Category: Guest Bloggers

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GUEST POST BY BEA LESACA: HOW SALSA MADE ME APPRECIATE HIP HOP MORE

Hey, everyone. Today, I have the pleasure of introducing you to Bea Lesaca, a b-girl and hip hop dancer who writes for HardKnockRadio. Her guest post is about how salsa made her appreciate her own dance style more. Here’s Bea:

How Salsa Made me Appreciate Hip Hop More

Having been break dancing for a good chunk of my adult life, I couldn’t help but actually take it for granted. It was probably due to years of doing the same thing over and over again, making it as routine as going grocery shopping. I know I’m the only one to blame but going through a rut like that; I would like to think, is a necessary part of a dancer’s growth.

See, aside from bgirling, I never tried other types of dance, even the ones under Hip Hop. Honestly, I was a little too scared to venture off into unchartered territory when I already found a niche that I fit right in. I used to think that it was understandable because why bother learning new tricks when the ones I already got has given me enough props I thought I needed (which is wrong btw).

So years passed (with my mentality like that) until I met a DJ friend that went Salsa dancing. We always saw each other at jams and clubs where she spinned and every time we bumped into one another, she would invite me to hit up a salsa class with her. I always said I would think about it, but in the back of my mind I knew it was a resounding hell no! Aside from thinking how salsa was ballroom, I also couldn’t fathom a break dancer like myself getting jiggy with the old folks.

But after consistent prodding from my friend, I ended up going and actually having a great time. It turned out that the misconceptions I had about salsa were just that, misconceptions. I arrived at the place where the classes were held and saw people with ages that ranged from early 20’s to late 40’s of different nationalities just groovin’ to the music. I didn’t know that salsa appealed to that many people! Salsa classes became part of my weekly ritual and it was great. Not only did salsa boost my confidence but it also allowed me to experiment more with the genre I was already active in: Hip Hop.

Every time I feel like there’s a new kind of Hip Hop dance I want to learn, I now think to myself that if I could pull salsa off, what more with this? The expansion to my dance environment wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for salsa. I learned how to appreciate more the genre I belonged to, making me aware of the different dimensions I am capable of.

Bea spends her free time thinking of freestyle rap lyrics. Check out her latest post on the top 100 rap songs at HardKnockRadio.com.

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BETTER THAN BEING GUILLOTINED: LAURA PAWEL DANCE COMPANY

Reviewed by Christopher Atamian, SLSG Experimental Dance Critic

Watching the delightfully down-to-earth Laura Pawel Dance Company is an intensely comforting experience, like sitting down to a meal with an old friend, or in this case, seven old friends as it were.  Better than being guillotined?  Most definitely!

A graduate of Sarah Lawrence at a time when the school produced a cadre of dance pioneers including Lucinda Childs and Meredith Monk, Pawel has been on the New York City dance scene since the late 1960’s, part of the post-Judson Church movement that was more interested in everyday movement and dialogue than virtuoso jumps or classical dance technique.  The company members are all well above forty today and a few have what can only be considered eccentric day jobs for a dancer: Emily Kistler, for one, is an operating room nurse…

Continue reading “BETTER THAN BEING GUILLOTINED: LAURA PAWEL DANCE COMPANY”

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WHO'S ZOOMING WHOM?: ZVIDANCE AT DANCE THEATER WORKSHOP

Reviewed by Christopher Atamian, SLSG Experimental Dance Critic

I recently caught ZviDance’s charming if somewhat superficial “Zoom” at DTW.  I was particularly interested in seeing this performance as I had written a very positive preview of the company and its DTW run in the Jewish Daily Forward (www.forward.com/authors/christopher-atamian/). Israeli choreographer Zvi Gotheiner has been a presence on the New York scene for over twenty years now and he continues to develop interesting, intellectually engaging performances.

Overall, I wasn’t disappointed though I can’t say that the choreography presented anything revolutionary or distinctive.  It was all fun and jazzy and engaging—a light, perfectly enjoyable night of dance.  My colleague Gia Kourlas at The New York Times compared some of the dancing to the old PBS children’s series of the same title “Zoom” (remember they spoke ubbaduhbah language and wore fabulous striped tops à la Agnès B?)…Kourlas may have been slightly unfair in juxtaposing the two, but I see her point—through much of the performance, you felt as if you were  watching sketches for a deeper, more mature presentation.

As a meditation on technological change, the internet and cell phones, “Zoom” hints at many interesting directions: how does technology mediate the human touch and body?  What happens to our notions of intimacy and the way we perceive time in an age of supposedly instantaneous connectivity?

After a few introductory group pieces and solos, one of the Zvi dancers sat on stage with a laptop and communicated with the audience, whose members sent in text messages from their blackberries etc…The messages appeared on a large white screen on stage. Predictably—and unfortunately—they alternated between humor (“Do the kicky thing again” or “Can you do the worm?”), to sexual encomia (“You are hot!”) and repeated fart references by one audience member.  The performance then lost me a bit when audience members were invited on stage, LOL, OMG I just couldn’t follow.

Tal Yarden’s videos, which were also projected onscreen, were lovely eerie transformations of low-resolution images, also e-mailed by audience members.  The most affecting part of “Zoom” came at the very end of the performance—the dancers had already moved off stage and a series of new messages appeared onscreen: “Guess I missed you…” “Talk to you soon.” The real message, and one that I think warrants further investigation, is perhaps the growing alienation that technology has foisted on society.  Information isn’t synonymous with knowledge and it certainly doesn’t always translate into wisdom.  Perhaps in a future incarnation of “Zoom,” Gotheiner will give the latter some more thought.

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GYOR NATIONAL BALLET FROM HUNGARY AT THE JOYCE

 

Photo by Bela Szabo, of Gyor National Ballet’s Rite of Spring, from here.

Reviewed by Christopher Atamian.

Györ National Ballet (at The Joyce January 26-31)

From the land of Bartók and Kodály, strudel and palascinka, comes Hungary’s Györ National Ballet, a vibrant dance company that everyone should have the pleasure of seeing at least once during their next New York appearance.  It takes considerable originality and artistic vision to re-interpret Petrushka and Rite of Spring with the verve and sometimes breathtaking visual appeal that Györ brought to the Joyce on January 26.  The company was founded in 1979 by two graduates of the National Ballet Institute.  Led by Janós Kiss since 1991, it has since won accolades worldwide: all twelve members that performed here are talented, vibrant and passionate dancers with evident balletic training behind them.

The presentation at the Joyce, titled “A Stravinsky Evening” was dedicated to the twentieth anniversary of the fall of the Iron Curtain.  The original Petrushka ballet was of course choreographed by Mikhail Fokin but this version, credited to Dmitrij Simkin and James Sutherland presents a fresh look at the well-worn story.  Here Petrushka (Bálint Sebestyén) is transformed into a free thinker who resists communist indoctrination, while the sorcerer (Balázs Pátkai) is a party leader in uniform who tracks him down, interrogates and tortures him. Both Sebestyén and Pátkai dance their roles beautifully.  Pátkai is appropriately rigid and authoritarian (but sinuous and sinister as well) while Sebestyén is equally adept at performing different tempos and phrasings—at one point he dances torso nu to a particularly sensitive segment of Stravinsky’s music with rare, almost spellbinding sensuality, as if he were actually in a trance: his body quivers all over as he moves arms and legs into languorous serpentine positions. The other dancers are also attuned to soft almost ethereal body movements; as a whole they executed beautifully but their strength was surely the seemingly effortless synchronicity that they achieved with the Stravinsky score.  The piece ends as it begins with a fast-paced pop-inspired communist scout march—a lovely bookend to the Stravinsky. The dancers again perform as communist scouts, mainly running in place and repeating a few movements in synchronicity—illustrating with deft alacrity that complete oxymoron known as “happy totalitarianism.”

This Petrushka presents the type of work that European companies often still perform best: intelligent, classically-based work updated for contemporary audiences—based in literature or myth, the stories told seem fresh and relevant.  In the program notes, Simkin avers: “I present here, not dolls with human feelings…as in Fokin’s work, but humans who act like puppets in a society controlled by propaganda where misleading the masses and brainwashing controls the whole society.” Simkin and Sutherland introduce current themes and update ballet’s sometimes archaic fairy tale themes, while presenting innovative movement not slavishly hampered by traditional technique and point work.  The scenery and costumes, also by Dmitrij Simkin were arresting: a large shining red star hung over a stage; a large head of Lenin lay in the background. The piece sometimes lacked subtlety—Stravinsky is already domineering enough as it is without being hit over the head with an overt political message; and when the Lenin head was rolled around and literally knocked everyone to the ground, you sort of just sighed at the obviousness of it all. But that is small criticism surely when compared to its overall depth and beauty.

Attila Kun’s Rite of Spring was sheer delight.  Here the set changes to minimalist and ultra-modern: a white rectangle surrounded on the edges by a black border, all of it glinting like marble under the stage lights.  The eleven dancers of both sexes, all equally beautiful physically, wear only white—the men in long pants, bare-chested in cotton frocks, the women in culottes and asymmetrical tops that made them look as if they had just come down an Hervé Leger catwalk.  At one point the dancers sit down facing each other two-by-two to apply ceremonial paint, remaining stoic in light of what is about to take place. The clean lines and unencumbered choreography create the illusion that perhaps we are not about to witness something terrible.  And the lithe Lilla M. Horváth is simply astounding as “The Chosen One,” both as an actress and dancer, even as she futilely fights for her life and gasps her last breath. The other dancers—all assistants and too numerous here to mention—defy time and place, something almost Egyptian or ageless in their presentation as if they had walked off an episode of Stargate, noble in demeanor, sporting long limbs and almost extraterrestrial in bearing! As the piece comes to a close, the dancers have not only presented a pagan sacrifice, but also the idea of renewal and hope, much like modern Hungary emerged from communist rule, proud and independent.

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ANYTHING BUT PRIMA: LEE SAAR AT P.S. 122

 

Reviewed by Christopher Atamian

The actress Lee Scher and her partner-choreographer Saar Harari belong to a generation of Israeli choreographers who have all been influenced to a greater or lesser degree by the immensely talented Ohad Naharin and his “Gaga” dance technique.  While I quite like Batsheva and Naharin, many of the choreographers that have followed in his wake, including Inbal Pinto and Lee Saar, have left me indifferent at best.  In Prima, four performers Jye-Hwei Lin, Hsin-Yi Hsiang, Hyerin Lee, and Candice Schnurr-all quite graceful and talented-dance around the stage, gesticulate, crawl and otherwise shake legs, arms and booties for the better part of forty-five minutes to a mix by d.j. filastine, Latino club music, and a fado or Arabic-inspired Spanish fusion of wailing and techno.  Sometimes they also crawl around in complete silence.

The highlight of the piece comes every so often when one of the dancers yells out her name, introducing herself to a somewhat weary audience.  At times the rather stock movement seemed influenced by break, rave, krump and even pole dancing, and at others it looked simply like random movement. I will not attempt to deduce the theoretical hermeneutics that I imagine may underlie this rather hermetic, uninspired choreography-what it either signified or meant is beyond me; on an aesthetic level it was rather bland as well.  Part of a critic’s job of course is to evaluate how close a choreographer or artist on comes to achieving his or her (stated) goals-in this context Lee Saar’s Prima was, I suppose, more or less successful.  But if a performance falls flat both theoretically and aesthetically then what, one wonders, is the viewer meant to take away from it?

Seen on November 22nd.

Photo taken from Broadway World.

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RATED R NUTCRACKER

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My friend, Michael Northrop, and I were invited to a rehearsal of a rated R Nutcracker on Sunday evening. I had to leave early but Michael kindly stayed and wrote up this review. I took the photo above with my iphone. Here’s Michael:

Did you see the movie Bad Santa? No, me neither, but you get the idea. Holiday traditions are familiar and tend toward the precious and that makes them excellent targets for parody and irreverence. The thing about parody in the dance world, of course, is that it has to be well danced. The examples that leap to mind, en pointe, are the bounding “ballerinos” of Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo. The modern ballet Nutcracker: Rated R fits the bill nicely, as well.

This raunchy, entertaining Nut is set in early 1980s New York, the era of subway trains tagged tip-to-tail with graffiti, collapsing tenements, and a drug dealer on every corner, rather than a Starbucks. I got an early Christmas present when I got to watch a rehearsal of Act I on Sunday night.

Choreographer/director Angela Harriell got right to business working through the kinks, so to speak, in an intricately choreographed fight scene pitting rats vs. the soiled soldiers of the Department of Sanitation. The rats knew martial arts, which was bound to happen in this city sooner or later. Hyosun Choi, a Mighty Mouse of a rat, flew over the top of a leaning Sanitation worker with a perfect miss of a kick only to take on another.

Harriell gave the dancers plenty of freedom to improvise: “And then it’s whatever you want,” she said. “Wrestle! wrestle! And then there’s the hitting sound.”

Many hitting sounds later, a quick run-through revealed a fun, feisty fight scene, and it was on to the next piece: the Party Scene. The Tchaikovsky was cued up and the partners took their places. A few more quotes from Harriell should give you a good idea of the action:

“Then there’s the moment when you pick up the dildo and you’re like, ‘Nobody needs to know about that,’ and you keep it for yourself.”

“So let’s get back to the drunk parents dance . . . Yeah, you’re totally easy.”

“Then it’s open step and closed step and open and shake-a, shake-a butt.”

Sometimes the dancers had questions:

“So on the second triple thing,” said Eddie Gutierrez, “there’s no butt at the end?”

Harriell had the answers and kept them on the music:

“And roll in, and throw up, and 1-2-3-4!”

The party scene ends on a late-night subway platform. [I’ll pause here so you can remember what that’s like.] And then there was a final run-through of “most of Act I.” The marked steps and questions were replaced by muscular lifts-at a few points, dancer Michael MacLaren was defending three women against the ground-dramatic extensions, and long stretches of seriously good dancing. The dancers were having fun, and it came through in the movement. It was a blast, even in an unadorned studio after two and a half hours. I don’t see what chance the audience has to resist it when the full production hits the stage.

Nutcracker: Rated R begins its fourth season, December 17-31, at New York’s Theater for the New City in the East Village.

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AUF DEN TISCH / AT THE TABLE: MEG STUART’S CURATORIAL MAYHEM

 

Reviewed by Christopher Atamian

I caught Meg Stuart/Damaged Goods for the first time on November 8th at the Baryshnikov Arts Center. Auf Den Tisch is more a collaborative piece than Stuart’s choreography per se: a huge room is filled with tables lined up against each other with the audience sitting around it-critics, fellow artists, the general public and an occasional straggler or two judging from their reactions.  The performers: Trajal Harrell, Keith Hennessey, Janez Jansa, Jean-Paul Lespagnard, Jan Maertens, Yvonne Meier, Anja Müller, Vania Rovisco, Hahn Rowe, George Emilio Sanchez, Stuart and David Thomson are a diverse, talented lot. It would be impossible to describe the action, as these twelve artists performed just about every possible type of improvisation imaginable in a nod to Grand Union and other experimental groups from the past.  Jansa stood on a balcony looking out at the audience complaining in a Croatian accent that no one was risqué enough today to get naked in public as Richard Schechner did in the 60’s-then he proceeded to get naked and climb down among the hoi polloi: my older French colleague was unimpressed, noting with distaste that he had dirty feet. I thought he looked fine naked. The immer intellectual, immer thinking Harrell was alternately baffling as he read Rancière aloud (who could process the French philosopher at such break-neck speed?), fascinating as he fielded questions about forgiveness and charming as he zipped around the table in a bumble bee outfit.  By now, you must get an idea of what the performance was like…Parts of Auf den Tisch were also terribly slow.  Stuart officially “curated” this project-with a bit of nipping and tucking, it could have been much shorter and more enjoyable-not that pleasure was at the top of anyone’s agenda…Oh yes, as usual Yvonne Meier was her dry, hilarious self.

Photo taken from the Performa 2009 website.

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MIRO MAGLOIRE’S NEW CHAMBER BALLET AT CITY CENTER

 

Reviewed by Christopher Atamian

Miro Magloire’s ballets are like exquisite little jeweled music boxes-each one opens up simple, precious and lovingly crafted.   Some are prettier than others and a few seem perhaps a touch unfinished, but each one is charming in its own way. Magloire’s company-New Chamber Ballet-presents its work at the intimate City Center Studios: it’s not the most elegant setting and Magloire must occasionally compete with some heavy-footed colleague stomping on his head on the floor above, but overall the setting works.  It’s also an intelligent model to adopt in this depressed economy, a great way to keep low overhead and still present four or fives times a year. Magloire, a former musician, is also an exponent of live music: it’s a delightful two-in-one presentation and his usual muse on piano, the lovely Melody Fader, is a gifted, nimble artist and a wonderfully quirky personality. On Sunday November 8, Magloire presented two solos: Sonatine, set to music by the same name by the late Karlheinz Stockhausen (a mentor of sorts to the choreographer) danced by Madeline Deavenport and brilliantly played by Fader and Erik Carlson-a veritable prodigy on violin.  Moments was danced with equal bravura by Lauren O’Toole to Salvatore Sciarrino’s Caprices No. 2 and 6 for violin.  Pas de…is an interesting experiment, a riff on the traditional pas de trois, with Madeline Deavenport, Emery LeCrone and Victoria North taking turns dancing alone and in twos and threes.  What a treat it was to finally hear a piece set to Magloire’s own music-Two Pieces for Piano-a spare, modernist composition.  But it was Silk, set to Giuseppe Tartini’s simply gorgeous Sonata No. 7 per Violino Solo that stole the evening-enchanting, vigorous music that LeCrone, Vanessa Woods and Lauren Toole easily matched in terms of bravura and execution.  Kudos as well to Candice Thompson for her simple, sexy, elegant costumes.

 

 

Photos by Kristen Lodoen Linder: above of Madeline Deavenport; below of Erik Carlson and Lauren Toole in Moments.

 

 

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BOUDER’S "BOLDNESS OF ATTACK" SHINES IN SCHER’S "TOUCH"

 

 

(left to right: Ashley Bouder, Antonio Carmena, Russell Janzen)

 

 

 

All photos of Ashley Bouder, Antonio Carmena and Russell Janzen by Matthew Murphy.

Review by Michael Northrop

Avi Scher & Dancers debuted the dynamic new piece “Touch” at the 2009 Contemporary Dance Festival at Manhattan Movement & Arts Center Saturday. The music, Aphex Twin’s “Blue Calx” performed by Alarm Will Sound, fit right in on a mixed bill that ranged from quieter balletic moments from the host company, Thang Dao Dance, to some entertaining, Pilobol-esque body-stacking from Phoenix Project Dance Theater.

That was it for fitting in, though. Everything else about “Touch” stood out, starting with the dancers. New York City Ballet corps member Russell Janzen, soloist Antonio Carmena, and principal Ashley Bouder were tremendous, and the choreography made the most of the trio’s athleticism. This was not a timid exploration of the stage. Whenever there was a question (a half step, a reach), the answer was yes (continue, embrace).

Janzen and Carmena came out shirtless in bike shorts. Aesthetically, this highlighted the physicality of the piece, which included some exceptional lifts. (Psychologically, it just made every guy in the audience feel like a toneless dumpazoid—or perhaps I project? In either case, it was a big hit with the row of teen girls behind me.)

Bouder, dressed in black, was marvelous. She reminded me of that great line, that great scene, from Geoffrey Rush’s Oscar-winning 1996 movie Shine: “Boldness of attack.” In the movie, Rush, as a brilliant pianist, has to be prodded to it. On Saturday, Bouder was committed to it from the start. Her pointework was precise but bristling with power.

Anyone who saw Scher’s work at the City Center Studios in June or the Ailey Citigroup Theater in September knows that he has a real flair for physical, crowd-pleasing pieces set to contemporary music. This fierce, fresh piece manages to both fit right in with that and, again, stand out.

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A FALL SMORGASBORD: CATHERINE GALLANT, EMIO GRECO, WILLIAM FORSYTHE, AND LUCINDA CHILDS

Reviewed by Christopher Atamian

In the past month I attended four very different performances that were all interesting for different reasons.  Readers will forgive me for giving brief overviews of each rather than the more in-depth analysis that they undoubtedly deserve, but lack of time and deadlines preclude me from doing them full justice!

 

On September 26, I had the pleasure of seeing Catherine Gallant/Dance present a series of rarely performed works at the Joyce Soho.  (Photo above of Gallant/Dance performing Isadora Duncan taken from Moving Arts Project.) These included works by Gallant herself, as well as José Limon, Isadora Duncan and Anna Sokolow.  Gallant’s company is rather unique because it is composed of dancers of all ages and body types—it was refreshing to see older women on stage (as in over 30!).  While they may not always have had the same power and lift as their younger counterparts, they displayed a welcome maturity, elegance and presence.  This was particularly true in the sublimely wistful 16 Waltzes Op. 39, choreographed in 1903, also referred to as “the many faces of love.”  Set to Brahms waltzes and as performed by Loretta Thomas, Eleanor Bunker, Michelle Cohen, Francesca Todesco, Marie Carstens and Gallant, the piece lulled the viewer into an almost blissfully intoxicated state.  It was also refreshing to see Anna Sokolow’s 1953 Lyric Suite, set to music by Alan Berg performed by Francesca Todesco, Eleanor Bunker, Michelle Cohen and Chriselle Tidrick.  Another highlight of the evening was the athletic Kristen Foote, a member of Jose Limón, interpreting Isadora Duncan’s Revolutionary (ca 1920-1924), with music by Alexandre Scriabin.  Foote displayed remarkable strength, vitality and grace in this simple but powerful piece.  That she could capture with each step and arm thrust the spirit of the October Revolution and spirit us, the audience, away to a Russia so distant in time and place, is a tribute to this remarkable young performer.  While one or two of the other pieces presented were arguably a bit lackluster, my only regret was that a larger audience hadn’t attend the performance, for Gallant is a historian and choreographer, a dancer and archeologist of dance history who brings to the stage pieces that we might never otherwise see.  We owe her a small debt for her good work and taste.

 

Emio Greco (photo above by Jean Pierre Moran) came to the Joyce in late September to present the second in his Dantesque trilogy, popopera[purgatorio]. I’ve already written a review of the performance for Dance Magazine which should be out in a few months so I won’t go into any detail here.  While I understand the issues that some critics may have had with the performance, Greco’s intellectual take on dance, the offbeat look of the dancers themselves, as well as the original, spasmodic movement vocabulary were interesting enough to me, although it wasn’t necessarily the most memorable show of the year. All told, the dancers gave a sexy, brassy performance. They also wielded and played the electric guitar-one for each dancer–with some panache.

 

 

I was rather surprised by the generally enthusiastic reviews of William Forsythe’s cacophonous mess Decreation (photos above by Julieta Cervantes) at BAM (October 7-10).   I am a huge fan of BAM, of their New Wave Festival and of William Forsythe who is obviously one of our great choreographers-in fact some of the most exciting performances that I have seen in the past years have been choreographed by Forsythe, including an outstanding Juilliard Spring Repertory Concert performance some years back of Limb’s Theorem III which included a wonderful, young Riley Watts contorting his body in the most fantastic ways, an amazing rotating globe and choreography that made the dancers appear almost super-natural or alien in their physicality.  But try as hard as I could, I couldn’t find anything noteworthy about Decreation, which is based on an essay by Canadian writer Anne Carson that examines lives unraveled by love: Sappho, Simone Weil and Marguerite Porete, a medieval mystic who was burned at the stake for not renouncing the views that she expounded in her book The Mirror of Simple Souls.  Decreation begins with Dana Caspersen re-enacting a nasty spat with a past lover while George Reischl repeats her speech in German: they are both barely understandable and contort, grab at shirt, face and body in such visually unappealing ways that they look like two inmates in an insane asylum-perhaps an apt metaphor for something or other, but what is the relation to a failed relationship?  That it drives you mad? That’s it’s just exasperatingly distorting to the soul? And every time Reischl screams out “It’s a spiel” (so what’s new, love’s a game?) I wanted to reach out and well, slap him. At another point in the performance a women grabs her breasts with one hand and her crotch with the other, hanging on to her private parts as she is sandwiched between two male counterparts.  Decreation came off as a questionable mix of dance theatrical elements and surreal or post-modern theater-oh yes, and occasionally someone actually moved, as if to remind the audience that they were at a dance performance.  Certainly this work is complex, but in an abstruse and frankly ugly way: everyone on stage contorts in such odd and unappealing ways and David Morrow’s soundtrack is so grating that you aren’t quite sure how to enter the piece as a viewer. Forsythe received a standing ovation from a few people in the audience which proves, I suppose the old adage de gustibus non est disputandum. (Of the reviews that I have read so far only Tobi Tobias had the courage to call a spade a spade-so I will link to her review here, and to be fair, to Roslyn Sulcas’ altogether more positive New York Times review)

 

 

Finally, a redeeming, exquisite Lucinda Childs performance at the Joyce on October 6.  The highlight of the night was Childs’ Dance (photo above by Nathaniel Tilleston), which was accompanied by Sol Lewitt’s wonderful film projected onto a translucent screen, so that one could watch the dancers performing live with the original 1979 filmed performance simultaneously juxtaposed over them.  While this staging doesn’t work as well in a small theater like the Joyce, the dancers were simply exquisite as they performed relatively simple but quick steps (sideways jumps and turning jumps in arabesque) over and over again, mostly in straight lines, changing direction here or there, making absolutely exquisite patterns that have been likened elsewhere to Persian rug designs.  At first the execution seems almost identical, as do the dancers costumed in identical unisex black outfits, but each one actually added his or her own idiosyncratic head tilt or subtle interpretation. It’s not easy to choreograph to music as purposefully repetitious and as fast-paced as Phillip Glass but the dancers acquitted themselves famously, as if floating on a seemingly effortless ethereal cloud for close to an hour.  It was refreshing to see work of such distinction and quality: one felt transfixed as one should by great art.  (Childs, almost seventy, also danced a brief piece with less success, but how nice to see her up there anyway!)

{A random aside:  After another recent performance, I was discussing Ulysses Dove and his remarkable Red Demon with another dance critic (Dove passed away from AIDS in 1996) and about the past twenty years of choreography.  She gently reminded me that the generation that we lost to AIDS in the 80s and 90’s has left a large hole in our choreographic heritage-between older choreographers and the debatable quality of much of what we now see in contemporary dance.  I will go one step forward and say that while I am all for free expression and believe that anyone who wants to should try his or her hand at choreography, that we have way too many people of middling talent presenting dances today-which is neither good for dance nor for its reputation with the general public.]

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ANOTHER PERSPECTIVE ON PIERRE RIGAL’S "PRESS"

By my friend, Christopher Atamian, who went to the Friday night performance.

Pierre Rigal’s Press

September 10-13 at the Baryshnikov Arts Center

Pierre Rigal’s “Press,” originally a 2008 commission from the Gate Theater in London should come with a warning for the claustrophobic or anyone who finds watching another human slowly get crushed à la Star Wars trash compactor scene unsettling. Pierre Rigal, a French mathematician turned hurdler turned dancer performs this solo piece with remarkable aplomb.  For the better part of fifty minutes Rigal contorts, girates, sits, stands and otherwise dances (yes he “wri-gals” as well) inside a box that slowly compresses and threatens to flatten him like a pancake… His only sets are a chair and a slinky rotating lamp creepily reminiscent of Hal in 2001: A Space Odyssey. “Press” isn’t for everyone: watching Rigal stand on his head and negotiate the walls as the ceiling slowly close in on him is either frightening or frighteningly boring, depending on your point-of-view.

The box, Rigal explains in a previous interview, is a symbol for the danger man faces today in society and also for the solutions to these problems as well.  “The box” Rigal notes like a good Frenchman is eminently “cartesian.” These quasi-philosophical statements do Rigal’s cause little good-he should let the performance speak for itself.  It isn’t every performer after all who can carry off a solo like this with such brio.  Although it begins rather tediously, “Press” increasingly captivates as it heads towards its terrible, unavoidable (funny?) end.  Somewhere about forty minutes out, once Rigal has already swallowed the lamp’s red light bulb and caressed the light’s frame like a pet or perhaps even a lover, a voiced narration joins Nihil Bordures’ clever eerie score (“Inside my head…inside my head…”) implying as I read it that perhaps everything we are witnessing is taking place within his head. This to me is the wonderful if obvious stroke of genius, the redeeming touch that takes an otherwise repetitive performance and lifts it to something unique, powerful and worth watching.