Sunday night and the Metronome Ballroom's City Lights Ball is a flurry of brightly colored tulle and billowing feathers. It's Strictly Ballroom made flesh: A half-dozen well-postured gentlemen in tails twirling their shimmering partners across a highly polished expanse while a crowd of 250 onlookers claps delicately. Along their circular journey, the dancers take care to pause and dip in the direction of the judges' tables, flashing their dazzling, frozen smiles before speeding away with an audible swish. Jeff Chandler, the refined master of ceremonies, calls out the step changes at the close of each musical segment. "OK," he croons from a platform on the edge of the room, "this will be a fox trot." The couples regard each other for a split second and then without a waver step into the new routine. The male of each pair sports a number on the back of his tuxedo; in encouragement -- or as a means of drawing the attention of the judges -- members of the crowd shout out the numbers of their favorites as they pass by.
"It's so elegant," coos a young woman in a theatrical lace vest and crushed velvet blouse. A favored couple glides by, intent on a very proper Viennese waltz. "They barely touch, but it's romantic, don't you think?" says the woman, looking at her date meaningfully. "There would be little point in our taking lessons," he responds quietly. "No place to use it on a social level. We should stick with the swing lessons for a while."
The ball is the first full-day competition that the Potrero Hill hall has put on since its doors opened for lessons five years ago. "Attendance is really increasing," says owner Diane Jarmolow, who 10 years ago opened the San Francisco School of Ballroom Dancing and has been involved in teaching for over 18 years. Partner dancing is on a roll. The swing and salsa revivals have drawn young people to the ballroom floor; KQED airs ballroom competitions constantly. Again this year, San Francisco's mayor has declared a National Ballroom Dancing Week. And there's even talk that ballroom dancing will become a new Olympic event.
"I think that people are tired of just flailing around on a dance floor," offers one man, who studies at the Imperial Dance Club, one of the many schools represented tonight. "Some people complain that there is too much structure in step dancing -- that there is nothing personal involved. What they don't realize is that the act of moving in synchronicity with another person is intensely personal. But you have to enjoy the person you're dancing with. I guess maybe that's the part that people are really afraid of, but the people that take ballroom are some of the nicest people you'll ever want to meet."
The competition is soon over, and the dancers line up like preening peacocks to collect their prizes. The audience applauds jovially and takes sips of mineral water (the Metronome is smoke- and alcohol-free). On the sidelines, the very small, golden daughter of one of the competitors twirls and giggles, doing splits in her lace dress in anticipation of her mother's award. As the dancer makes her way backstage, the girl rushes into her arms, completely engulfed in her mother's pastel gown. It is a sweet moment that completely delights the crowd.
The prizes awarded, MC Chandler takes over. Lending his impressive vocal chords to the piped-in musical fare, he welcomes the audience onto the floor for some "general dancing." Within moments, not a chair in the house is occupied. The audience, comprised of students from throughout the area, are eager for the opportunity to try out their own moves; the prize-winning competitors -- after changing out of their expensive duds (a ball gown averages $4,000, although used ones are posted on the Metronome bulletin board for as little as $2,000) -- come out to dance with members of the audience. Despite the rigid form of some of the steps, the room takes on the mood of a holiday skating rink with dozens of colorful partners moving in circles, laughing and tossing their heads.
The cap of the evening is an exhibition by U.S. ballroom champions Victor Veyrasset and Heather Smith and International Rising Star champions Peta Siddall and Marilyn Benitez. Both couples have made frequent appearances on KQED's televised shows. Veyrasset and Smith's routine exemplifies the happy ending to some little girl's Cinderella fantasy: Smith's blond hair lies perfectly across the back of her filmy, white princess gown; Veyrasset's sure feet and strong arms sweep her across the ballroom floor until it seems as if they are floating. It's very ethereal and pure. By contrast Siddall and Benitez's routine is anything but virgin white. All flesh and Day-Glo spandex, the pair incite gasps of wonder and appreciation from the crowd as they turn up the heat with a tension-filled rumba performed to the sounds of ... Whitney Houston.
As Jarmolow says, "It's good, clean fun."
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By Silke Tudor
foam order.com
