Defending ‘Riverdance’--as If It Needs It

Some things are incontrovertible. The sun rises in the east, a triangle has three sides and “Riverdance” is an enthralling expression of the glory of the human spirit and of the power of art to convey beauty.

Concerning his review “ ‘Riverdance’: Irish Culture on the Hoof” (Calendar, Nov. 18), I would like to ask Times dance critic Lewis Segal . . . in the immortal words of Jay Leno’s greeting to Hugh Grant . . . what the hell were you thinking?

I cannot sit quietly and allow Mr. Segal to be the Grinch that stole “Riverdance.” His carping review reveals his heart to be several sizes too small. I speak in the full confidence of the outrage I have shared with literally every other person I know who saw this production. I must sadly inform the Los Angeles Times: Your emperor of dance has no leotards.

The two lead dancers, Jean Butler and Colin Dunne, literally stunned the audience with their lyric skill and exuberance, and yet Mr. Segal scolded “the fatal lack of chemistry” between them. Mr. Segal, your Bunsen burner is broken. Even Dow and Du Pont together are incapable of such inspiring chemistry.

I told these two extraordinary young artists that I could gladly see “Riverdance” once a week for the rest of my life, and I truly meant it. There are certain evenings of thrall that we will take in fond and living memory through the rest of the journey, and for me and for many talented artists who shared that viewing with me, this is definitely one.

“Hollow at the core”? Mr. Segal, I can suggest only that this finding is one that therapists would term “projection.” And while he gives acknowledgment to the intelligence, inspiration and prowess of flamenco diva Maria Pages, he closes his eyes to the passionate heart that enriches her performance.

These are not untested opinions I offer. On the Monday morning of Mr. Segal’s review, the lucky witnesses to the opening of “Riverdance” were telephoning one another to check whether we were crazy or if perhaps Mr. Segal had suffered an unhinged evening. Our conclusion is that if we were crazy, we were crazy to the man and to the woman. I have never shared so unanimous an evening of enjoyment in the theater.

And the outrage of outrages is Mr. Segal’s concluding snit that this beautiful night of exuberant, impossible physicality . . . of body and voice carried to their highest, most soaring splendor . . . “ends up turning Irish culture into processed cheese.” Mr. Segal, at a moment when television is homogenizing our cultures, draining from them individuality and the exquisitely evolved spirit specific to certain times and places and people, “Riverdance” inspires us as a loving expression of the unique and passionate Irish culture that has so enriched our poetry, our theater, our film, our music and . . . now we so gratefully see . . . our dance.