Choreographer’s methods are a thing of beauty

They weren’t born with the beauty queen strut or the flirty head toss. And neither was Scott Grossman.

But he learned to work it.

He keeps this detail at the very front of his mind as he casts a long look at latest batch of women assembled in the Universal City Hilton’s Grand Ballroom looking to hit their stride.

This is only the third rehearsal. There are just a handful more before showtime Monday, when the contestants will parade across the stage at the Kodak Theatre -- the first time the show’s been in the city of L.A. -- each hoping she has the right mix of charm, moxie and innocence to become the next Miss USA.

He might have a lot of work ahead of him.

The atmosphere this dreary day feels a bit like a late-afternoon gym class. He can see as the contestants file into the room, plopping listlessly onto the banquet chairs, that the energy is flagging. But Grossman, who’s been choreographing beauty pageants for 10 years, won’t let it stagnate. Taking a few quick strides to the front of the room, he chases the mood, as if he’s flinging open the windows to chase out a bad smell.

“OK ladies, we’re going to shake off lunch now,” he says, projecting from his spot before a bank of mirrors propped against one of the ballroom’s walls, clapping his hands.

The young women, most in their early 20s, straggle into formation. Some in sweatsuits and sneakers, others in short skirts and heels, all of them, however, in full makeup, styled hair -- falls, glossy Breck-girl curls, bouncy ponytails, princess buns. All of it wrapped in those famous satin sashes advertising their states of origin.

It’s Grossman’s job to make walking around in 6-inch heels and a swimsuit look like the most natural activity in the world. If anyone is going to tease that illusion out of them it’s Grossman, 44, who has become the pageant world’s go-to guy. As choreographer -- a task he approaches as equal parts coach and cheerleader -- it’s also his duty to help these young women convey confidence, uniqueness, self-possession and a layer of sensuality that may be beyond their years. It can be the tilt of a head, the deliberateness of one’s gait, but it is what’s left unsaid, he stresses, that is often more important.

“You only have one minute,” he tells them, pointing to where a chair stands in as a television camera.

“When you look into that camera, your eyes will convey your spirit, that innocence, the essence of you: beauty, peace, love. That is your moment, the spot turn, that second pose into that camera. But you only have that moment. That’s your moment. Once you come back, the judging begins.”

From the field to stage

It’s delicate alchemy, Grossman knows. But having confidence in your movements and your body can open hidden doors. So how did he come to be the pageant movement maestro? It’s a long story and it starts with -- of all things -- football.

Playing offensive tackle in the late ‘70s for Minnesota’s Concordia College, Grossman recalls that he was always watching the cheerleaders -- but not in the way one might initially expect. “I learned the plays, but I also learned the school song.”

But really, once he thought about it, it was all the same. With time of the essence, the most effective approach in teaching a football playbook or choreography, Grossman says, is repetition and emulation. “I spoon-feed them movement out of my own body,” he says. “I let them plug into me for a moment and pull it all out of me, to give them an idea of how it might feel.”

Tall, tan and muscular, Grossman, dressed casually today in cargo pants, a plaid shirt over a gray T-shirt, sneakers, looks more like he’s headed out for a day hike -- or a J.Crew catalog shoot -- rather than heading a jazz-dance class. The room is empty of furniture except for a couple dozen banquet chairs in the back and two long, covered tables strewn with CD cases, legal pads, pens and thick rolls of Day-Glo tape for blocking. He takes a quick stride over to a tiny boombox hooked to a large floor speaker, then presses play. Out blasts a steady techno beat. It’s no longer a stuffy ballroom in the Valley; he wants the girls to imagine a nightspot, a packed-to-the-rafters Hollywood boite.

Bellowing over the beat and the synthesizers, Grossman asks that they step back, imagine themselves “in an eclectic club. Hollywood. Not a Vegas show. Not old Hollywood -- though we respect it -- but this is a hot night in modern-day Hollywood. And you need to walk around and show everyone that you’ve got it goin’ on!”

In a beat, he’s submitted to the rhythm. Hitting his mark before the mirror, back to the girls, he bends at the waist, and then goes down into a squat, posterior in the air. A moment later, he’s dropped to the floor in sort of a push-up pose -- and not the “girl” version. The women begin to drop with him, until Miss Arizona is the only one left standing. She shakes her head, her cheeks blooming pink. But there isn’t a look of dread or embarrassment. Just amusement. Instead of retreating, she trains her eye on the combination. The next time, she nails it. “You are hot, sexy, modern women!” Grossman bellows above the thudding bass. “You’re 19 to 26 -- “

“27!” someone in the back shouts back.

“27!” He corrects himself, not missing a stride. “But you don’t want to loose that wonderful, beautiful innocence.”

Forward. Step to the side. Swivel.

“Nice!” His smile heats up the room as the music thunders. A parade of women crisscrosses the width of the ballroom, a living waterfall -- think Bob Fosse meets late period Debbie Allen. Miss District of Columbia runs the patterns barefoot but on tiptoe. Miss Ohio, in sweats, half-hearted in her hip swiveling, trying to mimic Grossman, after a moment finds her own momentum. “What’s important,” he stresses time and time again, is that “you have to make it look natural. Unrehearsed. This movement is about allowing you to remain truthful.”

Before long he’s thrown the plaid shirt aside, his T-shirt drenched, as he takes them through another pattern. “Now, grab the skirt,” he prompts, grasping at his pants just above the knee, channeling a little bit of Marilyn and Madonna -- keeping with the classic-modern tone he’s been setting. “Now it’s step, step, step. Dragging with this foot. Make it real! This is all about the empowerment of the woman. So make it real. I’m all about the empowerment of the women. That’s what I do. I’m a confidence coach.”

What lies inside

For Grossman, it isn’t just a New Age tidbit. For him, discovering movement was the missing piece. “Being a sports person, I played basketball, football, ran track. I always just loved the feeling of movement. But when I was growing up in Staples, Minn., there really wasn’t an outlet other than sports.” By college, he couldn’t ignore the curiosity. “I tried out for the school production of “Li’l Abner” and got the lead. They brought in a New York choreographer and all of a sudden, I’m loving this feeling of movement! I can just dance!”

Making up for lost time, he signed up for a ballet class. “Me and a bunch of sixth-grade girls. But I knew if I wanted to do this seriously, I needed to train.” After hanging his helmet up for good, he wound himself through the proving ground of dance -- studying Fosse technique on the East Coast, dancing his way through the early days of music videos on the West Coast. Tapped for pageant work a decade ago -- Miss Teen USA, Miss USA and Miss Universe. Grossman was able to parlay that into television specials, theater and film work, even playing himself in “Miss Congeniality.” And he’s returned to choreography on the upcoming “The Princess Diaries II” with Julie Andrews.

These pageants bring their own taut drama, from the opening number through the swimsuit parade to the close. So much of it is about perceptions and turning them on their heads. And even after 10 years, Grossman still gets a charge out of that.

“I tell them when they get up to the Miss Universe level it all goes up about 10 decibels. ‘Watch out for Miss Venezuela because she’s gonna be working it ouuuut.’ ”

Sometimes it takes a lot of strokes, “and sometimes it takes a little vinegar,” he says with a laugh. He’s there to coach the girls into the notion that whatever they want is possible. Whether they are unsure and clumsy or perhaps too self-sure and robotic. He presses them to find what lies inside -- what they bring to the table as individuals -- and to have the courage to own it.

As the girls line up for the swimsuit parade, Grossman again sketches the mood -- the lights, the camera, the attitude -- then hits play. They take the “ramp,” mere Day-Glo tape, but this time with much more conviction, attitude, a steeliness settling in their eyes, a bold signature to their “I’m every woman” gait.

At the halfway mark, Grossman flashes a “not too bad” shrug and smile. It’s as much for them as for him.

“It’s a work in progress, but we’ll be there by show date,” he says. “I know when they walk in and they see me -- this 6-foot-tall, 210-pound guy -- they think, ‘What’s he gonna do? What on Earth can that big girl teach me?’

“I do nothing more than ask them to leave their inhibitions at the door. Let me see the rawness, just how uncoordinated they think they are. And after awhile, gradually, they get to a place, where, look out, they are strutting their business.”

*

‘Miss USA 2004’

Where: NBC

When: 9-11 p.m. Monday

What else: Preceding the pageant is a special Miss USA-themed episode of “Fear Factor” at 8 p.m.

Hosts: Nancy O’Dell and Billy Bush

The pageant is a partnership between NBC and Donald Trump.