August 16, 2025 • 19 mins
Barrie Chase danced beside Fred Astaire — hand-picked by the legend himself for his groundbreaking television specials.
She stole scenes in White Christmas with a single line and redefined cool in cult classics like It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World.
So why isn’t Barrie Chase a household name?
In this episode of The Rest of the Story on the Hey, Dancer! podcast, we uncover the remarkable journey of a child ballet prodigy — trained by Ballets Russes and Kirov greats. She was set to join Balanchine’s company… until a family crisis changed everything.
From chorus lines in MGM musicals to blacklisting threats from Central Casting, assisting Jack Cole, and headlining in Las Vegas — Chase’s career was a masterclass in talent, precision, and resilience.
We’ll also explore her most iconic moment: An Evening with Fred Astaire, a groundbreaking special that won multiple Emmys.
And finally — why she disappeared from Hollywood at the top of her game.
Join us as we trace the path of a dancer who didn’t just share the stage with a legend — she matched him, step for step.
And for a moment, she was one of the most famous dancers in the world.
Check out my Return to Dance docuseries!
Support my Instagram — where I post daily dance inspo, insights and fun! @backtogreat
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
(00:00):
[music]
(00:02):
When the most celebrated dancer in Hollywood history made his first starring turn on television,
he chose her to dance by his side.
Welcome to The Rest of the Story, my weekly series on my podcast, "Hey, Danceer."
I'm your host, Miller Daurey, if you're into stories that dig deep into dance history,
(00:23):
uncovering the truth behind the legends and spotlighting the dancer's history tends to forget
your "In the Right Place."
Now, make sure to follow or subscribe wherever you're watching or listening,
give a like, share it with your dance fam, hit that notification bell so you know
in a video drops, and leave a comment I read and respond to all of them.
(00:43):
All of that helps more than you know.
Okay, let's begin.
She was born in 1933 in Kings Point, New York,
on the north shore of Long Island.
Her father, Borden, was a writer.
Her mother, Lee, was a concert pianist, and she had one older brother, Frank.
With her mom always playing the piano, there was music in the house constantly,
(01:07):
and she found herself moving to it all the time.
Dance was never a decision, it was just part of her.
So, at the ripe old age of three,
her mother took her to study with the ballet mistress of the New York City Opera,
and she trained with her until she was six and a half.
That is when the family moved to California.
(01:29):
Her father was pursuing his screenwriting career,
and they settled in, and Sino,
on a horse ranch in what was then an undeveloped part of the San Fernando Valley,
just over the hill from Hollywood.
The family rode horseback every day.
Her father taught her how to swim,
but despite the picturesque setting,
her early years were largely solitary.
(01:51):
Her father often shows homes in areas where there weren't other children around.
Her brother was ten years older,
and so she spent most of her time in her imagination.
Now, her father insisted that if she were to continue studying dance,
that it had to be with a serious teacher,
so she was enrolled with Adolf Bum,
(02:12):
a former ballet roost dancer based in Los Angeles.
She studied with him from age nine to fifteen.
She continued with Maria Becafi,
a Kirov train Russian ballerina.
The training was rigorous, classical, demanding,
and for a time she was on track to join Ballon Jean's company in New York.
(02:32):
Her teacher had already placed another dancer there.
She was supposed to be next,
but by the time she was fifteen,
her world came crashing down.
Her parents divorced.
By then, her father was no longer just a writer.
He was a powerful Hollywood screenwriter.
She's since spoken about what happened,
(02:53):
but even back then she made her choice.
I held my father responsible for what he did and decided
to sever all ties with him, she said.
My mother was in bad shape and needed me,
so I stayed with her.
The divorce went public at sixteen.
She testified in court about why she believed
financial support was necessary for her dance training.
(03:13):
Her father refused.
Her mother filed legal affidavits.
The story landed on the front page of the Los Angeles Times,
and the hostility only grew worse.
She was supposed to join Ballon Jean's prestigious ballet company,
but instead she had to immediately go to work
and help support her mom.
Now, her mother agreed to let her drop out of the professional academic school
(03:36):
she was attending on one condition.
She had to wake up early and rehearse every day.
Luckily, the rehearsal hall was an building
owned by her dance teacher,
so she had full access and she kept her word.
Her first real job came shortly after she was around sixteen
when she answered a newspaper ad for a show at the Hollywood Bowl.
(04:00):
She booked the job,
but while filling out the paperwork,
another dancer pulled her aside,
"Don't write your real age," the girl warned,
"Say your older or they won't keep you."
So she lied,
and she stayed.
Then came Skaramouche.
She was training at the Marie-Becky School
when an MGM scout spotted her.
(04:22):
They were looking for ballet dancers,
and she stood out.
It led to her first screen credit.
Around this time,
she began dancing with Igor Dega,
a dancer in his mid-30s who ran a nightclub act.
Though she was only sixteen,
she joined the company and began performing
at small venues around Los Angeles.
(04:42):
They eventually landed a successful run
at the last frontier hotel in Las Vegas.
It was another early credit,
another paycheck,
and most importantly,
another chance to keep dancing.
Then came Hans Christian Anderson.
Choreographer Roland Pettit held an open call
across five major ballet schools in Los Angeles.
(05:04):
He needed six girls who could work on point
with true control and artistry.
She was one of them.
And in those days, a dancer didn't just show up
for a few rehearsals and leave.
They were hired for the duration of the shoot.
That meant six months on set,
working across multiple scenes and sequences as needed.
(05:25):
After that, she stayed busy.
Chorus roles in films like "Road to Balli" and "Glory Alley"
uncredited, unnamed, often unnoticed,
but she was dancing.
Then the calls began to change.
The screen extras guild started contacting her.
Crowd scenes, walk-ons, background work
that had nothing to do with dance.
(05:48):
She turned them down,
not because she was ungrateful or picky,
but because she knew exactly what she wanted.
To dance.
Eventually, central casting warned her,
"Keep saying no, and you'll be blackballed."
Then came a twist of luck.
She and her mother were talking about it
by the pool at their apartment building
(06:09):
and a tenant overheard.
Now, he wasn't just any neighbor.
He was the liaison between Columbia Studios
and the union that handled extras,
the very people who'd been giving her trouble.
Talk about luck.
So her mom asked him to step in.
Not long after, the threats stopped.
Her roles didn't change overnight, but something else did.
(06:33):
She could keep working and dancing on her terms
without being punished for saying no.
She landed chorus and featured spots
in big-name musicals.
Call me Madame, where her dance partner
was the later legendary Jazz Dance teacher, Luigi.
She was in Brigaduin, Pal Joey, and the I Don't Care Girl.
(06:54):
One day, she was visiting her friend
on the set of White Christmas.
She was just waiting around for her friend
when an assistant approached her and told her
that the director had spotted her
and would like her very much to read for a small part.
Well, at first, she said no.
She assumed what it meant to be called to a dressing room,
(07:18):
but the assistant promised all was good
and that he would go with her.
She met the director and he asked if she could talk
through her nose.
She didn't understand at first, so he gave her an example.
She copied it.
He turned to the assistant and said,
she has the job, take her to casting.
As they walked out, the assistant laughed.
(07:40):
She asked why.
He told her they had gone through dozens of blondes
for the role.
Casting was beginning to run out of options,
and then she walked in and booked it on the spot.
And now her iconic line,
"How do you do?"
"Mucho-o-o-o-l-i'm sure."
"How do you do?"
"Mucho-o-o-l-i'm sure."
(08:01):
is one of the most memorable parts of a movie
that is considered one of the greatest Christmas movies
of all time.
She continued to work constantly, uncredited roles,
background parts, featured dancer gigs,
TV shows like "Showr of Stars" and "The Red Skeleton Hour"
and movies more and more movies.
(08:22):
The second greatest sex, "Bring Your Smile Along."
Daddy long legs, deep in my heart, Athena,
she was in demand, but she felt invisible.
Worse, many of the men in charge didn't even see her as a dancer.
She thought of them as choreographers
who hired pretty girls to do meaningless steps
(08:43):
in tight costumes.
She knew she had more to offer, and so did Jack Cole.
He saw her on TV.
That's how it began.
Not in audition, not a cattle call, just him noticing her.
He cast her in "Kismet" then brought her on
as a dancer for Dolores Gray in "Designing Woman."
(09:04):
But it was laygirls that changed everything.
She wasn't just dancing.
She was assisting.
She was being trusted.
He made her assistant choreographer,
following in the footsteps of his past assistants
Gwen Verden and Carol Haney.
She also served as dance double.
It was the first time she felt truly seen for her skill,
(09:26):
not her body, not her looks,
but her talent, her mind, her work.
She'd later say he was the greatest influence
on her professional life, and from that point on,
she never auditioned as a dancer again.
Now, it was during one particular rehearsal for laygirls
where Cole's dancers were running a number,
(09:48):
sharp technical precise, and as always,
with Cole, there were live drums.
That alone was unusual.
Most Hollywood rehearsals on sound stages
and such used a piano, but drums were his signature.
Now in an adjacent sound stage, Fred Astaire,
was rehearsing for silk stockings.
(10:09):
He heard the rhythm, followed the beat,
intrigued by the drums, and stepped in to watch.
Most of the dancers hit every accent,
but one of them stood out, the only girl,
slightly behind, less polished out of sync.
She'd later say she looked like she didn't belong.
Still, something about her pulled his focus.
(10:32):
So later he asked Cole, can I borrow her for one number?
Cole famously protective rarely gave up a dancer,
but this was Astaire, so he said yes.
And just like that, she was in a number
with the most famous dancer in the world.
A few bars on screen, a brief moment,
(10:53):
but what a moment, a glimpse of something bigger,
something to come, but there was a shift
after nearly a decade of chorus work,
usually just another girl in the background.
And after pushing hard to finally be seen,
she stepped away.
No classes, no warm-ups, no auditions,
(11:14):
no high kicks, no back bends, she just stopped dancing.
She transitioned into acting lessons,
studied under Jeff Corey.
Then came Marty Grah, where she played
a college philosophy student moonlighting
as a nightclub dancer.
It wasn't a major role, but the studio took notice.
(11:34):
They signed her to a contract,
but in her mind, she still wasn't dancing.
She hadn't taken class, she hadn't trained,
she stepped away from the kind of movement
that once defined her, and that is when
Fred Astaire re-entered the picture.
The Moiseev dancers were in town,
a Russian folk troop making their first US appearance,
(11:56):
and she was desperate to see them,
but tickets were sold out.
So she asked if he might be able to help.
Now, according to her, Astaire didn't care for ballet,
but he got two tickets.
They went together and to her surprise, he loved it.
That performance sparked an idea,
a dance-only television special.
(12:19):
No singers, no comedians, just movement.
He asked if she'd want to be involved.
She said, "Yeah."
But reminded him she was under contract.
He told her not to worry.
Weeks later, he called again.
He and Hermes Pan, his longtime choreographer
and creative partner, were renting a rehearsal hall
(12:42):
and he wanted her to come by.
There was no contract, no title, no announcement,
just the three of them.
Working.
She figured she was the assistant.
Then came the group rehearsals.
She kept waiting, assuming someone else would show up.
Someone she was doubling, someone else in the role.
(13:02):
But no one came.
And that is when she realized she wasn't the assistant.
She was the one.
The partner, Fred Astaire, would dance with
on national television.
She hadn't studied tap, hadn't studied ballroom.
That, she later said, felt weird.
But Fred didn't see gaps.
(13:23):
He saw instinct, precision, musicality,
someone who could rise to meet him.
And she did.
Working with him changed her.
Quote, he gave me the confidence
I never had before, end quote, she once said,
still, before the first special aired,
panic crept in.
She was terrified of stepping on what she called,
(13:45):
quote, the best foot in the world, end quote,
not to mention Ginger Rogers, a Stair's most famous partner,
had a new television special of her own.
It rattled her.
A friend talked her down.
Put it out of your head.
You're doing it.
So give it everything you've got.
And she did.
When an evening with Fred Astaire aired,
(14:08):
people didn't just ask, who's the girl, they remembered her.
A leaky knockout with high cheekbones
and a ponytail that bounced like punctuation.
So distinctive, it became her signature.
Viewers couldn't get enough.
The jazz inflected elegance, the cool poise,
the way she made Astaire look newly electric.
(14:29):
She was stylish.
She was contemporary.
She was sleek, a downtown contrast
to his uptown charm.
She hadn't even hit 25 years old yet.
But somehow, next to a legend, she didn't fade.
She popped.
Together, they didn't just dance.
They matched.
She wasn't being led by him, supporting him.
(14:52):
She was dancing with him, matching him and holding her own.
The show won nine Emmy Awards,
including Best Program of the Year and received a Peabody.
She graced the cover of TV Guide,
Major Magazine's profiled her and for a brief extraordinary moment,
the dance world had a new leading lady.
(15:14):
Over the next decade, she and Fred reunited
for three more dance specials.
After the Astaire specials, she was flooded with offers.
Her own TV specials, a recurring deal with Ed Sullivan
and opportunities from all three major networks,
but she turned them all down and took off for Europe.
(15:35):
Sweden, France, Germany, Italy.
She even lived in Stockholm for a while.
Not for fame, not for a role,
but because she was tired and ready to get away,
to live, to travel, to feel something different.
Eventually, she came back and stepped straight into Hollywood again.
She took on crucial supporting roles in major films,
(15:58):
like Cape Fear, opposite Robert Mitchem,
her first major acting role in, by her own words,
one that left her nervous and scared.
Next, she delivered something completely different,
a brief unforgettable appearance in,
it's a mad mad mad world, tight fringe bikini,
fast footwork, stoned out stare, it was wild,
(16:20):
it was weird and decades later,
it's still one of the most iconic dance scenes
in cult comedy history.
In 1963, she returned to Las Vegas,
not as part of an act, but as the headliner.
The Sahara's Congo Room, pulsed with energy,
choreography by Hermes Pan,
and co-signed by Fred Astaire himself,
(16:41):
and from the moment the lights came up,
there was no mistaking it.
This was a star in command.
Then came the movie The Flight of the Phoenix,
the studio wanted a topless belly dance,
a playboy fantasy in the desert.
She refused, they gave her a week to think about it.
She still said no.
Eventually, she compromised on her terms.
(17:04):
She took private belly dance lessons
from a woman on Western Avenue
and rehearsed every movement until it felt authentic.
The scene was filmed with a filter
that softened the image, downplaying the studio's
original intent, what she delivered was controlled,
hypnotic, and to this day,
it's a performance that haunts and sparks intrigue
(17:26):
and admiration.
She had the lead guest star in an episode of Bonanza,
which happened to be written by her brother,
where she played a saloon dancer who's given a chance
to become a great ballet artist.
She played a Soviet ballerina in a surreal episode
of Mr. Terrific,
guested on multiple network variety shows
and continued to perform for national audiences,
(17:49):
always dancing, always commanding attention.
But eventually, while only in her 30s, she stepped away.
Not because the calls stopped coming,
but because after years of shaping herself
around directors, choreographers, and studios,
she wanted something else, something quieter,
something grounded.
(18:10):
She got married, had a son,
and built a life far from the spotlight,
maybe because she had already done what few ever could.
She danced, not behind, not beneath,
but beside the most celebrated dancer of the 20th century.
He chose her, trained with her, trusted her,
(18:33):
and for a moment in time she wasn't just known,
she was everywhere.
That kind of fame built on dance is almost unheard of.
Her name, Barry Chase.
And now you know the rest of the story.
All right, dance fam, I hope you loved this episode.
(18:53):
I'd be so appreciative if you took a moment,
if you got all the way to the end, which my YouTube analytics
show me that most of you do, which is kind of amazing.
So thank you for that.
And hey, leave a comment down below.
Hit that like button and share this video with your dance fam.
If you feel inspired by Barry's story, what a story,
(19:17):
and make sure you're following or subscribed,
wherever you're watching or listening,
so that you never miss an episode.
I've got so many amazing dance stories waiting for you.
I appreciate you as always, and I'll see you next time.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
[MUSIC PLAYING]
(19:37):
[MUSIC PLAYING]
[MUSIC PLAYING]
(bell ringing)
[music]
(00:02):
When the most celebrated dancer in Hollywood history made his first starring turn on television,
he chose her to dance by his side.
Welcome to The Rest of the Story, my weekly series on my podcast, "Hey, Danceer."
I'm your host, Miller Daurey, if you're into stories that dig deep into dance history,
(00:23):
uncovering the truth behind the legends and spotlighting the dancer's history tends to forget
your "In the Right Place."
Now, make sure to follow or subscribe wherever you're watching or listening,
give a like, share it with your dance fam, hit that notification bell so you know
in a video drops, and leave a comment I read and respond to all of them.
(00:43):
All of that helps more than you know.
Okay, let's begin.
She was born in 1933 in Kings Point, New York,
on the north shore of Long Island.
Her father, Borden, was a writer.
Her mother, Lee, was a concert pianist, and she had one older brother, Frank.
With her mom always playing the piano, there was music in the house constantly,
(01:07):
and she found herself moving to it all the time.
Dance was never a decision, it was just part of her.
So, at the ripe old age of three,
her mother took her to study with the ballet mistress of the New York City Opera,
and she trained with her until she was six and a half.
That is when the family moved to California.
(01:29):
Her father was pursuing his screenwriting career,
and they settled in, and Sino,
on a horse ranch in what was then an undeveloped part of the San Fernando Valley,
just over the hill from Hollywood.
The family rode horseback every day.
Her father taught her how to swim,
but despite the picturesque setting,
her early years were largely solitary.
(01:51):
Her father often shows homes in areas where there weren't other children around.
Her brother was ten years older,
and so she spent most of her time in her imagination.
Now, her father insisted that if she were to continue studying dance,
that it had to be with a serious teacher,
so she was enrolled with Adolf Bum,
(02:12):
a former ballet roost dancer based in Los Angeles.
She studied with him from age nine to fifteen.
She continued with Maria Becafi,
a Kirov train Russian ballerina.
The training was rigorous, classical, demanding,
and for a time she was on track to join Ballon Jean's company in New York.
(02:32):
Her teacher had already placed another dancer there.
She was supposed to be next,
but by the time she was fifteen,
her world came crashing down.
Her parents divorced.
By then, her father was no longer just a writer.
He was a powerful Hollywood screenwriter.
She's since spoken about what happened,
(02:53):
but even back then she made her choice.
I held my father responsible for what he did and decided
to sever all ties with him, she said.
My mother was in bad shape and needed me,
so I stayed with her.
The divorce went public at sixteen.
She testified in court about why she believed
financial support was necessary for her dance training.
(03:13):
Her father refused.
Her mother filed legal affidavits.
The story landed on the front page of the Los Angeles Times,
and the hostility only grew worse.
She was supposed to join Ballon Jean's prestigious ballet company,
but instead she had to immediately go to work
and help support her mom.
Now, her mother agreed to let her drop out of the professional academic school
(03:36):
she was attending on one condition.
She had to wake up early and rehearse every day.
Luckily, the rehearsal hall was an building
owned by her dance teacher,
so she had full access and she kept her word.
Her first real job came shortly after she was around sixteen
when she answered a newspaper ad for a show at the Hollywood Bowl.
(04:00):
She booked the job,
but while filling out the paperwork,
another dancer pulled her aside,
"Don't write your real age," the girl warned,
"Say your older or they won't keep you."
So she lied,
and she stayed.
Then came Skaramouche.
She was training at the Marie-Becky School
when an MGM scout spotted her.
(04:22):
They were looking for ballet dancers,
and she stood out.
It led to her first screen credit.
Around this time,
she began dancing with Igor Dega,
a dancer in his mid-30s who ran a nightclub act.
Though she was only sixteen,
she joined the company and began performing
at small venues around Los Angeles.
(04:42):
They eventually landed a successful run
at the last frontier hotel in Las Vegas.
It was another early credit,
another paycheck,
and most importantly,
another chance to keep dancing.
Then came Hans Christian Anderson.
Choreographer Roland Pettit held an open call
across five major ballet schools in Los Angeles.
(05:04):
He needed six girls who could work on point
with true control and artistry.
She was one of them.
And in those days, a dancer didn't just show up
for a few rehearsals and leave.
They were hired for the duration of the shoot.
That meant six months on set,
working across multiple scenes and sequences as needed.
(05:25):
After that, she stayed busy.
Chorus roles in films like "Road to Balli" and "Glory Alley"
uncredited, unnamed, often unnoticed,
but she was dancing.
Then the calls began to change.
The screen extras guild started contacting her.
Crowd scenes, walk-ons, background work
that had nothing to do with dance.
(05:48):
She turned them down,
not because she was ungrateful or picky,
but because she knew exactly what she wanted.
To dance.
Eventually, central casting warned her,
"Keep saying no, and you'll be blackballed."
Then came a twist of luck.
She and her mother were talking about it
by the pool at their apartment building
(06:09):
and a tenant overheard.
Now, he wasn't just any neighbor.
He was the liaison between Columbia Studios
and the union that handled extras,
the very people who'd been giving her trouble.
Talk about luck.
So her mom asked him to step in.
Not long after, the threats stopped.
Her roles didn't change overnight, but something else did.
(06:33):
She could keep working and dancing on her terms
without being punished for saying no.
She landed chorus and featured spots
in big-name musicals.
Call me Madame, where her dance partner
was the later legendary Jazz Dance teacher, Luigi.
She was in Brigaduin, Pal Joey, and the I Don't Care Girl.
(06:54):
One day, she was visiting her friend
on the set of White Christmas.
She was just waiting around for her friend
when an assistant approached her and told her
that the director had spotted her
and would like her very much to read for a small part.
Well, at first, she said no.
She assumed what it meant to be called to a dressing room,
(07:18):
but the assistant promised all was good
and that he would go with her.
She met the director and he asked if she could talk
through her nose.
She didn't understand at first, so he gave her an example.
She copied it.
He turned to the assistant and said,
she has the job, take her to casting.
As they walked out, the assistant laughed.
(07:40):
She asked why.
He told her they had gone through dozens of blondes
for the role.
Casting was beginning to run out of options,
and then she walked in and booked it on the spot.
And now her iconic line,
"How do you do?"
"Mucho-o-o-o-l-i'm sure."
"How do you do?"
"Mucho-o-o-l-i'm sure."
(08:01):
is one of the most memorable parts of a movie
that is considered one of the greatest Christmas movies
of all time.
She continued to work constantly, uncredited roles,
background parts, featured dancer gigs,
TV shows like "Showr of Stars" and "The Red Skeleton Hour"
and movies more and more movies.
(08:22):
The second greatest sex, "Bring Your Smile Along."
Daddy long legs, deep in my heart, Athena,
she was in demand, but she felt invisible.
Worse, many of the men in charge didn't even see her as a dancer.
She thought of them as choreographers
who hired pretty girls to do meaningless steps
(08:43):
in tight costumes.
She knew she had more to offer, and so did Jack Cole.
He saw her on TV.
That's how it began.
Not in audition, not a cattle call, just him noticing her.
He cast her in "Kismet" then brought her on
as a dancer for Dolores Gray in "Designing Woman."
(09:04):
But it was laygirls that changed everything.
She wasn't just dancing.
She was assisting.
She was being trusted.
He made her assistant choreographer,
following in the footsteps of his past assistants
Gwen Verden and Carol Haney.
She also served as dance double.
It was the first time she felt truly seen for her skill,
(09:26):
not her body, not her looks,
but her talent, her mind, her work.
She'd later say he was the greatest influence
on her professional life, and from that point on,
she never auditioned as a dancer again.
Now, it was during one particular rehearsal for laygirls
where Cole's dancers were running a number,
(09:48):
sharp technical precise, and as always,
with Cole, there were live drums.
That alone was unusual.
Most Hollywood rehearsals on sound stages
and such used a piano, but drums were his signature.
Now in an adjacent sound stage, Fred Astaire,
was rehearsing for silk stockings.
(10:09):
He heard the rhythm, followed the beat,
intrigued by the drums, and stepped in to watch.
Most of the dancers hit every accent,
but one of them stood out, the only girl,
slightly behind, less polished out of sync.
She'd later say she looked like she didn't belong.
Still, something about her pulled his focus.
(10:32):
So later he asked Cole, can I borrow her for one number?
Cole famously protective rarely gave up a dancer,
but this was Astaire, so he said yes.
And just like that, she was in a number
with the most famous dancer in the world.
A few bars on screen, a brief moment,
(10:53):
but what a moment, a glimpse of something bigger,
something to come, but there was a shift
after nearly a decade of chorus work,
usually just another girl in the background.
And after pushing hard to finally be seen,
she stepped away.
No classes, no warm-ups, no auditions,
(11:14):
no high kicks, no back bends, she just stopped dancing.
She transitioned into acting lessons,
studied under Jeff Corey.
Then came Marty Grah, where she played
a college philosophy student moonlighting
as a nightclub dancer.
It wasn't a major role, but the studio took notice.
(11:34):
They signed her to a contract,
but in her mind, she still wasn't dancing.
She hadn't taken class, she hadn't trained,
she stepped away from the kind of movement
that once defined her, and that is when
Fred Astaire re-entered the picture.
The Moiseev dancers were in town,
a Russian folk troop making their first US appearance,
(11:56):
and she was desperate to see them,
but tickets were sold out.
So she asked if he might be able to help.
Now, according to her, Astaire didn't care for ballet,
but he got two tickets.
They went together and to her surprise, he loved it.
That performance sparked an idea,
a dance-only television special.
(12:19):
No singers, no comedians, just movement.
He asked if she'd want to be involved.
She said, "Yeah."
But reminded him she was under contract.
He told her not to worry.
Weeks later, he called again.
He and Hermes Pan, his longtime choreographer
and creative partner, were renting a rehearsal hall
(12:42):
and he wanted her to come by.
There was no contract, no title, no announcement,
just the three of them.
Working.
She figured she was the assistant.
Then came the group rehearsals.
She kept waiting, assuming someone else would show up.
Someone she was doubling, someone else in the role.
(13:02):
But no one came.
And that is when she realized she wasn't the assistant.
She was the one.
The partner, Fred Astaire, would dance with
on national television.
She hadn't studied tap, hadn't studied ballroom.
That, she later said, felt weird.
But Fred didn't see gaps.
(13:23):
He saw instinct, precision, musicality,
someone who could rise to meet him.
And she did.
Working with him changed her.
Quote, he gave me the confidence
I never had before, end quote, she once said,
still, before the first special aired,
panic crept in.
She was terrified of stepping on what she called,
(13:45):
quote, the best foot in the world, end quote,
not to mention Ginger Rogers, a Stair's most famous partner,
had a new television special of her own.
It rattled her.
A friend talked her down.
Put it out of your head.
You're doing it.
So give it everything you've got.
And she did.
When an evening with Fred Astaire aired,
(14:08):
people didn't just ask, who's the girl, they remembered her.
A leaky knockout with high cheekbones
and a ponytail that bounced like punctuation.
So distinctive, it became her signature.
Viewers couldn't get enough.
The jazz inflected elegance, the cool poise,
the way she made Astaire look newly electric.
(14:29):
She was stylish.
She was contemporary.
She was sleek, a downtown contrast
to his uptown charm.
She hadn't even hit 25 years old yet.
But somehow, next to a legend, she didn't fade.
She popped.
Together, they didn't just dance.
They matched.
She wasn't being led by him, supporting him.
(14:52):
She was dancing with him, matching him and holding her own.
The show won nine Emmy Awards,
including Best Program of the Year and received a Peabody.
She graced the cover of TV Guide,
Major Magazine's profiled her and for a brief extraordinary moment,
the dance world had a new leading lady.
(15:14):
Over the next decade, she and Fred reunited
for three more dance specials.
After the Astaire specials, she was flooded with offers.
Her own TV specials, a recurring deal with Ed Sullivan
and opportunities from all three major networks,
but she turned them all down and took off for Europe.
(15:35):
Sweden, France, Germany, Italy.
She even lived in Stockholm for a while.
Not for fame, not for a role,
but because she was tired and ready to get away,
to live, to travel, to feel something different.
Eventually, she came back and stepped straight into Hollywood again.
She took on crucial supporting roles in major films,
(15:58):
like Cape Fear, opposite Robert Mitchem,
her first major acting role in, by her own words,
one that left her nervous and scared.
Next, she delivered something completely different,
a brief unforgettable appearance in,
it's a mad mad mad world, tight fringe bikini,
fast footwork, stoned out stare, it was wild,
(16:20):
it was weird and decades later,
it's still one of the most iconic dance scenes
in cult comedy history.
In 1963, she returned to Las Vegas,
not as part of an act, but as the headliner.
The Sahara's Congo Room, pulsed with energy,
choreography by Hermes Pan,
and co-signed by Fred Astaire himself,
(16:41):
and from the moment the lights came up,
there was no mistaking it.
This was a star in command.
Then came the movie The Flight of the Phoenix,
the studio wanted a topless belly dance,
a playboy fantasy in the desert.
She refused, they gave her a week to think about it.
She still said no.
Eventually, she compromised on her terms.
(17:04):
She took private belly dance lessons
from a woman on Western Avenue
and rehearsed every movement until it felt authentic.
The scene was filmed with a filter
that softened the image, downplaying the studio's
original intent, what she delivered was controlled,
hypnotic, and to this day,
it's a performance that haunts and sparks intrigue
(17:26):
and admiration.
She had the lead guest star in an episode of Bonanza,
which happened to be written by her brother,
where she played a saloon dancer who's given a chance
to become a great ballet artist.
She played a Soviet ballerina in a surreal episode
of Mr. Terrific,
guested on multiple network variety shows
and continued to perform for national audiences,
(17:49):
always dancing, always commanding attention.
But eventually, while only in her 30s, she stepped away.
Not because the calls stopped coming,
but because after years of shaping herself
around directors, choreographers, and studios,
she wanted something else, something quieter,
something grounded.
(18:10):
She got married, had a son,
and built a life far from the spotlight,
maybe because she had already done what few ever could.
She danced, not behind, not beneath,
but beside the most celebrated dancer of the 20th century.
He chose her, trained with her, trusted her,
(18:33):
and for a moment in time she wasn't just known,
she was everywhere.
That kind of fame built on dance is almost unheard of.
Her name, Barry Chase.
And now you know the rest of the story.
All right, dance fam, I hope you loved this episode.
(18:53):
I'd be so appreciative if you took a moment,
if you got all the way to the end, which my YouTube analytics
show me that most of you do, which is kind of amazing.
So thank you for that.
And hey, leave a comment down below.
Hit that like button and share this video with your dance fam.
If you feel inspired by Barry's story, what a story,
(19:17):
and make sure you're following or subscribed,
wherever you're watching or listening,
so that you never miss an episode.
I've got so many amazing dance stories waiting for you.
I appreciate you as always, and I'll see you next time.
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