American Buffalo by David Mamet
produced by The Landing Theatre Company
O'Kane Theatre, University of Houston-Downtown
August 18, 2011
As a new employee at the University of Houston-Downtown, I've been making some effort to get to know something of the arts communities on campus.
Tonight was my first taste of the theater on campus. The Landing Theatre Company is not a student company, but was created as the "professional component" for the UHD theater program. As such, I figured I might see what the department aspires to be.
Judging from tonight's performance, UHD couldn't ask for a better ambassador for its arts program.
I won't talk about Mamet's script. Either you're familiar with it or you're not. Either you enjoy his foul-mouthed version of reality or you don't. Either you're into this brand of American realism or you're not.
Set all that aside, yes or no, and go see this show.
The three-man cast---Steve Irish as Donny, Matt Hune as Bobby, and Drake Simpson as Teach---inhabits this play with all its quirks and tensions and makes it live. At intermission, I overheard an audience member say it was like looking in someone's window and watching real life. As a theatrically trained person, I like to argue with those sorts of statements, aware of the theatrical conventions as I am, but she wasn't far off. Mamet's script has plenty of ambiguities, moral and otherwise, and it would be easy, tempting even, to simplify the complexities, but none of the men retreated from the challenge. The shifting loyalties and suspicions played by the men managed to evoke laughter as well as shoulder-aching tension. I can't say enough good things about the surprising choices each actor made throughout the performance, always keeping in character yet never becoming predictable.
I seldom come right home and write a blog like this, but the people behind this production are doing some fine, fine work and deserve an audience. I've focused on the acting, but the sets and costumes (by Frank Vela and Pat Covington, respectively) are also spot on.
If you were on the fence about checking out this new company in this little campus theater, let this blog post be the thing that pushes you over the edge and into an audience seat. This is good theater, very well played.
(Performances through August 28th--Visit the LTC website for details and tickets.)
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Scandal by Shusaku Endo
A couple of months ago, on my blog for religious thoughts, I wrote about an Australian friend in Japan, Darren. He and his partner, Atsushi, had visited me when I was in Chicago and their friendship has made what's happening in Japan so much more personal.
Which has little to do with this post. Except that Darren brought me a book from Japan, an unnecessary "house guest" gift. Because I'm a terrible, ungrateful host, I had never read it, but the tsunami made me think of it. Since I could do so little for Japan, I could at least read the gift from Japan.
That gift was Scandal by Shusaku Endo. Endo is a native Japanese writer, known somewhat for not only his novels, but for exploring his Catholic faith in the context of being Japanese. This is a theme that runs throughout the book. Being Christian is treated as somewhat mainstream, but definitely not the norm. It is also big part of the plot.
The storytelling employs that particularly 20th Century device of making certain events surreal, leaving the reader not always completely certain what is really happening, and what is only the imaginings of the main character. And I'll just leave that there.
What's most interesting, and what is staying with me weeks after I turned the last page, are the ideas that Endo puts forth.
Well, let me get the least interesting idea out of the way. Sex and scandal, scandal and sex. Sex and violence, violence and sex. I wished the titular scandal wasn't sexual in nature. I wish that the exploration of humanity's darker impulses didn't get played out in sex and violence. I feel like I've seen this before. That Endo handles these themes deftly is to his credit, but also a bit beside the point. I guess even in Japan, sex is dirty and sinful and you save it for the one you love.
But what is interesting is how Endo explores, in this context, the question of rage. How does one work up the will to burn children alive in a locked house? How does one find a thrill in self-asphyxiation? Where does the impulse for cruelty come from and why do some seek cruelty?
As we were advised on 1980s pop radio: "Some of them want to abuse you, some of them want to be abused," but Endo connects all this to the charge one gets when s/he loses control, gives into the darkest impulses. He (or at least the translator, Van C. Gessel), calls this rage. The mild-mannered main character, Suguro, is drawn into a circle of people who would help him explore these impulses, this rage.
I think I've experienced rage. Not recently, but I recall times as a teenager, on the farm, when the cow would not stand correctly for milking and how I would beat on the animal, angry, but more than angry. (I realize it's a little surreal to interject the image of a milk cow into this discussion, but it's the memory that comes to mind.) I'm a bit of a mild-mannered character myself, but in those moments, I recall the loss of control that Endo speaks of. The determined intent to inflict pain, and it went past just being angry at the cow. It was a channel for something else---I suppose I might guess about teen angst and frustrations, but as crazy as it appears in print, when a character describes (second hand) the state that allows someone to burn children alive, I connected it to that sort of out of control feeling when I was beating the cow. There is a point when you know you're doing something wrong, but you keep on because you don't know how to stop. The event has become it's own thing and you no longer have any will in the matter.
And then there is a step farther that Endo takes it. Suguro, I imagine, is something of an analog for Endo--both are Japanese Catholic writers with long careers---and at one point, someone tells Suguro (and I may be paraphrasing), "You've written a lot about sin, but you've never written about evil."
Is this the state of rage? Is evil the point where we cross the line from merely choosing to do something wrong and we are caught up in some sort of altered state of rage? Of evil? And does that always look like "raging." Or can it be the cool-headed, just following orders, action of herding people to their death in a gas chamber?
Well, the Holocaust isn't directly addressed in this novel. Neither is the interview of the Lutheran minister who did his best to be a pastor to the BTK serial killer when it was discovered the killer was a congregant. These are, however, where my mind went. That pastor in in Kansas spoke of seeing his parishioner in a state beyond just committing a sins. He saw his parishioner in a state of evil. (As I type that, I'm also reminded that the BTK murderer said he killed out of pursuing sexual fantasy---so maybe rage and evil are somehow easily sexualized. I don't like thinking about that, quite honestly.)
Well, when I sat down to write about this book, I didn't intend to end up in Nazi Germany or Wichita, Kansas. But therein lies the example of what good literature will do. It'll take you down unexpected connections,
I wish I had some profound observations to make about these connections, but maybe the connections will do for now. It's been two months since I finished this book, and I'm still pondering the distinctions Endo makes. And what to do with them.
So, a public thank you to Darren, not only for a good read, but also for giving me something to chew on for weeks after reading. (Even if it took me nearly a decade to get around to it!)
Which has little to do with this post. Except that Darren brought me a book from Japan, an unnecessary "house guest" gift. Because I'm a terrible, ungrateful host, I had never read it, but the tsunami made me think of it. Since I could do so little for Japan, I could at least read the gift from Japan.
That gift was Scandal by Shusaku Endo. Endo is a native Japanese writer, known somewhat for not only his novels, but for exploring his Catholic faith in the context of being Japanese. This is a theme that runs throughout the book. Being Christian is treated as somewhat mainstream, but definitely not the norm. It is also big part of the plot.
The storytelling employs that particularly 20th Century device of making certain events surreal, leaving the reader not always completely certain what is really happening, and what is only the imaginings of the main character. And I'll just leave that there.
What's most interesting, and what is staying with me weeks after I turned the last page, are the ideas that Endo puts forth.
Well, let me get the least interesting idea out of the way. Sex and scandal, scandal and sex. Sex and violence, violence and sex. I wished the titular scandal wasn't sexual in nature. I wish that the exploration of humanity's darker impulses didn't get played out in sex and violence. I feel like I've seen this before. That Endo handles these themes deftly is to his credit, but also a bit beside the point. I guess even in Japan, sex is dirty and sinful and you save it for the one you love.
But what is interesting is how Endo explores, in this context, the question of rage. How does one work up the will to burn children alive in a locked house? How does one find a thrill in self-asphyxiation? Where does the impulse for cruelty come from and why do some seek cruelty?
As we were advised on 1980s pop radio: "Some of them want to abuse you, some of them want to be abused," but Endo connects all this to the charge one gets when s/he loses control, gives into the darkest impulses. He (or at least the translator, Van C. Gessel), calls this rage. The mild-mannered main character, Suguro, is drawn into a circle of people who would help him explore these impulses, this rage.
I think I've experienced rage. Not recently, but I recall times as a teenager, on the farm, when the cow would not stand correctly for milking and how I would beat on the animal, angry, but more than angry. (I realize it's a little surreal to interject the image of a milk cow into this discussion, but it's the memory that comes to mind.) I'm a bit of a mild-mannered character myself, but in those moments, I recall the loss of control that Endo speaks of. The determined intent to inflict pain, and it went past just being angry at the cow. It was a channel for something else---I suppose I might guess about teen angst and frustrations, but as crazy as it appears in print, when a character describes (second hand) the state that allows someone to burn children alive, I connected it to that sort of out of control feeling when I was beating the cow. There is a point when you know you're doing something wrong, but you keep on because you don't know how to stop. The event has become it's own thing and you no longer have any will in the matter.
And then there is a step farther that Endo takes it. Suguro, I imagine, is something of an analog for Endo--both are Japanese Catholic writers with long careers---and at one point, someone tells Suguro (and I may be paraphrasing), "You've written a lot about sin, but you've never written about evil."
Is this the state of rage? Is evil the point where we cross the line from merely choosing to do something wrong and we are caught up in some sort of altered state of rage? Of evil? And does that always look like "raging." Or can it be the cool-headed, just following orders, action of herding people to their death in a gas chamber?
Well, the Holocaust isn't directly addressed in this novel. Neither is the interview of the Lutheran minister who did his best to be a pastor to the BTK serial killer when it was discovered the killer was a congregant. These are, however, where my mind went. That pastor in in Kansas spoke of seeing his parishioner in a state beyond just committing a sins. He saw his parishioner in a state of evil. (As I type that, I'm also reminded that the BTK murderer said he killed out of pursuing sexual fantasy---so maybe rage and evil are somehow easily sexualized. I don't like thinking about that, quite honestly.)
Well, when I sat down to write about this book, I didn't intend to end up in Nazi Germany or Wichita, Kansas. But therein lies the example of what good literature will do. It'll take you down unexpected connections,
I wish I had some profound observations to make about these connections, but maybe the connections will do for now. It's been two months since I finished this book, and I'm still pondering the distinctions Endo makes. And what to do with them.
So, a public thank you to Darren, not only for a good read, but also for giving me something to chew on for weeks after reading. (Even if it took me nearly a decade to get around to it!)
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Rehearsal Visit to the Kathy Dunn Hamrick Dance Company
So when discovered that I had double booked myself for her upcoming Summer Dance concert (June 16-18, 2011, 8pm at AustinVentures Studio Theater 3rd and San Antonio, Austin, TX), I could've kicked myself.
So I asked Kathy for the favor of the next best thing: A rehearsal visit. She said yes.
So I saw a rehearsal yesterday. Realizing that this is a new dance, three weeks away from its debut, let me share with you what I saw.
In one of the links above, I said something about having watched Kathy grow as an artist in the ten+ years that I've been watching her. This new piece continues her current direction that I felt started with Alone, Alone and was also evident in Here.Me.Now. These pieces all feel like they're coming from a different place from some of Kathy's past work. They're more serious. They take time for stillness. Where as before, Kathy wowed with bright colors, flashy moves and non-stop action (all of which, I'd say, were facades for more serious thought below the surface), here Kathy is letting the dancers---and hence the audience---have more time for reflection, more interior moments. Her sense of humor is still there (a tango for three is hard to not find humorous), but there is emerging in her work a voice that is asking us to take some things seriously.
This new work is call Murmur. Kathy tells me that behind this dance are her ruminations on threats that begin so softly, so quietly, that we don't notice them growing. What's the line between a quiet murmur of trouble and a shout of emergency?
The rehearsal I saw---and it was a rehearsal, with all the stops and starts a rehearsal entails---reveals a definite rhythm to the piece. Throughout, phrases of sustained, slow movement is alternated with phrases of quick, sharp gestures. The wonder of this pattern is how many different ways this it can be played. Solo dancers and duos and larger groups follow this pattern and the dynamic is always shifting.
This was most apparent to me in the duets. Kathy is somewhat known for the partnering in her choreography. Just when I think I know a KDH partnering phrase, she finds new ways for two people to interact. What's most intriguing to me in this piece is that I found the duets to have a significant range of emotional content. Some were tender, some were playful, some were coldly dutiful. I saw moments where something started out tender, but were really just practical, expedient even. Some moments looked like they were pairings of simple social convention.
Kathy tells me that she made this dance with some specific lighting in mind. She described a bit to me what would be happening there. I won't try to repeat her concept, but it all does make me sadder that I won't see the final piece. I hope some of you will see it. You're welcome to come back here and tell me about it in the comments section below.
I should also mention that, sharing the bill for Summer Dance, is NobleMotion Dance, another company I've written about a time or two. I had been looking forward to seeing these two exciting companies perform next to each other. Really, if you're in Austin or can there that weekend, see this concert. It should be a dance watcher's treat.
I thought I'd also share some video Kathy made about her process. I had trouble imbedding the video, so follow the urls below:
http://vimeo.com/23760101
http://vimeo.com/23944201
Monday, March 28, 2011
Watching Myself Watching
A couple of years ago the Bill T. Jones/Arnie Zane Dance Company was here in Houston. During the post-performance talk-back, Jones said the best way to look at modern art is to look at how you look at it. (I think he was quoting someone, but I don't recall who. I'd love to know the exact quote and source, if someone recognizes it and knows.)
I've been thinking about this quote over the last week, as I've been to three different events and I've been doing that postmodern reflection upon my reflecting. This is going to get pretty stream of conscious here. You may want to hold onto something.
So, last Tuesday night, I went to see the latest Cirque du Soleil show, OVO. I had amazing seats on a press pass (for interviewing the choreographer, Marjon van Grunsven) I had never been to a Cirque show and was greatly anticipating it, especially after interviewing van Grunsven. I had a great deal of fun interviewing her.
And I had a great deal of fun at the show. These highly skilled performers dazzle with feats of strength and grace that are hard to beat. There were sections of this work that I could have watched for much longer than they went on. It was as if gravity wasn't working the same on stage as it was in my seat. One such section involved a trampoline, a rock-climbing wall, and some people who must have the strongest fingers and toes on the planet.
But a curious thing happened the next day. I sort of forgot that I saw it. If it came up, I'd say, "oh yeah, I saw that! It was amazing, you should go!" But I didn't go around mulling it over, puzzling over any deeper meaning.
I mean, it's not really designed for that. It has only the thinnest of stories, about an egg that is lost in this rain-forest-like environment, and these insects playfully argue over it. There's also a thin love story between a ladybug and . . . I'm not sure what the guy was supposed to be, but not a ladybug. It's all resolved with the egg lost and found, the lovers separated and reunited, a happy show with few plot or character surprises.
This isn't really a criticism of the show---it was still amazing. It also didn't give me much to ponder afterward. I didn't feel any revelation about the human condition, receive any new insight into the human condition or the ways of the world. As I tried to find something to ponder, I wondered how I felt about inter-species kanoodling, but even if I wanted to play with that, it's presented in such a fun, non-serious way, it would just be looking for trouble. And looking for trouble isn't why I think about performances I see. No one really thinks a ladybug and an insect of indeterminable species are going to get it on, anyway. It's just people in costumes.
And all of this non-cerebral engagement probably says more about me than it does about the show.
Moving onward to Friday night, when I saw The Aluminum Show at Miller Outdoor Theatre. I think it is fair to say that this is a cousin of Cirque du Soleil in that it is full of spectacle (very SHINY spectacle). It's not as acrobatic, perhaps, not as, well, circusy as Cirque, but once again, we have a very thin storyline that exists only to tie together shiny . . . let's call them events. Fans and inflatable things are involved. Go to the webpage or watch video on YouTube. It's not all easily described.
It was a good time, no doubt about it. Lots of kinetic energy, lots of shiny flash, but scratch the shiny surface . . . and I guess that's what it was. At any rate, seeing this has not stayed with me, either, at least in no way other than this sort of reflecting on my lack of reflection of the show. It's fun, you should go see it if you have the chance. But it's eye candy, with little brain food. Don't go in with any other expectations.
Then, Sunday, I took some friends to see the current show at the Contemporary Arts Museum Houston. I had already been to see it before and will likely go see it again before it leaves the CAMH. It is a show called Answers to Questions: John Wood and Paul Harrison. Wood and Harrison are a British pair of artists who make videos. What to say of these videos? I've been describing them as a cross between physics investigations and Stupid Human Tricks, layered with a deadpan British sensibility.
They're very simple videos, really. They're mostly shot from one angle, no fancy camera tricks, no editing wizardry. It's a video of a man running an electric sander on as stack of paper, several reams of paper, actually, and sending the sheets flying. It's a video of paint being poured on the floor to reflect the florescent lights above it. It's a video of two men handling a sheet of plywood, supporting each others weight with it, tilting it, using it as lever while one of the men acts as a fulcrum, simply seeing all the ways two men can manipulate a board together.
It's an immensely entertaining show. I laughed and smiled throughout. I heard my friend, Lisa, laughing from across the museum more than once. Two of the friends who were with me were aged 10 and 13. They were very much engaged throughout.
But unlike Cirque and or the Aluminum Show, I think about this show. It's not just entertainment. That level is there, which you can't say for some contemporary art shows, but I'm thinking about it and wanting to go back immediately. It's feeding me somehow.
Context has a lot to do with it. I'm familiar with some portion of contemporary art's history. Cirque is really the circus. Performance studies folks will make comparisons and contrasts, but I don't know much about the circus. I can watch "Board" at Wood and Harrison and think about the experiments in pedestrian movements performed at Judson Church in the 1960s. I've seen an exploration of a chair by David Gordon that is vastly different from Wood and Harrison, but I think an argument could be made that they share a lineage, some genetic material. Wood and Harrison are in a museum, videos playing on multiple screens. The other two events were live performances. I could watch a video over and over whereas the performance sped by and was over and gone. (Although I pause to point out that I almost always prefer live performance over anything recorded.) Wood and Harrison's simplicity of presentation is much closer to my own aesthetic than the spectacle and flash of the other two events.
To write about Wood and Harrison in the same blog as with Cirque and the Aluminum Show is probably ridiculous. They exist in such vastly separate universes. Just for starters, the aesthetics of each are just not comparable. The colors of Cirque, the shininess of Aluminum, the drab whiteness of Wood and Harrison . . . They enter a single blog because I saw them all in close proximity of each other.
But this blog entry, again, is less about the shows than about me. I'm watching myself watching. I'm trying to be aware of my own judgments, my own influences, my own expectations for the work I see. I suppose I hope exposing my own reactions will help you explore your won.
One last thought: Wood and Harrison make videos to be shown in museums. The other two events were meant for big arenas---a big top, a hillside theater. Is one art and the other "only" entertainment? A quote from Merce Cunningham (to take it out of context) goes: "Not to show off but to show." (See the fuller context here.) Is it fair that to say that Cirque and the Aluminum Show exists to show off, while Wood and Harrison are showing? I mean, my reflections on Wood and Harrison have included thoughts about curiosity, cooperation, wonder. While I can project all those words onto the other two shows' spectacle, I'm not drawn into the same sort of musing.
Spectacle sort of suggests an intent to show off. And again, there's not anything inherently wrong with it. But being shown without flash, without color . . .
What do you think?
I've been thinking about this quote over the last week, as I've been to three different events and I've been doing that postmodern reflection upon my reflecting. This is going to get pretty stream of conscious here. You may want to hold onto something.
So, last Tuesday night, I went to see the latest Cirque du Soleil show, OVO. I had amazing seats on a press pass (for interviewing the choreographer, Marjon van Grunsven) I had never been to a Cirque show and was greatly anticipating it, especially after interviewing van Grunsven. I had a great deal of fun interviewing her.
And I had a great deal of fun at the show. These highly skilled performers dazzle with feats of strength and grace that are hard to beat. There were sections of this work that I could have watched for much longer than they went on. It was as if gravity wasn't working the same on stage as it was in my seat. One such section involved a trampoline, a rock-climbing wall, and some people who must have the strongest fingers and toes on the planet.
But a curious thing happened the next day. I sort of forgot that I saw it. If it came up, I'd say, "oh yeah, I saw that! It was amazing, you should go!" But I didn't go around mulling it over, puzzling over any deeper meaning.
I mean, it's not really designed for that. It has only the thinnest of stories, about an egg that is lost in this rain-forest-like environment, and these insects playfully argue over it. There's also a thin love story between a ladybug and . . . I'm not sure what the guy was supposed to be, but not a ladybug. It's all resolved with the egg lost and found, the lovers separated and reunited, a happy show with few plot or character surprises.
This isn't really a criticism of the show---it was still amazing. It also didn't give me much to ponder afterward. I didn't feel any revelation about the human condition, receive any new insight into the human condition or the ways of the world. As I tried to find something to ponder, I wondered how I felt about inter-species kanoodling, but even if I wanted to play with that, it's presented in such a fun, non-serious way, it would just be looking for trouble. And looking for trouble isn't why I think about performances I see. No one really thinks a ladybug and an insect of indeterminable species are going to get it on, anyway. It's just people in costumes.
And all of this non-cerebral engagement probably says more about me than it does about the show.
Moving onward to Friday night, when I saw The Aluminum Show at Miller Outdoor Theatre. I think it is fair to say that this is a cousin of Cirque du Soleil in that it is full of spectacle (very SHINY spectacle). It's not as acrobatic, perhaps, not as, well, circusy as Cirque, but once again, we have a very thin storyline that exists only to tie together shiny . . . let's call them events. Fans and inflatable things are involved. Go to the webpage or watch video on YouTube. It's not all easily described.
It was a good time, no doubt about it. Lots of kinetic energy, lots of shiny flash, but scratch the shiny surface . . . and I guess that's what it was. At any rate, seeing this has not stayed with me, either, at least in no way other than this sort of reflecting on my lack of reflection of the show. It's fun, you should go see it if you have the chance. But it's eye candy, with little brain food. Don't go in with any other expectations.
Then, Sunday, I took some friends to see the current show at the Contemporary Arts Museum Houston. I had already been to see it before and will likely go see it again before it leaves the CAMH. It is a show called Answers to Questions: John Wood and Paul Harrison. Wood and Harrison are a British pair of artists who make videos. What to say of these videos? I've been describing them as a cross between physics investigations and Stupid Human Tricks, layered with a deadpan British sensibility.
They're very simple videos, really. They're mostly shot from one angle, no fancy camera tricks, no editing wizardry. It's a video of a man running an electric sander on as stack of paper, several reams of paper, actually, and sending the sheets flying. It's a video of paint being poured on the floor to reflect the florescent lights above it. It's a video of two men handling a sheet of plywood, supporting each others weight with it, tilting it, using it as lever while one of the men acts as a fulcrum, simply seeing all the ways two men can manipulate a board together.
It's an immensely entertaining show. I laughed and smiled throughout. I heard my friend, Lisa, laughing from across the museum more than once. Two of the friends who were with me were aged 10 and 13. They were very much engaged throughout.
But unlike Cirque and or the Aluminum Show, I think about this show. It's not just entertainment. That level is there, which you can't say for some contemporary art shows, but I'm thinking about it and wanting to go back immediately. It's feeding me somehow.
Context has a lot to do with it. I'm familiar with some portion of contemporary art's history. Cirque is really the circus. Performance studies folks will make comparisons and contrasts, but I don't know much about the circus. I can watch "Board" at Wood and Harrison and think about the experiments in pedestrian movements performed at Judson Church in the 1960s. I've seen an exploration of a chair by David Gordon that is vastly different from Wood and Harrison, but I think an argument could be made that they share a lineage, some genetic material. Wood and Harrison are in a museum, videos playing on multiple screens. The other two events were live performances. I could watch a video over and over whereas the performance sped by and was over and gone. (Although I pause to point out that I almost always prefer live performance over anything recorded.) Wood and Harrison's simplicity of presentation is much closer to my own aesthetic than the spectacle and flash of the other two events.
To write about Wood and Harrison in the same blog as with Cirque and the Aluminum Show is probably ridiculous. They exist in such vastly separate universes. Just for starters, the aesthetics of each are just not comparable. The colors of Cirque, the shininess of Aluminum, the drab whiteness of Wood and Harrison . . . They enter a single blog because I saw them all in close proximity of each other.
But this blog entry, again, is less about the shows than about me. I'm watching myself watching. I'm trying to be aware of my own judgments, my own influences, my own expectations for the work I see. I suppose I hope exposing my own reactions will help you explore your won.
One last thought: Wood and Harrison make videos to be shown in museums. The other two events were meant for big arenas---a big top, a hillside theater. Is one art and the other "only" entertainment? A quote from Merce Cunningham (to take it out of context) goes: "Not to show off but to show." (See the fuller context here.) Is it fair that to say that Cirque and the Aluminum Show exists to show off, while Wood and Harrison are showing? I mean, my reflections on Wood and Harrison have included thoughts about curiosity, cooperation, wonder. While I can project all those words onto the other two shows' spectacle, I'm not drawn into the same sort of musing.
Spectacle sort of suggests an intent to show off. And again, there's not anything inherently wrong with it. But being shown without flash, without color . . .
What do you think?
Monday, February 28, 2011
A Picture's Worth 1000 Words: Addendum to Choate / Noble Collaboration
In the last post, I noted that the effect of Light Blanket X44, the collaboration between Jeremy Choate and NobleMotion Dance, was hard to describe. This lovely photo will help with the description:
Photo Credit: Lynn Lane. Click Lynn's name for a couple more shots under "dance."
That's all. Read the previous blog entry for more on this visual treat.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Noble and Choate Collaboration
Noblemotion Dance first caught my eye back in 2009, at the Big Range Dance Festival here in Houston. I've been doing my best to follow the company's emergence as one of the more exciting modern/contemporary companies in Houston.
I'm rather taken with an ongoing collaboration that Andy and Dionne Noble (the co-artistic directors of the company) have started with light artist and designer Jeremy Choate. I wrote about their first collaboration last fall for Dance Source Houston. You can see that review here.
Last month, I saw their second collaboration, this time as part of the Jewish Community Center's annual Triple Focus, a part of the JCC's Dance Month. It was a fine program all around, but I've decided I really want to record some thoughts on one piece in particular, Light Blanket x44, the second Noblemotion/Choate collaboration. It was performed by four dancers, Jesus Acosta, Shohei Iwahama, Brittany Thetford, and Brit Wallis.
The dance opens with a hand held light, with only a woman's face illuminated. Tapping sounds appear to have her concerned. Smaller lights come on. It's a net of Christmas lights, spread over the floor. She gets up and tiptoes over them. bars upstage and downstage of her rise, taking with them two ends of a net of lights. She is "caught."
The three other dancers appear out of the darkness, but never in full light. They are shadow creatures and they're menacing without ever really appearing dangerous.
But more on the narrative in a second. The visuals were . . . what's the word? No single word. Delightful, stunning, magical. Those work for now. All those tiny lights created subtle shadows on the dancers. There are often dances where dancers are subtly lit, bu seldom with such a close light source. When some of the dancers were under the net and rose to standing, this eerie sort of reverse silhouette appeared, this human shape made up of tiny lights. And, I'm finding, hard to describe.
As for the narrative, this dance felt more narrative than the previous Choate/Noblemotion collaboration (Photo Box D). I wouldn't try to nail it down, but it was definitely a dreamlike state watching it. The tapping in the night, the appearance of shadowy creatures---it was scary in the way that childhood fears are scary. There is a repeated gesture, where sometimes the shadows, sometimes the "dreamer" (for lack of a better description), raise their arms in a "V" and vibrate them rapidly. It's a sort of "boogedy boogedy boo" gesture, the sort of thing you might do when playing with a kid. "I'm gonna get you!" Not a serious threat, but an awful lot of scary fun.
I hope they restage this piece again somewhere. Soon.
One last note. I should mention part of what makes this collaboration so interesting to me---and, I think, what makes for interesting results. Andy Noble has mentioned in interviews that the normal order of things is for a choreographer to make a dance, rehearse the dancers, and the week or so before it goes before an audience, the lighting designer is brought in to light the show. Jeremy Choate is not only a theatrical light designer, he also creates light installations, which appear in galleries and museums around the nation. I'm not sure who came up with the idea, but it was decided that for once, the light guy gets to start. Choate creates a light design and then the Nobles choreograph for the design.
I understand there are more of these collaborations to come. The first two have primed the pumped. I've high anticipation and expectations for the next one.
I'm rather taken with an ongoing collaboration that Andy and Dionne Noble (the co-artistic directors of the company) have started with light artist and designer Jeremy Choate. I wrote about their first collaboration last fall for Dance Source Houston. You can see that review here.
Last month, I saw their second collaboration, this time as part of the Jewish Community Center's annual Triple Focus, a part of the JCC's Dance Month. It was a fine program all around, but I've decided I really want to record some thoughts on one piece in particular, Light Blanket x44, the second Noblemotion/Choate collaboration. It was performed by four dancers, Jesus Acosta, Shohei Iwahama, Brittany Thetford, and Brit Wallis.
The dance opens with a hand held light, with only a woman's face illuminated. Tapping sounds appear to have her concerned. Smaller lights come on. It's a net of Christmas lights, spread over the floor. She gets up and tiptoes over them. bars upstage and downstage of her rise, taking with them two ends of a net of lights. She is "caught."
The three other dancers appear out of the darkness, but never in full light. They are shadow creatures and they're menacing without ever really appearing dangerous.
But more on the narrative in a second. The visuals were . . . what's the word? No single word. Delightful, stunning, magical. Those work for now. All those tiny lights created subtle shadows on the dancers. There are often dances where dancers are subtly lit, bu seldom with such a close light source. When some of the dancers were under the net and rose to standing, this eerie sort of reverse silhouette appeared, this human shape made up of tiny lights. And, I'm finding, hard to describe.
As for the narrative, this dance felt more narrative than the previous Choate/Noblemotion collaboration (Photo Box D). I wouldn't try to nail it down, but it was definitely a dreamlike state watching it. The tapping in the night, the appearance of shadowy creatures---it was scary in the way that childhood fears are scary. There is a repeated gesture, where sometimes the shadows, sometimes the "dreamer" (for lack of a better description), raise their arms in a "V" and vibrate them rapidly. It's a sort of "boogedy boogedy boo" gesture, the sort of thing you might do when playing with a kid. "I'm gonna get you!" Not a serious threat, but an awful lot of scary fun.
I hope they restage this piece again somewhere. Soon.
One last note. I should mention part of what makes this collaboration so interesting to me---and, I think, what makes for interesting results. Andy Noble has mentioned in interviews that the normal order of things is for a choreographer to make a dance, rehearse the dancers, and the week or so before it goes before an audience, the lighting designer is brought in to light the show. Jeremy Choate is not only a theatrical light designer, he also creates light installations, which appear in galleries and museums around the nation. I'm not sure who came up with the idea, but it was decided that for once, the light guy gets to start. Choate creates a light design and then the Nobles choreograph for the design.
I understand there are more of these collaborations to come. The first two have primed the pumped. I've high anticipation and expectations for the next one.
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