Conceived by Danny Cistone (who also directed) and Bradley Rapier in collaboration with the cast, the 90-minute flaming-footwork festival celebrates both the art and the heart of street dance as filtered through its front-line interpreters. Its 10 primary cast members relate how the art beckoned, and encouraged them to express themselves in the moment rather than waiting for someone else to feed them steps. And, of course, they demonstrate their evolution to (or succumbing to) this state of motion-centricity. In those ways, Groovaloo Freestyle often plays and sounds like an uninhibited, urbanized A Chorus Line. In others, not so much.
Its explorations of poverty, parents who didnít understand, and the specters of personal and societal expectations are so generic, in fact, that youíll remember only the more vivid departures from the norm. Rapier was on track to become a doctor, but knew one day in an operating theater that the medical life was not for him. Al Star (Kendra Andrews) was classically instructed and disciplined, but inept at freestyling her first dozen times out. The most moving tale is that of BoogieMan (Steven Stanton), who was shot one night at a club and told he would never walk - let alone dance - again. The cane he uses for much of the evening underscores this, but - well, wonít he probably shed it eventually?
Their stories all take on considerably more distinction once they actively kick up their heels - and most other imaginable body parts - to show that they practice what they preach. Numbers about the harrowing natures of auditions, living up to a fatherís dreams (as represented in a challenge-tap mirror number), and making a warehouse lunch break far more musical than it has any right to be, are young, unpolished ideas. But theyíre shiningly executed, and more than sufficient showcases for the undeniably talented cast to work out their coruscating kinetic vision of how to overcome lifeís little obstacles. So dynamic are they, you wish the stereotypically graffiti-strewn set (Laura Fine Hawkes was the design consultant, Toons One the painter) and headache-inducing lighting (Charlie Morrison) represented as original a vision.
Particularly effective is the climactic number, ďThe Circle,Ē in which the ensemble-prone company finally gathers to strut their stuff for their compatriots. Itís where, for them, the magic is made - it's where Rapier sheds the shackles of the healing industry he never wanted to join, Al Star transcends her training to speak from her own soul, and BoogieMan meets his destiny (in more ways than one). Itís also where the lesser-represented performers get chances to dazzle, with some whose angular moves openly repudiate gravity and one young man who spins on his head - perfectly, as far as I could tell - for the better part of 30 seconds.
Itís all astonishing, no doubt. But is it beautiful? In terms of its outward appearance, not really. The kidsí connections to their souls, however, are as attractive as they can be, and are what make the best case for Groovaloo Freestyle as both a labor of love and a work of worthy - and often energizing - theatre.