I come from the Sandie Peggie summing up day one bearing not one but two interpretive dance routines.
Transclucents written submission:
🩰 Interpretive Dance Routine: “Sad Times”
Theme:
A tragicomic ballet of misplaced conviction, bureaucratic melodrama, and the catharsis of judicial laughter.
🎭 Act I: The Mourning of Men
- Lighting: Dim blue wash, with slow strobes mimicking courtroom fluorescents.
- Music: A mournful cello solo, punctuated by sudden, childish cymbal crashes.
- Movement:
A group of suited dancers enter in slow motion, clutching handkerchiefs and legal binders. They collapse one by one, sobbing into the floor, legs kicking like toddlers denied pudding. Their choreography is erratic—flailing arms, dramatic pirouettes into despair, and synchronized tantrum rolls across the stage. Occasionally, one attempts to stand and deliver a solemn monologue gesture, only to be overcome by emotion and crumple again.
Their movements parody gravitas—each gesture meant to evoke dignity is undercut by exaggerated weeping and floor-thumping. The binders they carry are blank, fluttering open to reveal nothing but scribbles and teardrops.
📜 Act II: The Intervention
- Lighting: A harsh spotlight isolates one dancer who rises, trembling, and mimes typing furiously on an invisible laptop.
- Music: A frantic harpsichord piece, growing increasingly discordant.
- Movement:
The ensemble gathers around a large scroll unfurled across the stage. They “submit” their thoughts by dancing atop it—leaping, stamping, and rolling, leaving behind trails of nonsense (represented by projected gibberish text). Their movements become more chaotic as they mime printing hundreds of pages, tossing them into the air like confetti. One dancer attempts to read aloud from the submission but devolves into gibberish, sobbing mid-sentence and crawling offstage.
The act of “intervening” is rendered as a desperate plea for relevance—an interpretive tantrum masquerading as jurisprudence.
⚖️ Act III: The Judge’s Chamber
- Lighting: Warm amber glow, suggesting quiet authority and mahogany furniture.
- Music: Silence, then a single chuckle played on bassoon.
- Movement:
A lone dancer enters as the judge—stoic, composed, with a gavel tucked under one arm. He reads the submission (a scroll now tangled around his legs), and slowly begins to shake with laughter. His body convulses in mirth—shoulders bouncing, feet tapping, until he breaks into a full comedic jig. He tosses the scroll into a bin beneath his desk (a prop revealed with dramatic flair), then pirouettes away with a wink to the audience.
Final Tableau:
The sad men peek from behind curtains, watching the judge dance. One attempts to cry again but only produces a squeaky hiccup. The curtain falls as the bin lid closes.
🗒️ Notes for Staging:
Ill-fitting suits, tear-stained cravats, and socks with constitutional quotes.
Oversized scrolls, invisible laptops, a bin with golden trim labeled “Judicial Discretion.”
A blend of Beckettian absurdity and operatic farce. The sadness is real, but the self-importance is hilariously misplaced.
I've got to go find the second one back shortly