Pina in 3-D
December 20, 2011
Pina, Wim Wenders’ beautiful new film that captures the dance world of German choreographer Pina Bausch in 3-D, arrives in NYC on December 23rd. I was lucky enough to catch a preview screening of the film at BAM in October, and as a BAM intern, I happily wrote about it for BAM’s December staff pick. You can read my thoughts on Pina here. Watch the trailer below, and check out the Facebook page for more info on screenings.
I Believe in Forsythe’s “Outer Space”
October 28, 2011
William Forsythe's "I don't believe in outer space", photo by Dominik Mentzos
I’m still processing William Forsythe’s I don’t believe in outer space, which opened at BAM on Wednesday evening. For the first twenty minutes or so, I worried that it was going to be a repeat of Decreation, which I reviewed in 2009. That work was irritating, but the harsh and jarring qualities of the piece were ultimately a commentary on how we communicate with one another. And so with outer space, it initially felt and looked quite similar, with exaggerated voices, chaotic interactions, and disorienting sounds. But as the piece progressed and mixed hilarious use of lyrics from Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” with profound reflections on mortality, I was deeply moved. And how satisfying to watch as the various threads from the work came together and cohered. Just when it ended – after a poignant scene in which the audience heard Dana Caspersen’s natural voice (as opposed to her exaggerated ‘character’ voices earlier in the work) – I wasn’t quite ready to let go, and clung to the final moments of outer space for as long as I could. Forsythe’s work has always challenged me, and has even bothered me at times. Outer space was no exception. But it struck a chord more so than previous Forsythe works that I’ve seen, perhaps because it so smartly – albeit still messily – blended humor with sadness.
A final thought: The New York Times review says that the characters we see are “freaks”, possibly meant to be laughed at, and that Forsythe creates a “hellish anti-world”. Freaks? No, I’m certain that the characters we see are us. We laugh because we recognize ourselves in these characters. And Forsythe’s “hellish anti-world”? That’s our world.
Ballet Maribor’s Radio(head) and Juliet
October 23, 2011
Edward Clug's "Radio and Juliet", photo courtesy of 6-Prime
Take Shakespeare’s tragic love story, add music by the influential band Radiohead and some slick choreography, and what do you get? Radio and Juliet, choreographer Edward Clug’s 2006 ballet for the Romanian company Ballet Maribor. Performed on Friday and Saturday at NYU’s Skirball Center for the Performing Arts, the ballet drew dance and Radiohead fans alike, eager to see what would happen when Shakespeare is added to the mix.
Clug is both brave and foolish for marrying the two. Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet has been choreographed so many times that to add another version to the books – one that the choreographer thinks will be unique – is ambitious. And Radiohead is so universally appreciated (or perhaps detested, but I fall into the former category) on its own that it’s difficult to imagine the band’s music paired with the world’s best-known love story. Can the work of two distinct, global, and expressive artists not only compliment one another but also enrich each other? The answer in this case is overwhelmingly no. Radio and Juliet felt gimmicky: people love the tale of star-crossed lovers, and they love Radiohead. So they’ll love the two together, or at least, fill up a theater, right?
There are a few distinguishing factors in this version. The story begins with Juliet awakening to find Romeo dead beside her, and evolves in a flashback. The cast of seven includes one woman and six men, all of whom seem to represent masculinity more so than any particular character in Shakespeare’s play. And Juliet’s poison – both comical and strange – is a lemon, whose juice drips down her neck and burns her tongue. Initially, the ballet barely resembles Romeo and Juliet, but there are some familiar moments staged from the story, such as the violent death of Mercutio to Radiohead’s Sit Down. Stand Up, and the meeting of Romeo and Juliet at the masquerade ball, in which the men wear hospital masks.
Although the intention was to tell the story from Juliet’s perspective, most of the ballet focuses on the men who, while wearing black pants and open jackets, assert themselves in disconnected, aggressive, and often mechanical strings of movement. Juliet, in a corset and ballet slippers, moves with delicacy, rarely appearing alone but rather in the company of men. There is little insight into Juliet’s experience, besides the fact that clashing families and warring men overshadowed her life and conflicted with her desires, which we already know from the play.
Edward Clug's "Radio and Juliet", photo courtesy of 6-Prime
At its worst, the ballet relies too heavily on approximately ten Radiohead tracks for emotional expression and lets the characters rush through their angular, William Forsythe-influenced movement without any feeling at all. Shouldn’t such angst-ridden characters pause and reflect on their circumstances rather than depend on propulsive music – and often gut-wrenching lyrics – for expression? It was irritating to see the first pas de deux for Romeo and Juliet set to How to Disappear Completely, in which Thom Yorke sings, “In a little while, I’ll be gone, the moment’s already passed.” The music shouldn’t be telling the story, but rather deepening it.
Ending abruptly, it seemed like Clug either ran out of choreography or couldn’t find an appropriate Radiohead track for the conclusion. But the suddenness spoke volumes about the mismatched influences in Radio and Juliet. Together, Radiohead and Shakespeare were limiting, and the production suffered because of it. Pulling inspiration from many threads is, in theory, a good idea. But when tied all together without first determining how they align and augment one another, the outcome is flawed.
The Seductive Power of Sleep No More
September 18, 2011
"Sleep No More", photo by Alick Crossley
On Wednesday night, I made my way to West 27th Street to be a guest at the fictional McKittrick Hotel, home to Sleep No More, the immersive, site-specific experience from British theater company Punchdrunk. To call this superb production a voyeuristic undertaking is not entirely accurate. Though the format of the performance allows for the audience to wander freely throughout the five stories of the hotel (which is actually three warehouses) and get as close as they dare to the characters that portray scenes from Macbeth, Sleep No More is more than an exercise in voyeurism, which would be giving the audience all of the credit. Rather, it’s a seduction. The McKittrick and everything inside – the performers, detailed set design, music, and choreography – sucks you into its mysterious, freakish world, and it’s impossible to resist. Fortunately, there are no trespassers, only guests, at this hotel. The characters want to share their harrowing tale with you, so you’d be foolish not to watch closely.
After the other guests and I checked our belongings and walked through a dark, curtained hallway, we arrived in a 1930s bar with friendly hosts and pleasant music. Packed into an elevator, we were instructed to put on carnival-like masks and follow the hotel’s two rules: do not speak and do not remove your mask at any time. I broke the latter rule (or rather, a character broke it for me), but more on that later.
Released to explore the hotel’s five floors on our own, there was an immediate sense of urgency to find the action. The subtlest noise or movement led to a frenzy of running as masked audience members chased whatever it was they saw or heard up and down stairs or through a narrow corridor. Following the pack was exciting, but staying behind was equally rewarding – especially by taking in the brilliant set design by Felix Barrett, Livi Vaughan, and Beatrice Minns. Even in dim lighting, the detail in every room (supposedly there are more than 100) was remarkable. Hand-written letters, taxidermy, locks of hair, diaries filled with dark secrets, jars of sweets (which some people chose to eat), and creepy dolls were just some of the items throughout the hotel. Each room even has a distinct smell. Some were musty, others sweet and floral.
A scene from "Sleep No More", photo by Sara Krulwich/The New York Times
Encounters with the performers were unpredictable. In bedrooms, a ballroom, on a pool table, in a dining room, or in a closet (all with eerie, fitting sound designs by Stephen Dobbie), characters including the Macbeths, Macduff and his pregnant wife, servants, and witches undressed, muttered maniacally to nobody in particular, lunged at each other in battle, or danced wildly under strobe lights (with smart, contact improvisation-inspired choreography by Maxine Doyle). They were aggressive, distraught, fragile, and sensual. Witnessing their mostly wordless stories unfold in fragments was dream-like: the details were hazy, and I felt a bit out of place, but still desperate to know what happens next.
Regarding the second rule, the one that I broke – do not remove your mask at any time – I had every intention of following it. In fact, wearing a mask only heightened the voyeuristic pleasure of the experience (“We can see you, but you can’t see us!”) But while wandering through a wide hallway, a slightly ragged, melancholy gentleman in a vest grabbed me by the wrist, pulled me into a room with him, and bolted the door. My initial fear wore off as I learned – without any words exchanged – a bit more about this man, who owned a shop with precious stones and many curious potions. Aside from sharing that he removed my mask and thus broke the McKittrick’s rules, I won’t reveal the details. But I found myself gravitating back to him later in the performance to learn more about his story and heartbreak.
The cluttered apothecary in "Sleep No More", photo by Sara Krulwich/The New York Times
In spite of the incessant thrill of chasing characters and watching bizarre events unfold in the most unusual of places, there were moments of frustration, like when I got lost in a maze of a forest with only a few other masked people around (note: if you have a poor sense of direction, as I do, you’ll most likely end up lost several times throughout the performance). Punchdrunk empowers audiences by giving them almost total freedom, but the downside of choosing your own path in the McKittrick is that you’re on your own. If you can’t find your way, or become bored by your surroundings, nobody is there to guide you elsewhere.
Sharing how my experience concluded at the McKittrick would spoil the fun (or rather, the shock) for anyone planning to see Sleep No More, but suffice it to say that I was entirely disoriented after leaving the 1930s and returning to West 27th Street in present day. What happened in the hotel felt worlds away, and as with any eventful, puzzling dream, I’m still trying to put the pieces together.
Sleep No More continues through November 5th at the McKittrick Hotel, 530 West 27th Street in Manhattan.
Beijing Dance Theater’s Haze
August 11, 2011
While doing some research I came across this riveting rehearsal footage of Beijing Dance Theater‘s Haze, choreographed by Wang Yuanyuan, with music by Henryk Gorecki and Biosphere. If you’re in the New York area, you can see the company perform Haze at BAM’s Next Wave Festival this fall.
