There is a danger in writing plays (or any fiction) with historical figures, especially when said figure looms large with accomplishment and influence. The temptation toward hagiography---or else defamation---is strong, and more than one writer has perished walking the narrow corridor between the two.
Playwright Charles Smith entered this territory by writing a play that looks at incidens in the family of W.E.B Du Bois, the prominent Black leader of the early 20th Century, perhaps best known for the book, The Souls of Black Folk. Smith skirts the danger somewhat by focusing on Du Bois' daughter, Yolande.
That play, Knock Me a Kiss (now playing at Houston's Ensemble Theatre through February 24), focuses on Yolande's relationships with two men, band leader Jimmy Lunceford and poet Countee Cullen. Since it is a matter of historical record, I'll consider it no spoiler to say she marries Cullen.
The marriage does not go well. If you know the story, I won't repeat it here and if you don't, you'll see where it's going by the end of the first act. Let me tell you, instead about the surprises of the show.
The big surprise, given the historical figures, the subject matter, and the fact athat the Ensemble is marketing the play as a drama is how very funny the show is. The were moments when the audience was howling like a sitcom audience. Between the skill of the cast and the words given them by the playwright, the Du Bois family is a very funny group of people. Much of the humor, actually, comes from one of Yolande's suitors. Jason E. Carmichael's Lunceford is a smooth talker and even as we watch Yolande fall for it, we also can't help but laugh at his audacity. The audience is onto his lines and can't help but laugh at his shameless advances.
Except that's not all there is to Lunceford. As the play progresses, we see the swagger is his expression of something more real than we might first suspect.
The whole cast gives us these layers and while the it's patently unfair to single out individiual actors in such a strong cast, I have to mention Detria Ward, who plays Nina Du Bois, the matriarch of the family. She first presents onstage as wide-eyed, slightly addled, over-protective mother. The amazing thing to watch is how Ward keeps those traits intact even as she eventually delivers some of the most emotionally devastating scenes of the play.
Michelle Elaine holds the cast together with a fairly subdued portrait of Yolande Du Bois, alternately daddy's girl, jazz age party girl, and activist in her own right. Countee Cullen as played by Mirron Willis gives us a nuanced portrait of a man who did what men like him did in that age---I found I could neither cheer him nor condemn him. Adding to the comedy while also delivering some dramatic moments was An'tick Von Morphxing skillfully lending support as Yolande's friend Lenora.
It's a credit to the entire cast, really, that each is able to deliver both the laughs and the emotional punch. Too often, I've seen actors change acting styles according to the scene being played, basically changing characters as they do so. Not this cast. They are remarkably the same people whether we're laughing with them or crying with them---very much like real life.
And as for W.E.B. Du Bois---as played by Wayne DeHart, he is both doting father (and whatever foibles that might entail) and focused, disciplined leader of a cause. What we see in this play, however, is what we are too quick to forget: great men of the past were still men of their times. Charles Smith gives us Du Bois who is to be admired for his accomplishments, even as we're disappointed that he couldn't see beyond his cultural norms where the roles of women were concerned. It's a complicate portrait that neither tears the man down, nor puts him too high on a pedastal.
Director Chuck Smith handles this cast of strong performers with wonderful grace. The action is clear, the staging clean and economical. The set design by Jason Lorst, costumes by Macy Perrone, and lighting by Kris Phelps all collaborated to take us back to the days of the Harlem Renaissance with style.
All in all, it is a beautiful show, not nearly as serious as the poster may lead you to believe---but have a tissue at hand. If you have a heart, you'll need it.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Random Thoughts on a Constructed Situation With a Very Long Title
The Menil Collection opened a new show this weekend, Silence. I didn't have time today to take in the whole show but I stopped in particularly to see Tino Sehgal's Instead of allowing something to rise up to your face dancing bruce and dan and other things (2000), which the little card on the wall called a "constructed situation."
The situation was this: at one end of a room with all white walls, a performer writhed about on the floor.
That sounds snarkier than I mean it to. I sat on the floor in a corner of the room opposite for, I'm guessing, over half an hour, watching this choreography (for it was choreographed---there was a definite sequence that repeated), noticing a number of things.
There was no soundtrack and the performer made no noise. The floors of the Menil are black-stained wood, which make for a nice surface for this sort of thing. The performer (in this case Shanon Adams, a local dancer) sits up on her knees, but never rises to her feet. There are moments when the performer puts her feet on the white walls---she's wearing black sneakers---and the marks of other performers are on the wall where their feet moved, too.
Writhing is the best verb I can think of to describe the motion, but it is a writing neither in agony nor in pleasure, near as I could tell. Simply contracting and stretching. Rolling up and pouring down. None of the movements, to my eyes, conveyed any specific meaning, except one moment when she holds both hands up to her face, shadowing her eyes, almost as if using binoculars to look at the viewers. This was the only acknowledgement (if that's what it was) of being watched.
The performer wore nothing particularly flashy or unusual. A light green, sleeveless pullover with a sort of ruffled skirt-like hem over a black leotard. Her arms are bare. The most unusual thing was mismatched ankle socks, one white, the other grey with pink trim.
Things I noticed as I watched this slow-motion dance was how it created interesting perspective and line with a human body, perspective and line that moved, yes, but in a way that let us see the subtleties the human body is capable of. Because it was a silent piece, the soundtrack became the sound bleeding in from outside the room---people moving, sound installations from other pieces in the show (yes, a show called Silence has sound pieces), and whatever sound the viewers made in the space. One fellow had on shoes with rubber soles that squeaked and echoed in the place with every step he took.
The audience is interesting to watch in these situations. Unless they're used to this sort of performance, many don't know what to make of it. For a time, I was the only person in the room. It occurred to me that someone might come in and mistake me as part of the performance (an idea that delighted me and I nearly played into it, but decided it wasn't polite to the artist or "real" performer). Some people poked their head into the room only to withdraw. One young girl looked in and seemed startled to see a the performer on the floor and quickly exited. She returned in a minute or two with an adult male (her father, I presume) but she still seemed cautious about this whole situation. Another gentleman seemed to know the performer and walked up close to her and said something, but too quietly for me to make out.
I think this sort of performance has an intimacy to it that unnerves some viewers. The number of people who barely cross the door's threshold only to duck out before they saw 30 seconds of the performance. Some, I suspect, are the sort who simply reject this type of performance as art and can't be bothered with it. (I was probably one of them 15 years ago.) But I suspect some find the intimacy too much, voyeuristic, somehow creating a relationship that happens too soon and they have to get away before there's a commitment made they don't want to keep.
I was much enthralled by the simplicity of the performance, not to mention the commitment to it by the performer. I hope the marks on the wall from the shoes remain throughout the show---I want to go back and see those accumulate. I simply want to go back and see other performers. I understand there are a number of performers engaged for the run of Silence.
Is this a review? No, just musings.I can understand why some may not wish to view this---it is challenging in it its own way, and the title of the piece gives the view very little to hang a hat on. But for me, I could have watched longer. And probably will.
The situation was this: at one end of a room with all white walls, a performer writhed about on the floor.
That sounds snarkier than I mean it to. I sat on the floor in a corner of the room opposite for, I'm guessing, over half an hour, watching this choreography (for it was choreographed---there was a definite sequence that repeated), noticing a number of things.
There was no soundtrack and the performer made no noise. The floors of the Menil are black-stained wood, which make for a nice surface for this sort of thing. The performer (in this case Shanon Adams, a local dancer) sits up on her knees, but never rises to her feet. There are moments when the performer puts her feet on the white walls---she's wearing black sneakers---and the marks of other performers are on the wall where their feet moved, too.
Writhing is the best verb I can think of to describe the motion, but it is a writing neither in agony nor in pleasure, near as I could tell. Simply contracting and stretching. Rolling up and pouring down. None of the movements, to my eyes, conveyed any specific meaning, except one moment when she holds both hands up to her face, shadowing her eyes, almost as if using binoculars to look at the viewers. This was the only acknowledgement (if that's what it was) of being watched.
The performer wore nothing particularly flashy or unusual. A light green, sleeveless pullover with a sort of ruffled skirt-like hem over a black leotard. Her arms are bare. The most unusual thing was mismatched ankle socks, one white, the other grey with pink trim.
Things I noticed as I watched this slow-motion dance was how it created interesting perspective and line with a human body, perspective and line that moved, yes, but in a way that let us see the subtleties the human body is capable of. Because it was a silent piece, the soundtrack became the sound bleeding in from outside the room---people moving, sound installations from other pieces in the show (yes, a show called Silence has sound pieces), and whatever sound the viewers made in the space. One fellow had on shoes with rubber soles that squeaked and echoed in the place with every step he took.
The audience is interesting to watch in these situations. Unless they're used to this sort of performance, many don't know what to make of it. For a time, I was the only person in the room. It occurred to me that someone might come in and mistake me as part of the performance (an idea that delighted me and I nearly played into it, but decided it wasn't polite to the artist or "real" performer). Some people poked their head into the room only to withdraw. One young girl looked in and seemed startled to see a the performer on the floor and quickly exited. She returned in a minute or two with an adult male (her father, I presume) but she still seemed cautious about this whole situation. Another gentleman seemed to know the performer and walked up close to her and said something, but too quietly for me to make out.
I think this sort of performance has an intimacy to it that unnerves some viewers. The number of people who barely cross the door's threshold only to duck out before they saw 30 seconds of the performance. Some, I suspect, are the sort who simply reject this type of performance as art and can't be bothered with it. (I was probably one of them 15 years ago.) But I suspect some find the intimacy too much, voyeuristic, somehow creating a relationship that happens too soon and they have to get away before there's a commitment made they don't want to keep.
I was much enthralled by the simplicity of the performance, not to mention the commitment to it by the performer. I hope the marks on the wall from the shoes remain throughout the show---I want to go back and see those accumulate. I simply want to go back and see other performers. I understand there are a number of performers engaged for the run of Silence.
Is this a review? No, just musings.I can understand why some may not wish to view this---it is challenging in it its own way, and the title of the piece gives the view very little to hang a hat on. But for me, I could have watched longer. And probably will.
# # # # # # # # # #
I really didn't have much time for the Menil this afternoon, so I didn't take in much of the larger Silence exhibit. I did, however, see a short film by Manon de Boer called Two Times 4'33" (2008). Click on the title to see a rather accurate description of the piece.
Besides loving that it's produced by an outfit called Auguste Orts (my grandfather's name was August, so all the better!) I loved the way this film used all the things John Cage was after with this piece. The ambient sound as soundtrack, then the film's silence as the museum's ambient sound, again, became the soundtrack, the filming of the faces, first of the performer and then of the audience---all fascinating to watch.
But I couldn't help but think of another film interpretation of 4'33", seen in 2010 at the Contemporary Art Museum, Houston in the Dance with Camera show. In that film, Merce (Manchester) (2007) by Tacita Dean, Merce Cunningham, two years before his death, sits in a chair, "dancing" to the piece his partner in life and art had created decades before. It's a poignant yet whimsical piece that delighted me when I saw it
These two films are quite different in how they interpret Cage's score and both made me smile. It makes me wonder how many films have been made of 4'33"and if it's time for a 4'33" film festival.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
The Dance of a Classical Guitar
This is not a review. Few of my Orts on Arts posts are reviews, but this definitely is not one. It's a personal reaction.
This evening, I attended "An Evening in Spain" a classical guitar recital by Juan Carlos Aguilar at the Havens Center of St. Stephen's Episcopal Church (Houston, TX).
Let me say my musical education is somewhat lacking among my arts education. I can't talk about it in technical terms. I can only say I love the guitar, in nearly all its permutations (the exception probably being some of the more feedback prone electric guitars, and even then there are exceptions to that exception).
It was a free event and nearly triple what was expected showed up and they ran out of programs. I didn't get one, so I can't tell you what I heard tonight, but I do remember there was some Spanish music, yes, and a Tango, something Italian, something for lute by John Dowland (whose name, I admit, I only recognized thanks to Sting) which was arranged for guitar by Benjamin Britten, and an American piece that was a classical homage to Jimi Hendrix.
It was all lovely and exciting and amazing. I can't tell you anything more about it than that, really. It was an amazing free gift to everyone who attended.
Because it was so well attended, it was standing room only. I stood. It was the best "seat" in the house. From where I stood, I could watch as well as listen.
The hands of Juan Carlos were mesmerizing. It's almost alchemical how the slightest fluttering of a hand can create the many different sounds that came from the strings. His left hand bounced up and down the neck of the instrument, changing shapes constantly. There were times that I nearly laughed and clapped, the hands were so clever and quick. The coordination and strength and intelligence of those hands held me as rapt as the music they created.
All the way home I thought of those hands.
I said to myself, "It's all a dance with you, isn't it?"
This evening, I attended "An Evening in Spain" a classical guitar recital by Juan Carlos Aguilar at the Havens Center of St. Stephen's Episcopal Church (Houston, TX).
Let me say my musical education is somewhat lacking among my arts education. I can't talk about it in technical terms. I can only say I love the guitar, in nearly all its permutations (the exception probably being some of the more feedback prone electric guitars, and even then there are exceptions to that exception).
It was a free event and nearly triple what was expected showed up and they ran out of programs. I didn't get one, so I can't tell you what I heard tonight, but I do remember there was some Spanish music, yes, and a Tango, something Italian, something for lute by John Dowland (whose name, I admit, I only recognized thanks to Sting) which was arranged for guitar by Benjamin Britten, and an American piece that was a classical homage to Jimi Hendrix.
It was all lovely and exciting and amazing. I can't tell you anything more about it than that, really. It was an amazing free gift to everyone who attended.
Because it was so well attended, it was standing room only. I stood. It was the best "seat" in the house. From where I stood, I could watch as well as listen.
The hands of Juan Carlos were mesmerizing. It's almost alchemical how the slightest fluttering of a hand can create the many different sounds that came from the strings. His left hand bounced up and down the neck of the instrument, changing shapes constantly. There were times that I nearly laughed and clapped, the hands were so clever and quick. The coordination and strength and intelligence of those hands held me as rapt as the music they created.
All the way home I thought of those hands.
I said to myself, "It's all a dance with you, isn't it?"
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Circuitous Dance / Kate Warren
From the Circuitous Dance / Kate Warren Facebook page: Circuitous Dance will be performing March 30 & 31 @8 pm & April 1 @ 1 pm. Performances at Cafe Dance, 3307 B Hancock Drive. Tickets $12 & $10 for students. CASH OR CHECK ONLY. For reservations, call or text Kate Warren @ 512-633-3525.
The 2011-2014 Ensemble:
Annette Christopher
Melissa Feather
Lisa Nicks
Mysti Jace Pride
Cherami Conley Steadman
Also from the page: "Here's how I would do it. Meet my friends for dinner at Chez Zee. Drive one block and head into Cafe Dance to see the premiere or Circuitous Dance. Finish the night with a good glass of wine under the stars at Fabi & Rosi. Discuss what you saw/experienced at the show. Did you like it, not like it? Have an opinion and feel good about it. That's what art is for." (You'll see these sentiments reiterated below.)
Now, about Kate. I first got to know her while I was still living in Austin. In my mid-thirties, I decided I really liked dance and should try a class. I landed at Kate's Cafe Dance, where she and Kathy Dunn Hamrick run their Hamrick/Warren School. I ended up taking class with Kathy, yoga with Kate, but the real joy was the hour (or more) I'd spend afterward just yakking away with Kate. We can talk. We're those people who meet for lunch (when I'm in Austin) and then assume that the five dollar sandwiches we bought entitle us to the table and endless tea refills for the entire afternoon. I'm barely exaggerating. Because I was determined to do a short interview, what follows is only twice a long as I originally intended. And of course, we were on the phone for at least an hour after the "official" interview ended.
I'm thinking about all the things I'd like to say about Kate, about how one of my favorite pieces of choreography is a nearly 20 minute solo ("Fugue State") danced without music, that she put on Kathy Dunn Hamrick a decade ago, or how I've told her that when she dances, I'm straight. (I'm a little disappointed at the news that she isn't performing in this concert, but I'm sure I'll live.) But I'll just let her talk about her company and her show and hope it encourages you to go see it.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
NEO: So after all these years of dancing in just about every other modern dance company ever to call Austin home, why have you decided to finally form your own company?
KW: I was just telling the dancers the other day, in every company I've been in I would always sit back and say, oh I wouldn't do it like that. Then I read somewhere that if you say that too many times, you need to be starting your own business. But then, just the thought of running a dance company the way I was used to dance companies being run, it was just overwhelming.
KW: I was just telling the dancers the other day, in every company I've been in I would always sit back and say, oh I wouldn't do it like that. Then I read somewhere that if you say that too many times, you need to be starting your own business. But then, just the thought of running a dance company the way I was used to dance companies being run, it was just overwhelming.
Then when I read about the Royal Shakespeare Company, and how they would work together for three years and then those people would leave and they'd bring in a whole new group, I thought, oh, I could do this. Because after three years, you could even assess for your own self, I do want to keep doing this or I don't want to keep doing this.
I remember reading that somebody in New York, I don't remember who it was, was starting a company and he went to Merce Cunningham for advice and Merce said, I worry about money every day, how I'm going to pay people. Every day. So just know you're going to have to do that. So for me, this is an easy out of, if after three years if I can't do this or don't like it or I'm not good at it, I can stop, too. I think directors and choreographers, they feel so responsible because they're employers.
Then, three years is a good amount of time to get a taste of something and then go on, because you always feel bad about leaving. I feel like I've always overstayed by one to three years because I didn't want to hurt someone's feelings or just self-doubt. Should I leave? Do I think I'm better than I really am? All that. And then going through anywhere from a year to three years of not wanting to be in that place and not really enjoying myself.
The artistic director, also [might say] in their head, there's nothing more I can do for you and there's nothing more you can do for me---just because of where you're at---and how awkward that is. Again, just making that commitment and knowing that you have an out, that appealed to me.
NEO: How many dancers do you have?
KW: I have five.
NEO: And they've all committed to three years?
KW: Yes. I asked seven people. One person was in school and she said she wanted to travel. And the other person is also a visual artist and said she couldn't make the time commitment. And it's funny because one of the dancers said, "Gosh, three years, that's a big commitment." And then she said, But I usually stay with companies anywhere from five to ten. [Laughter]
Just knowing that it has an ending on it and you can't leave, to me it creates all kind of things. It creates a sense of urgency because you only have three years. But there's something very easy about it in the sense that from a dancer's point of view, and I guess from an artistic director's point of view, too, you know nobody new is coming in and you just don't worry about that. And seeing that happen, when someone new is brought it, well it's like bringing in a new cat. Everyone has to smell around, and find their place and the hierarchy changes. Being in that situation as a dancer, it's extremely uncomfortable and it really, to me, takes away from the focus of the work.
I remember reading that somebody in New York, I don't remember who it was, was starting a company and he went to Merce Cunningham for advice and Merce said, I worry about money every day, how I'm going to pay people. Every day. So just know you're going to have to do that. So for me, this is an easy out of, if after three years if I can't do this or don't like it or I'm not good at it, I can stop, too. I think directors and choreographers, they feel so responsible because they're employers.
Then, three years is a good amount of time to get a taste of something and then go on, because you always feel bad about leaving. I feel like I've always overstayed by one to three years because I didn't want to hurt someone's feelings or just self-doubt. Should I leave? Do I think I'm better than I really am? All that. And then going through anywhere from a year to three years of not wanting to be in that place and not really enjoying myself.
The artistic director, also [might say] in their head, there's nothing more I can do for you and there's nothing more you can do for me---just because of where you're at---and how awkward that is. Again, just making that commitment and knowing that you have an out, that appealed to me.
NEO: How many dancers do you have?
KW: I have five.
NEO: And they've all committed to three years?
KW: Yes. I asked seven people. One person was in school and she said she wanted to travel. And the other person is also a visual artist and said she couldn't make the time commitment. And it's funny because one of the dancers said, "Gosh, three years, that's a big commitment." And then she said, But I usually stay with companies anywhere from five to ten. [Laughter]
Just knowing that it has an ending on it and you can't leave, to me it creates all kind of things. It creates a sense of urgency because you only have three years. But there's something very easy about it in the sense that from a dancer's point of view, and I guess from an artistic director's point of view, too, you know nobody new is coming in and you just don't worry about that. And seeing that happen, when someone new is brought it, well it's like bringing in a new cat. Everyone has to smell around, and find their place and the hierarchy changes. Being in that situation as a dancer, it's extremely uncomfortable and it really, to me, takes away from the focus of the work.
NEO: What were you looking for in dancers?
KW: There were dancers that I knew I wanted to work with, that was Lisa and Cherami. They had become solo artists. I knew their work ethic, I liked their choreographic work, I loved their dancing, so I knew I wanted to ask them. Then Annette was someone who had been taking my class, I knew she wanted to perform, and the couple of performances I've seen her in, I was very drawn to her. She's very dramatic and I like that about her. Mysti was almost like a beginner, but she works like a freaking dog. She works harder than and dancer I've ever known. Just the fact that she has such an incredible work ethic, it was like, how could I not ask her? I knew she would get better and it's amazing how much she has grown since September. So I had four people and I didn't want an even number. So this young woman, Melissa, I knew her barely. She mostly took Kathy's class, took one or two of my classes. I just thought, why not ask her? And it was interesting because when I asked her, she said to me, well you're telling me everything you can offer me, but what do you think I can I offer you? She's technically trained, but she loves improv and contact. I said, I've had those things, but I usually don't do them and so I figure you can teach us about that, teach a class to us or a warm-up. Her perspective is different from everyone else's because that's really her main love.
NEO: Are you doing all the choreography or is everybody choreographing?
KW: Well, that was kind of a thing they asked because all of them are independent artists except for Melissa. And that's open, it's up in the air. The whole thing about working this way is that we all get to decide how we want it to be. For this concert, I've choreographed everything, but that doesn't mean I have to choreograph everything every time we perform. We'll decide that as a group.
NEO: How many pieces are in the concert?
KW: There are five solos and one group piece.
NEO: So you've choreographed a solo for everyone. Are you performing?
KW: No. I was thinking the first year I'd choreograph solos on everyone, the second year I'd choreograph duets and the third year I'll choreograph trios, but as I choreograph duets and trios, I will perform, just to even out the number.
NEO: Tell us about the pieces.
KW: Well, the solos are like short stories to me. It became clear to me, as I knew each dancer, what I knew of them—like the woman who is so dramatic, Annette, her piece is about being a spy and she pulls it off beautifully. Lisa's piece is called "I'm Not Dead Yet." [Laughter.] Lisa is the oldest, but I know Lisa and we've had many conversations about that. She's still an incredible mover and she's still relevant. To me, that's what the piece is about. I know as she and I talk, because I go through the same thing—you hit a certain age and people just stop looking or they think oh, they can't dance anymore or they probably don't have much to say.
NEO: And it's wrong!
KW: Well, it's not always wrong. [Laughter.] But it's certainly wrong about Lisa and you kind of stamp your foot and say, I am still relevant, I do still have something to say. So I wanted to create something like that for her because she's still such an incredible dancer.
NEO: She's such a strong soloist.
KW: It's amazing! And her music is "The Orange Blossom Special," which is like a runaway train and just perfect for her.
Cherami's piece is called "Still Life" There's just this struggle of having children, wanting to dance, being very relevant in what you have to say, and how do you make that your life, how do you live with it.
Melissa I knew the least so her solo is three minutes but she has blossomed. She was an English major and she's dancing with a poet reciting a poem. She identifies with words.
The last solo, Mysti's solo—she commissioned me to put a solo on her a year ago, and I did that and then I created another solo for a festival last November, but it was like the "B" part of that first solo. And the solo for her this time is the "C" part. The first solo is a very depressed person, and the second solo was someone realized they were depressed and starting to come out of that. This solo is a person completely crossed over, kind of to the other side of that. And in her own life as a dancer, that's exactly what's happened to her.
What's been cool about the solos---They're amazing, the growth and the understanding of everyone within the movement and the revealing of themselves in the piece is just so joyful for me to see. I think we've created this atmosphere of trust. We take class together every week, just them and me. The older companies, like Graham and Limon and Cunningham and Paul Taylor—to me that's the backbone of their companies. The dancers take class together with no one else there. They breathe together and move together, they see each other's strengths and weaknesses. And they get all the attention they deserve. Instead of having to take class with other people in the community, there's just a focus on them. It's been very rewarding for me that they're really comfortable revealing their vulnerabilities in front of each other.
NEO: And then the group piece?
KW: The group piece is called "Flipped Earth." It started out to be a piece about betrayal, but what it's ended up being is about—if you're animals on the earth and something dire happens like the earth cracks open and the surface completely changes, so you have dry land and now you're in water. And now they have to morph into water animals. I just don't quite know if I want that to be a good thing or a bad thing. [Laughter.]
NEO: Is that a happy ending or a sad ending?
KW: That's right! I don't know!
NEO: Is there something else you want people to know about this concert?
KW: Just come and have the experience and like it or don't like it. Years and years ago, when they opened, I guess it was a modern art museum in Dallas, I forced my husband's family to go and we ended up afterwards in Starbucks for three hours, talking about what we saw. And almost everybody hated it. But I said, now you guys don't understand, this is what art is supposed to do. It was such an experience with us that we still talk about it. "Remember that time we went to the museum and we saw this florescent light and we knew that wasn't art?" [Laughter.] So just show up, give it a try and then definitely have an opinion about it, good or bad. Just come and have the experience. Take a chance, and it's okay if you don't like it.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
The Landing Theatre Company's American Buffalo
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.)
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.)
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
