle’s
choice of opening the film with these scenes of horror expertly sets the vibe of the pressure cooker from which
the dancers in the film ascend and provides the contrast that makes the dancing
in this war zone so intensely beautiful.
Dancing in the Streets
The first dance scene
involves four young women. One woman has bowed forward
face down within inches
of the hood of a car, in a pose reminiscent of numerous televised arrest scenes
on reality cop shows or moments captured on clandestine home videos, which show
the bigotry still existing in law enforcement. In these images, the suspects,
hands cuffed behind their backs, faces pressed against the hood, are searched
by the cops or worse, beaten. In the dance version in
RIZE, the four women
portray this familiar sight in their neighborhood, miming punches as if they
are beating the woman, prone on the hood, in an eerie combination of violence
and art. The faces of the passersby at this moment in the film are curiously
forming the same expressions I have seen on the witnesses in videos of actual
police beatings, a hybrid look of curiosity, disbelief, horror and sorrow. I
know that my face has that same expression as I watch the film.
I
watch this interpretive dance of oppression, performed in the street where the
real scene occurs, a creative act-out of their pain and fear in a disturbing
yet beautiful fashion, when I realize that these women are creating movements
that will weave into the fabric of the history of African-Americans in this
nation. It is this tradition of historical choreography that records the
struggle of a people.
We
are then introduced to a young man named Dragon and my ears struggle to hear
what he is saying, as I am so transfixed by his sudden appearance. The words
“warrior,” “Krumping,” and “Nigger,” leap from his lips. He delivers his words
with an intense stare from behind a face painted with an amazing pattern. Small
children listen intently from behind a chain-link fence to Dragon’s opinions,
tiny knuckles and fingers glowing in a scene filmed too “hot.” Dragon looks up
as a low-flying jumbo jet rips open the membrane of community and forces itself
into the scene with its deafening sound, which reminds me that this
neighborhood is unfortunately also under a main approach corridor to LAX.
Next,
what looks like a neighborhood group, gathers in a circle. The attendees are in
movement, jumping, singing, arms in the air, surrounding those in the center
who are performing an amazing dance. A disclaimer at the beginning of the film
makes it clear that the speed of the footage in the film has not been
artificially increased. The reason for this disclaimer becomes clear in the
moment I see this group in action. The arm, leg and body movements are
hyper-extended and accelerated to the point that a viewer might doubt the
ability of anyone’s body to move at this high velocity. The movements are
mesmerizing, improvised, and if viewed from the right angle, suggest street
fighting.
Clown School
Suddenly, a hand-held
camera walks us through the neighborhood, passed stained stucco, lots of
cement, heavy iron bars on windows and porches that really belong on a
fortress, all enveloped in the stagnating and oppressive heat of South Central
Los Angeles. Set in these surroundings, the sudden appearance of Tommy the Hip
Hop Clown, wearing a bright rainbow-colored wig and a cheerily painted face
fills me with both some relief and some judgment; clowns have always bothered
me. I find the color scheme and strange faces of clowns irritating and
startling. However, I am not so arrogant as to believe that I can understand
what seeing Tommy the Hip Hop Clown is like for the children of this
neighborhood. Still, in my own small way, I am able to connect with the
understanding that this walking, talking, and dancing color spectrum is
desperately needed in the dangerous reality of the neighborhood.
Tommy
is a Hip Hop clown. Hip Hop is both a musical and political movement that has
developed predominantly over the last quarter-century. Budding in New York City in the seventies, Hip Hop has grown
to encompass not just music and dance, but an entire lifestyle that integrates
the diverse elements of customs, technology and a description of the urban
experience.
Tommy
provides his entertainment, consisting of Hip Hop dancing and standard clown
tricks and games, at children’s birthday parties and has opened his own dance
academy. Seeing a clown move to the rhythm of Hip Hop and Rap music is
amazingly eye-catching. I am bored enough by clowns performing tricks to
classic circus music that seeing a clown, dancing to Hip Hop, sliding his chin
through the air, moving his hips and jiggling his big rainbow Fro (the best
part) is at once hilarious, compelling and fresh. I find myself reeling from
his slickness and laughing out loud at the same time. Tommy is one cool clown.
A
former drug dealer turned clown, I am relieved to see him spread happiness in
his neighborhood. The first smiles seen in the film are all around Tommy, and
rightly so. As one woman so aptly puts it, Tommy is welcomed and necessary for
the kids growing up in “Hollywatts.”
Now,
because of Tommy, there is an alternative to joining a gang, a choice that
could and will probably kill the gangster. There is a local man named Austin
who owns the casket shop down at the strip mall next to Dunkin’ Donuts. If a
gangster isn’t careful, he could end-up in the big, satin and lace lined
bubble-gum pink casket proudly displayed in
Austin’s store;
this alone should be a deterrent.
According
to the filmmakers, and an appreciate mother of a clown, you’re either in a gang
or you’re with the clowns. Gangs vs.
Clowns – a description one might apply to our current geopolitical situation
around the globe.
Better Living Through Clowning
I’m relieved to know that the
neighborhood supports this positive, creative outlet. After all, not everyone
in the ‘hood is in a gang. First seemingly out of place, there’s something
perfect about the clowns being in this neighborhood. What better antidote to
the brutality of the streets than a dancing clown, injecting the light full
throttle into the darkness? In fact, one of the fifteen-year old dancers
enrolled in Tommy’s Academy was gunned down, an innocent girl in the wrong
place at the wrong time. Although a loving community has formed, the violence
in the neighborhood is real and an ever-present threat.
This Hip Hop clowning community
is very inclusive. Young to old, thin to large, gender unimportant, everyone is
invited to join, jump, jive and wail. An extremely large young man, Cereal, is
just as coordinated and quick with his moves as his counterparts and in fact,
his big body mass, swaying and shaking, adds a special flavor to his dancing
style. As the saying goes, “it’s all good.”
It is also inspiring to see an
Asian clown troupe in the film. Speaking with them, a simple truth is revealed
and the beauty of the clown movement becomes clear: we’re all equal under a
painted face. Integration through clowning is a beautiful thing.
In a favorite scene, the
obligatory older white couple stands, watching from their driveway, mouths
agape, in reaction to the performance happening in their street. Three of the
younger dancers approach them, standing within two feet of the couple, dancing
at highest velocity, fiercely and kinetically throwing imaginary punches,
barely missing the faces of their captive audience. If this same moment were to
occur in an unfamiliar setting, late at night, without the clown make-up (or
with, depending on the make-up), this couple might flee in terror. Instead,
they applaud and yell thank you as the dancers leave to execute another
drive-by clowning elsewhere.
The Ancestors
It
is beautiful watching this gathering of neighbors, out in the center of the
street, dancing together. As I watch, my imagination takes over and the
suburban homes begin to fade in the background and become tribal structures.
The street becomes the village center and the dancers become the shaman, with
their faces painted in otherworldly styles, serving as gateways to other
dimensions. I am suddenly filled with relief when I realize that, as human
beings, our need for community, for coming together and for describing our
experience through movement, art and sound is deep and philosophical. You
cannot take away the need for this energy to move – it’s in us, ingrained
within our psyches, and when we come together in this way, it feels good
because it is healing. Drop human beings into any community situation, add a
soupçon of oppression, a dash of cultural isolation and it is my belief that
they will most likely come together to talk, dance, sing, wail and heal each
other in the streets.
Tommy
the Hip Hop Clown has, in fact, inadvertently started a movement and after all,
the best movements in my opinion start this way. His love for clowning, for
children and for dance has inspired many young people in his community. In
addition to Tommy and his posse, now there is House of Clown, True Clowns,
Worldwide Clowns, YK Clowns, and Race Track Clowns, just to name a few of the
fifty or so clown groups Tommy has inspired. The Clown groups are like
families; more than a dance troupe, they’re sharing their ghetto experience on
a daily basis.
All
of these groups of jumping and grinding clowns make me realize something deeply
profound: I want to have a party and invite them all. I think we all could
forget our troubles surrounded by hundreds of Hip Hop dancing clowns or at
least, be unnerved enough to lose track for a bit and get out of our heads. I
know I’d be dancing with them in no time, given the opportunity.
Truth
is, some of the painted faces do not really resemble clowns. There are dancers
with faces painted in intricate designs, some of which are evocative of the
style of Tagging, the graffiti-style
art form. It is these painted faces that interest me the most; I am at once
able to see the mask and the person behind the mask, at the same time. Behind a
mask, or partially revealed by one, a dancer can move and emote with a sense of
anonymity and therefore, dance with incredible freedom. It is the opposite of
what one might expect: a mask does not hide the self but alternatively, allows
the self to materialize. Safely held within the comfort of the mask of his or
her choosing, each dancer feels secure enough to reveal their true nature in
movement. Tribal communities knew this, and seeing it born again in the masked
faces of these dancers comforts me as if the ancestors are whispering in my ear
the message that we may not be so far removed from our natural condition, as we
may believe.
Get Krump
As
I watch the film, I notice that many of the moves are seductive. It’s difficult
to witness these shiny, muscled bodies grinding their pelvises in the camera
without having a sexual thought or two or perhaps that’s just me. I am relieved
to hear that in fact, the dance du jour
is called the Stripper Dance, so my minimal lustful thoughts are justified. The
Stripper Dance has everything in it; with arms, hips, pelvis, legs, face, and
torso in movement, it resembles a high-powered lap dance sans the lap.
A
young girl, perhaps six or seven, is performing the Stripper Dance. Seeing a
child this young dance this way removes the sexual component for me. Through
her, I see the dance for what it is: a series of thoughtfully executed moves
that seem to incorporate all dancing disciplines. According to a young man who is watching, she
is merely “Popping her booty.” He continues that a few of the parents become
uncomfortable when they see their children dancing this way. The young man
doesn’t see anything wrong with it. As he says, “They’re just Popping. What’s
wrong with Popping?” Nothing.
Not only has Tommy the Hip
Hop Clown been the inspiration of many clown groups, a
new style of dance has
been borne of the Hip-Hop style. Edgier and rooted deeply within the feelings
of oppression, Krumping is like raw emotion sizzling on an open fire.
Apparently, the trick is to dive into the fathoms of anger, fear, happiness –
whatever the dancer is feeling – and transmute and sometimes transmogrify those
emotions into an improvised series of movements, most described in a blur of
high-speed body arrangements. To me it seems this is not just a revolution in
the ‘hood; it is the legitimate evolution of dance. Removing the need for
choreography, the raw Krump is akin to watching the best of all dance
disciplines come together. At times seemingly violent, as dancers will often
grab each other, tear clothing, or shove one another while dancing, “Getting Krump,” is not only beautiful
but may even ease what ails you. It’s contemporary art, still images captured
in the fleeting moments of movement in a dancer’s body. Had I Got Krump earlier I may have saved
thousands of dollars in therapy.
Another outlet offered to
these ghetto children is Sports. Like money-circling vultures, the
representatives from high-profile sports franchises watch inner-city school
athletic programs for signs of the next up-and-coming superstar professional
sports player. These opportunistic and exploitive attitudes towards this
neighborhood are further fodder for the rage and frustration for those growing
up in the ‘hood. Scholastically ignored, these young United
States Citizens are farmed for their
potential athletic prowess.
Fortunately,
thanks to Tommy the Hip Hop Clown, they may have something of their own. A
Krumping movement has hit the streets and the style changes every day. If a
dancer hasn’t Got Krump for two days, the other dancers will detect it.
Krumping is more than a dance – it is an ever-changing language of its own, and
a healthy way to move difficult energy. Welcome to the Ghetto Ballet, a frame
of mind and soul being expressed in a continuously mutating dance.
Dig Deep: Find Your Style
Most of the dancers’
movement motivations are cultivated from a deep and tender place. One young
dancer, Lil’ C, speaks candidly and rather nonchalantly about having to take
his Mother to a rehabilitation clinic for her crack addiction. Still, more
painful, this young Hip Hop Clown’s Father committed suicide several years ago.
This tale is delivered as a voiceover as we watch Lil’ C Krumping on the beach
next to the Santa Monica Pier. Through Krumping, he expels the painful, hidden
chapters of his life. Watching Lil’ C dance on the beach by the Santa Monica
Pier, it is clear that the pain and suffering of his childhood are fueling his
movements.
As
a further tribute to the human spirit, this life of occasional horror and
constant oppression has become home. Another incredible Krumper and dancer,
Miss Prissy, discusses her feelings of not feeling safe outside of her
neighborhood. She is often asked how she is able to live in South Central, a
comment on the infamous danger of the neighborhood. Miss Prissy, wise beyond
her years, responds, “It’s not dangerous
– it’s life!” In fact, she finds it scary to go to places
such as Hollywood, where
she finds everything much more intimidating. Miss Prissy demonstrates the
nose-in-the-air position miming the attitude in places like Beverly
Hills. Sweet and relaxed, disarmingly
unpretentious, she stretches her arms out and says, “and here we are; we’re
just some ghetto kids.”
LaChappelle
ingeniously treats viewers of his film to visual bites of dancing indigenous
tribe folk interwoven with images of the Krumpers. The painted faces are also
compared, getting the point across quickly. Although this could be viewed as
driving the point too far as filmmakers, it is amazing to see how much the
Krumping movements recall the dancing of the tribes. It is clear that even with
improvisation, bodies in motion replicate each other with startling regularity.
I hope someday we discover that certain movements relate directly to certain
feelings, and by performing these movements in a particular order, one can
shift these emotions, channeling them out of the body, and thus heal the soul
without a uttering a word. This to me would seem to be far more effective that
sitting in a chair speaking with a therapist for an hour or two.
Battle Zone
With all of these troupes of
Clowns and Krumpers dancing in the streets, it is inevitable that a competitive
atmosphere would develop. Apparently, the Krumpers, many of whom are former Clown Academ dancers,
feel that Krumping is a rightful evolution and improvement upon the style that
the clown groups perform. The Clowns hold true to their style and beliefs and
enthusiastically mimic the Krumpers, suggesting the Krump style really just
looks like a seizure of some kind. To move this conflict out of the streets and
into an appropriate forum, Tommy has started the “Battlezone,” where these Hip-Hop Gladiators will explode with dance
and face one another in competition. It’s time to show the contrasts; different
face paint, different moves, different attitudes.
The
battles begin to a screaming crowd. Each side does it’s best to look bored as
their competitors dance with looks of incredible hubris, hurling moves at each
other like bricks. At first, I am enjoying myself, but then I feel ripped off.
The moves seem to become less and less about dance and more angry, with
competitors in the sidelines slamming chairs on the stage when their teammate
loses. I am suddenly worried, a sense of dread comes over me; will these
dancers be able to really forego their neighborhood programming and keep this
competition safe and within the confines of good sportsmanship?
Lil’
Mamma, a seven-year-old dancer is dressed as a baseball player, swings a bat,
while I ponder what would happen if the bat slipped. A Krumper is slamming
chains on the stage. I’m beginning to doubt a statement earlier in the film by
a Krumper who said, “The last thing on our minds is violence.”
In
the end, the clowns win the contest, winners picked by audience reaction
extending the Clown’s painted smiles with real ones. Tommy is dancing with the
Battlezone Title Belt around his waist. The Krumpers don’t look so happy.
Stranger still, audience members (obviously Krumping fans) look downright
violently pissed-off. The Krumpers suspect they’ve been cheated. One is shown screaming
her complaints. I lose the chain and I don’t understand how they could have
been cheated with scoring based on the hollering of the audience? I’m confused
and I find the Krumpers’ anger surprising and repulsive. Then I remember
they’re just young, having not learned yet how to lose gracefully.
Last Thing On Their Minds
LaChappelle then shows Tommy
getting ready to leave the stadium after the competition. Tommy is cleaning up
when suddenly...he gets a call on his cell phone – then he’s crying – while
Tommy and his Academy we’re competing, his home was being robbed and ransacked.
Violence related to the dancing, denied throughout the film, apparently and
suddenly is being expressed. Here are the real tears of a clown, stinging my
cheeks along with Tommy’s. There’s no indication in the film who is responsible
for the crime, but based on the reaction of the Krumpers and their fans to
their loss at the Battlezone, I sure I am not alone in my suspicions that the
break-in is related somehow.
Looking
directly at its merits as a film, I found RIZE, although well crafted,
ultimately heavy-handed and even preachy in places. However, there is a deeper
understanding of human nature present in the film as I watch these young
Krumpers and Clowns redefine themselves in a neighborhood that provides, and
often insists upon a prefabricated identity of drugs, crime and death, should
they choose or be coerced into the gangster costume. For me, the clown-like
style of baggy clothes (for the concealment of weapons), the colors and
symbolism of the Gangster in the end become the trappings of a much deadlier
form of clowning-around.
It is important to note that
there is still a choice in this place, and for all of us, no matter how grim or
dangerous our surrounding environment. I believe that the key is feeling our
lives: the hurt, the pain, the frustration, the anguish and most important, the
joy.
In
the pressure cooker culture of South Central Los Angeles, these feelings must
be focused somewhere and the Clowns and Krumpers have found their out through learning
to access the resultant feelings in a healthy, creative and productive way. To
me, this is why their dance is so important. The rawness, the connection and
the passion of their movements transcend all differences that might exist
between my life and theirs. The Clowns and Krumpers describe their experience
to me in a way that a gangster never could. Told to me through the movement of
their bodies, the message is received loud and clear in a language I
understand: these children are not heathen nor thugs; they’re just oppressed
and when all else fails, DANCE.
This is the first full-length documentary on this legendary dance figure who helped spark the founding of the New York City Ballet Company in 1948. Maria Tallchief began ballet lessons at age four in Fairfax, Oklahoma—an Osage Indian community—and went on to stardom in roles created specifically for her by her husband and choreographer, George Balanchine. In the film Maria Tallchief tells her own story, accompanied by archival photos, rare dance clips, and interviews with dance colleagues and historians.
Murder was rampant and the tribe declined in population by almost 25 percent. Maria’s mother was greatly affected by this period of history and encouraged Maria and her sister to develop their own strengths and skills, as those could never be stolen. At the age of seven, Maria and her family moved to Los Angeles, where she studied with world class teachers such as Mr. Belcher and Madame Nijinsky. By the late 1940’s, television, the New York City Ballet, and even ballet as an American art form were all emerging. Tallchief became a new prototype of the ballerina that was distinctively American. The ballet world that was dominated by Russian, French and English performers changed dramatically in 1948. The night Maria Tallchief took center stage in Orpheus, a thunderous ovation was heard and history was made with the founding of the New York City Ballet. Author Francis Mason, who is featured in the film said, “Maria Tallchief lit a fire under classical ballet that is still burning.”
