The notoriously dry Robsham air tickles our throats as we pass through the curtains in between counts of choreography. But this unfortunate physiological response does not affect us—we are here to perform. The strobe lights flash in our eyes, and the scratched floor callouses our feet. Yet, we keep dancing.
Last night at rehearsal for Boston College Dance Ensemble’s spring show, the dry air felt particularly potent. Something about it catches in our throat, like words we want to say but do not. Now that I think about it, the theater’s dryness serves as a reminder of the world’s need for artistic expression: When the words get stuck in our throat, movement is our expression.
I recently found myself wishing someone else’s words had failed them—a celebrity known for his soft-spoken intellectual persona. A part played well enough until his comments ruined the act.
When Timothée Chalamet called opera and ballet dying art forms that “no one cares about,” and mocked the “14 cents” of lost viewership upon making these comments, the artistic community was extremely disappointed. Someone so beloved, insulting the very backbone of an industry he works in, feels incredibly tone deaf.
I would like to believe the performing arts are far from dead. As a member of the BC Dance Ensemble, a former theatre kid, and a piano prodigy, I have never seen a more lively community than the arts. Even my boyfriend, a finance major with no particular investment in the arts, recently surprised me by suggesting a date to the opera. The arts are not some mortal presence, but a pulsing, ever-present necessity for human expression.
During often-grueling dance rehearsals, I find the initial rush of passion and creative excitement feels distant, eclipsed by physical and mental tolls—the ache of muscle soreness, the bone-deep exhaustion after hours of repetition, and the mental strain required to internalize intricate choreography.
The transformation upon stepping on stage is never more potent than when performing for a BC audience. In that instant, the fatigue of late-night rehearsals dissolves, and I am instantly reminded of a deeper collective joy. There is palpable excitement and energy shared between the audience and performers, one that only arises from a community actively supporting the arts. It is the reciprocity between performer and spectator that reminds me of the inaccuracy of Chalamet’s remarks.
BC occupies a unique position within the university landscape. While it is not formally a dedicated conservatory or arts school, it serves as a vibrant incubator for students with artistic talent. What strikes me most about the campus culture is the overwhelming prevalence of artistic engagement. Nearly everyone I have encountered at BC participates in some form of performing group, reflecting a deeply ingrained appreciation for creative expression.
This participation encompasses everything from established dance ensembles and chorale societies to sophisticated theatre productions, the orchestra, and a host of specialized performance groups. Widespread involvement underscores the fact that, at BC, artistic excellence is not a peripheral activity but a core component of the student experience. Even if it’s not exclusively ballet or opera, BC’s artistic community is proof that art exists beyond the Warner Bros. lot in Hollywood.
With all this in mind, I encourage Chalamet to attend the ALC Showdown and then see if he can still argue what a dying art form looks like.
