April 5, 2025 • 22 mins
In this episode of The Rest of the Story, I’m diving into the dance lives of the Nicholas Brothers — Fayard and Harold — two self-taught tap prodigies who left legends like Fred Astaire and Mikhail Baryshnikov speechless.
From the Cotton Club to Hollywood, from Broadway to Buckingham Palace, their story is one of raw talent and jaw-dropping brilliance — not just defying the odds to rise to stardom, but doing it in a segregated world.
Stick around for behind-the-scenes truths (like: was their Stormy Weather routine really done in one take?), a little Gene Kelly shade, a full-circle Fred Astaire moment, and some real talk about how they got acro/tricks right.
This isn’t just tap history — it’s the story behind one of dance’s greatest duos.
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):
Hey dance family, welcome to my weekly series The Rest of the Story, where I unpack the
(00:07):
lives of dance legends who changed the game, made an impact on the art form that really
has stood the test of time.
I'm your host Miller Daurey and this is my podcast, Hey Dancer.
Today we're going to talk about two brothers who might have shaped tap dance more than anyone.
They took this distinctly American art form with its unique blend of African, European
(00:33):
and American musical and dance traditions and they turned it into a full body spectacle,
self-taught kids who face down odds and racism to leave the world speechless.
But before I get into it, I just want to thank you for being here and I'd be honored and
super grateful if you subscribed if you're watching on YouTube, hit that notification bell
(00:58):
so you are alerted.
The moment a new episode drops, leave a comment, give the video a like if you're watching
on Spotify, leave a comment there that would be super cool to see and if you're listening
on Apple or anywhere else, make sure you're following and rate and review the show.
It means a lot to me.
Okay, let's dive in.
(01:19):
We step into Philadelphia in the 1910s.
A little boy is growing up with his parents who happen to play in the orchestra pit at the
standard theater, a hotspot for black performers.
His mom is on piano, his dad is on drums and he's right there with them, tagging along to
watch the shows.
(01:39):
He's a little kid, just a toddler, sitting front row, eyes wide on stars like Bill Bojangles
Robinson, tapping smooth and sharp across the stage.
He's unlike anything he's ever seen.
They're having fun up there.
I'd like to do that, he thinks.
By the time he's five or six, acts like buck and bubbles hit the circuit too, flipping and
(02:03):
spinning wild and he is soaking it all in.
Then when he's seven years old, his little brother arrives and before long, baby brother
is watching too, picking it up fast.
No teachers, by the way, just raw talent and a dad who throws advice from time to time,
like don't look at your feet, entertain the audience, not yourself.
(02:28):
A few years later, they team up with their sister Dorothy, who's a bit younger than the older
boy and they make a trio.
They start hitting local stages like the Pearl Theater and even a radio gig, the Horn
and Hard Art Kitty Hour, a kid's talent show at a Philly and New York where they dance live
for big broadcast crowds.
(02:49):
They leap, split and tap arms, swinging, full body moves, so fresh, folks cannot take their
eyes off them.
By 1928, they're 14 and seven and sister Dorothy has tapped out, pun intended.
She's worn thin by the late nights.
Their parents take the reins, managing the duo as they tear through Vodville circuits.
(03:14):
Philly, New York, anywhere the road leads.
Its endless gigs, legs always moving, building a name, step by step, then 1932 rolls around.
A promoter saw them dance and said, "Listen, I want to bring you to New York City to perform
at the Cotton Club and so a new era begins."
(03:35):
They're 18 and 11 years old now.
Stepping onto Harlem's Cotton Club stage, a glitzy, whites-only hotspot where black
talent shines but can't sit with the crowd.
Velvet curtains, cigarette smoke, jazz humming and these two, build as the show stoppers.
(03:56):
They twist, tap, leap over each other to cab callaways, the ugl call rag, one of many numbers
they turned into pure magic, backed by legends like Duke Ellington's orchestra on other nights.
They're the only black act allowed to chat with patrons after, a rare nod to their pull
in a segregated world.
(04:18):
That same year, they film "Py-Py Blackbird" with UB Blake's jazz band, a short that pops
with energy.
Life is a whirlwind for them.
Get this.
Cotton Club gigs end at 5 a.m.
They sleep till about 2 or 3 p.m. get tutored to keep up with school then ride back in a chauffeured
limo for midnight shows.
(04:40):
My gosh, these kids are riding a wild wave.
Stars on the rise.
Speaking of which, in 1934, producer Samuel Goldwyn, yeah, that guy from MetroGoldwynMayer,
aka MGM, catches the brothers at the Cotton Club and signs them for kid millions.
(05:00):
A musical comedy film, they're 20 and 13 years old, hitting Hollywood.
One day on the lot, they bump into none other than Fred Astaire, working on Top Hat.
We watched him sink his steps, the older brother once remembered.
Mom had her camera, so we said Fred, let's do a time step together.
We went outside, danced, he was grinning ear to ear, it was so much fun.
(05:26):
Yup, their mom filmed it, a moment of dance legends coming together and caught on film forever.
By the way, I have a lovely full circle moment with Fred Astaire and these brothers coming
up in the outro so make sure you're watching or listening all the way through.
Now Broadway calls in 1936.
(05:46):
Agent John Murray Anderson sees them at the Lafayette Theatre and books them for Zigg
Feld Follies at the Winter Garden.
They're sharing the stage with icons like Fanny Bryce, Bob Hope, Josephine Baker, and
every night they bring the house down.
Six curtain calls in Boston once.
Now that's a tough act to follow indeed.
(06:08):
Then in 1937, they land a gig in Babes in Arms, a Broadway musical about kids putting on
their own show.
Their book as a dance act and George Ballonshin, Ballet's big name is brought in to choreograph
it.
While he's working with them, he catches their leaps and splits in rehearsals, moves so
(06:31):
sharp, so high, to him they scream ballet.
So he asks if they have ballet training and they say nope, and he is just stunned.
How could they not have trained?
They pick up his steps on the fly, weaving them into their jazz tap storm.
By 1940, 20th Century Fox signs them for five years, six films.
(06:57):
Down Argentine Way, their dance is so electric, theater crowds, stomped till the projectionists
rewind the reel.
Sun Valley serenade, they're moving with Dorothy Dandridge to Glenn Miller's band.
Orchestra Wives, a musical film, brings I've got a gal in Kalamazoo, a swing in song paired
with their tap dance magic, the great American broadcast, Tin Pan Alley, and the legendary
(07:24):
Stormy Weather in 1943.
Now if you've ever caught clips of these guys before, maybe a highlight reel or something,
one moment is highlighted above all the rest.
It's the jump and jive scene from this movie and it hits the screen like a thunderbolt,
vaulting over cab Calloway's bandstands tapping on a piano, leaping down massive stairs, falling
(07:48):
into the splits and then popping up each time with no hands.
A total jaw dropper.
Choreographer Nick Castle kept it simple.
He told them, "Just do it.
Don't rehearse it, just do it."
He gave them freedom, and they ran with it.
They delivered pure, unrehearsed brilliance.
(08:09):
You heard that right.
No choreography practice beforehand.
That is confirmed.
The brothers just kind of worked it out in their heads.
They could see it.
They could visualize it.
But does that mean the whole scene was done all in one take?
Now that is certainly what endless online resources would have us believe.
(08:31):
Wikipedia, Google's AI, even the son of one of the brothers, said it in an interview years
later.
And there are also references online to the older brother saying, "And so we did it in
one little take."
He also references that the choreographer Castle said, "That's it.
(08:51):
We can't do it any better than that."
Clearly implying it was done in one take.
And so there you have it.
The legend rests right there.
Except it doesn't.
Historians point out that the scene features cuts and camera angle shifts, hinting that the
final edit was stitched together in more than one take.
(09:13):
And so I dug deeper and finally found a 1985 interview where the elder brother breaks it
down.
"Captain Halloween."
"Captain Halloween."
"Then went over to the piano and after that we went up these big steps."
"Would you do the whole thing in one take or would you split it up?"
"Oh no, no, we split it."
"We couldn't do all that in one take, no.
No way."
"But it looks that way when you see it on the screen, but we had to take about 16 bars and cut
(09:40):
and we rest and then they take another angle."
"Yeah, that's way we."
"Did that all?
16?"
"Well, I was just saying it.
It could have been."
"Just like all brother.
You could have been.
You could have been.
"You can't get along.
You can't agree."
"We can't get along, but we disagree, a man."
So here's the thing.
And why I think history gets this iconic moment wrong.
Yes, that climactic scene at the end where the brothers descend the stairs, leap over
(10:04):
one another and perform the splits over and over again is actually a single shot.
That is the one take that I think history is trying to say is one take, but the whole scene
was filmed in chunks separately.
And maybe those chunks were also done in one take, which is all obviously ridiculously
(10:26):
impressive and perhaps why the rumor about it all being in one take got kind of muddied
regardless.
Hopefully, this puts an end to the mystery and confusion.
It's crucial to note, studios filmed their scenes as standalone segments, self-contained,
no dialogue, all dance designed to be cut out of the movies entirely.
(10:50):
But why?
Well, so Southern theaters could erase them without a trace, a cold nod to the times, the
grips of racism.
If you were black, you felt it, they once said, and yet they remained grateful, humble, thrilled
to just work to let their brilliance burn through.
(11:13):
In 1948, they finally dance with a white star.
Jean Kelly in the pirates, the number, be a clown, a fast athletic dance, no tap shoes,
all power.
I've got a fun anecdote about this performance in the outro also.
They perform all over the world too.
(11:33):
South America, Africa, Europe, dancing for King George VI at the London palladium, nine
US presidents over the decades, awards pile up Kennedy Center Honors in 1991.
A walk of fame star in 1994, a Tony in 1989 for the elder brother for choreography for black
(11:55):
and blue, a Broadway tap musical.
They would go on to teach dance icons also like Debbie Allen, Michael Jackson and Janet Jackson
who actually had them cameo in her music video for all right.
Their legacy, they wove tap into the soul of American movement.
He put style in it, bodywork, not just feet, they once said, "McCale D'Aurichnecov calls
(12:20):
them the most amazing dancers he's ever seen.
Two self-taught brothers, grit and grace, flipped dance, forever, their names, fayard and
herald, better known to the world, as the Nicholas brothers.
And now you know the rest of the story."
All right, dance fam, another episode, another story of dance legends who made such an
(12:45):
extraordinary impact.
As I say, I try to keep the main timeline just about the chronological order of things,
give you anecdotes, you may not know about a dance legends life.
I obviously can't go into all the things.
These episodes were initially only five minutes and they keep getting a little bit longer.
(13:06):
And now I have an outro, which is, this is what it is.
It's me talking and giving a little bit more because I think it's fun to share a little extra
details, you know.
Before I get into a couple of those things, I just want to say, "Hey, if you enjoyed the
show, do me a favor, share it, subscribe, hit that notification bell, and like and comment
(13:30):
and rate and review wherever you're watching or listening."
And I don't think I've mentioned this yet, but my show, the last couple of weeks, has really
gotten some traction and some lovely attention here on YouTube.
The numbers have just really changed.
My subscribers doubled, I think, and it's just been really cool.
(13:52):
And to put up an episode and to see this immediate sort of viewership is very gratifying, not
just because I put a lot of love into it, but just to know that these dance grates,
their stories are getting seen and heard and passed around.
Oh my God, it's such a good feeling.
Okay, now let's get into a couple of more things about these extraordinary guys.
(14:14):
Let's start with Harold, the younger brother.
You know, he was a polyglot.
He spoke a lot of languages.
They say about eight or nine French, Portuguese, Spanish, you name it, and he would pick
them up from tours out of sheer curiosity while just growing up and working over the
years.
As a matter of fact, in that movie, Down Argentine Way, he sang in Portuguese, and it wasn't
(14:39):
just him memorizing the words, he knew what he was singing.
Now the movie I referenced earlier, The Pirate, with Gene Kelly in 1947, with that number
Mia Clown.
It was a rare chance to share the floor right with the Nicholas Brothers for Gene Kelly
and for them to share the floor with a white dancer.
So rehearsals were underway and Harold, again, the younger brother, he isn't exactly breaking
(15:04):
a sweat.
He's moving through the steps with Feyard and Kelly, but it's kind of have-hearted.
Loose almost playful like he's got it on lock.
Kelly was the opposite, very focused, driven, very much a perfectionist, very methodical,
very much working a routine over and over like drill, drill, drill.
(15:25):
And he notices that Harold is kind of coasting and kind of taking it easy, so he calls him
out, saying something like, hey, we got to nail this.
And then Harold, he just kind of flashes his easy grin and he's like, don't worry, I got
it.
Well Kelly isn't buying it, he's a guy who lives by repetition and here's Harold acting
(15:46):
like it's no big deal.
It honestly irritated Gene Kelly.
Then they go ahead and shoot it and the trio takes the stage, Kelly, Feyard and Harold
and guess what, it's total magic.
Harold has no problem, his taps are snapping like a whip, he's sinking perfectly with all
of them and he's just pure polish.
(16:08):
They're flipping, spinning, trading, beats, all effortless, no hiccups.
The whole thing is just a burst of joy and Harold is right in it proving that for him, he
didn't need the grind, all that rehearsal craziness.
And Gene Kelly is just stunned.
Accounts say he just kind of shook his head and let out a laugh.
(16:30):
Later he tossed his Harold and nod and he's like, you got it all right.
And that's Harold's signature, you know, chill until the lights hit, then untouchable.
Feyard, his partner since day one, knew it was coming.
Kelly though, he learned it on the spot.
And that such an interesting thing for dancers and actors and any artist really, some of us
(16:52):
need to rehearse endlessly, to feel confident and to be great.
And some just kind of wing it and that's their process, no rehearsal and they're also great.
There's no right or wrong, it's just what works for you.
Now the Fred Astaire story I alluded to, I'm actually going to have Feyard tell you himself.
(17:12):
Now for context, this is about the number jump and jive in Stormy Weather.
Feyard happened to bump into Fred Astaire at an event for the movie That's Entertainment
and Fred Astaire tells him something.
"Wisdomic is our attainment something."
"I said what is Fred Astaire?"
"So that is the greatest dance number I ever seen on film."
(17:36):
"I said what, thank you Mr Astaire, he said listen, I'm telling you that because it's
true."
And that's not bad, right?
Arguably the most famous and respected film dancer of all time, Fred Astaire says that
not to mention, Jean Kelly, Gregory Hines, Mikhail Berishnikov, all apparently have said
(17:56):
that that number is the best dance number in film history.
Now that is kind of mind blowing.
I thought this might be a good time to also address what I have often talked about in
my return to dance journey and this conversation has received.
It seems to have resonated often with my audience and that is when I lament the fact that
(18:17):
Acro and Tricks have usurped dance so often.
You know you watch a dance competition and it might be jazz or lyrical or contemporary
and it's just 50% or more a bunch of tricks and acrobatics that have nothing to do with
the story they're telling.
It's not flowing, there's no musicality, there's no artistry and sometimes over the years
(18:41):
people have said to me, yeah, but you know the Nicholas Brothers also did Acro and I'm
like, no, no, no.
Hopefully watching this video very clearly demonstrates although unfortunately I cannot
play audio because then you know it's like I don't own the rights and it's a whole thing
but hopefully even by watching you can gather that these geniuses of dance through their
(19:05):
acro and Tricks were always telling a story.
It was like a cohesive performance.
There was musicality, there was flow, there was artistry behind the acrobatics and the
tricks and the maybe tumbling they did here and there.
Do you know what I'm saying?
It's very much not the same thing.
(19:26):
Everything that these guys did, you watched them and you felt the rhythm and the music
behind all of it, not just the tapping and not just the tricks and the acro, all of it
and I think there's a very, very clear difference when the acro and the tricks are part of telling
a story and they've got musicality and artistry built behind it as its foundation, as the roots.
(19:53):
No, it is not just acro for the sake of acro.
It's a very different ball game than what I have talked about since returning to dance
after three decades away and seeing so many dancers now just throw in the flip because they
can do a flip but it has nothing to do with the story they're telling.
Now I don't really talk about the personal lives of any of my subjects for the week.
(20:18):
I guess you might say because to me it kind of spills over into the area of gossip maybe
and also it's just a dance podcast.
It's supposed to be just centered on that.
Now a few weeks ago I did go a little bit into the personal life of Cynthia Rhodes and that
was just because she left dance really early.
She walked away from her career in her early 30s and so it was relevant to speak a little
(20:41):
bit about what she did and why but today I will just say that the younger brother Herald
he fell in love with Dorothy Dandridge, a major star in her own right with a voice and a presence
that just lit up rooms.
And they got married in 1942 and for a while it was electric.
(21:02):
They had on-stage chemistry, spilling into real life.
They had work together and it was a love that felt really like one of their wild routines
but Herald to be honest he just couldn't stay grounded.
He had affairs.
They started creeping in and it shipped away at what they had and by 1951 their marriage
(21:23):
crumbled.
Years later he owned it, a 1990s interview he said he regretted the cheating the way he
let her down.
I messed up he admitted his voice really heavy with hindsight and regret and he wished that
he had held on tighter to what they had built.
The older brother Faeard, his story has its own twists you know four marriages, paint
(21:46):
a picture of a man who was always searching and kind of restless until he found his footing.
His third marriage with Barbara January in 1966 who happened to be a dancer herself was
a relationship that really clicked.
They carved out a steady life together over 30 years of calm amid his whirlwind past
(22:07):
until she passed away in 1998 which hit him really hard but in 2000 at 85 years old he
married Catherine Hopkins.
It was a quieter love and anchor that carried him through his final years until 2006.
And through all the chaos, love lost, found again, lost again, they always kept dancing.
(22:31):
It's what held them together, what still echoes when you hear their names.
Alright dance fam, that's all I got today until next time.
Thanks for being here.
(upbeat music)
(upbeat music)
(upbeat music)
(upbeat music)
(22:52):
[Music fades to silence]
Hey dance family, welcome to my weekly series The Rest of the Story, where I unpack the
(00:07):
lives of dance legends who changed the game, made an impact on the art form that really
has stood the test of time.
I'm your host Miller Daurey and this is my podcast, Hey Dancer.
Today we're going to talk about two brothers who might have shaped tap dance more than anyone.
They took this distinctly American art form with its unique blend of African, European
(00:33):
and American musical and dance traditions and they turned it into a full body spectacle,
self-taught kids who face down odds and racism to leave the world speechless.
But before I get into it, I just want to thank you for being here and I'd be honored and
super grateful if you subscribed if you're watching on YouTube, hit that notification bell
(00:58):
so you are alerted.
The moment a new episode drops, leave a comment, give the video a like if you're watching
on Spotify, leave a comment there that would be super cool to see and if you're listening
on Apple or anywhere else, make sure you're following and rate and review the show.
It means a lot to me.
Okay, let's dive in.
(01:19):
We step into Philadelphia in the 1910s.
A little boy is growing up with his parents who happen to play in the orchestra pit at the
standard theater, a hotspot for black performers.
His mom is on piano, his dad is on drums and he's right there with them, tagging along to
watch the shows.
(01:39):
He's a little kid, just a toddler, sitting front row, eyes wide on stars like Bill Bojangles
Robinson, tapping smooth and sharp across the stage.
He's unlike anything he's ever seen.
They're having fun up there.
I'd like to do that, he thinks.
By the time he's five or six, acts like buck and bubbles hit the circuit too, flipping and
(02:03):
spinning wild and he is soaking it all in.
Then when he's seven years old, his little brother arrives and before long, baby brother
is watching too, picking it up fast.
No teachers, by the way, just raw talent and a dad who throws advice from time to time,
like don't look at your feet, entertain the audience, not yourself.
(02:28):
A few years later, they team up with their sister Dorothy, who's a bit younger than the older
boy and they make a trio.
They start hitting local stages like the Pearl Theater and even a radio gig, the Horn
and Hard Art Kitty Hour, a kid's talent show at a Philly and New York where they dance live
for big broadcast crowds.
(02:49):
They leap, split and tap arms, swinging, full body moves, so fresh, folks cannot take their
eyes off them.
By 1928, they're 14 and seven and sister Dorothy has tapped out, pun intended.
She's worn thin by the late nights.
Their parents take the reins, managing the duo as they tear through Vodville circuits.
(03:14):
Philly, New York, anywhere the road leads.
Its endless gigs, legs always moving, building a name, step by step, then 1932 rolls around.
A promoter saw them dance and said, "Listen, I want to bring you to New York City to perform
at the Cotton Club and so a new era begins."
(03:35):
They're 18 and 11 years old now.
Stepping onto Harlem's Cotton Club stage, a glitzy, whites-only hotspot where black
talent shines but can't sit with the crowd.
Velvet curtains, cigarette smoke, jazz humming and these two, build as the show stoppers.
(03:56):
They twist, tap, leap over each other to cab callaways, the ugl call rag, one of many numbers
they turned into pure magic, backed by legends like Duke Ellington's orchestra on other nights.
They're the only black act allowed to chat with patrons after, a rare nod to their pull
in a segregated world.
(04:18):
That same year, they film "Py-Py Blackbird" with UB Blake's jazz band, a short that pops
with energy.
Life is a whirlwind for them.
Get this.
Cotton Club gigs end at 5 a.m.
They sleep till about 2 or 3 p.m. get tutored to keep up with school then ride back in a chauffeured
limo for midnight shows.
(04:40):
My gosh, these kids are riding a wild wave.
Stars on the rise.
Speaking of which, in 1934, producer Samuel Goldwyn, yeah, that guy from MetroGoldwynMayer,
aka MGM, catches the brothers at the Cotton Club and signs them for kid millions.
(05:00):
A musical comedy film, they're 20 and 13 years old, hitting Hollywood.
One day on the lot, they bump into none other than Fred Astaire, working on Top Hat.
We watched him sink his steps, the older brother once remembered.
Mom had her camera, so we said Fred, let's do a time step together.
We went outside, danced, he was grinning ear to ear, it was so much fun.
(05:26):
Yup, their mom filmed it, a moment of dance legends coming together and caught on film forever.
By the way, I have a lovely full circle moment with Fred Astaire and these brothers coming
up in the outro so make sure you're watching or listening all the way through.
Now Broadway calls in 1936.
(05:46):
Agent John Murray Anderson sees them at the Lafayette Theatre and books them for Zigg
Feld Follies at the Winter Garden.
They're sharing the stage with icons like Fanny Bryce, Bob Hope, Josephine Baker, and
every night they bring the house down.
Six curtain calls in Boston once.
Now that's a tough act to follow indeed.
(06:08):
Then in 1937, they land a gig in Babes in Arms, a Broadway musical about kids putting on
their own show.
Their book as a dance act and George Ballonshin, Ballet's big name is brought in to choreograph
it.
While he's working with them, he catches their leaps and splits in rehearsals, moves so
(06:31):
sharp, so high, to him they scream ballet.
So he asks if they have ballet training and they say nope, and he is just stunned.
How could they not have trained?
They pick up his steps on the fly, weaving them into their jazz tap storm.
By 1940, 20th Century Fox signs them for five years, six films.
(06:57):
Down Argentine Way, their dance is so electric, theater crowds, stomped till the projectionists
rewind the reel.
Sun Valley serenade, they're moving with Dorothy Dandridge to Glenn Miller's band.
Orchestra Wives, a musical film, brings I've got a gal in Kalamazoo, a swing in song paired
with their tap dance magic, the great American broadcast, Tin Pan Alley, and the legendary
(07:24):
Stormy Weather in 1943.
Now if you've ever caught clips of these guys before, maybe a highlight reel or something,
one moment is highlighted above all the rest.
It's the jump and jive scene from this movie and it hits the screen like a thunderbolt,
vaulting over cab Calloway's bandstands tapping on a piano, leaping down massive stairs, falling
(07:48):
into the splits and then popping up each time with no hands.
A total jaw dropper.
Choreographer Nick Castle kept it simple.
He told them, "Just do it.
Don't rehearse it, just do it."
He gave them freedom, and they ran with it.
They delivered pure, unrehearsed brilliance.
(08:09):
You heard that right.
No choreography practice beforehand.
That is confirmed.
The brothers just kind of worked it out in their heads.
They could see it.
They could visualize it.
But does that mean the whole scene was done all in one take?
Now that is certainly what endless online resources would have us believe.
(08:31):
Wikipedia, Google's AI, even the son of one of the brothers, said it in an interview years
later.
And there are also references online to the older brother saying, "And so we did it in
one little take."
He also references that the choreographer Castle said, "That's it.
(08:51):
We can't do it any better than that."
Clearly implying it was done in one take.
And so there you have it.
The legend rests right there.
Except it doesn't.
Historians point out that the scene features cuts and camera angle shifts, hinting that the
final edit was stitched together in more than one take.
(09:13):
And so I dug deeper and finally found a 1985 interview where the elder brother breaks it
down.
"Captain Halloween."
"Captain Halloween."
"Then went over to the piano and after that we went up these big steps."
"Would you do the whole thing in one take or would you split it up?"
"Oh no, no, we split it."
"We couldn't do all that in one take, no.
No way."
"But it looks that way when you see it on the screen, but we had to take about 16 bars and cut
(09:40):
and we rest and then they take another angle."
"Yeah, that's way we."
"Did that all?
16?"
"Well, I was just saying it.
It could have been."
"Just like all brother.
You could have been.
You could have been.
"You can't get along.
You can't agree."
"We can't get along, but we disagree, a man."
So here's the thing.
And why I think history gets this iconic moment wrong.
Yes, that climactic scene at the end where the brothers descend the stairs, leap over
(10:04):
one another and perform the splits over and over again is actually a single shot.
That is the one take that I think history is trying to say is one take, but the whole scene
was filmed in chunks separately.
And maybe those chunks were also done in one take, which is all obviously ridiculously
(10:26):
impressive and perhaps why the rumor about it all being in one take got kind of muddied
regardless.
Hopefully, this puts an end to the mystery and confusion.
It's crucial to note, studios filmed their scenes as standalone segments, self-contained,
no dialogue, all dance designed to be cut out of the movies entirely.
(10:50):
But why?
Well, so Southern theaters could erase them without a trace, a cold nod to the times, the
grips of racism.
If you were black, you felt it, they once said, and yet they remained grateful, humble, thrilled
to just work to let their brilliance burn through.
(11:13):
In 1948, they finally dance with a white star.
Jean Kelly in the pirates, the number, be a clown, a fast athletic dance, no tap shoes,
all power.
I've got a fun anecdote about this performance in the outro also.
They perform all over the world too.
(11:33):
South America, Africa, Europe, dancing for King George VI at the London palladium, nine
US presidents over the decades, awards pile up Kennedy Center Honors in 1991.
A walk of fame star in 1994, a Tony in 1989 for the elder brother for choreography for black
(11:55):
and blue, a Broadway tap musical.
They would go on to teach dance icons also like Debbie Allen, Michael Jackson and Janet Jackson
who actually had them cameo in her music video for all right.
Their legacy, they wove tap into the soul of American movement.
He put style in it, bodywork, not just feet, they once said, "McCale D'Aurichnecov calls
(12:20):
them the most amazing dancers he's ever seen.
Two self-taught brothers, grit and grace, flipped dance, forever, their names, fayard and
herald, better known to the world, as the Nicholas brothers.
And now you know the rest of the story."
All right, dance fam, another episode, another story of dance legends who made such an
(12:45):
extraordinary impact.
As I say, I try to keep the main timeline just about the chronological order of things,
give you anecdotes, you may not know about a dance legends life.
I obviously can't go into all the things.
These episodes were initially only five minutes and they keep getting a little bit longer.
(13:06):
And now I have an outro, which is, this is what it is.
It's me talking and giving a little bit more because I think it's fun to share a little extra
details, you know.
Before I get into a couple of those things, I just want to say, "Hey, if you enjoyed the
show, do me a favor, share it, subscribe, hit that notification bell, and like and comment
(13:30):
and rate and review wherever you're watching or listening."
And I don't think I've mentioned this yet, but my show, the last couple of weeks, has really
gotten some traction and some lovely attention here on YouTube.
The numbers have just really changed.
My subscribers doubled, I think, and it's just been really cool.
(13:52):
And to put up an episode and to see this immediate sort of viewership is very gratifying, not
just because I put a lot of love into it, but just to know that these dance grates,
their stories are getting seen and heard and passed around.
Oh my God, it's such a good feeling.
Okay, now let's get into a couple of more things about these extraordinary guys.
(14:14):
Let's start with Harold, the younger brother.
You know, he was a polyglot.
He spoke a lot of languages.
They say about eight or nine French, Portuguese, Spanish, you name it, and he would pick
them up from tours out of sheer curiosity while just growing up and working over the
years.
As a matter of fact, in that movie, Down Argentine Way, he sang in Portuguese, and it wasn't
(14:39):
just him memorizing the words, he knew what he was singing.
Now the movie I referenced earlier, The Pirate, with Gene Kelly in 1947, with that number
Mia Clown.
It was a rare chance to share the floor right with the Nicholas Brothers for Gene Kelly
and for them to share the floor with a white dancer.
So rehearsals were underway and Harold, again, the younger brother, he isn't exactly breaking
(15:04):
a sweat.
He's moving through the steps with Feyard and Kelly, but it's kind of have-hearted.
Loose almost playful like he's got it on lock.
Kelly was the opposite, very focused, driven, very much a perfectionist, very methodical,
very much working a routine over and over like drill, drill, drill.
(15:25):
And he notices that Harold is kind of coasting and kind of taking it easy, so he calls him
out, saying something like, hey, we got to nail this.
And then Harold, he just kind of flashes his easy grin and he's like, don't worry, I got
it.
Well Kelly isn't buying it, he's a guy who lives by repetition and here's Harold acting
(15:46):
like it's no big deal.
It honestly irritated Gene Kelly.
Then they go ahead and shoot it and the trio takes the stage, Kelly, Feyard and Harold
and guess what, it's total magic.
Harold has no problem, his taps are snapping like a whip, he's sinking perfectly with all
of them and he's just pure polish.
(16:08):
They're flipping, spinning, trading, beats, all effortless, no hiccups.
The whole thing is just a burst of joy and Harold is right in it proving that for him, he
didn't need the grind, all that rehearsal craziness.
And Gene Kelly is just stunned.
Accounts say he just kind of shook his head and let out a laugh.
(16:30):
Later he tossed his Harold and nod and he's like, you got it all right.
And that's Harold's signature, you know, chill until the lights hit, then untouchable.
Feyard, his partner since day one, knew it was coming.
Kelly though, he learned it on the spot.
And that such an interesting thing for dancers and actors and any artist really, some of us
(16:52):
need to rehearse endlessly, to feel confident and to be great.
And some just kind of wing it and that's their process, no rehearsal and they're also great.
There's no right or wrong, it's just what works for you.
Now the Fred Astaire story I alluded to, I'm actually going to have Feyard tell you himself.
(17:12):
Now for context, this is about the number jump and jive in Stormy Weather.
Feyard happened to bump into Fred Astaire at an event for the movie That's Entertainment
and Fred Astaire tells him something.
"Wisdomic is our attainment something."
"I said what is Fred Astaire?"
"So that is the greatest dance number I ever seen on film."
(17:36):
"I said what, thank you Mr Astaire, he said listen, I'm telling you that because it's
true."
And that's not bad, right?
Arguably the most famous and respected film dancer of all time, Fred Astaire says that
not to mention, Jean Kelly, Gregory Hines, Mikhail Berishnikov, all apparently have said
(17:56):
that that number is the best dance number in film history.
Now that is kind of mind blowing.
I thought this might be a good time to also address what I have often talked about in
my return to dance journey and this conversation has received.
It seems to have resonated often with my audience and that is when I lament the fact that
(18:17):
Acro and Tricks have usurped dance so often.
You know you watch a dance competition and it might be jazz or lyrical or contemporary
and it's just 50% or more a bunch of tricks and acrobatics that have nothing to do with
the story they're telling.
It's not flowing, there's no musicality, there's no artistry and sometimes over the years
(18:41):
people have said to me, yeah, but you know the Nicholas Brothers also did Acro and I'm
like, no, no, no.
Hopefully watching this video very clearly demonstrates although unfortunately I cannot
play audio because then you know it's like I don't own the rights and it's a whole thing
but hopefully even by watching you can gather that these geniuses of dance through their
(19:05):
acro and Tricks were always telling a story.
It was like a cohesive performance.
There was musicality, there was flow, there was artistry behind the acrobatics and the
tricks and the maybe tumbling they did here and there.
Do you know what I'm saying?
It's very much not the same thing.
(19:26):
Everything that these guys did, you watched them and you felt the rhythm and the music
behind all of it, not just the tapping and not just the tricks and the acro, all of it
and I think there's a very, very clear difference when the acro and the tricks are part of telling
a story and they've got musicality and artistry built behind it as its foundation, as the roots.
(19:53):
No, it is not just acro for the sake of acro.
It's a very different ball game than what I have talked about since returning to dance
after three decades away and seeing so many dancers now just throw in the flip because they
can do a flip but it has nothing to do with the story they're telling.
Now I don't really talk about the personal lives of any of my subjects for the week.
(20:18):
I guess you might say because to me it kind of spills over into the area of gossip maybe
and also it's just a dance podcast.
It's supposed to be just centered on that.
Now a few weeks ago I did go a little bit into the personal life of Cynthia Rhodes and that
was just because she left dance really early.
She walked away from her career in her early 30s and so it was relevant to speak a little
(20:41):
bit about what she did and why but today I will just say that the younger brother Herald
he fell in love with Dorothy Dandridge, a major star in her own right with a voice and a presence
that just lit up rooms.
And they got married in 1942 and for a while it was electric.
(21:02):
They had on-stage chemistry, spilling into real life.
They had work together and it was a love that felt really like one of their wild routines
but Herald to be honest he just couldn't stay grounded.
He had affairs.
They started creeping in and it shipped away at what they had and by 1951 their marriage
(21:23):
crumbled.
Years later he owned it, a 1990s interview he said he regretted the cheating the way he
let her down.
I messed up he admitted his voice really heavy with hindsight and regret and he wished that
he had held on tighter to what they had built.
The older brother Faeard, his story has its own twists you know four marriages, paint
(21:46):
a picture of a man who was always searching and kind of restless until he found his footing.
His third marriage with Barbara January in 1966 who happened to be a dancer herself was
a relationship that really clicked.
They carved out a steady life together over 30 years of calm amid his whirlwind past
(22:07):
until she passed away in 1998 which hit him really hard but in 2000 at 85 years old he
married Catherine Hopkins.
It was a quieter love and anchor that carried him through his final years until 2006.
And through all the chaos, love lost, found again, lost again, they always kept dancing.
(22:31):
It's what held them together, what still echoes when you hear their names.
Alright dance fam, that's all I got today until next time.
Thanks for being here.
(upbeat music)
(upbeat music)
(upbeat music)
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(22:52):
[Music fades to silence]
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