Old San Francisco Mint, San Francisco, CA
July 8, 2010
Joe Goode Performance Group's presentation of "Traveling Light" was a site specific tour through a theatrical wonderland. The scenes of the piece unfolded in five different rooms of the Old San Francisco Mint building; each weaving together the dramatic fibers of several interdisciplinary elements. Under the direction of Joe Goode, these ingredients became an artistic composite. "Traveling Light" was big - sometimes in size, but always, in scope and vision. The largess was compelling and fun, and within it (or occasionally buried beneath it) were four simple observations of humanity.
Want and Need
A melodramatic musing on luxury, extravagance and wealth met us first. A female character was perched on one balcony, against an opulent, full purple ballgown. From this place, she delivered her droll monologue on the plight of the rich. Her elevation was literal; she was physically above us. Though, it was also figurative. Her text and the cadence of her voice signified an entitlement, a 'better-than' mentality. This dancer then came down to our level (sans the dynamic gown, wig and jewelry) and as she addressed us face-to-face, it became apparent that the pull between want and need was her message. The suspension and release in the closing choreography spoke to this dichotomy. Suspension is all about holding on for dear life; our belief of where we should be. A release is a giving in, a fall, a relief: a revelation of true abandon.
Hiding and Exposure
Next came the outdoor portion which opened with a solo by Felipe Barrueto-Cabello. While portraying a poverty-stricken character, his movements toggled between closed and open. In several instances, he folded his body and hid his face illustrating how personal struggle often turns into invisibility. In addition, these enclosed movements were combined with an unencumbered, joyful display of the sternum and xiphoid process. These areas of the body reveal the center in a very vulnerable way, exposing one's inner soul and its deep longing to be seen. This section ended with Barrueto-Cabello carrying half a dozen or so cabbages and walking forward toward the audience. He slowly progressed step by step, trying with all his conviction to keep a hold of every prop. Many fell and rolled all over the stage - a realization of the utmost importance. If you try to balance everything on your own, it almost always ends up in a mess.
Noticing
The dancers in the third room began by speaking about quiet, so I thought that perhaps the idea of stillness would be the insight here. But, as this Act progressed, stillness and quiet gradually fell into the background and the emphasis shifted to active noticing. We followed the journey of two people who were initially unaware of each other through a process of transition and finally, into an organic duet where both parties were in the partnership. They moved from a haphazard disconnect to a natural pas de deux. So many gifts come from paying attention and simply being aware.
Appearances and Reality
This final variation was all about facade. We were introduced to a very tightly-wound female character, who spoke about expectations, manners and appropriateness while moving about the floor in a high-collared, hugely-bustled, mechanical white dress. She spoke in an articulate, affected manner and paused in between her thoughts to pose like some sort of puppet or doll. As she began to describe the romantic escapades of one youthful summer, she stepped out of her dress and began to dance with her suitor. Here, the full inventory of a relationship was explored without pretense. Through a contact improvisation styled duet, we saw it all: love, desire, anger, fighting, silence. Nothing contrived; only truth.
For the most part, the project's organizational challenges were no match for these talented artists. Most of the performers had variations in different spaces during the same Act. They entered and exited each room with confidence and determination, never once looking flustered or rushed. And, at any given moment, wherever they needed to be, they were completely present - physically, emotionally and corporeally. With such grounded commitment, it was hard to believe that just a minute prior, they had been dancing completely different choreography in a completely different place to completely different music with a completely different purpose.
The division of "Traveling Light" into several spaces also brought unique logistical issues. The audience was broken into four groups, each originating in a different place. In order to see the entire work, the groups were escorted to and from the rooms, all four cycling in their own trajectory. The ushers and front of house staff accomplished this difficult task with incredible efficiency; they were a well-oiled machine. The pre-show was perhaps the only organizational obstacle that had not yet been conquered. Prior to the main performance, the audience was encouraged to explore the downstairs vaults, where we could see the staging of humorous, topical vignettes. There were just too many people in too small a space. Attempts were made to route the crowd in different directions but everyone just ended up bottlenecked in the main corridor. The company also performed a beautiful vocal overture that looked like it had some movement associated with it. Unfortunately, if you were on the side of the room that I was, you saw nothing but their backs. I think the pre-show is a great idea, but in order to really get a sense (or even a glimpse) of what is happening, the logistical strategy may need to be re-visited.
A work of this magnitude requires a sizeable cast. To that end, the company was supplemented with 'additional performers', acting as a chorus of sorts. Too often, a chorus morphs into set dressing and their purpose becomes the provision of silent density onstage. Not this group. This was an assembly of unique and distinct bodies and personalities. They were necessary for the messages being conveyed; well-integrated, very present and moving all the time. Their individuality was refreshing, but there was too much variance in the level of these eight dancers. Technical maturity was definitely at odds. Some were absolutely up to the task of Goode's choreography, while others just weren't ready yet for work of this level. And, being right next to each other made these technical differences even more obvious. All the performers in "Traveling Light" were good dancers, just at different points in their training.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Liss Fain Dance
Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, San Francisco, CA
June 18, 2010
Merce Cunningham's modern dance tradition will always be a force. The late choreographer's company is on its last tour (ending December 31, 2011), after which the group will disband. Merce Cunningham Dance Company's final bow will be a significant event, marking the end of an enduring modern dance institution. But thankfully, that evening will not be the end of the Cunningham influence. From technique to improvisational processes to chance procedures, students of this rich tradition are contributing to and ensuring the survival of the Cunningham legacy. Liss Fain has a respect for this past coupled with a commitment to moving forward.
The Liss Fain Dance program at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts featured two premieres, How It Ends and Speak of Familiar Things. Both were incredibly strong works that demonstrated Fain's unique choreographic intuition and her desire to take risks. How It Ends was an interesting exploration of synchronicity. The dancer's lower bodies moved in unison while their arms, heads, and upper torsos performed differing elements. Like in much Cunningham work, there was a common denominator; a central theme; a stabilizing force. And, at the same time, several different variations were applied against the basic motif. Sameness and difference - both at once. Also, the traveling triplet made a significant appearance in this dance, sweeping across the stage. This was the first time in a long time that I have been able to visibly pick out this fundamental modern dance step in performance. The triplet is so simple, so beautiful, yet so often absent. Fain's use of this one movement spoke volumes on the contrasting qualities of loftiness and groundedness; said with a continual down, up, up; down, up, up. How It Ends also featured some very complex, challenging and dense partnering sequences. It was creative choreography, though a bit abrupt as the dancers cycled through the various duets. The transitional steps needed a little more attention.
In the artistic notes, Fain reveals that Speak of Familiar Things has a literary connection; to that of Wallace Stevens' poem, “Debris of Life and Mind”. As soon as the curtain went up, I also felt a very strong literary bond, but mine was to "Where the Wild Things Are" by Maurice Sendak. The music, the colors, the backdrop, the costumes and the choreography all pointed me in this direction. From the beginning second to the blackout, animal movements jumped from the stage: the serpentine snaking of the spine and head, the wing-span suggested by arms slightly bent in 2nd position, the use of coordinating rather than oppositional arms and legs and the stag jumps.
Sometimes the biggest risk is also the most meaningful offering. Such is the case with How It Ends and Speak of Familiar Things. Liss Fain's utilization of classical technique with modern sensibility speaks of the past and the future. Her dancers have incredibly strong ballet technique, and Fain is not afraid to highlight this training and let it shine in her choreography. This is a gutsy, risky move, because so many modern choreographers still run as far away from ballet as they possibly can. Classical technique should be celebrated in modern dance; not hidden nor avoided. This is an apparent and necessary lesson of Cunningham choreography and Cunningham technique. Liss Fain was paying attention.
June 18, 2010
Merce Cunningham's modern dance tradition will always be a force. The late choreographer's company is on its last tour (ending December 31, 2011), after which the group will disband. Merce Cunningham Dance Company's final bow will be a significant event, marking the end of an enduring modern dance institution. But thankfully, that evening will not be the end of the Cunningham influence. From technique to improvisational processes to chance procedures, students of this rich tradition are contributing to and ensuring the survival of the Cunningham legacy. Liss Fain has a respect for this past coupled with a commitment to moving forward.
The Liss Fain Dance program at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts featured two premieres, How It Ends and Speak of Familiar Things. Both were incredibly strong works that demonstrated Fain's unique choreographic intuition and her desire to take risks. How It Ends was an interesting exploration of synchronicity. The dancer's lower bodies moved in unison while their arms, heads, and upper torsos performed differing elements. Like in much Cunningham work, there was a common denominator; a central theme; a stabilizing force. And, at the same time, several different variations were applied against the basic motif. Sameness and difference - both at once. Also, the traveling triplet made a significant appearance in this dance, sweeping across the stage. This was the first time in a long time that I have been able to visibly pick out this fundamental modern dance step in performance. The triplet is so simple, so beautiful, yet so often absent. Fain's use of this one movement spoke volumes on the contrasting qualities of loftiness and groundedness; said with a continual down, up, up; down, up, up. How It Ends also featured some very complex, challenging and dense partnering sequences. It was creative choreography, though a bit abrupt as the dancers cycled through the various duets. The transitional steps needed a little more attention.
In the artistic notes, Fain reveals that Speak of Familiar Things has a literary connection; to that of Wallace Stevens' poem, “Debris of Life and Mind”. As soon as the curtain went up, I also felt a very strong literary bond, but mine was to "Where the Wild Things Are" by Maurice Sendak. The music, the colors, the backdrop, the costumes and the choreography all pointed me in this direction. From the beginning second to the blackout, animal movements jumped from the stage: the serpentine snaking of the spine and head, the wing-span suggested by arms slightly bent in 2nd position, the use of coordinating rather than oppositional arms and legs and the stag jumps.
Sometimes the biggest risk is also the most meaningful offering. Such is the case with How It Ends and Speak of Familiar Things. Liss Fain's utilization of classical technique with modern sensibility speaks of the past and the future. Her dancers have incredibly strong ballet technique, and Fain is not afraid to highlight this training and let it shine in her choreography. This is a gutsy, risky move, because so many modern choreographers still run as far away from ballet as they possibly can. Classical technique should be celebrated in modern dance; not hidden nor avoided. This is an apparent and necessary lesson of Cunningham choreography and Cunningham technique. Liss Fain was paying attention.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
The Tosca Project
American Conservatory Theater, San Francisco, CA
June 10, 2010
History is compelling. Representations of real-life events are just more interesting than those that are made-up. These are the true human experience; depictions that, for a moment, allow the audience insight into a past era and the experience of another's reality. American Conservatory Theater's The Tosca Project shares the long journey of a celebrated North Beach landmark: Tosca Cafe. As numerous decades pass onstage, change is there, but so is stability. By the time the lights fade in the final scene, many things have developed, evolved and adapted, but much has stayed the same.
The framework for the historical study of this institution was a dance chronology. An abundance of movement styles were included but these dance forms were more than just steps; there was definite meaning behind them. The 20s Charleston was all about indulgence, extravagance and a belief that the gloriousness could never end. Enter the Depression, where a fantasy dance sequence graced the stage. In this, you could see the characters needing and wanting to forget their reality and transcend themselves to a different place. The slow, yearning pas de deux to “What'll I Do” signified the separation of wartime and when the fighting was over, the ecstatic jitterbug took center stage. But, amidst this elation also lived sorrow. In the duet's reprise, the returning sailor was incapable of his original movements. He was a shell of his former self; his soul gone. The 60s brought in the broad hippie movements of peace, hope and love, with circular dances of inclusion and belonging followed by the partying disco of the seventies. And then, a solo dancer dressed in black doubled-over with pain as he desperately tried to dance as he once could. This was the devastation of AIDS in the 1980s when it first emerged as a deadly epidemic. All these scenes represented specific moments of the past, and the dances of each decade helped to identify each vignette. But the choreography also spoke to the life of those periods: the emotions, the relationships, the fears, and the joy.
As the 1989 earthquake hits Tosca Cafe, past characters and movement motifs return to the stage while the owners are cleaning up. These variations were unchanged from their original appearance. What we learn here is that walls, windows and furniture are not the building blocks of Tosca; instead, it was these people, their interactions and their presence that created the community of this space.
The most important contribution of The Tosca Project is that finally there is dance theater that makes sense. Carey Perloff and Val Caniparoli have managed to conquer this obscure genre by creating a piece that is accessible but not trite, inventive but not bizarre, intelligent but not obvious. For some reason, the category of dance theater has became synonymous with the strange and the odd. I am tired of seeing dancers scream onstage for 10 minutes or cut their costumes away at a painfully slow pace all under the guise of 'dance theater'. Enough with the weirdness! Dance theater and conceptual modern dance are not the same thing, period. If dance theater artists could take a step back and see that the genre they have chosen requires some type of recognizable story, we would all be better off. The Tosca Project proves that dance theater can be rigorous and challenging while still being delightful, enjoyable and easy to relate to.
June 10, 2010
History is compelling. Representations of real-life events are just more interesting than those that are made-up. These are the true human experience; depictions that, for a moment, allow the audience insight into a past era and the experience of another's reality. American Conservatory Theater's The Tosca Project shares the long journey of a celebrated North Beach landmark: Tosca Cafe. As numerous decades pass onstage, change is there, but so is stability. By the time the lights fade in the final scene, many things have developed, evolved and adapted, but much has stayed the same.
The framework for the historical study of this institution was a dance chronology. An abundance of movement styles were included but these dance forms were more than just steps; there was definite meaning behind them. The 20s Charleston was all about indulgence, extravagance and a belief that the gloriousness could never end. Enter the Depression, where a fantasy dance sequence graced the stage. In this, you could see the characters needing and wanting to forget their reality and transcend themselves to a different place. The slow, yearning pas de deux to “What'll I Do” signified the separation of wartime and when the fighting was over, the ecstatic jitterbug took center stage. But, amidst this elation also lived sorrow. In the duet's reprise, the returning sailor was incapable of his original movements. He was a shell of his former self; his soul gone. The 60s brought in the broad hippie movements of peace, hope and love, with circular dances of inclusion and belonging followed by the partying disco of the seventies. And then, a solo dancer dressed in black doubled-over with pain as he desperately tried to dance as he once could. This was the devastation of AIDS in the 1980s when it first emerged as a deadly epidemic. All these scenes represented specific moments of the past, and the dances of each decade helped to identify each vignette. But the choreography also spoke to the life of those periods: the emotions, the relationships, the fears, and the joy.
As the 1989 earthquake hits Tosca Cafe, past characters and movement motifs return to the stage while the owners are cleaning up. These variations were unchanged from their original appearance. What we learn here is that walls, windows and furniture are not the building blocks of Tosca; instead, it was these people, their interactions and their presence that created the community of this space.
The most important contribution of The Tosca Project is that finally there is dance theater that makes sense. Carey Perloff and Val Caniparoli have managed to conquer this obscure genre by creating a piece that is accessible but not trite, inventive but not bizarre, intelligent but not obvious. For some reason, the category of dance theater has became synonymous with the strange and the odd. I am tired of seeing dancers scream onstage for 10 minutes or cut their costumes away at a painfully slow pace all under the guise of 'dance theater'. Enough with the weirdness! Dance theater and conceptual modern dance are not the same thing, period. If dance theater artists could take a step back and see that the genre they have chosen requires some type of recognizable story, we would all be better off. The Tosca Project proves that dance theater can be rigorous and challenging while still being delightful, enjoyable and easy to relate to.
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