So, Gerald Arpino. The name might not ring as many bells as Balanchine or Robbins, but for anyone deep in the dance world, he’s a fascinating, complicated figure. Reading about him always feels like uncovering a time capsule from a very specific, very groovy moment in American ballet.
Arpino was the co-founder of the Joffrey Ballet, the yang to Robert Joffrey’s yin. While Joffrey was the visionary, the planner, the one with the eye for talent and repertoire, Arpino was the resident choreographer—the engine of new, often controversial, work. He was the one who put the "now" in the Joffrey.
His work was unapologetically of its time. We’re talking about the 60s and 70s: a period of sexual liberation, social upheaval, and a raw, physical energy that was bursting out of the arts. Arpino grabbed that energy and threw it onto the ballet stage. His pieces were athletic, sensual, and dripping with drama. He used pointe shoes, but the vibe was closer to a rock concert. He tackled themes—like the psychedelic experience in "The Clowns" or the angst of war in "The Relativity of Icarus"—that traditional ballet often shied away from.
And this is where the "minus his groovy fourth dimension" part hits hard. Arpino’s greatest strength was also his potential Achilles' heel: his work was so deeply embedded in the zeitgeist of its era. Watching an Arpino ballet today can feel like watching a brilliantly preserved artifact. You can admire the craft, the sheer daring, the technical prowess he demanded from his dancers (those famous "Joffrey boys" with their soaring jumps and raw power were his muses). But does it still *connect*? Does it still feel urgent, or does it feel like a beautifully executed period piece?
That’s the million-dollar question for any artist whose work is tied to a specific cultural moment. Arpino wasn't trying to make timeless, abstract ballets. He was trying to make ballets that screamed "1968!" or "1973!" And he succeeded masterfully. The risk, of course, is that when the world moves on, the scream can become an echo.
Yet, to dismiss him as a relic is a mistake. Arpino’s legacy is monumental. He proved that ballet could be popular, immediate, and relevant to a younger generation. He brought rock music, social commentary, and a rebellious spirit into the concert hall. The Joffrey Ballet, especially in its New York heyday, was *the* cool ballet company, and Arpino’s choreography was a huge reason why. He expanded the idea of what an American ballet company could be and who it could speak to.
So, where does that leave us? Gerald Arpino, minus his groovy fourth dimension, is a lesson in artistic courage and the complex nature of legacy. His work is a vital chapter in the history of dance, a bold, Technicolor record of a time when ballet decided to let its hair down and get a little wild. It might not all translate perfectly to our current dimension, but we owe him a debt for helping to tear down the walls. The groove may fade, but the shockwaves he created are still part of ballet’s DNA.
