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 Confessions
of an Award Winning Hypocrite
By Larry
Sousa
And How I
Stopped Preaching And Learned To Love The Lesson
It’s time I
came clean. Breathe. Breathe. OK, here it is: For years, I’ve
been on a clandestine mission to eliminate awards from dance
competitions. Yeah, you read it right. You know those
Double-Triple-Rubytanium-plated trinkets that quantitatively
rank our kids’ artistic abilities? I want them gone.
Keep in
mind that this is coming from a dance competition judge who
loves what he does. I cherish the many wonderful life lessons
that these events can teach our young people. My problem isn’t
really with the trinkets but with the negative messages
they’re capable of Sending.
This story
actually begins with my niece—a brilliant, self-actualized,
unaffected 9-yearold— on the eve of her first dance
competition. She attends (and I guest teach at) a dance studio
where the emphasis is on learning, not on winning. Indeed, the
teachers there do back flips to endorse the most positive
aspects of dance competition: “Work hard, learn, make friends,
and have fun.” “We value teamwork, but we are not a
‘competition team.’ ” “The color of the medal isn’t
important—at all.” We drum these maxims into our students’
little heads ad nauseum because we live by them. And here’s a
secret: So does every good dance competition judge I know.
So on her
First Competition Eve, my niece stood before me, her face
glowing with the thrill and anticipation of this
rite-of-dancer-passage, her spirit overflowing with the
inspiration of her mentors, her analytical self well taught to
keep it all in perspective. And there, armed with the
sturdiest of foundations, she looked up at me and said, “I’m
gonna be really bummed out if we win a silver.”
Gasp. I was
crestfallen. How did we get here? How do I fix this? Who
taught her that silver is bad? This sort of thing is very
unlike her, and the vast village around her has worked
tirelessly to avoid this moment. Yet clearly, some evil dance
villain managed to slip her some bad stuff, and I wasn’t there
to intercept it. If I couldn’t manage the simple task of
diverting my own niece away from these negative influences,
maybe my whole life has been a sham. I felt like a failure. I
had to do something. This was a call to action.
And right
there, my mission was born. I began plotting a fabulous new
approach to dance competition awards. It’d be all about the
exchange of ideas. In place of the awards ceremony, we’d all
sit in a circle and have a lively, positive discussion about
the work. And we’d serve sushi.
I began
developing my “Listening Tour/Grass Roots Campaign to Rid the
Planet of All Dance Trophies” secure in the knowledge that it
could change the world. This was it. This was my calling. No
longer would kids measure their own self-worth based on an
award. Peace on earth and goodwill to all dancers. As I basked
in the pride of my high-mindedness, the phone rang. It was my
agent.
Larry’s
Agent:
“Honey!
Huuuuunie! Are-you sitting- down? Your choreography just got
nominated for the Los Angeles Drama Critics Circle Award!
Larry:
(long pause, then) Holy . . . uh . . . ummm . . . YIPPEEE!”
I was
shocked, overwhelmed, and totally over the moon. I called
everybody. Twice
This
nomination was for my work in a tiny Los Angeles theater
revival of Stephen Sondheim’s musical satire Anyone Can
Whistle. Believe me when I say it’s amazing that
the Drama Critics association noticed me at all. Adding
to the drama, it turns out that I was nominated
alongside the mega-Tony Award-winning Broadway veteran
Susan Stroman for her choreography in the uber-Tony
Award-winningest musical in Broadway history, The
Producers. Talk about shock and awe. I was beside
myself.
I
immediately put my great mission on hold. I had to—after all,
I had an outfit to buy and a speech to write (just in case).
In the run-up to the big night, I constantly caught myself
daydreaming about what it would be like to win that award, how
great I’d feel about myself if I won it, and how impressive
I’d appear to my colleagues and more importantly, my exes. I
was blind with glee. It was exciting. It was Christmas and I
was a kid again—until the morning of the event. That’s when it
hit me. I had just spent a month doing precisely what I want
young dance students to stop doing: judging one’s self worth
based on an award.
The
ceremony came and went. It was a wonderful celebration of
friends and art. It reminded us of why we do what we do, why
we love it, and why it’s important to share it. I had a ball,
and it isn’t important whether I won the award or not.
OK, I won
it. And yes, it was a huge thrill to hear my name called in
front of a roomful of colleagues. And yes, it was jaw dropping
to hear my name in the same breath as the brilliant Susan
Stroman. And yes, my career is exactly where it was before I
won, and that’s fine with me. I don’t ever want young people
to care what color award they got, or that they got an award
at all. I just want them to learn, try their best, share their
gifts, and have loads of fun. And I want that to be fulfilling
enough. That’s the goal, unrealistic as it may be. Don’t get
me wrong—I’m very proud and flattered to have been recognized
by this distinguished panel of Drama Critics. But they gave me
something far greater than their award: perspective. And with
that, I know I won something real.
Oooh,
that’s a good sound bite. I’m definitely going to say that in
my Oscar speech.
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