By Michael Feingold
By Elizabeth Zimmer
By James Hannaham
By Christian Viveros-Faune
By Christian Viveros-Faune
By R. C. Baker
By Michael Feingold
By Michael Musto
I need some space. How often have we heard-read-said those words? Space as in a room of ones own, space in a crowded brain so we can grope toward meaning, space meaning temporary freedom from an overpowering relationship. With quiet authority and a gentle grasp, Hilary Eastons new duet Light and Shade tackles the many facets of intimacy that the remark evokes.
Easton is a wise choreographer and one alert to civilizations perils. Most often, she develops group pieces that involve ideas of considerable complexity, often incorporating text. Light and Shade, which she has been working on with Michael Ingle and Emily Pope-Blackman for a year, distills her sensitivity to the human condition into a study of a couplenot two people whove recently met through a dating service, but a man and woman who know (or think they know) everything about each other.
In the Baryshnikov Centers Howard Gilman Performance Space, the 45-minute piecesparingly and sensitively lit by Kathy Kaufmann, and punctuated by Mike Rugnettas fine, unobtrusively atmospheric scorebegins with what might be a theatrical cliché: two dancers practicing moves, kibitzing as they go. Ingle and Pope-Blackman, standing side by side, begin with a Ready? and a minimal action of swaying, twisting, and leaning together, which gradually escalates into larger-scale dancing. They approach every move as if testing it out, all the while murmuring questions and directions to each other that are almost too quiet to be heard.
Madeleine Wallach has costumed the two in outfits that bridge dance and everyday life: Pope-Blackman wears a short, sleeveless dress over a long-sleeved leotard, and Ingle is in slacks and a short-sleeved shirt. And it quickly becomes clear that this is not one of those rehearsal-life vignettes; the steps and the conferring are metaphors for the daily negotiations involved in a marriage. Sometimes a bit of irritation creeps in: Thats too far. OK, stop. At one point, Ingle picks up Pope-Blackmans arm and plays with it in a strangely disagreeable way. But they keep aggression at bay, and he tends to stroke his way into a complicated collaborative move, trying to find just the right place to grasp his partner before he swings her into the air. You begin to notice when, and how easily, the two slip into unison dancing, and how they drift apart.
In one passage, Ingle pursues his own athletic course back and forth at the rear, while Pope-Blackman tests the fourth wall, inching one foot across the invisible line that divides audience from performance. Subtly, at various moments, she surveys us, flirts with us. Yet, even when theyre separated by distance, if he falls, she does too, and even though Kaufmann accords them individual pools of light, they can easily fall into unison again.
Unease and hostility vie with what weve come to understand as love and tolerance of differences. The two may touch puffed out-chests, but they twist away from conflict; coming nose-to-nose, they then avert their faces (while a violinist in Rugnettas taped score goes crazy with his bow). And, inevitably theyre together again at the end, repeating some of their earliest moves, seeing us from a distance, as if we represent the world outside the cloister of their intimacythe world they need to explore from time to time in order to refresh the small, intense one they share.
Pope-Blackman and Ingle perform Light and Shade marvelously. Nothing seems studied or strikes a false note. Eastons choreography makes tricky, even virtuosic moves look both unusual and like heightened forms of something we understand in our own minds and bodies very well.
Amanda Loulakis I Am Saying Goodnight is not about keeping a close relationship alive or salvaging a seriously damaged one. The piece she showed at P.S.122 is unequivocably about loss and the rage that accompanies it. At one point, she draws clumsy whiskers on her face and raises clawed hands in our (or somebodys) direction, but thats benign compared to the rest of the images. Watching I Am Saying Goodnight is like watching people flay their souls in front of you.
Loulaki intermittently controls her seething subject matter with choreographic craftsmanship, even though its a tough battle (and rendered more difficult by the absence, due to injury, of a key member of the cast: Rebecca Brooks). How cool, you think at the outset, when lighting designer Jonathan Belcher projects the credits and the titles of the three sections on the floor at the audiences feet and slides them into the distance, where they become smaller and smaller and disappear. Cool, as restrained or suave, is not a word Id apply to anything else in this piece. Like Loulakis 2007 Delirium, its sensual, visceral, guttural. The intermittent sound score by Georgios Kontos (incorporating music by Greek recording artists Giannis Aggelakas and Nikos Veliotis) provides an aural abrasiveness. Still, chaos never quite breaks the bounds in the three parts Loulaki has named Exhausted by self-imposed happiness now I am ready to be destroyed by you, I had no idea it was going to be this way, and I AM SAYING GOODNIGHT.
Perhaps Brookss absence clouds apects of Loulakis intent, but, while I Am Saying Goodnightis sometimes baffling, its furious, purgative thrust is not. Pedro Osorio clearly represents one half of a deteriorating relationship, while Carolyn Hall and Rebecca Serrell Cyr (like Osorio, terrific longtime colleagues of Loulakis) could stand for loving friends as well as aspects of Loulakis characterShe Who Was Deserted. It is Hall who reads a list of the bodys interiorits blood vessels, its organsbut its Loulaki who, in a dialogue with her own taped voice, says, I love you so much that I would like to put my hands in your intestines. Cyr and Osorio, partially disrobing as they go, pull their shirts up and over their heads and thenblinded by the fabriclock necks and struggle together on the floor. Cyr whips Osorio with a length of theraband, Hall lashes one of P.S.122s pillars with it, addressing the absent partner with such sentences as Your hand, followed by your arm. . .rips out my stomach.
Certain scenes sear the brain. Cyr duets with a two-foot skeletonlying beside it, cuddling it as if it were a baby in need of soothing, but also holding it by the head and spinning the rest of it. She and Loulaki, stripped down to trunks, creep and slide over the floorside by side like two exhausted animals. For a moment, when they sit back to back, Loulaki examines her fingernails (remembering feminine wiles? checking the growth of claws?). As the women advance on hands and knees, butts in the air, Cyr puts one hand over one of Loulakis; joined like this, they crawl right out the door of the performance space.
For what seems like a long time, Hall squatsfeet together, arms outspreadtrying to balance on a tiny spot of floor; later Osorio tries the same feat. But the relationship the piece is exploring has gone way beyond a balancing act. In a scene that comes later, Osorio dances, flailing his arms (later still he shakes himself like a mad dog), then calms down to speak quietly in Spanish to an imaginary person in front of him. The fact that hes squatting suggests a gambit, as if the person hes addressing were an argumentative, near-hysterical child to be managed. He brings up all the expected clichés of domestic meltdown: Listen to me. Just listen. We have to talk. He says that this isnt her fault or his, that they are civilized people. Loulaki, who has enteredfully clad again and wearing wedgieswatches him silently and slowly pulls up her blouse to show him her breasts. Civilized? Is he kidding?
Loulakis protagonist may be saying good night in capital letters, but catharsis, while hinted at, is a hard-won thing. So is putting yourself back together when you feel youve been torn apart. I guess thats what this fearless, ripped-up work is trying to tell us.
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