REVIEW: Currents and Crossings

Tsukumo
Photo: School of Music, Theater, and Dance

The annual dance concert by the Department of Dance, Currents and Crossings made me realize that dance is such an interdisciplinary genre of art. While many aspects of dance are associated with performing arts, dance is a form of visual art at the same time because dancers constantly use their bodies, props, and costumes to “paint” the scenes on stage. Dance can also incorporate many other types of arts to stimulate audiences’ senses, such as music, visual arts, and engineering.

Out of the four dance pieces performed that night, I found the first one — “Into the Wind” — most intriguing. In addition to the eight skillful dancers, this piece incorporated flute and percussion improvisers, two paintings, a poem, interviews with the factory workers, and a “wind data sonification” system to present its unique atmosphere. This seemingly random combination of arts reflects its unique background — “Into the Wind” was premiered near the grounds of the Michigan Alternative and Renewable Energy Center, the groundin which renewable energy initiatives replaced the Continental Motors engine factory. As such, the dancers represented both natural and industrial sides of this story, by depicting the factory workers in one scene and the wind moving freely in another. While the props such as draping fabric and beautiful soundtracks helped create these scenes, the dancers’ artistry really made these scenes happen vividly.

This concert was a testament to how dance can serve as the bridge between all art forms. Although the School of Music, Theater, and Dance tries to encourage collaboration between these art forms, it’s a shame that the Department of Dance tends to be underrepresented in the SMTD community. (Case in point: there was only one act that featured in the Collage Concert last month, whereas there were many music acts and some theater acts.) I can’t wait to see what other shows they have in store for us, and what collaborations they are thinking of doing.

REVIEW: Witch Exhibition in the UMMA

camsterdam

Got a minute? Gather a few of your friends together and then tell them to each draw a picture of a unicorn. Chances are they will all include a horse with a mane and a horn sticking out of its forehead – plus or minus a few stars and rainbows. Next, tell your friends to draw a picture of a witch. Suddenly, we have a whole spectrum of possibilities. Is she old or young? Wrinkly skin with craggily nose and warts? Is she wearing a hat? Is she a peasant in Salem, Massachusetts? Does she ride a broom or stay on the ground with her cat and her cauldron? Does she look like Hermione or Luna? Really, the only constant is that she’s a she. It is quite remarkable that the witch, like the unicorn, is an imaginative construct. And yet, we have no collective idea of what she looks like!

I’m in the course here at U-M called “The History of Witchcraft.” One of our assignments was to visit the U-M Museum of Art and check out their limited-time collection of “Witch” art. The small collection of only 15 pieces is located down the stairs in the basement of the modern Frankel Family Wing. The collection mostly displays printed etchings by Francisco de Goya. These etchings are a part of his larger work, “Los Caprichos,” which mostly serve as a satirical medium for Goya’s criticism of 18th century Spanish society. (This video by the San Jose Museum of Art describes wonderfully Goya’s Caprices in more detail. You can even click on each individual etchings to learn more about the hidden meanings.)

I can’t show pictures here because of copyright issues; all the more reason to go see them yourself! But I can describe to you a few that really caught my attention: either because they were so disturbing or because they simply confounded me. The collection ranges from Goya’s Early Modern prints to 20th-century abstract drawings and photography. One of my absolute favorites was “The Witch with the Comb” by Paul Klee. I loved how it was not obvious that the drawing was of a witch.

To me, the woman immediately struck me as an abstract 1920’s flapper rendition of the Queen of Hearts. Her hair was cut in an asymmetrical bob, she wore a shawl and jewelry, and her cocktail dress even had a fringe trim. She definitely looked like an upper-class woman, or at least, like a middle-class woman attempting to look like an aristocrat. Her face was stern with a straight across eyebrow and a pinched little chin. The strange thing about the woman was that her arms were drawn to look like arrows, pointing downward (“towards HELL!” I joked). Why did Paul Klee choose to disfigure this noble woman? The lack of hands dehumanized her, while drawing your attention down to the bottom of the picture. Now you notice her shoes – prototypical ‘witch’ shoes with a curled tip.  Is this woman secretly a witch? Klee reminds us again of the idea that anyone can be a witch. All you have to do is call her one, which he has done in the title. We read in class that many witches could transform themselves into more attractive, humanistic women. I guess even witches can make mistakes sometimes and leave their identities exposed to those who notice the small details.

You could easily spend an hour staring at these 15 pieces, which seem to have more significance when brought together in one glass case. You can contrast and compare, noticing witchy details that are marked in this print and not that. Why did he choose to obscure her leg here? What is he trying to hide? Take a friend and ask each other questions. Start with a simple: what is going on here? I promise you – that will be enough to keep your mind active.

I believe that UMMA will keep this Witch Exhibition up for another week or two. Don’t miss this rare opportunity to see how real artists have attempted to portray witches in their work.  Maybe your witch drawing will be more similar than you ever expected.

REVIEW: Sundance Animated Shorts

camsterdam

I have a confession to make. I’m not one who usually gets emotional during movies (at least ones that don’t have animals in it. Don’t even get me started with “Eight Below”!) So how is it that last Sunday night, I found myself on the verge of tears as I watched a stick figure lie in a hospital bed, fighting an nondescript cranial illness? I present to you now: the magic of the Sundance Animated Short Films.

These are no Saturday Morning cartoons, my friends. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect going into the show. And I think Sundance is designed to blow away any expectations you do come in with, so perhaps it was best that I was a blank slate. The eight films were purposefully arranged to linearly begin with the “creation of the world” and end with, well, the end of the world. I was stunned by the common theme of grim, almost morbid topics: death, violence, mental and physical decline, loss, scandal, low self-esteem, and oblivion. But maybe by not involving “real humans,” we, the audience, are distanced enough to project our own inner thoughts on the characters in front of us.

One of my favorite films was “Yearbook” by Bernardo Britto. An average man – married, well-fed, has a job – is “hired to compile the definitive history of human existence before the planet blows up” (michtheater.org). He realizes that if anyone survives doomsday, their knowledge of this world rests in his fingertips. Who would you write about? Who should people remember? He begins with Hitler, oddly enough. Then proceeds to list U.S. presidents, Gandhi, Jesus, Martin Luther King, Jr. He begins to list musicians and writers and activists: anyone he can think of who has influenced our world. But the computer only can hold so much data. He must edit his list. Maybe the future doesn’t need to know about Lady Gaga. But J.S. Bach? Now there’s a person you can’t skip. The man basically chooses the ‘after’-life and death of famous people, as if he had the power to decide who is important enough to be remembered. A Philip Glass-ian pensive piano score serenades the man’s commentary, as he realizes that the people who have directly influenced his own life (the barista, the garbage man, his next-door neighbor, his wife) will never “be important enough” to make the list. The piece ends on a melancholy note, but with a good message: Sometimes it’s the people who wouldn’t make the list who can have the biggest impact on a person. So when you find a person like that, cherish every moment you get to spend with them.

One thing that really struck me with these short films was the equal combination of visual impact and story. A short film is like a really good cake. You only have a few minutes to really catch your audience’s attention and make them either fall in love with you or despise you. The ratio? One half substance – the plot – the recipe – the flavor. One half display – appearance – presentation.

Speaking of appearances, the films were brought to life using a diverse array of animation techniques that kept things interesting for the audience. For example, films such as “Yearbook,” “Belly,” and “It’s Such a Beautiful Day,” had a hand-drawn feel to them; “Oh, Willy” used felt puppets to vitalize the strange and endearing film; and “Voice on the Line” combined live footage with digitally cut-out shapes to create a collaged storybook over the history of the telephone operators in the Cold War Era.

The Sundance films give independent directors a chance to produce films separate from the anxiety and distractions of Hollywood Hype. It provides them an opportunity to test the waters, explore deep into human emotions, and experiment. Although there were one or two films that I sincerely disliked, I must remember my previous “cake-baking” metaphor. Ask yourself: was it the substance or the presentation that I disliked? Maybe the story was told in the wrong way. Maybe I disliked the gore and the creepy, robotic voice of the narrator. But boy, I could never even begin to animate a film like that! Cakes are the same way. I used to hate carrot cake. But it always looked nice. And sometimes the niceness of the presentation tempted me to try the cake one more time. That’s the thing about cake and short films – they come in such small pieces that it’s easy to come back to it for a second round. I hope that the Michigan Theater continues this tradition for many second rounds to come.

 

Follow-Up Interview with Playwright Robert Lawrence Nelson

Ashleigh Olix

Link to Original Interview

After taking an Arts Outta Town trip to see the Detroit Repertory Theatre’s production of Sweet Pea’s Mama, students had a chance to submit follow-up questions to playwright Robert Lawrence Nelson. Rob was gracious enough to speak with Arts at Michigan once more, as he responded to the following questions:

What kind of audience did you have in mind for the play? It seems it would elicit very different reactions, depending on the audience.

I didn’t have a specific audience in mind. I wanted people when they see it to think that these characters are, they’re conflicted, they’re not black and white. You could have prejudice and still have affection for somebody. I wanted people to walk away questioning their own prejudice. I think we’re all prejudiced to some degree or another.

How do you select names for the character? Based on personal associations, to invoke stereotypes, . . . ?

There’s no science to it. It’s just what feels right.

How would Coralee and Abigail’s characters change if the play were situated in the mid-2000s?

I really don’t know how to answer that. Certainly Coralee wouldn’t have to play stupid to the degree that she did, or at all, and who knows, Coralee might be Abigail’s boss in some corporate firm.

I also think you can’t really separate those characters from that context, the time that they were in. That’s why I kept the ending open-ended. I can make an argument that Abigail keeps Coralee on, working for her, and I can make also an argument that she lets her go.

I don’t know if this is relevant, but once the balance started to shift, when Coralee spoke up for herself and told the truth, the argument I would make for Abigail keeping her is that she has nobody else and that she needs somebody. I don’t mean in terms of being a housekeeper. She needs another soul to rub up against.

And the argument I can make for letting her go is there’s just no way that she can have her in the household on an equal basis with her. Abigail is stuck in the past and not ready to grow. So I left it open-ended for the audience to grapple

In the play, Coralee often played a role that she thought would be easier for Mrs. Gentry to understand. This role playing still seemed very salient to me. Do you think the roles that people play have changed since the civil rights movement? How?

In terms of playing the role, we all play roles to a certain extent. We all do that in order to get ahead. I don’t think that’s awful.

Did you consider any other endings or added plots?

No other added plot. No other ending either, and I’ve been criticized from time to time about the ending. Certain people wanted Coralee to demand more or say her piece and leave, but she was in the context of her time and she needed to take care of her family. So she negotiated for what she thought was possible, yet told the truth.

And incidentally, she was inspired by her son, which I thought was ironic because she’s the one who was so hard on him to mind his Ps and Qs, and he being the new generation, really didn’t want any of that. But when he came clean to her and opened his heart to her, that inspired her to be truthful. He calls her on it. Yes, she is doing all this for him, but at the same time, there’s another track. There’s a part of Coralee that was afraid if she spoke her mind, she would be fired.

Did you feel the need to make the black protagonist victorious in the end, given history’s record of the opposite?

Well, I think, again, I think it was an earned victory, but it was an honest victory. In other words, she was inspired by her son to tell the truth, yet it wasn’t Hollywood ending with her walking into the sunset with her chest out. She was still negotiating for what was reasonable to get. I guess the question presupposes that it was an unrealistic ending.

She grew as a person. She came from her truth rather than her fear. She might stay on or she might not. In one sense, it’s irrelevant, which is why I left it up to the audience. What’s important is that she grew and that she was inspired by her son.

Why did Sonny decide to drop his accusations against Coralee?

You know, I’ve been questioned about that. The question that I’ve gotten before about his character is that people say he’s a bit unrealistic because he changes so suddenly, first by accusing her and then by letting it go. And I’m so against changing his character because I think his character goes to the heart of the play and the time.

Here he is, he’s a burgeoning young man. He’s on the cusp between still being a child and being a grown man in that society. And he’s frustrated and angry at the loss of his brother. He’s trying on manhood, you know, to see how it fits and who he is on the time. And he changes back because Coralee was indeed the one who raised him. Even though Abigail says Coralee took care of Georgia, Coralee raised him too.

So he’s between the two worlds, she being the lovingest mother who cared for him, and trying to be a responsible man, as he saw in the society. So he goes back and forth. At one moment, he’s yelling at her, and the next moment, he’s looking for sympathy, crying on her shoulder. And again, it goes to his character. He lost his brother, his twin brother, and I’m sure you know how close twins are, and in this case, the guilt of Georgia coming out first, and he’s not comfortable with what role he’s supposed to be in yet.

I really like to write sloppy characters, and when I say sloppy, I don’t mean in a denigrating way. I mean it in a positive way. They’re conflicted, they’re multi-dimensional. They’re complex, seemingly contradictory, because we all are that.

Was it justifiable for Sonny to question Coralee about Georgie’s death?

Again, I’ll fall back on what I just said. At this point, he’s trying on the big boy pants of being the man. And he senses something, which he’s right, of course. So yeah, I think it’s justifiable. How he goes about doing it, of course, is a bit strident, but understandable given his pain.

I was a little confused regarding Georgie’s death. Are we supposed to cheer on the victory of the movement or mourn for the death of an innocent soul?

Yes.

SPM

Thanks again to Robert Lawrence Nelson for speaking with us. The Detroit Repertory Theatre’s production of Sweet Pea’s Mama continues through March 15th. Find more information here.

PREVIEW: Currents and Crossings

Tsukumo
Image courtesy of SMTD

Currents and Crossings is a concert of modern dance by the School of Music, Theater, and Dance. The main piece in this performance is going to be Brisk Singing (1997), a lyrical and energetic dance set to excerpts of the opera Les Boréades by Jean-Philippe Rameau. The choreographer for Brisk Singing, Richard Alston, is acclaimed for his ability to respond to musical materials and to explore pure dance aesthetic. Other pieces in this concert are choreographed by the professors here at Michigan, and feature various aspects of nature — such as the African tradition of bottle trees and the elemental forces of wind. There are four chances to watch this performance this weekend. Even better, Currents and Crossings is on the Passport to the Arts so you can watch it for free! Don’t miss out! (Watch a trailer video here.)

WHEN: Thursday, February 5 at 7:30pm; Friday and Saturday, February 6-7 at 8pm; Sunday, February 8 at 2pm

WHERE: Power Center

TICKETS: FREE with the Passport to the Arts, or $10 with student ID. Get the tickets at the Michigan League Ticket Office!

REVIEW: Sundance Live Action Short Films

Phillip Wachowiak

This was the first year I was able to see the Sundance Live Action short films. Therefore, the only comparisons I have are to other film festivals and to the Sundance animated shorts from last year.

Many people consider Sundance to be a festival that launches the careers of independent and relatively unknown filmmakers. Each year audiences around the country get to see their live action and animated short film collections.

In their collection description, Sundance stresses diversity, and this is something that is true without a doubt. Ranging from astronauts training in the desert to a BDSM-themed opera remix, the short films brought forth a wide range of emotions. This inconsistency was as much a weakness as a strength, however. Some shorts had clear and provoking deeper meanings, while others were simply entertaining little pieces that didn’t have as much staying power.

One of the best–if not THE best–was “Afronauts,” a fictional recreation of Zambian exiles preparing for a trip to the moon in 1969. Beautifully shot in black and white, it is a chilling commentary on the lengths we go and the sacrifices we make to achieve a perceived goal. My favorite part about this was the actors’ performances that didn’t even require dialogue to do most of the work.

An interesting thing about this collection of films was the importance of the story. Two examples here are “Dawn,” about a young teenager seeking to escape from her sheltered life, and “I think this is the closest to how the footage looked,” about a man striving to recreate the memory of his last day with his mother.

The film quality and production design of these two films is not even in the same ballpark. Yet, despite “Dawn’s” superior look and beautiful shots, I found myself enjoying “footage” much more. “Dawn” plays to tropes and its ending is basically a punchline, whereas “footage” strikes at the raw fears that we all have of losing those closest to us. This was an amazing example of how even films with lower budgets can shine brighter than more cinematic films.

Sundance’s selection of foreign films was refreshing. We had films in Hebrew, French, Russian, English, and a smattering of Mexican Spanish. Not all of them were thrilling, but they were genuine and unflinching depictions of the cultures that produced them. “Love. Love. Love” transported us to Russia and gave us different way to look at intimacy. “I’m a Mitzvah” was a fantastic collision of Hispanic and Jewish cultures in a foreign country.

Overall, a great slate of films. Completely incomparable to the animated films, these films are worth your time if you ever get to see any of them.