Now they know that win or lose, they were performing in a show to make a rich man richer, and he did what rich men do.
By Liam Keaggy
1935. Six years after Black Thursday and the start of the worst economic crisis the world will, hopefully, ever see. Two years earlier, unemployment reached an astonishing 25%. (For comparison, it peaked at 10% during the Great Recession and 15% during the COVID-19 pandemic.) The millions of jobless were forced to extreme lengths to survive, while those lucky enough to escape this economic despair found ways to reap profit from their desperation.
The Dance Marathon craze began in the 1920s with contests based on the simple premise of rewarding the couple who could dance the longest. As times got tougher, it evolved into weeks-long efforts in which poor participants let their minds and bodies crumble for a chance at some money. It was a form of income for the organizers, entertainment for the viewers, and a matter of life and death for the contestants.
A dance marathon is at the center of Horace McCoy’s 1935 novel and the 1969 Sidney Pollack film adaptation, They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? The film delicately tells the story of a group of abused and desperate contestants. Pollack shows an incredible amount of sympathy for our main characters, even as they antagonize each other. Any cruelty that comes out is a consequence of their conditions. Shame is directed towards both the organizers and the audience members. A scene in the back end of the film illustrates this position: “Doctors” give the okay for a clearly unwell woman to keep dancing, which the audience responds to with massive cheers. We are made to wonder if they are happy because she is okay or because she gets to stay in the game. This malpractice (is it malpractice if they probably are not real doctors?) continues up to the point where one character collapses unconscious. The audience is told everything is okay, which is, of course, a lie. They show their support by throwing coins at contestants like peanuts to a circus elephant.
Throughout the show, an upbeat piano plays as the contestants, who look like the walking dead at this point, drag their feet with their heads down. The score is in harsh contrast to the image on the screen. America, the land of opportunity—why be down when any day you could strike it rich? The music is the ideal America, and the lifeless contestants are America’s reality. This is an eternal metaphor.
The deprivation these people are put through is no different than a prison. They cannot sleep or eat comfortably, and they are put through horrible physical exhaustion. They cannot even see the sun. Gloria (one of our leads, played by Jane Fonda) spends one of her precious breaks outside, looking over the ocean at the sun. Another lead, Robert (Michael Sarrazin), savors streaks of sunlight cracking into their break room, where they have just minutes to rest between hours of performance.
The main villain in this story is the host, Rocky Gravo (Gig Young). Gravo is exactly who you picture when you think of a con man. He is braggadocious, assuring the contestants and the audience that he provides the very best doctors and the very best meals so that each contestant is well cared for. (Given the fake doctors, I would not trust the food either.) He boasts an incredible ego. In a segment where he shares with the audience his upbringing, he details how his father was a faith healer, and they would travel around, conning people, with Gravo playing the role of a sick boy who is miraculously cured. He says of his father, “he thought it was him they believed in, but it was me.” A boastful story whose conclusion seems to be, “do not trust me.” Gravo is a slimy man. In a particularly cold, difficult scene, Gloria performs a sex act on him to gain an advantage in the competition.
Gravo is an old character type, and one that has not gone away. He shows up nowadays, in real life, all over America. He is the current President Donald Trump. An egotistical, evil, abusive person who has used their position intentionally and enthusiastically to humiliate and degrade the lives of those below them. He is a Silicon Valley tech CEO, so high on himself and his own genius that he thinks his unique ability is an excuse to act like a god. He is an internet star, Mr. Beast, who has figured out that the formula to being uncontrollably popular is to take desperate people (whether for money or fame or both) and see just how much they are willing to put up with. The Beast Games show was even hit with a lawsuit alleging inadequate food, lack of medical care, sexual harassment, and withholding of wages and prize money. Surely, there are no psychological downsides to millions of people, many on the younger side, watching his content, right?
Gravo is guilty of all of these allegations. Late enough in the movie that you think he cannot possibly get any more sadistic, it is revealed that the winning couple would have all expenses (food, lodging, medical care) deducted from their $1,500 in prize money (approximately 36k in 2026 USD, split between the couple). The dance marathon had been a total scam, all along. Short glimpses of the sun had brought our characters back each day, with the hope that, should they win, they could actually enjoy its warmth, with no concern for where dinner or a bed would come from. Now they know that win or lose, they were performing in a show to make a rich man richer, and he did what rich men do.
When the context for the title of the film is revealed, its cruel truth shows just how deep the pit is for the most unfortunate. This is a film about hopelessness, and it feels more like today than it should. As audience members in a better time, we must differentiate ourselves from the audience in the movie. This goes beyond a rejection of their active role in supporting Gravo, financing the continuation of the event, and cheering for suffering. It means rejecting passivity and keeping your eyes, minds, and efforts on those in need instead of turning away. Stories like these, fiction or not, are calls on the audience to acknowledge their place in systems of power. Watching it may not give any answers to America’s long list of problems, but it is a reminder of who our villains are and what we need to stand up against.
Liam Keaggy is a horticulturist and aspiring pool shark in Chicago, Illinois.