The Forsythe Company-Zellerbach Hall

Berkeley is synonymous with politics. Its authority challenging culture brought us the social upheavals of the 1960s when students and youth began to flex their activist muscles with the hope of changing the world. Berkeley continues to facilitate this type of environment by evoking controversial discourse, celebrating philosophical strangeness and inviting grass-roots protest. What better city for William Forsythe to present his company’s North American premiere of Three Atmospheric Studies, a new three-arc piece examining the brutality and pointlessness of war and conflict? Berkeley audiences are primed for investigations of and ruminations on this subject matter.

This work by the German-based Forsythe Company tells the story of a home that has been attacked in a war-torn area. The audience joins in just after the assault has occurred, and although the geographical location is not verbalized, the assumption can be made (through performers’ accents, and the language of interpretation) that the hostilities have transpired somewhere in the Middle East. Following the strike, the reaction of the family whose home was destroyed is documented through movement and dialogue. The son seeks to protect his sisters from the danger of the explosion, from the police and from the military. In the chaos of the situation, one of the military personnel is injured; the son is blamed and subsequently arrested. The matriarch of the family then seeks help and counsel from an interpreter in order to find her son and explain that his desire to defend his family had led to an unintended conclusion. In the midst of the violence, the audience sees how the members of this household cope. Fear, pain, sorrow, anger, rage and uncertainty are all apparent.

It is clear that Three Atmospheric Studies is driven by its story, and for Forsythe, the only format with which to relay a heavily narrative piece such as this is through Tanztheater. Made famous by one of Forsythe’s strongest influences as well as his contemporary German choreographer Pina Bausch, Tanztheater combines both dance and theater so that together they can play a collaborative role in representational storytelling on the stage. Bausch’s Tanztheater pieces are guided by their plot, which often includes images of violence and aggression. Therefore, taking into account the storyline of Forsythe’s composition, this incredibly dramatic genre seems a reasonable, appropriate and perhaps even obvious choice. However, as a performance design, Tanztheater has its own issues and problems, one of which is its broad definition. No matter how much the patrons of Berkeley loved the message that was portrayed in Three Atmospheric Studies, the ambiguousness of Tanztheater negatively affects this piece.

Some suggest that having a loose definition in choreographic structure is a good thing because it allows dance makers immense freedom. They do not have to confine themselves to a rigid structure, rules, or constraints. Yet, this type of vagueness also can present challenges. Most importantly, there is a lack of clarity in terms of how movement and dialogue will interact, co-exist and be juxtaposed in Tanztheater. In Forsythe’s tri-composition structure, the first chapter represents the commotion immediately following the raid and the son’s arrest through dance alone. The dancers perform halting, jerky movements, running and freezing, along with chaotic partnering sequences. There were harsh falls to the ground as well as crumbling and melting into the floor. Yes, the dance was dramatic and powerful, and illustrated the emotional distress of the situation, but it was dance, not theater. The second segment is a dramatic scene between the mother, an interpreter, and a narrator. There is some gestural movement that occurs; however, in opposition to the first section, the basis here is in acting and scene work, not dance. The final portion finally reunites the entire company in a true collaboration of dance and theater, when Tanztheater was finally evident. Both mediums were present and working together as crucial narrative elements, illustrating the aftermath of violence.

Although the plot definitely continued through each scene, the lack of integrative dance and theater in the first two portions created a disjointed feeling and a lack of crescendo leading towards the final segment. The first scene was dance and the second scene was theater; therefore, did Forsythe really present a Tanztheater piece ? The third phase of the work illustrated how significant Tanztheater can be, and how electrifying the work could have been if all three sections had been represented in such a manner. The progression of the scenes was also problematic. If Forsythe was trying to build a crescendo to the final segment, it did not work. The first portion was striking and captivating with its energy and vibrance. Then, the second scene took the energy level way down while three people basically spoke to each other about the events. Lastly, the audience was hit with the intensity of the final chapter. There was no gradual build-up.

One of the primary purposes of Tanztheater is to facilitate the telling of critical human issues. In Forsythe’s case, that goal was not fully realized with the limited amalgamation of dance and theater in the early segments of the performance. Perhaps the piece would have been better as a pure dance work rather than attempting to add another performance genre in limited areas and leave it out of others. Despite this, Berkeley loved evening, although it is important to remember that those who came to the North American premiere of Three Atmospheric Studies were by far the target audience.

Reggie Wilson/Fist & Heel Performance Group-Yerba Buena Center for the Arts

Reggie Wilson combines the traditions of African dance and music, the modern masters, the post-modern deconstructivists, and some all-important humor with his Fist & Heel Performance Group. The company made its San Francisco debut this past weekend with a performance that transcended words, illustrating what Wilson calls, “post-African/Neo-Hoodoo Modern Dance”. The two sold-out performances left the overwhelmed audience contemplating their own artistic journey as well as celebrating the cultural expedition in which they had just been immersed. The five-piece program introduced some extraordinary dancers to the Bay Area, but more specifically, it demonstrated Wilson’s insight into and comprehension of choreographic structure. By examining the first three works of the evening, his compositional mastery is revealed in the tools of repetition and transition.

The first piece, Jumping The Broom (1994), pointed to how a deliberate use of choreographic repetition can support the narrative and emphasize an event or a connection. This duet observed a stormy relationship through a series of vignettes, with each scene highlighting a different repetitive movement phrase. Some were clearly of a pedestrian nature and others were more stylized. Regardless of their character, these continuous gestures allowed the audience to focus on how the pair reacted to each other over time. There was always a constant, the repeated movement phrase, and at the same time, there something that was developing in the dancer’s relationship, which could be juxtaposed against the constant. What they were doing physically was not changing during each scene, but their attitude towards each other was shifting as they cycled through their movements. The purpose of the piece was to follow this union through the daily repetitive nature of life, and examine how they changed as individuals and as a couple on this journey. By utilizing repetition as the controlled element in the choreography, Wilson successfully made it an integral component in his storyline by allowing the human association to take center stage.

After the first duet, Wilson came onto the stage to talk to the audience about his work, his education, his heritage and his experiences. The conversation was laid-back, relaxed, and appeared unrehearsed. He was joking with the audience, posing questions, and telling stories. As he continued to speak, he slowly transitioned from just standing to performing a rhythmical stamping pattern with his feet. Following the introduction of that percussion, he also modified his voice into an audible breath accompaniment, interspersed with his monologue. As an audience member, the astonishing thing was that these transitions happened almost without noticing that they had occurred. One minute he was conversing in a regular manner and then his dialogue was suddenly a dance. It was almost like a magic trick, where the beginning was obvious and the result was apparent, but the transition between the two was a satisfying illusion.

Michael Kouakou performed the third work of the evening, a vibrantly energetic solo entitled, Tales from the Creek (1998). Wilson describes this piece as a “male solo of searching identity”, which was readily apparent in the work. It appeared autobiographical, possibly representing Wilson’s own ongoing search through his cross-cultural dance influences. To portray this personal exploration, Wilson fused and integrated multiple different dance genres into one piece. In the solo, the audience saw the following: Limon-inspired saggital and upper body curves, Graham bow and arrow arms in arabesque and tilts in 2^nd position, jazz pas de bourees, gyrating Elvis hips, Cunningham pas de chats, the old-time Charleston, circular jogging from Judson Church, and flat-footed 2^nd position jumps reminiscent of African dance. That is quite a list, and at first glance it might appear that to try and depict all of these genres would produce a halting, disjointed piece. Just the opposite was true. Again, Wilson used repetition so that his audience was sufficiently familiar with a particular movement form before he moved on to another one. In a very methodical way, he introduced a particular technique and then used repetition to solidify it. As well, the transitions again were seamless; almost invisible. It was very difficult to pinpoint where one step ended and another began. As a result of the repetition and transitions, the piece was solid and unified. The segments were like pieces of a puzzle that by themselves may not say very much, but when put together, produced a clear picture of the choreographer’s intent.

The only negative about this past weekend’s performance is that it was only a two-day run. Because both nights were sold-out, it seems fair to suggest that a longer engagement would have been well supported in the Bay Area. It was a shame that more people were not able to experience the power of this choreographer and his company. It was so exceptional that it is difficult to find adequate superlatives to praise this eminent work.

The Live Billboard Project-San Francisco

Dancers are brave people. It takes trust, guts, and courage to jump towards someone and believe that they are going to catch you. It takes an inner confidence and strength to know that you can balance seven feet in the air while sitting on the palm of someone else’s hand. Dance is about so many things-talent, ability, technique, and creativity. But, it is also about expectation, reliance, and dependence. As a dancer, you expect that your body will cooperate and do the things that you need it to do. You rely and depend on your peers, your advisors, and your partners to support you both physically, emotionally and artistically. This is the nature of dance and choreography-you become used to putting your safety, your body, and your soul in someone else’s hands. And, the reward for doing so is usually worth the sacrifice.

Jo Kreiter’s Flyaway Productions takes this idea of daring nerve and gallantry to an entirely different level. Their recent outdoor performance, The Live Billboard Project, took place on the side of a building at the corner of 24^th and Mission in San Francisco. Harnessed and rigged from above, a trio of dancers propelled down the wall, attached themselves to hanging frames, and an additional soloist balanced herself at and on the edge of the roof, all while dancing. This aerial feat was masterful for two reasons. Firstly, even with the mechanics, complexity, and limitations of the overall concept, Kreiter’s choreography was successful in examining her chosen narrative: the nature of media and the feminine form. This achievement is particularly noteworthy because she managed to convey her message without a conventional performance space. Some of the other modern dance choreographers in this city have difficulty attaining that goal even when they have both a stage and a floor at their disposal.

I have to admit, when I read the director’s note in the program, which stated the impetus for her piece, my first thought was, here we go again. Another modern dance work focusing on the degradation of the female body in the media. This theme has become to modern dance what tortured love stories are to ballet. Over and over again, choreographers search for a new way to scrutinize this which appears to offend them so deeply. But, I should remember in the future that sometimes my first reaction is hasty and may cause me to view performance with a pre-conceived (and sometimes incorrect) notion. As I watched the piece, it became clear that Kreiter’s investigation of this concept was different-it was for lack of a better word, balanced (no pun intended). Many find the portrayal of women in popular culture to be demeaning and offensive, but even with this opinion also comes an strange appeal to and fascination with what is being portrayed. Whether this is good or bad is really up to the individual to judge, but it is important to realize that both thoughts often do exist. In the choreography, Kreiter managed to illustrate that this idea of women and the media is often a pull in two opposing directions. The trio section of the piece included images of being hung and being trapped with movements that were contracted, uncomfortable, and strained. At the same time, she also incorporated choreography for those same three dancers that was freeing so that it really looked like the trio were joyously flying through space. The solo that was danced at the edge of the roof also was indicative of this duality. One minute, it seemed as though the soloist was fighting an inner battle against her constraints towards her need for freedom. She would attempt to break away from what was restricting her by almost flinging herself over the edge of the building with an extension of her leg, her arm or occasionally a lay-out of her entire body. Then, at other times, the choreography evoked a feeling of calmness and a grateful serenity through small, flowing movements. With these, the audience could see her appreciation for what was keeping her attached to the roof and preventing her from falling over the edge. This illustration of duality is extremely important. Societal issues aren’t one-sided and a realistic portrayal of both views is what made the piece so powerful, convincing, and cohesive.

Secondly, and more obviously, the piece was an amazing spectacle to see. Dancers were actually doing choreography in the air. They hit key positions at the same time; they moved in unison; they extended; they contracted; they performed. And, they manage to accomplish it all without the standard support of a floor. It was an astonishing demonstration. How often can you walk down a street and see a rehearsed, choreographed and produced art-piece? On that night, on that corner, art was accessible to anyone who wished to see it. Yes, some of the audience had come to the Mission district specifically to see that performance. But, others just happened upon it-they were walking down the street, on their way to whatever they had planned for the evening. Some stopped and watched, others just glanced as they passed by. I have often heard the phrase, ‘art imitates life’. I think the message, the concept, and the fabrication of The Live Billboard Project was less on the subject of ‘art imitating life’ and more about art being a part of life.