In an essay entitled “The Concept of Plot and the Plot of Tom Jones,” R. S. Crane proposes that we think of plot in narrative as “the particular temporal synthesis affected by the writer of the elements of action, character, and thought that constitute the matter of his invention.” This explanation of Crane’s suggests the three subcategories of narrative plotting—action, character, and thought--that I investigate in this paper. Sometimes, we may discover that the two central lovers in a musical just can’t seem to get together through the ordinary cinematic devices of dialogue and action, but when they dance together the romantic impasse can be resolved. Or it may be that some emotion deeply concealed within one of the lovers cannot be made manifest through conventional dramatic avenues, but this emotion can be expressed in a dream dance, most likely a dream ballet. In the terms that I have chosen to use here, dancing may be seen in these cases to be a significant narrative agent. 

Let us begin by considering the ways in which plot is affected by dancing as a function of character. In Shall We Dance (1937), Fred Astaire plays Peter P. Peters, a plain old American from Philadelphia who is dancing in Paris as Petrov, star of the Russian ballet. After seeing a flip book of photos of Linda Keene, an American dancer played by Ginger Rogers, Petrov tells Jeffrey Baird, his impresario, that he intends to marry Linda, whom he has yet to meet. The plot of a typical romantic comedy is thereby launched. Since Petrov’s declaration occurs quite early in the film, plot requires that a number of complications interfere before the romance is finally concluded in the film’s last sequence. There is really nothing surprising about this narrative exigency. Katherine and Petruchio, Scarlet and Rhett, Mickey and Judy—all encounter similar obstacles to romantic happiness, but their problems usually have little or nothing to do with dancing. In Shall We Dance, the narrative necessity that the lovers’ happiness be delayed for an hour or so is inflected through the characters’ roles as dancers, particularly in the sense that one apparent obstacle to their happiness lies in the differing dancing styles pursued by Petrov and Linda. The film opens with shots of the female dancers from the Russian ballet en pointe, and soon the camera tracks to a painting of Petrov in a definitely Russian ballet costume. Fred Astaire’s character is thus clearly marked as a ballet dancer from the start. We first see Linda, on the other hand, by means of the flip book of photos showing her dancing on stage in a patently popular style. When this shot segues into Linda’s live version of the same dance with the same partner, we know for sure that she is a stage entertainer not a ballerina. Petrov’s impresario considers Linda’s form of popular dancing low-class and common, and this judgment spells trouble for the lovers. Further, when Pete Peters finally meets Linda, he affects a bogus Petrovian Russian demeanor, leading Linda to consider him an arrogant phony--another potential problem. Since dancing initially signifies the lovers’ distance from each other, we may logically assume that dancing will also point to a happy resolution. 

This eventuality is indicated by the scene midway through the film in which Petrov and Linda do an improvised dance together at a swanky rooftop nightclub to the delightful Gershwin tune “They All Laughed.” First Linda is called up to sing, then the orchestra leader announces that she will dance with Petrov, and then the two lovers reveal their compatibility by following each other’s leads despite their different dancing styles. As Arlene Croce says about this dance sequence, “The number has everything—games, jokes, hard tap, cool tap, a lovely series of ballet finger turns, and two white pianos to jump onto.” In addition to all the virtues that Croce identifies, the number also serves as a narrative indicator that these two talented dancers obviously belong together off as well as on stage.

A series of complications predictably delays the lovers' ultimate union: Linda’s rich but boring fiancé, scandalous rumors in the press, a former ballerina who is still pursuing Pete, the interference of Jeffrey Baird and Linda’s manager, Arthur Miller. These are perhaps common enough events in a romantic comedy. That they are all here subordinated to dancing may be indicated by the newspaper headlines used to represent public opinion about Pete and Linda. “Secret Marriage of Dance Stars Revealed” and “Broadway and Ballet Merge” are the two most pertinent. Pete and Linda may be temporarily star-crossed lovers, in other words, but they are also—and significantly—dancers. 

The final resolution follows a consistent narrative strategy. In the climax of the show that Pete agrees to do for the now-affiliated Jeffrey Baird and Arthur Miller, ballet dancers first appear en pointe to accompany the oh-so-bizarre Harriet Hoctor, who is temporarily filling the role of Pete’s dance partner. Then Pete solos in white tie and tails, a signature Astaire number obviously intended for a popular audience rather than the ballet stage. Then Linda resurfaces, and the two destined lovers dance happily together to a reprise of “They All Laughed.”  A happy ending is what we expect from a romantic comedy, and so at the end of Shall We Dance we find ourselves in approximately the same place as we find ourselves at the end of It Happened One Night (1934). The principal difference lies in the fact that so much of the plot of Shall We Dance revolves around dancing. In the words of the title song: “You better dance little lady, dance little man, dance whenever you can.”

Dance is an equally significant narrative element in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s The King and I (1956), but here as a means to advance the action of the romantic plot, and The King and I is definitely a romantic narrative. Early in the film, it is evident to the viewer that King Mongkut of Siam is the only available romantic partner for Anna Leonowens, the English widow hired to teach the royal wives and children western forms of behavior. Captain Orton, who brings Anna to Siam, and the Kralahome or prime minister, who greets her on her arrival, are obviously unsuitable romantic partners because of their ages and physical appearance. Substantial barriers stand between Anna and the King, even so, and frustrate the lovers’ destined mating. He is a king, after all, and she is merely a teacher. He is Siamese, and she is English. He is the polygamous father of 106 children, and she is a Victorian widow. Were two lovers ever so star-crossed? To bring these two successfully together will require considerable narrative ingenuity--or at least a well-placed dance number. This dance number, “Shall We Dance,” not only echoes the title of the Astaire/Rogers film, it functions as one of the major icons of the screen musical. The dance is powerful and exciting, and it is also the apex of this film. 

Following a successful banquet for western diplomats, the King and Anna luxuriate in their social success like an American couple who have just given a successful party. The King gives Anna a valuable ring as a sign of his gratitude, and she looks lovingly at him as the soundtrack plays the romantic melody “Something Wonderful.” The stage is definitely set for a climax of some sort when the King asks “Everything going well with us?” and Anna repeats his words affirmatively. To confirm this dialogue, Anna soon begins a recitation about a young girl’s first dance, which leads her to sing the lyric to “Shall We Dance” and to dance by herself in definitely English ballroom style. The King is captivated, watching her with approval and singing along. Inevitably, he asks to dance in this fashion, and Anna teaches him. The scene contrasts East and West in the principals’ costumes, in their discussions about Siamese and English sexuality, and in their versions of spoken English. The scene also confirms the principals’ suitability as cinematic lovers. All anyone needs to know about Anna and the King comes across clearly as they dance.

The political and ethnological barriers mentioned earlier operate to keep Anna and the King apart during the succeeding stages of the narrative, but Anna eventually goes to the King’s deathbed when it is suggested that the King is dying of a broken heart, unable to reconcile his royal inheritance with his love for this English woman. It is therefore appropriate for Anna—rather than one of the King’s wives--to rest her cheek on the dead King’s hand as “Something Wonderful” plays in the background at the narrative’s conclusion. 

Admittedly, this plot does not result in the happy union of lovers that usually seals a romantic narrative, but as John Cawelti writes in Adventure, Mystery, and Romance, “Though the usual outcome is a permanently happy marriage, more sophisticated types of love story sometimes end in the death of one or both lovers, but always in such a way as to suggest that the love relation has been of lasting and permanent impact.” The realistic socio-political issues dividing East and West in Anna and the King of Siam require that this musical take on the shape of the “more sophisticated types of love story” and keep Anna and the King permanently apart. For a few minutes while they are dancing onscreen, however, these realistic barriers disappear, and the “Shall We Dance” number completes the romantic plot in a manner that the design of the overall film narrative cannot provide. 

The third way in which dancing can serve as a narrative agent in Hollywood musicals is, as I have written above, to reveal subconscious elements of a character’s personality, what Aristotle calls that character’s “thought.” In Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Oklahoma! (1955), for example, the mixed feelings that trouble Laurey concerning marriage, maturity, and sexuality find expression through a dance number rather than through expository dialogue or through action. At the point in the narrative when this dance number occurs, Laurey has found the conventional tensions between herself and her ideal lover, Curly, complicated by the intervention of the malign and unconventional Jud Fry. While the Laurey-Curly romance functions safely within the expected limits of romantic comedy--and thus provides the opportunity for songs like “People Will Say We’re in Love”—Rod Steiger’s characterization of Jud introduces elements of sensuality and violence more to be expected in realistic films like On the Waterfront than in Hollywood musicals. No wonder Laurey is disturbed! In addition, Laurey is beset by doubts about leaving the protected world of rural adolescence to enter the adult world of love and marriage. As Laurey says to Aunt Eller shortly before the significant dance sequence, she “want[s] everything to stay just as it is.” 

This narrative crux is resolved when Laurey goes out on the porch to sit in a rocking chair and inhale the supposedly magic “Elixir of Egypt” that she has bought from the peddler Ali Hakim. Laurey sniffs the bottle, closes her eyes, and prays, “Elixir of Egypt, make up my mind for me. I’m waiting for an answer.” The musical cue, “Out of My Dreams,” then leads Laurey to imagine herself as the similar, but by no means identical, dancer Bambi Linn and to sing the full lyric, “Out of my dreams and into your arms I long to fly. . . .” At the end of the song, Laurey walks toward Linn, touches her hand, and imagines that she is now dancing out her psychological dilemma. 

In the first segment of this Agnes de Mille dream ballet, the dancing Laurey sees Curly and runs toward him, just as one side of the narrative Laurey wishes to do. During the pas de deux that follows, it is evident that this dream ballet couple belong together as surely as the narrative lovers who have been foolishly approaching and withdrawing from one another in the central plot. This segment of the dream ballet thus ends as Curly tenderly lifts Laurey’s wedding veil. When Curly suddenly turns into Jud Fry, the music turns movie-ominous, and the second segment of the ballet begins. First, Jud forces Laurey into a cattle pen that opens into a brothel. All of Laurey’s fears of change and adulthood are acted out in the ensuing segment in which female dancers display bare-shouldered sexuality to the tune “I’m Just a Girl Who Can’t Say No.” While the corps of female dancers shake their skirts provocatively and male dancers beat their arms like roosters, Laurey becomes frightened and confused, as the musical mixture of “Out of My Dreams” and “Can’t Say No” vividly shows. In her confusion, Laurey flees up a flight of stairs that lead nowhere, indicating her desire to escape from Jud’s animalistic sexuality. In the third segment of the ballet, Laurey rushes out into a stormy version of the open skies that framed the opening of the number. Winds blow and a painted tornado cloud hangs on the horizon. In this ominous environment, Curly and Jud fight, Jud kills Curly and drops his body at the feet of a stricken Laurey. The ballet then ends with Jud carrying Laurey off amid a great blast of stage fog. Though quite complex, this dream ballet serves effectively to advance the film’s narrative. 

Even though Laurey may have had reason to object to Jud as an escort earlier in the film, her dream has revealed to her how truly dangerous and repugnant he is. The dream ballet has also revealed that Curly truly loves and respects her, that he would protect her even at the risk of his own life, and that Laurey and Curly should get married, despite her maidenly reluctance. Since everything turns out in the directions that the dream suggests, it should be apparent how essential to the overall narrative of Oklahoma! this dream ballet is. Jud tries unsuccessfully to kill Curly and Laurey, they get married, and the whole community of Oklahoma absorbs them happily into its fabric. In a sense all of these developments—with the possible exception of Jud’s murder attempt—might have been predicted from the opening scenes in which we first see Curly and Laurey meeting on screen. After all, that’s what romantic comedy is all about! On the other hand, it can definitely be seen that this variation on the familiar plot has set the two lovers at crossed purposes in ways that cannot be easily adjusted through dramatic action or dialogue, especially when Jud Fry is thrown into the mix. Laurey’s dream ballet thus solves a narrative problem by leaping across these difficulties by means of a dance.

The Hollywood musicals discussed here share the same basic plot in which characters use dance somehow to advance the resolution implicit in their narrative situations as lovers in a romantic comedy. The lovers in Shall We Dance dance because they are dancers by vocation so that dancing is an extension of their very nature as fictional characters. For this reason, their most successful interactions take place on the dance floor. In The King and I the lovers cannot proceed with their romance through the normal dramatic agencies of action and dialogue, and so they dance to advance the romantic situation that is, after all, their excuse for being on the screen in the first place. In Oklahoma! the problems keeping the lovers from their destined happy ending are apparently too complex to be solved simply by dancing together. The problems must therefore be exposed by means of a dream ballet so that the narrative plot can absorb and transcend these problems. In all of these cases, dancing functions as a narrative agent in order to help bring the romantic plot to its destined end.