By Gia Kourlas
By the time the B-girl finals wrapped up on Friday, the newly introduced Olympic event of breaking had passed a test. It was not awful. It was not just a litany of power moves. It was funny. It was sweet. Musicality mattered. By the end, I was completely invested.
In the B-girl competition, Ami (Ami Yuasa from Japan) slipped past Nicka (Dominika Banevic from Lithuania) in the gold medal battle. The B-boy competition was on Saturday, with the gold going to B-boy Phil Wizard (Phillip Kim of Canada).
But I didn’t really care who won. Breaking is dance. And you can’t give it a score.
Breaking was invented by Black and brown kids, mostly male, in the Bronx borough of New York City in the 1970s. That it made Olympic history by opening with B-girls was everything. The logic of introducing breaking as a new competitive event aside, these female competitors, with their B-girl spirit and ethos, pulled the Olympic Games into the global here and now.
Their cool hoodie glamour made some other athletes seem out of touch. Before the quarterfinals began — the breakers needed some recovery time — my television coverage dipped into rhythmic gymnastics. Those competitors, sequined and slathered with lipstick, were clearly stressed. The B-girl mood? More like “pinch me, I can’t stop smiling.”
The pieces of cardboard that were lugged to parks and parties to create a dance floor in the early days were replaced by a round stage with violet accents at Place de la Concorde. Off in the distance stood the Eiffel Tower. Breaking may have strayed far from its roots, in which marginalized communities found expression and meaning through dance. But the B-boys and B-girls at the Olympics showed there is still community and generosity in — or despite — competition, along with a unified quest for individual dance expression.
These breaking Olympians, the good and the bizarre, left afterimages: Among the women, there was the stylish groove of B-girl Kate (Kateryna Pavlenko of Ukraine); the lanky coolness of B-girl Syssy (Sya Dembélé of France); and the tenacity and flair of B-girl India (India Sardjoe of the Netherlands). When it became clear that India had placed fourth, out of medal contention, B-girl Vanessa (Vanessa Marina of Portugal) hugged her tightly, as if determined to squeeze the disappointment out of her, to replace it with pride. It seemed to work.
Odd things happened, too. B-girl Raygun, Rachael Gunn from Australia, hopped like a kangaroo. Gunn is 36 and holds a doctorate in cultural studies, which makes me think she has something up her sleeve. Her performance seemed to veer into performance art, as if an experimental downtown dancer had somehow slipped through the cracks and made it to the Olympic stage.
Like the B-girls, the B-boys were also distinct, full of camaraderie and brimming with joy — along with extraordinary levels of strength and speed. That two Americans, B-boy Victor (Victor Montalvo, the bronze medalist) and B-boy Jeffro (Jeffrey Louis), made it to the quarterfinals meant something. Breaking is an American art form, but it isn’t given the respect it deserves at home.
When Jeffro went up against B-boy Dany Dann of France (Danis Civil, who ended up with a silver medal), they seemed to be dancing for each other. Jeffro lost — someone had to — but what the Olympics showed was the bond among dancers. Maybe it has something to do with how marginalized the art form is. It’s bigger than any one dancer, even a gold medalist.
As for dance as sports? Sure, breaking is physical. But as commentator Candy Bloise put it, “We have to remember this is a dance.” (Bloise, a New York B-girl, offered insightful, personal commentary during the round-robin battles on Peacock. She should have been featured throughout the competition.)
If breaking at the Olympics was successful, it was because the dancers, putting their bodies on the line, showed their individuality. There was musicality, visible in their opening toprock displays that lit the stage with footwork as the rhythm of a song entered their bodies. I loved how the dancers could control how long they performed. Even within the confines of a competition, it was spontaneous.
But the judging, as it often is in events that fly too close to art, was confusing. Dance is subjective. Some of the most thrilling performers didn’t make it out of the round robins. So confusing.
Instead of watching breaking as a competition, it made more sense to treat it like a show. How many Olympic athletes smile while competing? Nicka, the 17-year-old silver medalist, couldn’t wipe the bliss off her face. The do-rag she wore over her long hair? Questionable. But this was someone who loves to dance, who dreams of dance. These breakers are athletes because all dancers are athletes. But athletes will never catch up to dancers.
I am a lover of movement in all its forms. I love when a sport turns into art, when basketball player Jalen Brunson contracts his body to slip like a ribbon through a crowd of bodies to drive to the rim. Athletic improvisation is its own kind of choreography. Physicality aside, dance isn’t really a sport. It’s too nuanced, its vocabulary too vast. In dance, and in breaking, there is no best in the world. There is only going deeper. There is only boundless creativity.
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