To a ballet dancer the modern expressionist dance is a heinous horror; to the expressionist dancer the ballet is merely pretty movement to titillate the fancies of tired businessmen. The modernists have long held entrenched positions in arty lofts and studios, have expressed sexless conceptions of revolt and starvation to the tootling of oboes and the thumping of drums. In Broadway theatres on Sunday nights these restless, grim-eyed chorines illustrate the serious things of life before coal-black backdrops, attract audiences of starry-eyed worshippers at a $2.50 top (standees 50^).
Last week 3,300 Manhattanites,...
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