Review: "Mucho Machismo y Pocos Machos" from Rogelio López & Dancers

The dancers of Mucho Machismo y Pocos Machos. Photo by Ryan Kwok.

softening masculinities into queer possibilities by Bhumi B Patel

Macho men on stage is, in some ways, an American pastime. From historical representations of masculinity in dance through Ted Shawn and Gene Kelly, to the cowboy westerns of John Wayne and Clint Eastwood, to scenes from the 2024 Superbowl of red-faced football players screaming in extreme euphoria at their win, representations of masculinity or, as Ocean Vuong writes, “what we have allowed it to be in America, is often realized through violence.” In the first decades of the twentieth century Ted Shawn used dance as a means to “assert male prowess” to avoid emasculation or “ridicule.” He wanted to “represent dance as an honorable career for men” by projecting manliness through athleticism and pushing a stronger connection between dancers and athletes. In “Dancing Masculinity,” Deborah Jowitt cites a 1913 article in the San Diego Union where Shawn stated “Dance is a manly sport, more strenuous than golf or tennis, more exciting than boxing or wrestling, and more beneficent than gymnastics.” Similarly, Gene Kelly promoted dance as an athletic masculine form, most notably through his 1958 co-directed television program “Dancing: A Man’s Game.” In addition to bringing professional football players and boxers onto the program to learn dance routines with him, Kelly went so far as to state that men were “capable of stronger, more intricate dancing” than women. These colonial, white constructions of masculinity were not always prevalent globally, but they have taken hold in so many places. Yuck, amirite?

I recall all of the violences and dominations that foregrounds our understandings of masculinity as I watched Mucho Machismo y Pocos Machos, created by Rogelio López, and performed by him, Josue Oregel, Kevin Gaytan, Luis Isiordia, Matt Han. This illustrious cast brought to life a magical journey to interrogate masculinities in Mexican Folklorio dance through one queer dancer’s story. The program notes that “the work is structured like a traditional romantic dramedy telenovela - boy meets boy, boy falls in love with boy, boy loses self, boy loses boy (but finds himself)” and inside of that structure I found myself cackling out loud, getting a little choked up, and even clapping along to the rhythmic Mexican Folklorio interwoven with López’s signature contemporary flow. In this telenovela format, we are brought into both the “public spaces” of rehearsals and (albeit secret) dates, but we are also privy to the intimate and the personal. To Sophie Milman’s “I Feel Pretty,” we get to see this queer dancer slough off the impositions of masculinity; To Mariachi Vargas’ “Por Ti Volare” we witness the return of this dancer’s sense of self and self-love. It is triumphant, it is personal, and it is beautiful. By the end, I hardly remembered I was still in a theater. 

Mucho Machismo y Pocos Machos. Clockwise, from the left- Josue Oregel, Matt Han, Rogelio Lopez, Kevin Gaytan, and Luis Isiordia. Photo by Yvonne Portra.

Watching López’s work often feels like a dream, and in 2022, I wrote about the dreaminess of Rogelio López & Dancers’ Entre Despierto y Dormido (Between Awake and Asleep). This work captured that colorful, sparkley, dream-like quality, but it was different. Or I concede that perhaps I am different, deeply attuned to the many ways the rights and lives of queer and trans people are under attack. This work both allowed us to escape this world by remaining firmly grounded in the very real threats to safety that queer people experience, even within our communities that we expect we can trust. But it wasn’t just the story that pushes us to interrogate masculinity, it is also in the movement and costumes - in one moment, dancers in jeans, holding beer bottles push each other around a little bit while laughing and teasing each other; in another moment, dancers in assless chaps dance sensually with dancers in heels and thongs; and yet in another moment, dancers twirl in rainbow Folklorio skirts finding joy in pressing the boundaries imposed upon them. All together, the piece didn’t just ask us to find ways of loving ourselves, it asked us to find ways to love each other in our messy journeys, in our queernesses, in our many possibilities.

So many men hold on to traditionally-masculine, patriarchal social roles because that’s the only version of manhood that they’re familiar with, and it feels easier to double down on the stereotype than to stare into a void of searching for self identity. But I believe that we are seeing cracks in masculinity’s construct, and believe that “perhaps one day, masculinity might become so myriad, so malleable, it no longer needs a fixed border to recognize itself. It might not need to be itself at all” (Vuong). For now, in the end it is the love of self that López arrives at on stage. It is a soft place to land, and perhaps the most free we can be.

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Reviews from pdw's imprint fellows forthcoming

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