When *National Review* dropped their piece titled “Fosse for the Defense,” I knew we were in for a provocative take on one of musical theater’s most iconic figures. As someone who lives and breathes dance, I couldn’t resist adding my own two cents.
The article paints Bob Fosse not just as a choreographer, but as a man constantly on trial—defending his artistic choices, his provocative style, and his unapologetic embrace of the seedy underbelly of show business. And honestly? I think that’s the perfect lens through which to view his work.
Fosse’s signature style—those turned-in knees, the rolled shoulders, the jazz hands that somehow felt both elegant and vulgar—was always a defense mechanism. It was armor. It was rebellion. When he put *Chicago* on stage, he wasn’t just telling a story about murderesses and corrupt lawyers. He was defending his own right to make art that didn’t look like a MGM musical. He was protecting the idea that dance could be cynical, sexy, and deeply human without being “pretty.”
What *National Review* gets right is that Fosse understood something fundamental about American culture: we love to be scandalized, but we also love to forgive. His choreography walks that line perfectly. Every pelvic thrust, every snap of the wrist, every slouch of the shoulders says, “I know you’re judging me, but watch me anyway.”
But here’s where I push back. The piece frames Fosse as a defendant, but I’d argue he was always the prosecutor. He put American hypocrisy on trial with every number. “Rich Man’s Frug” from *Sweet Charity*? That’s an indictment of vapid consumerism disguised as a dance break. “A Waltz for Eva and Che” from *Evita*? That’s a courtroom scene where love and politics battle it out.
Fosse’s genius was making us feel like we were in on the joke while simultaneously exposing our own complicity. He didn’t just defend himself—he put the whole audience in the dock.
For dancers, Fosse remains the ultimate test. He requires precision, yes, but also a willingness to look ugly while being beautiful. To look tired while being electric. To look guilty while being innocent. That’s the defense he perfected: the art of saying everything without saying a word.
In a world where dance is often dismissed as mere entertainment, Fosse proved it could be a weapon, a shield, and a confession all at once. *National Review* may call it a defense. I call it a legacy.
