Butcher Dance

[Bumper]

Okay, okay, okay...I just couldn't stand it anymore. I felt I was in danger of being branded as the biggest sappy, overly-emotional, wuss around, so I had to dig out something suitably shallow and dumb to dispel that unfortunate label. To quote Mr. Durante, "I got a million of 'em."

Butcher Dance

A guy has spent five years traveling all around the world making a film documentary on native dances. At the end of this time, he has recorded every single native dance of every indigenous culture in the world on film. He ends his travels in Australia, in Alice Springs, so he pops into a local pub for a well-earned beer. He gets into a conversation with one of the local Aborigines and proudly tells him about the just-completed project. The Aborigine asks him what he thought of the “Butcher Dance.”

The film maker is a bit confused and asks, “Butcher Dance? What’s that?”

“What? You no see Butcher Dance?”

“No, I’ve never even heard of it.”

“Oh mate. You crazy. How you say you film every native dance if you no see Butcher Dance?”

“H-m-m-m-m. I was in the Outback and got a Corroborree Ceremony on film just the other week. Is that what you mean?”

“No no, not Corroborree. Butcher Dance much more important than Corroborree.”

“Oh, well how can I see this Butcher Dance then?”

“Mate, Butcher Dance only right out in bush. Many days travel to go see Butcher Dance.”

“Look, I’ve been everywhere from the rain forests of the Amazon, to deepest darkest Africa, to the frozen wastelands of the Arctic filming these dances. Nothing will prevent me from capturing this one last dance.”

“Okay, mate. You drive north along highway towards Darwin. After you drive 197 miles, you see dirt track veer off to left. Follow dirt track for 126 miles ’til you see big huge dead gum tree - biggest tree you ever see. Here you gotta leave car, coz much too rough for driving. You strike out due west into setting sun. You walk three days ‘til you hit creek. You follow this creek to northwest. After 2 days you come to place where creek flow out of rocky mountains. Much too difficult to cross mountains here though. Now you head south for half a day ‘til you see pass through mountains. Pass very difficult, very dangerous. Take 2, maybe 3 days to get through rocky pass. When through, head northwest for 4 days ’til you reach big huge rock - 20 feet high and shaped like man’s head. From rock, walk due west for 2 days and you find village. Here you see Butcher Dance.”

So the photographer grabs his camera crew and equipment and heads out. After a few hours he finds the dirt track. The track is in a shocking state and he’s forced to crawl along at a snail’s pace. He doesn’t reach the tree until dusk and he’s forced to set up camp for the night. He sets out bright and early the following morning. His spirits are high and he’s excited at the prospect of capturing this mysterious and previously unheard of dance on film. True to the directions he’s been given, he reaches the creek after three days and follows it for another two, until they reach the rugged mountains. The merciless sun is beginning to take its toll by this time and his spirits are starting to flag. Wearily he trudges on until he finds the pass through the peaks - nothing will prevent him from completing his life’s dream. The mountains prove to be every bit as treacherous as their guide had predicted, and at times they almost despair of getting their bulky equipment through. But after three and half days of back-breaking effort, they finally find their way clear and continue on their long trek.

By the time they reach the huge rock, four days later, their water is running dangerously low and their feet are covered with blisters, but they steel themselves and head out on the final leg of their journey. Two days later, they virtually stagger into the village where the natives feed them and give them fresh water and they begin to feel like new men. Once he’s sufficiently recovered, the photographer goes before the village chief and tells him he has come to film the Butcher Dance.

“Oh mate. Very bad you come today. Butcher Dance last night. You too late. You miss dance.”

“Well, when do you hold the next dance?”

“Not ‘til next year.”

“Well, I’ve come all this way. Couldn’t you just hold an extra dance for me, tonight?”

“No, no, no! Butcher Dance very holy. Only hold once a year. If do more, gods get very angry and maybe destroy village! You want see Butcher Dance, you come back next year.”

The film maker is devastated, but he has no other option but to head back home to civilization, his task incomplete. The following year, he heads back to Australia and, determined not to miss his opportunity again, sets out a week earlier than the year before.
He is quite prepared to spend a week in the village before the dance is performed, in order to ensure that he is there to witness the annual ceremony.

However, right from the outset, things go wrong. The heavy rains that year have turned the dirt track to mud and the vehicles get bogged down every few miles. They’re finally forced to abandon their Land Rovers and slog through the mire on foot almost half the distance to the massive tree. They reach the creek and the mountains without encountering any further hitches, but half way through the ascent of the craggy peaks, they are struck by a fierce storm which rages unabated for several days, during which they are forced to cling forlornly to the barren mountainside until the tempest finally subsides. It would be suicide to attempt to scale the treacherous paths in the face of such savage elements.

Then, before they have traveled a mile out of the mountain pass, one of the crew breaks his leg, which slows their painfully slow progress even more, as they valiantly strive to reach the giant rock and the village beyond. Eventually, having lost all sense of how long they have been traveling on their tortured journey, the disheartened film crew staggers into the village at about noon.

“The Butcher Dance!” gasps the leader of the expedition. “Please don’t tell me I’m too late!”

The chief recognizes him from the year before and says, “No, white fella, Butcher Dance performed tonight. You come just in time.”

Relieved beyond measure, the crew spends the rest of the afternoon setting up their equipment - preparing to capture the night’s sacred ritual on celluloid. As dusk falls, the natives start to cover their bodies in white paint, and adorn themselves with all manner of bird’s feathers and animal skins. Once darkness has settled fully over the land, the Aborigines form themselves into a circle around a huge roaring fire.

A deathly, forbidding hush descends over performers and spectators alike as an ageless, wizened old figure with elaborate swirling, painted designs covering his entire body enters the circle and begins a hypnotic, tuneless chant. Some sort of witch doctor, shaman, or medicine man, figures the documentarian and he whispers to the chief, “What’s he doing?”

“Hush,” whispers the chief. “You first white man ever to see most sacred of our rituals. Must remain silent. Holy man, he asks the spirits of the dream world watch, as we show our devotion to them through our dance and, if they like our dancing, they will be so gracious as to watch over us and protect us for another year.”

The chanting of the holy man reaches a stunning crescendo before he removes himself from the circle, drained of his spiritual force. From somewhere the rhythmic pounding of drums booms out across the land, echoing ominously as the tribesmen begin to sway to the stirring, primal beat.

The photographer is being caught up in the fervour of the intense moment himself. This is it. He now realizes beyond doubt that his wait has not been in vain. He is about to witness the ultimate performance of primordial rhythm and movement ever conceived by mankind.

The chief strides to his position in the circle and, in an enormous booming voice, starts to sing: “You butcher right arm in. You butcher right arm out. You butcher right arm in, and you shake it all about.”

[cja]

I can't believe I read the whole thing! But Bump, it was funny!

[BarbC]

I could smell a terrible pun coming but didn't figure out which one.

Jimmy Buffett says, "What if the hokey-pokey were reallly what it's all about?"

[TKC]

OMG my eyes hurt