REVIEW: Teaċ Daṁsa Loch na hEala (Swan Lake)

This weekend I saw the most interesting interpretation of Swan Lake I could have imagined. It was put on by a traveling group of performers, why have been touring with this show since 2016, and have won several awards, both for their production and choreography. The music is described as “Nordic and Irish traditional music with minimalist and experimental influences”. So, I expected maybe a little bit of deviation from the normal storyline of Swan Lake. However, when I walked into the theater, there was a man on stage, wearing a cloth diaper, attached to a cinder block by a rope around his neck, bleating like a goat. Immediately I knew this was not going to be anything like what I had expected, and I was certainly correct. Although there was a lot of symbolism and parts of the performance I did not understand, I definitely enjoyed it more than I thought I would.

The story is narrated by an older man, who acted as both characters in the show, as well as sound effects for different elements of scenes. This man was incredibly talented, playing two people with completely unique voices in one conversation, voicing a radio that was changing channels, and being the sounds of a police vehicle, to name a few of the noises he imitated. His talent almost made you forget you had seen him practically naked and making animal noises at the beginning of the performance. Throughout the show, he tells the story of a younger man and his struggles of depression while living on a moor in Ireland.

The story was sometimes beautiful, and sometimes quite unnerving, which certainly made for a lasting impression. One of these scenes was a birthday party which was held for the depressed young man, and the people who showed up clearly were meant to be disturbed or off-putting in some way. They danced around in a halting jumble of bodies and noises while the young man’s caretaker, his grandmother, cackled into a microphone. She was also holding a cake, which several of the party attendees attacked and grabbed chunks of with their hands, shoving it into their mouths with reckless abandonment. By the end of the scene, they had all preyed upon or overwhelmed each other, and the dance ended with them all motionless, lying on the stage. The emotion of the scene was interestingly unreachable; as an audience member, I was unsure of whether I was supposed to feel pity for this party of strange beings, or whether they were enjoying themselves, and had given into carnal desires by the end. I couldn’t tell if it was actually the party that seemed to be unenjoyable, or it was the young man’s depressed interpretation of the scene. It was entirely disconcerting to be unsure of how to react to what was happening in front of me, and these conflicting emotions stayed with me until the end of the show, where I was still wondering what to make of this haunting scene.

In contrast to some of the more interesting sequences, there were some beautiful dances that mesmerized me. When the young man goes to commit suicide, he is stopped by a young woman in white with angel wings, and they are joined by others in the same outfit. They danced together, in a mix of lyrical and fluid styles. The way the women in white whirled around the young man, almost touching him but not quite, was a display of the immense work they had put into the dance as it was impossible to look away from their ducking and weaving around each other, so close but not quite touching. The ending of the show was definitely the most impressive part, as the different dancers helped to spread small white feathers all over the stage. There must have been pounds of feathers drifting all over, as they threw them up into the air, swirled them around themselves, and even brushed them into the audience. It was amazing how much it looked like it was snowing, and it was even cooler how the dancers’ individual movements were all it took to push the feathers into the sky.

Although the dancing was the focus of the show, the music was by far my favorite part. A small group at the back of the stage played mostly string instruments, sang, and certainly set the mood of each dance. The music was haunting, and soothing, and graceful, all with an undertone of Irish melody. It certainly was a key ingredient in making this show spectacular.

At the end, I wasn’t sure what exactly I had just experienced, but I knew I enjoyed it. I spent the rest of the evening thinking about the show, and what different dances or parts might have meant. I think that is the mark of a good performance- one that makes you think about it long after exiting the theater.

REVIEW: Sankai Juku, Meguri: Teeming Sea, Tranquil Land

After experiencing the Japanese dance form of butoh through Sankai Juku’s meditative performance, I felt both emotionally disturbed yet liberated. The continuous 90-minute ‘dance’ performance, composed of seven distinct acts, is supposedly choreographed to emanate the circularity within processes and systems such as the earth’s transformation and its movement through the four seasons. The eight performers are powdered a stark white from head to toe, donning bald heads, asymmetrical earrings, and mostly white, sarong-like costumes on their lower halves. They move in correspondence to emotionally dynamic music and express a “dialogue with gravity” through both graceful and grotesque movements marked by spinning, jumping, and eerie bodily gesturing. It is personally difficult for me to describe Sankai Juku through a traditional ‘dance’ perspective; I fail to see it confined to any form of dance theatre that I have experienced before. Sankai Juku as a whole feels more akin to a poetically disturbing expression of the human experience, while their interpretation of meguri translates as a storytelling experience that is facilitated by the mostly monochrome stage lighting that changed with each act.

I thought Ushio Amagatsu’s portrayal of the grotesque within the context of meguri communicated to the audience particularly well; Act V, titled Forest of Fossils, left me especially disturbed with my thoughts asunder. It was during this section that I finally reached some sort of understanding of the performers’ wide, gaping, mouths and permanently perturbed eyes – to me, they communicated agony in discovery and marked the climax of the program. During Act V, only three performers are present on a stage set aglow with greenish light; the music is both tensely trembling and pulsating with the sounds of rocks grinding, which calls to mind the natural shifting of the earth’s tectonic plates. Paralleling the earth’s provocations are the performers, who appear the most agitated that they have been, with one performer gesturing the most frantically and in the most ‘agony’ – at one point, that performer drags his limbs across the powdery ground in a tight spiral to form two symmetrical circles, then subsequently emotes in pure tension and agony around the formation of those two circles. The remaining two performers respond in an unsettling symmetry, and their generally upwards arm movements seem to be grasping at some unattainable substance or idea. The desperation and agony contained within this grotesque imagery, combined with the increasingly jarring music, left me feeling deeply unsettled and in rumination of Amagutsu’s artistic intent behind that section.

As much as I enjoyed the dichotomy between the grotesqueness of Amagutsu’s work and the beauty in the circularity and meguri it conveyed, I think the most uniquely beautiful aspect of Sankai Juku is how the performance manages to maintain universality in evoking the most visceral of emotions from its audience. My disturbed reaction to and interpretation of agony from Act V, Forest of Fossils, differs from the next audience member, yet the emotional impact of this does not seem to suffer in the face of Sankai Juku’s widely interpretable themes derived from the human experience.

 

 

PREVIEW: Snarky Puppy

It’s a whole new school year, which means a new year of excellent musical performances. Kick off the 2019-2020 UMS season with Snarky Puppy, a Brooklyn-based funk and jazz collective that explores with improvisation the convergence of black and white American music culture. Don’t miss the three-time Grammy winners season opener at Hill Auditorium on Sunday, September 8, with Alina Engibaryan opening the show at 7:00 PM.

PREVIEW: An Evening with Audra McDonald

Audra McDonald, one of Broadway’s most decorated and talented performers, is going to be gracing Ann Arbor with her presence in Hill Auditorium on November 17 at 8pm. She has won six Tony awards and was the first performer to have earned the Tony Grand Slam, winning a Tony award in the four top award categories: “Best Performance by a Leading Actress in a Play”, “Best Featured Actress in a Musical”, “Best Featured Actress in a Play”, and “Best Actress in a Musical.” The beauty in her voice belongs to a truly beautiful soul, and her love for music and life translates to her love for activism for at-risk youth and LGBTQ rights.

Join renowned performer Audra McDonald on Saturday for an evening of songs from the American musical theater that is sure to be a beautifully phenomenal night.

PREVIEW: 2001: A Space Odyssey

For the 50th anniversary of the release of Stanley Kubrick’s classic movie “2001: A Space Odyssey”, the University Music Society along with Michigan Engineering are co-presenting the groundbreaking film in a special viewing. This free event will feature live orchestral and choral accompaniment by the Detroit Symphony Orchestra for a one-of-a-kind experience at Hill Auditorium on Friday, September 21 st 8pm. Registration for the event is currently full, but general admission will open at 7:40pm to people without a ticket on a first come, first serve basis, so it’s not too late to attend this out-of-this-world showing of one of the greatest sci-fi movies of all time.

REVIEW: Company Wang Ramirez’s Borderline

Company Wang Ramirez’s performance of Borderline was a breathtaking rendition of how dance can be used to express the metaphor of human connection.  The show began with Alister Mazzotti, the dancer in charge of lifts and rigging, moving the metal cube shown in the featured image into position.  He stood onstage, dressed in all black, for what seemed like a little too long.  Truth be told, the duration of his still, silent position made me a little uncomfortable.  To be fair, that was the point.  Instead of the box simply being a prop the dancers used onstage, it became the Box.  What did it mean?

I had a working theory throughout the performance.  When inside the box, dancers were together.  They were never alone, save one exception.  During this exception, a single dancer hooked up to the aerial rigging system floated through and manipulated the Box so that it was standing on its corner, balancing on the dancer’s rigging line.  Any dance numbers performed inside the Box became reminiscent of life inside structured society.  Compared to the solo dances performed outside the Box, movements were controlled.  The aerial solo display inside the Box reminded me of climbing up a corporate hierarchy, the illusion of floating akin to the euphoria of financial success.

Dances outside the Box, however, really defined the purpose of Borderline.  When performing duets, the dancers played at defying gravity.  They balanced on each other and pulled one another’s bodies in seemingly impossible contortions.  They used two bodies and used human contact to create a singular, fluid body.  Once their partner left them alone, though, the solo dancer’s movements would become frantic.  Still gorgeous, of course, but definitely angrier.  If you’re familiar with Martha Graham, one performance by Honji Wang reminded me of Witch Dance (in costume, emotion, and in choreography).

To me, the message of Borderline was the importance of human social connection.  Dancers needed each other if they happened to find themselves outside the Box.  When alone, they seemed to lose their way.  All of this was displayed with impeccable talent and control on the part of the dancers.

In terms of tech, the team was astounding.  The lighting designer, Cyril Mulon, had incredible talent when it came to outlining shapes.  At times, the dancers appeared to be wreathed in fire.  Other times, the movement of light exaggerated and complemented the choreography onstage.

This choreography couldn’t have been possible without Mazzotti.  Close to the end of the performance, Mazzotti remained visible onstage.  Wang was hooked up to the rigging system.  We got to watch Mazzotti lift Wang into flight.  He became a part of choreography.  The upper body strength necessary to keep that up for 70 minutes is unimaginable.

My only criticism would be the surprising use of dialogue on the dancers’ part.  Out of nowhere, two dancers started having a conversation about rice.  While it seemed out of place and almost tarnishing the authenticity of the performance up until then, the meaning made sense once the dialogue reached its end.  The message was this: people need some sort of energy – negative or positive – to retain their vitality.  The dialogue served to reinforce the need for human relationships in today’s world.

I found the message of Borderline beautiful.  The ability to express the depth of human interaction through (mostly) the movement of the body was very emotional to watch.  While some aspects of the performance didn’t make as much sense to me, thinking outside the box (pun intended) is a defining feature of modern art itself.