In coming to a Trump resort, I’d fantasized of infiltrating the belly of the beast. I imagined a vacationland of excess, golden columns and gaudy chandeliers; tuxedoed servants spinning amongst the tokens of capital run amok.
In dance you can’t go to the source. If you’re lucky, you maybe have a fuzzy video. If you’re really lucky, Cynthia Carr’s writing. And you have the people who worked with these people. The game of telephone.