Young Jean Lee’s The Shipment in HD at BAM
October 9, 2011
BAM’s Performance in HD program brings opera, dance, and theater from around the world to the screen. But next week, BAM will show the first of two works this fall by emerging, provocative artists. Young Jean Lee’s The Shipment will be screened in HD on October 17th. Called “a subversive, seriously funny new theater piece” in The New York Times (it premiered two years ago in New York), The Shipment is a “black identity politics show” that dares audiences to question their own preconceived notions about race and culture. It’s sharp, smart, and witty – and definitely worth seeing if you missed it in 2009 (or, if you did see it, come watch it again!). Tickets are now on sale. And mark your calendar for December 5th, when choreographer Diana Szeinblum’s Alaska will screen in HD. Both The Shipment and Alaska in HD were filmed by On the Boards as part of OntheBoards.tv.
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.
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Portraits in Dramatic Time
July 12, 2011
Brooklyn-based performance group Radiohole in "Portraits in Dramatic Time"
On Sunday evening I made my way to Lincoln Center to see photographer David Michalek’s newest project, Portraits in Dramatic Time. For Portraits, which is projected onto a massive screen on the façade of the David H. Koch Theater, Michalek photographed actors at 3,000 frames per second, in ultra high definition. Five to twelve seconds of movement have been slowed down to last about eight minutes.
Qian Yi in "Portraits in Dramatic Time"
Just like in Slow Dancing, Michalek’s 2007 exhibit at Lincoln Center that featured projections of dancers from around the world, the beauty of Portraits is that it allows viewers to observe – or rather, scrutinize – every subtlety in the actors’ performances. The furrowing of a brow, or dropping a tea bag into a cup, is mesmerizing when seen at a glacial pace. Many of the actors used props, as well, such as a book, a pizza box, or photographs. The billowing of fabric or turning of a page is strikingly beautiful and intriguing at such slow speeds. Yet, without any context for the brief scenes projected on the screen, watching Portraits leaves viewers wondering why the characters are behaving as they are. You wonder, what is going on? Why was one woman about to punch another? And in another scene, is that man about to strangle an anxious-looking woman or pull her towards him in order to protect her? We never find out.
Alan Rickman was one of the actors featured in the project, and he happened to stroll up to Lincoln Center shortly before he appeared on the projector. I can only imagine how strange it must be to watch yourself on a screen at such a slow speed, but his range and power were fantastic. Concern, pensiveness, anger, and rage all came through in his performance, which included picking up a tea cup, throwing it, and then overturning a large table. It’s wonderful to witness nuance in a skilled actor’s performance, but Michalek’s project takes nuance to another level.
Portraits in Dramatic Time is certainly an exercise in patience, and to see all of the actors, it most likely requires multiple viewings. The project is on display at Lincoln Center every night from 8:45 to 11:45 PM through July 31st.
Alan Rickman in "Portraits in Dramatic Time"
Alan Rickman
Abrons Arts Center Presents “the horror the horror”
March 27, 2011
From March 31st through April 2nd, Abrons Arts Center will present the horror the horror (I have plenty of energy to drive over there), created and performed by Madeline Best, Shaun Irons, Lauren Petty, and Brian Rogers. In a review of the work, which premiered at the 2010 Movement Research Fall Festival, Gia Kourlas of The New York Times wrote, “It was another side of horror, American-style.”
the horror the horror is a fully improvised live sound and video performance spectacle. Seamlessly incorporating live and processed imagery, electronic and acoustic music, and audio sources ranging from Mel Gibson to Marlon Brando to Charlie Sheen’s recent tirades, the horror the horror will use multiple large scale video projections, surround sound, and the exposed proscenium of the Playhouse to spin a gothic meditation on American pop culture and the personal obsessions of madmen.
Tickets are $15 and available at Abrons Arts Center’s website. Tickets are selling fast, and are only available in the Playhouse balcony.
Pina Bausch’s Vollmond at BAM
October 18, 2010
It’s been over a week since I saw Tanztheater Wuppertal Pina Bausch perform Vollmond (Full Moon) at Brooklyn Academy of Music, yet many of the images from the piece – and the endless downpour of water – still linger in my memory. The performances marked the company’s first trip to the US since Pina Bausch’s sudden death earlier this year, and although there were brighter moments in this ritualistic, 150-minute dance-theater work (which premiered in 2006), it was overshadowed by a sense of grief and mourning. All of that water could have easily been buckets of tears.
Pina Bausch's "Vollmond", photo by Laurent Philippe
I haven’t seen Bausch’s older work, which was apparently much more shocking and groundbreaking than any of her recent dances. Nothing in Vollmond was earth-shattering, and perhaps it was tame in comparison to the “old” Bausch. But the twelve dancers were utterly mesmerizing as they frolicked, climbed, kissed, yearned, tumbled, and flung themselves through a nonstop array of dream-like vignettes set against a rainstorm. A large boulder and a dip in the stage to create a flowing river transported the audience to a separate, mystical setting far from earth. At full moon, these fierce spirits let themselves go.
Like in many of Bausch’s works, the women played a prominent role in Vollmond. With sweeping evening gowns and tumbling hair, they took on various roles: a giddy girl in love, a loner, a glamorous yet moody seducer, and the one-of-a-kind Nazareth Panadero, who brilliantly delivered many of the quirky lines in the piece with her deep, smoky voice. Water always framed their shifting emotions and desires. They bathed in it, rapidly whipped their hair to create sprinklings of water across the stage, floated as though they were dead, and delicately waded across the river.
Sheets of water poured down through much of the second half. The exhilarating finale included a rapid repetition of nearly all of the vignettes and a water fight that left the dancers soaked and spent. Water’s myriad meanings came to mind at different points in Vollmond – joy, grief, purification, birth, and fertility, among others. Yet the most humorous moments in the piece always ended with a hint of sadness, and perhaps a yearning for love. The sadness became most apparent during the dancers’ bows, where they all appeared exhausted and grief-stricken. Somewhere in the flowing water and emotions of Vollmond, Bausch’s spirit was certainly present, watching over her company.
