Rhythm Circus -- Racist Ripoff
Dwight Hobbes/MN Spokesman-Recorder
Leafing through the playbill for Rhythm Circus’ Feet Don’t Fail Me Now! — hell, just reading that title, this show is off to a lousy start. Why in God’s good name would somebody take that old, infamous line Willie Best uttered way back when as the stereotyped, bug-eyed Black man running from a ghost, and name a production after it? Because the evening features tap-dancing? Give me a break.
Can’t African Americans today reasonably appreciate our struggle? Bear in mind such progress as rendered buffoonish characters and institutionalized laughing stocks obsolete? Guess not. Well, please, at least let this not be a new, improved minstrel show. Curiously, as the crowd flows into the Pantages Theatre in downtown Minneapolis, it’s one bunch of White folk after another, a lot of ’em youngish, from teens to twenties. What are all these Caucasians doing coming to a cullud show? More to the point, where’s the Black people at?
By the time things are about to start, the place is damned near 3/4’s full and can’t be a dozen dark faces in the whole joint. Mystery soon solved. Four tap-dancers take the stage, all of ’em White. There’s a band. All of ’em White.
Playing funky R&B backup for the hoofers. Get the…outta here. That’s about the time I’m ready to go for a drink. Or three. Worse than a Black production blithely cashing in self-respect to turn a buck, you’ve got a White production exploiting Black dance culture and Black music to entertain a White audience.
Not that the performers aren’t talented. The four upfront are, indeed, light on their feet, especially one Kaleena Miller with subtle moves and understated charisma. The band, led by Alex Rossi on guitar and vocal Blackface (not just singing, also shouting out “soulful” punctuation, the whole bit), cooks. That’s not the point. The point is this two hours of Black dance and music (funk, R&B, jazz, hip hop, rapping, you name it) is calculated. A show for White folk to enjoy Black dance set to Black music without having to watch one Black face on the stage. A mere coincidence, the absence of Black attendees? Then, why wasn’t there a single Feet Don’t Fail Me Now! ad in, oh, the Minnesota Spokesman-Recorder for one? The show’s producers wanted to play to a White house, that’s why. Interestingly enough, Don’t Fail Me Now! premiered a few years ago at the Ritz Theater in North Minneapolis with, I’m willing to bet, a differently complexioned crowd — paying green money.
This time, it’s Whites only. Except for a pepper speck here and there. Waaay over here and waaay over there. It’s galling that such a travesty takes place. Despicable to devise it to begin with. To hate Black people so bad you don’t want them around, don’t want to look at them performing. But, you don’t mind enjoying our dance and our music. White performers don’t mind getting up there, mimicking the magic our genius created. Whites in the seats don’t mind sitting there, contented as hell, seeing themselves reflected, putting out of mind that, were it not for Black artistry, were it not for the Black people they’re so glad aren’t there, they would all be doing something different somewhere else instead of grinning all over themselves about what a great time they’re having. In a nutshell, it’s White Supremacy waxing insidious. A slick, racist rip-off. Enough to put a starving vulture off his food.
