By R.C. Baker
By Alexis Soloski
By Alexis Soloski
By R. C. Baker
By Alexis Soloski
By Tom Sellar
By Araceli Cruz
By Brienne Walsh
Theater has always trafficked in illusion. The flesh-and-blood performers may be within touching distance, but reality has been leeched out of them. They areand are notthemselves. Those arent shots of real bourbon the actor is knocking back. Fictions, as in life and politics, masquerade as truth.
In Truth, Revised Histories, Wishful Thinking, and Flat-Out Lies, John Jasperse and his four terrific performers offer a witty and provocative web of dancing, acts, and images that test in bewitchingly eccentric ways our ability to distinguish between truth and lies and between real acts and simulated ones. The choreographer as trickster.
The first half of the work is dark, full of fog and shadows, although the magical lighting by Jasperse and Joe Levasseur makes the black sequined shifts worn by Erin Cornell and Eleanor Hullihan glitter almost alarmingly (costumes by Jasperse and Deanna Berg MacLean). To one side is a little room, whose single rear wall and floor are wallpapered with a rose pattern. The same print is used on the bikinis that the women strip down to, so they can behave as if theyre on a beach (we cant hear their muted chatter, but their buttocks quiver minutely to convey its rhythm. Whats wrong with this picture?).
In one of Jasperses cameo appearances, he attempts a single pirouette, each time over-explaining the reason he falls off-balance, even talking over the recorded voice of his patient teacher (Janet Panetta). Finally, he sort of masters this example of artifice andunwilling to accept the fact that hes a terrible turnerimmediately decides hes ready to attempt a double. Whos he kidding? His magician act is equally lame, allowing us to grasp the desired illusion, even though we see where the balls appear from. (A genuine surprise comes later, when Neal Beasley ends a dance section by spitting out a ball wed never have guessed hes secreting.)
The piece layers the many variations of its theme. While Jasperse is pulling balls out of pockets, Hullihan and Kayvon Pourazar are immersed in a tango, to James Los intriguing score (part recorded, part live, although we see no musicians at present). The tangos elegant simulation of foreplay contrasts to what Pourazar then does with Cornella messier, more fumbly affair. The dancing throughout the piece is rich and juicyits big, sweeping, slippery movements and canted spins sometimes veering almost out of control. But the performers apparent dizziness or laziness is as simulated as the invisible cigarettes they puff (just once) and the invisible drinks they not very convincingly sip. Jasperse even makes you wonder if the shifting flashes of unison dancing are carefully planned or accidental.
Inevitably, the piece skewers the fabricated sexy manners that are a crucial ingredient in show dancing. Tall, languorous Cornell and the shorter, spicier Hullihanstrutting in heels are adept at conveying the style without overplaying itas are Beasley with his whiplash body and Pourazar in his own softer way. I want you to want me, their prowling and hot stares proclaim. But, of course, they dont. Not really.
One of the highlights of Truth is a mysterious sequence in which the two women, standing in place, execute in exacting synchrony a sequence of smooth balances on one leg or the other. All the time, Beasley and Pourazar, dressed from head to toe in black, with only part of their faces visible, crawl around and between them. Theyre like the stagehands in Kabuki theater; were meant to pretend we dont see them, even though we do. The men keep close, their moves echoing or accommodating to the shapes the women are creating, but no touching is involved. The effect is strangely erotic.
The post-intermission part of the piece is its white act: floor, back wall, costumesall white. Now the four string players of the International Contemporary Ensemble are seated onstage (theyre wearing white clothes too). The centerpiece of this act is a fight between Cornell and Jasperse, which takes place on the floor, as if theyve already knocked each other down. As in a slow-motion action sequence in a film, their every punch, jab, twist, push, and press happens smoothly and without apparent weight, although their silent howls and gritted teeth bespeak their rage and the illusory pain theyre inflicting and enduring. The climax to this highly artificed bout is a single real slap.
The visible and the invisible are queried in this half of Truthtoo. After the fight, dancers and musicians solemnly place large doilies over their heads for a while, like children who think that you cant see them if they cant see you.
The dancing that runs through both parts of this wonderful piece poses its own questions about reality and illusion. These performers are like us and not like us, like their own everyday selves and not. Theyre also beautiful in the way their ease lies to us about the sweat and muscle work that attend it and the hours of rehearsal that brought it to life.