When I first saw this I watched it about 20 times the first day. It brought joy to my heart. The expressions on the faces of those present but not participating was half the fun. Seeing their day transformed by this random act of art transformed my day and I've been going back to it every few days for another hit.

Performance art at it's finest! Don't miss it!

I wish this would happen everywhere all the time!!!

The pre-planned choreography (of at least most of the dancers) is one of the aspects of this extraordinary feat that brings tears to my eyes. It is the antithesis of the pre-planned choreography of destruction of acts ranging from shooting up immigration classrooms, to high-seas piracy, to terrorist acts like on 9/11/01, to wars themselves.

That's what makes this so extraordinary. That people got together to PLAN this piece of fun, joy, and exuberance-- just to makes others happy.

In the future, all wars will be fought in iconic train stations, in coordinated dance-offs set to academy-award winning show tunes. I can't wait.

Imagine yourself missing your train because of those kids blocking the staircase, or heading to the wrong track because the loudspeakers are blaring Julie Andrews instead of the information they should be broadcasting. If a public space is designed for purpose X, people have a right to expect to be able to use it for purpose X, and others ought not be allowed to interfere with that use.

The "Do-Re-Mi" stunt in a public park, where it disrupts no one else's business? I'd be just as charmed by that as everyone else. But in a train station? Terrible idea, and not even remotely charming.

Keith... seriously. Where were you going on public transportation... to diffuse a nuclear bomb? Save your mother from a burning building? Or... going to work? You in rush to go to work, Keith? Going home? Are they going to pack up and leave without you if you don't get there in time? I don't blame them.

C'mon... lighten up. Open your eyes... experience something that is happening NOW instead of stressing about something that may or may not happen when/if you ever get there... earlier or later. Yeesh... what a pill.

Oops... should be defuse not diffuse.

I think you are reading too much into it. Everyone likes to be entertained and a surprise dance routine would take anyone off guard. The song is innocent and Julie Andrews voice is clean and clear. The joy of it is the free fun. That and The Sound of Music takes people back to their childhood.

http://www.poetv.com/video.php?vid=32871

There actually was at least one person who appeared to be going somewhere in a hurry. And the performance did not seem to stop or even slow him. There was only one time when a large group of dancers ran down the stairs together when it might have been difficult for someone to head up the stairs, but that didn't last for more than a few seconds. I've been slowed down longer than that at a train station and airports by mobs of high-schoolers coming to or from an athletic event or field trip. That often makes me smile, too, but not like this.

Nothing is going to charm everyone. But this particular bit of performance art seemed to charm more people than just about anything I've ever seen.

You want to understand why the video works?

First, you should be clear in your own head that we are watching a produced and edited video, not the actual real live performance. Those are two different presentations, each with different strengths and weaknesses.

One big reason why the video work is that it has the equivelent of a laugh track. There are LOTS of audience shots, each carefully selected to clue us into the appropriate reaction. The editors did not include lots of shots of people rushing through, annoyed, or with any kind of negative reaction. Laugh tracks work.

There was a This American Life story about professional "live studio audience" members, at some point. It might even had been true. The idea was that the studio audience reaction is so important to how the audience at home recieves things that it was professinalized.

None of us who have seen the video were given the raw perpeformance. We were not given a particular view of the performance. Rather, we were given an edited combination of views, and editting matters. It matters quite a bit.

So, perhaps some of the other explanations for why this video have elements of truth in them, but if they leave out any understanding of the medium in which it has been presented, then they leave out much of the real story.

I want to share a story that occurred a few years ago in the W. 23rd St. Subway:,NYC

It had been a lousy day.

The business meeting hadn’t gone well. I was feeling

frustrated and angry. I was with a business partner I had to extricate myself from. I wanted to go home and pull the covers over my head.

Lately, steps had been a challenge for me , but I had to catch a downtown train. “I want to go home, I want to go home”, kept whirling around in my head and then I heard a trumpet being played and someone singing. My body released all of its tension. As I got to the bottom of the stairs, I see this guy sitting on a bench facing me as I was slipping my metrocard through the turnstyle.

He seemed to be around 70 years old, white hair, thin, black sunglasses , black skin, obviously blind, and singing Nat King Cole’s song “When I Fall In Love.” Nat was the only one that did it for me singing that song. When I was a little girl, to me Nat King Cole was my fantasy dad, because he had such a beautiful, calming voice, and I always felt he was singing just for me. He didn’t have any color. He was pure beauty.

I stood there and listened to the man playing and singing and the next thing I knew, I began singing along with him. “it will be forever, or I’ll never fall in love again. And the moment that I feel that you feel that way too is when I’ll fall in love with you.” By this time I was standing right in front of him and we ended the song together. He had such a surprised look on his face when he heard someone joining him in song. I reached out and touched his hand. He looked up at me as though he could see and said “you must be gorgeous!” I said to him “you can see.” He said, “no, I’m blind.” I said “no you’re not, you see, you see with your heart.” He stood up and said “can I hug you?” I said “of course you can.” As we were hugging one another, I looked around at the people waiting for the downtown subway, and there was one woman with a big smile on her face that radiated right through my bones. My body released more tension.

His name was Bobby Blow and he lived at The Home For The Blind on West 23rd Street. He said that he was going to

have a big birthday party for his 70th year, gave me the date, and

wanted me to come and I told him I would Just then my

train was approaching, we hugged again, and I left to go home and

Bobby contined playing. He was like the Mayor of the 23rd Street Subway. Everyone seemed to know him. “Bye, Bobby” I yelled out as I

got onto the subway. He waved good-bye to me and yelled out “goodbye gorgeous.”

Bobby’s party was one month later, but I never went. I felt lazy and didn’t want to drag myself out of my cozy house. What I did do is call him a year later. I realized it was one of those missed opportunities and I didn’t want to “blow it” again. When he got on the phone, I gave him my name, and how we met. I said “I missed your birthday party, but I’ve written a story about you. May I read it?” He said “sure, but I have to quiet down my damn roommate first.” “Shutup” Bobby said to his roommate,

”I got some important business to take care of on the phone.” Bobby said, “okay, you can begin. Sometimes my roommate is a pain in the ass.” When it got quiet I began reading him the story and at the end there was silence. Bobby said “God Damn, that was a great story. You wrote that about me? Well I’ll be God Damned. I just love that. Thank you for thinking of me and writing about me. “

This summer I graduated from an Interfaith Ministry in NYC, and during graduation week we had a talent show. I got up and began telling the ministers this story between me and Bobby Blow, which is now three years later since it happened. After I finished sharing the story one of the ministers came up to me and said “Sherri, I know Bobby Blow, I visit him every week at the Home for the Blind.”

I never saw or heard Bobby again at the West 23rd Street subway.