"In the end, I realised that you can't judge dance in musicals by the same standards as you would use for ballet or contemporary dance. Far more than in those forms, it is designed to be looked through rather than looked at. Its focus is often elsewhere – a story, a person, a feeling, a song – and to achieve that, it sometimes matters less if a dancer can do a split leap than if she can wiggle a finger well."
This seems to me an eminently sensible conclusion, especially the distinction between "looking through" and "looking at"; dance as a tool for storytelling as opposed to dance for its own sake.
But it does raise an issue regarding performance in musicals. The problem is that doing a split leap is far more impressive than wiggling a finger. With a ballet or contemporary dance piece, even if you don't get what's going on, the sheer athleticism and physical achievement can still be impressive for an audience. It's clear that the abilities of the dancers go way beyond those of the average audience member and so the average audience member is suitably "wowed". So how can that same "wow" factor be achieved in a musical if the dance is less physically demanding (less "wowey", if you will)?
Some thoughts:
One is to have specialist dancers as Sanjoy Roy notes is the case in Dirty Dancing. The dancers don't have to sing; the singers don't have to dance. Each can specialize.
Two is to impress by versatility. Have the performers doing lots of things - acting, singing, dancing, juggling poodles - and doing them well. The World Champion heptathlete, Jessica Ennis, may not be the fastest runner in the world but the fastest runner can't also hurdle, high jump and throw stuff. Musical performers can be impressive all-rounders.
Three is...well, to be honest, I'm not really sure if any of this really matters. Let me digress.
A few years ago I had the good fortune of seeing Tony Bennett performing with a jazz quartet. As wonderful as Mr. Bennett was, the performer I most remember from that concert was the pianist. During one particular song the piano part started off simply enough but gradually became more and more complicated. The improvisations got more and more involved, the synchopation more and more off the beat. I became aware that this top-class pianist was actually struggling with the music. By the end his eyes were focused like a madman and he was concentrating like his life depended on it. He was on the edge of his ability and it was thrilling.
A few years later and I'm listening to a children's Christmas concert. A little girl, maybe only 5 or 6 years old, comes on with a guitar about the same size as her. She's only been learning a few weeks but is desperate to perform "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen". So she plucks out the first line of the melody. It's going well until, ooh, she hits a duff note. The audience shift politely in their seats but the little girl doesn't seem to notice. Her focus is on her fingers and that note. She tries again but can't quite get it right. She bites her tongue and has another go and finally, finally gets the note out. The performance continues in the same vein, only by this time the audience is hooked. Rather than feeling embarassed for her (she isn't embarassed herself), they are actually willing her on, beyond every wrong note and on to the end of the piece. Will she make it? The tension was almost unbearable. She was on the edge of her ability and it was thrilling.
Digress over.
This is a roundabout way of saying that perhaps it is not the level of performance that matters so much as the risk that the performer takes. A performer in a musical may not display the same physical prowess as a specialist dancer (or the vocal gymnastics of an opera singer, for that matter) but they can still be thrilling if we know that they're pushing to the edge of their ability. Like those high-wire acts who, now and then, pretend that they're about to fall off, even when they're not. It's reminding the audience that what they're doing is difficult. And musicals should always be difficult.
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