photo: Arthur Donowski

Giscard Games / Night for Day
Heather Harrington and Tamar Rogoff

Performed at: Federal Hall and the Chase Manhattan Plaza
Reviewed on on 8/2/04 and 8/3/04
by R. Pikser

The Lower Manhattan Cultural Council has sponsored summer outdoor performances for many years. Last year, two site-specific dance groups performing around the Wall Street area were those of Heather Harrington and Tamar Rogoff. Harrington’s group of seven women performed on the steps of Federal Hall, the building in which George Washington took his oath of office, just down the street from the Stock Exchange. The choreography of Giscard Games utilized the frenzied gestures of those on the floor of the Exchange, the narrowness of the steps, the railing along one side of the steps, and the podium on which the statue of Washington stands overlooking the cramped streets, the tourists, and the police with submachine guns on Orange Alert. The dancers collapsed periodically after their hysterical activity, only to start up again, trying to climb the building’s stairs and columns. Their hysteria, in a loose round-form, was mirrored by that of the reporters in front of the performance area; that very morning, three-year-old information had been released that the Stock Exchange could be a terrorist target. The dance was a gentle commentary on the Exchange, and the irony of the timing added piquancy to the performance.

In opposition to the crowded frenzy of Harrington’s piece, Rogoff’s Night for Day played with the open space of the Chase Manhattan Plaza (and other sites on other days) and with the mentality of those who work there. In fact the three-part piece (performed at 8:30 a.m., 12:30 p.m., and 5:30 p.m) was not so much site-specific, as audience-specific. In the 12:30 segment, to the insistent ticking of a clock, a woman in red and a man in green entered the space carrying suitcases—moving in? or really large briefcases? On a large blue wooden bed, placed on a turquoise rug in the middle of the space, the woman writhed athletically to electronic music, the underlying pulse of which caught the rhythm of the steps of passersby on their lunchtime break. Eventually the man joined the woman in her acrobatics; they then took out two puppets, representations of themselves in miniature, who shyly greeted each other, intertwined more gently than their larger counterparts had been able to manage, and were left on the bed as the two humans picked up their briefcase-suitcases and reentered the office building. Was this interlude a lunchtime quickie? Or perhaps it represented the unfulfilled longings of a couple so busy, they can only think about being in bed, together or separately.

Harrington’s movements were evocative of the mood her dance was meant to convey, while the dance itself was abstract. Rogoff’s concept, though not as tellingly supported by the movements she chose, was more personally piercing and challenging to the audience. Both choreographers called upon those watching to be more aware of their surroundings, both outer and inner. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have works like these performed year-round and all around the town?

(Updated on 6/10/05)

Choreography: Michiyo Sato
Dancers: Michiyo Sato and Dancers
Photo: Aaron Meadow

Silk Mother and The Plum Tree Is in Bloom
Michiyo Sato
Performed at: Joyce Soho
Reviewed on 8/01/04
by Celeste Sunderland

In 1864 five Japanese girls traveled to the United States. They lived with American families and learned the ways of American life in an effort to modernize Japan. The youngest, four-year-old Ume Tsuda, returned to Japan at age 17. She found Eastern culture oppressive and set up a college for women. Last July, dancer/choreographer Michiyo Sato, an alumna of the school, presented a work based on Tsuda’s life: The Plum Tree Is in Bloom: Umeko Tsuda and the Japanese Women’s 100 Years.

Nine women expressed Tsuda’s experience through metaphoric dance. Video projections by Shin Iribe and Keiko Ono added dimension to the sparse stage, and music composed by Carman Moore, and played by koto player Yumi Kurosawa, interspersed with Bulgarian folk songs and Puccini arias, lent a culturally nostalgic tinge.

In many sequences the dancers represented clashing cultures. Dancers in white were the Americans while the Japanese wore kimonos. In one scene the Japanese attempted clumsily to follow the movements of the Americans, eventually falling into sync. In another scene girls in white filmy dresses mimicked the undulations of the sea with delicate dancing while ocean sounds filled the room. Curious and shy, three kimono-clad girls cautiously danced among the others before kneeling in the center. The Americans danced around them, removing their kimonos to reveal Western clothing. In long ruffled bustles, the girls learned to waltz.

Upon her return to Japan Tsuda was appalled by the girls who contentedly played hand-clapping games and teased her Western attire. “How I long to do something for your position, but why should I when you are so satisfied?” a projected voice asked. A series of dances symbolizing Tsuda leading the Japanese women out of oppression followed, and culminated in a parade of confident women. One wore a green dress and a jacket. Another wore an “I Love NY” tank top and jeans. They flailed their arms freely, liberated. Though affecting in concept, the execution of the performance seemed shoddy.

Simpler in production but equally rich in metaphor, Sato’s solo dance Silk Mother opened the evening. Dressed in drapey white fabric and dancing with a long white sheath, Sato’s extraordinarily expressive movements represented the self-sacrifice of both the silk-worm and the silk-weavers in Japan’s early 20th-century silk industry. The simplicity of the stage combined with the powerful sounds of women chanting and singing in harmony, and Sato’s agonizing expressions created a profound performance.

(Updated on 3/14/05)

The Heroic and Pathetic Escapades of Karagiozis

Performed at: Mettawee River Theatre
Reviewed on 9/12/04
by R. Pikser

Ralph Lee, puppet maker, puppet master, set designer, and set maker, has for many years brought shows to the northeastern United States based on puppet traditions and stories from the world over. This year, his tales come from the shadow puppet traditions of Greece and Turkey. Instead of one puppeteer taking all the parts, though, the actors of the Mettawee River Theatre Company don wonderful huge masks, or place enormous heads on their stomachs, or attack each other with baby carriages fitted out to represent dragons. The amount of creativity is astounding.

As Karagiozis, Evan Zes has a nose like commedia dell’ arte’s Punch and moves stolen from Groucho Marx and Danny Kaye, all nicely blended into his character as a do-nothing charmer, a poor man who survives by tricking others. The trickster character is known to anyone familiar with folk tales, but in this instance, added interest derives from the cosmopolitan nature of the tales’ provenance. Muslims, Christians, shepherds, viziers, princesses, and Alexander the Great all have a part in the proceedings, along with the ever-hungry Karagiozis and his hungry children. The best part is that even if the characters die at the end of one tale they come back for the next one. The script by Dave Hunsaker has current references and language modern enough to make the tales relevant and funny without indulging in the annoying, cloying, anachronistic vocabulary that passes for wit in Disney productions.

Unfortunately, this outpouring of creativity falls down in the realizations of the actors. Except for Mr. Zes, and Kim Gambino as Kilitiris, the giant head, no one explored the costumes’ potential for informing the movement and the development of the characters. Mr. Zes was left on his own when his work should have served as a starting point for group madness. Ultimately, the lack of exploration is the responsibility of Mr. Lee, who also directed the show. Perhaps he thought that once the masks and puppets were made, all the work was done and the acting would take care of itself. But actors are not puppets; each one must do his or her work and add individual magic to the magic of the whole. Yes, the show was generally enjoyable, but it was not brilliant. The problem is that it could have been. It should have been. If so much had not been promised, the disappointment would not have been felt. Our appetites were whetted, but not satisfied.

Artistic excellence? ***
Entertainment? ****
Inventiveness? ***
Healing power? ***

(Updated on 10/19/04)

Dance Exhibition 2004
East from the Wind
Performed at: New National Theater
Reviewed on 9/15/04, 9/17/04
by Yukihiko Yoshida

Australia possesses many outstanding choreographers, most of whom are unknown in Japan. As we learned from Tetsuo Kogawa, the media critic and radio performance artist who familiarized Japan with contemporary Australian culture in the 1980s, that country has a solid base for subcultures to grow on, and several skilled groups have been active in theater since the 1970s. Australia also has a significant role in the World Dance Alliance Asia Pacific, which encompasses Asia and the Pacific Rim. It is therefore important for Japan to further recognize Australian contributions to dance.

Leigh Warren & Dancers was one of the companies representing Australia. In Divining, dancers performed emotionally to a live pianist’s rendition of Scriabin. The choreography was characterized by a clear spatial structure and dynamic, free movements. Swerve, on the other hand, seemed to reflect simple everyday life in Australia. The dancers kept the beat as they jammed together and performed show dance–like movements. They beat on a car hubcap and buckets naturally, as if those movements sprouted directly from their own lives.

The Japanese contemporary dance pieces presented depicted Japan from various angles. Tsukasa Asano Perfect Modern performed Lotus—When Flowers Bloom, a dreamy piece with an East Asian feel. Dancers held lotus flowers in their hands as they brought the choreographer’s imagination to life, and Koto Hanawa’s limber movements added suspense to the piece. Mako Kawano’s A Whale Sings to the Moon led the audience, in the manner of contemporary literature, from Kenji Miyazawa’s writings to a fantasy world where whales sing. The cutting-edge technique used to reflect the choreographer’s ideas was also not to be missed. Kaiji Moriyama portrayed the timeless Japanese body from both traditional and modern perspectives in Okina; the stillness of the Noh dancer, set against Moriyama’s body moving freely through space, created a contrast full of tension. Finally, the spirits of modern Japanese women shone in Kaori Uchida Roussewalz’s Enjoy It While It’s Warm. The dancers, all with amazing technique, fluctuated between maiden-like expressions and mildly provocative portrayals of mature women. Hiroko Fuchizawa and Natsumi Tokoro stood out with their sophisticated air.

As the cultural-studies scholar Koichi Iwabuchi (author of “Recentering Globalization: Popular Culture and Japanese Transnationalism”) has pointed out, despite its tendency to group itself with Western Europe, Japan is about to see a remarkable shift in its position as continental Asia continues to develop. Tonight’s performance reinforced the importance of exploring strategies for introducing Japanese dance to continental Asia and the Pacific Rim.

(Updated on 12/27/04)

Amy Trompetter/David Neumann

The Happy Prince

Performed at: The Kitchen
Reviewed on 9/23/04
by Tamsin Nutter

Amy Trompetter and David Neumann’s The Happy Prince sounded marvellous: a retelling of Oscar Wilde’s beautiful parable via dance and puppetry. Unfortunately, not only was the source material ill-served by slapstick interpretation and omissions of important text, but the sloppy production marred many of the creators’ effects.

Like all Wilde’s fairytales, “The Happy Prince” is heartbreaking, adult, and grimly funny. In life the Happy Prince was protected by his wealth and position. But now, a golden statue set high over his own wintry city, he sees only its poverty and misery, and he convinces a thoughtless little Swallow to help him in aiding the poor. The Swallow is overdue to migrate to Egypt, but he stays to do good, and for love of the Happy Prince.

Karen Kandel is superb as the narrator and Happy Prince. Her flexible voice makes music out of Wilde’s words, and the groaning, metallic undertones she uses perfectly convey the voice of a statue. And Daniel Barnidge’s tinkling score, performed live, is lovely. But when will American adapters learn that the dry, language-driven humor the British do so well needs no punch line? Chinese opera actor Guo Yi is seriously miscast as the Swallow. His slapstick physical humor, eye-rolling facial expressions, and acrobatics would be wonderful in another show. Here, they’re horribly out of place. Yi plays the role as a lovable, reluctant layabout. But Wilde’s sparrow stays not in obedience to authority, but because his eyes are gradually opened to another way of perceiving the world.

Some of director/designer Trompetter’s creations are inspired. The faceless puppets of the poor have the speaking outlines of a Matisse, and their final transformation is potent. For the Egyptian interludes, she translates the Swallow’s rhapsodic descriptions (Wilde’s purplest prose) as bursts of light and color. Gorgeous painted banners fill the stage with stylized Egyptian landscapes, in contrast with the bare, dark, cold stage where the Prince and townspeople exist. But some of Trompetter’s most interesting concepts—playing with scale, characters represented by both puppets and human actors—fell flat because of technical glitches. Many moments seemed underrehearsed, and transitions felt choppy or much too long. As choreographic director, Neumann bears responsibility too; the movement, the acting, and the puppetry never really come together.

In the beginning Kander leaves her coat like a shed chrysalis in the hands of the puppeteers, and the empty coat flits through the air as if caught by an impish wind. But such beautiful melding of movement, puppeteer, and prop is unfortunately rare throughout the rest of the show.  

(Updated on 12/24/04)

Photo: Courtesy of WELLSPRING

The Brown Bunny
Produced by: Wellspring
Reviewed on 8/28/04
by Ryoko Sugawara

Vincent Gallo. There’s no other American filmmaker who expresses man’s immaturity and sorrow in such an unreserved way. He established an original style with his first feature, Buffalo ’66. In his latest film, The Brown Bunny, he has further heightened his aesthetic, again writing, directing, editing, producing, shooting, and starring in the film.

A motorbike racer named Bud Clay (Gallo) leaves New Hampshire, driving to California for the next race. Driving cross-country alone, he’s haunted by memories of his ex-girlfriend Daisy (Chloë Sevigny). To escape those memories, he approaches other women with flower names, but to no avail: Only Daisy can bloom in his heart. He stops by her parents’ house, where he struggles to find some traces of Daisy in a brown bunny she left behind and her mother, lamenting her disappeared daughter; later, he visits a house where Daisy used to live. Is he ever going to see her again?

The film flows smoothly because of its constancy of tone. Gallo gives us long shots of scenery seen through a windshield: highways at night, a moment of dusk, ordinary streets. Although these scenes are familiar sights, here they are uniquely beautiful, because of the film’s constant, specific sentiments. Bud’s sorrow permeates the details: Gallo’s facial expressions, melancholic music, lovely Sevigny in flashbacks. At the end, those fragments merge in a clear image, in tangible grief. It’s very rare to see this kind of emotionally provoking work in American cinema, a system which regards plot as all-important. In The Brown Bunny, Gallo’s independent spirit has produced a fine visual poem.

Artistic excellence? ****
Entertainment? ****
Inventiveness? ***
Healing power? ****

(Updated on 10/8/04)