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 Zeroing
In
on the Zeitgeist
By Larry Sousa
and other thoughts on special awards from judge Larry Sousa
Larry Sousa is an award-winning director, choreographer, and
theatrical designer. The choreographer of the new
Broadway-bound musical
Merry Go Round, he created the TV series Drama Club,
which is currently being developed in Los Angeles.
How did you get started as a special-awards judge?
Larry Sousa:
I can’t remember how I actually started—I just woke up one day
and I’d been doing it for 15 years! But I do remember the
first time I got the idea in my head that I’d like to
be a special-awards judge. I was 9 years old, running around
the theater like a wild child during Terpsichore, which was
that great, pioneering dance competition we all look back on
with such fondness. After the “normal” awards, they had this
guy, Richard DiSarno, who would get up onstage and talk about
the coolest little elements of the dances, and give out
ribbons— special awards. The audience was riveted, and they
all talked about it afterward with such excitement. I really
connected with his observations and I agreed with him (mostly—
sometimes I didn’t agree, which was rather cheeky for a
9-year-old).
Why do you enjoy it?
LS: It’s exciting because I have no idea what’s going to
happen. I don’t use a specific list of awards, and I arrive
with no preconceived notions. So, right there in front of me,
the dancers create their own special awards; I’m just the
messenger.
I think the most wonderful aspect of special awards is that
all dancers, not just the top scorers, have an equal
chance to earn one. Some people believe that only the
highest-scoring dancers deserve special awards, and some
believe specials should only be for the less developed
dancers, to make them feel good—the “spread it around” theory.
I don’t believe any of that; it’s arbitrary, and it diminishes
the credibility of the awards. Kids are smart, and they know
when that’s going on. For me, every dancer is eligible, and I
don’t give anything away. Dancers on every level, from novice
to advanced, have received special awards from me. When you
get one, you’ve truly earned it. And in the process, you’ve
taught us all an important lesson about whatever the focus of
your award happens to be.
I particularly love it when a group of 6-year-olds earns a
special award for something that the advanced seniors have
forgotten about, like tapping together, in rhythm, with the
music. It’s fun to congratulate the babies while raising
an eyebrow at the seniors!
What’s the value of a special award?
LS: Special awards provide a fantastic opportunity to educate
us all. Every time I judge, I learn more and more about our
art. Today’s dance competitions have this uncanny power to zap
away our uniqueness and coerce us all to produce
similar-looking dancing (and dancers). Special awards can undo
some of that by celebrating those who dare to be iconoclasts.
Hopefully the awards invite dancers and choreographers to
broaden how they think about the art—to take it as far
as they can in every way. A brilliant entrance, clever music
editing, inspired design choices, the dramatic arc of the
dance—it all matters. Through special awards, I get to shine a
light on all kinds of unique, interesting elements and hold
them up as examples of great creative thinking. Communicating
that theme is the centerpiece of special awards for me.
How do you do that?
LS: I believe each special award is its own little lesson. My
awards come after endless hours of competition, just when the
dancers are exhausted and starving—who wants to be learning
lessons then? I try to engage the dancers by distilling each
award down to a word or phrase, then having everyone repeat it
after me. It’s a way of keeping them involved while
encapsulating the lesson of each award into a bite-sized
chunk. Hopefully the dancers walk away remembering small bits
like “heartfelt” and “respect the audience” and “tell your
story,” since they’ve just spoken those words aloud.
What are some of your favorite awards you’ve given, and why?
LS: “A True Duo.” A great duo is a relationship. Believe it or
not, it’s very rare to see two dancers truly connecting and
needing each other in their piece emotionally and
technically. I’m amazed at how often duos dance through their
piece without looking at each other even once! The audience
feels that disconnect.
“You Sang Your Dance.” It’s important to dance in harmony with
the details of your music, but many young dancers are just
scratching the surface. So when I see dancers marrying their
physical and emotional energies to the peaks and valleys of
their music in deep, detailed, sophisticated ways, that’s very
special. The audience can feel the power of that. It’s no
coincidence that many of the dancers who get this award are
also musicians in their school band or sing in the chorus.
The Zeitgeist Award. Last year I saw a piece about war that so
vividly captured the spirit, climate, and mood of our time
that I gave it this award. The dance really made the audience
think. It’s very special when dancers can illuminate what’s
going on in our world and how they feel about it. I’d love to
give a million Zeitgeist Awards.
Do you look for something different as a special-awards judge
than when you are a regular scoring judge?
LS: Whether I’m a scoring judge or a special-awards judge, my
approach to the verbal critiques is always the same. But
that’s where the similarities end. For me, scoring dance is
like a 12-hour math test. As a specials judge, I don’t have to
drive myself crazy evaluating dance artistry in a quantitative
way. That’s maddening to me, particularly if I’m in the third
day of a long competition in a strong area like New England,
where every dance is 94, 94, 94.
Let’s just say I was not a math whiz in school, but I’ve
always been a major art geek, which is why I love specials.
Being a special-awards judge frees me to experience the dances
from the place I’m most comfortable: the right side of my
brain— the “arty” side. I’m in my zone when I’m looking for
things like emotional risk-taking, character development, and
sensory experience.
What makes a good special-awards judge?
LS: It helps to be slightly insane. I’m kidding—or am I?
Effective special-awards judges can come in any stripe,
but I think it’s helpful to have a diverse artistic background
and curiosity about the world. Also, special-awards judges
should have the utmost respect for every detail that goes into
a performance. My favorite special-awards judges are those who
point out the unusual, unexpected, easily overlooked elements
in a dance.
My somewhat scattered life in the arts defines how I
experience dance. I was lucky to grow up in a city that was
committed to arts education, so I was exposed to the best in
drama, dance, and fine art from a young age. In college, I
performed in lots of musicals and dance concerts, but my
actual degree is in theatrical design— it was the best of all
worlds. In graduate school they allowed me to make up a
master’s degree as I went along, so I studied acting,
directing, choreography, music, writing, and theater design. I
never finished that MFA because I unexpectedly got cast in a
Broadway musical while on a class trip to New York City. That
experience took me down yet another road. I’ve dipped my toe
in so many different waters, but I started my artistic life as
a painter and I will always consider myself a painter first.
Sometimes I use paints, sometimes dancers, or words, or all of
it together. Somehow this all gets filtered into my special
awards. I wouldn’t have much to offer the dancers if I had
come to special awards via a normal life.
What makes some special-awards judges not so good?
LS: Dancers (and their teachers and parents) are listening
carefully to what we say, so we special-awards judges need to
be specific. We must justify our awards or they are
meaningless. It drives me crazy when I hear a judge say, “That
number was so cute. I’m giving you the ‘So Cute’ Award.” I
hear that kind of thing a lot. What can the kids possibly
learn from that? I recently saw a judge present a Googly-Eye
Award to a group of kids because their headpieces had googly
eyes attached to them. That was it—no justification. I’m still
trying to figure that one out.
I never want a dancer or choreographer to walk away thinking,
“I have no idea what this award means or why we got it.” What
a colossal missed opportunity! Parents pay a lot of money to
enter their kids in competition. They deserve to be inspired
in some valuable way by the special awards, whether or not
they win one.
What would you say to people who think the special awards are
corny?
LS: Well, if they got the Googly-Eye Award, I’d say they’re
right! On the other hand, I’d share this anecdote with them:
At a recent competition, I gave a soloist the Joy Award for
one of the most emotionally uplifting and heartfelt
performances I’d ever seen. I held her up as a great example
of how to bring your love of dance to the stage. Soon after, a
father approached me with a story about his daughter. He said
the girl used to love dance but had become frustrated because
she wasn’t a high-scoring dancer like her friends.
Competitions left her feeling increasingly defeated and
discouraged. Finally she decided to quit dance. But then she
sat through a special-awards session and heard me say words
like “explore your own joy” and “communicate your passion” and
“have fun with the audience.” She recognized these sentiments
because they described why she used to love dance,
before she started judging herself against her technically
advanced friends.
The father was telling me all of this because, as it turns
out, that winner of the Joy Award was his daughter, the same
girl who had planned to quit dancing the year before. He was
so grateful that she chose to stick with it. I guess we never
really know the effect special awards can have on young
dancers.
Do you have any advice for dancers and choreographers who try
to win special awards?
LS: Yes: Don’t try to win a special award. They are
highly subjective, and you can’t control what a special-awards
judge will connect with. So just do your own thing. Create
dances that you connect with on a personal level.
Unpeel, examine, and expose the emotional layers of your dance
story. Perfect the technical elements as much as you can. Take
bold risks—there’s no good reason not to. Find out what
everyone else is doing, and don’t do that. Don’t be afraid of
humor. Keep in mind that the audience is part of your
performance, so include them. And finally, listen to what your
special-awards judge talks about—he or she could very well say
something that changes your entire outlook. That’s what
happened to me, way back when I was 9 years old.
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