 |
 |
 |
|||||
|
| ABOUT TRaC |
Dance TRaC Fall 2003
A Step in the Right Direction An unusually unforced diversity connects the set to the crowd. Glittering disco balls juxtaposed with a giant, torn and patched tarp seem no less unusual than the middle-aged white man sitting between a dred-locked black woman and a twenty-something with a fitted leather blazer and multiple piercings. All these people are genuinely excited about this performance, despite their apparent differences in lifestyle, just as the elements of the set, though seemingly unrelated, in many ways define the piece. Reggie Wilson's Black Burlesque (revisited), running at Dance Theater Workshop through November 1st, is a collaboration of movement, music, and culture. Three companies: Wilson's Fist & Heel Performance Group (New York City), Black Umfolosi (Zimbabwe), and Noble Douglas Dance Company (Trinidad and Tobago) have lived, studied, and worked together exchanging traditions and exploring the many elements of their unique interpretations of dance. In actuality, the cultural exchange that the members of the companies underwent can easily meet, if not exceed, the wonder of the performance itself. But the performance cannot, in any respect, be undermined by anything, even the work put into it. It was truly a masterpiece, running nearly two hours and holding the audiences attention with aplomb. A cast of thirteen performers, including Rhetta Aleong, Paul Hamilton, Charlene Harris, Penelope Kalloo, Richard Lessey, Louanna Martin, Pene McCourty, Dumisani Ndlovu, Brian Sibanda, Clemence Nkululeko Sibanda, Thomeki Dube, and Reggie Wilson, visit and revisit such a variety of feelings throughout the piece that we can't help but be in utter awe for the duration. Fast-paced techno music begins the piece, and low lighting (masterfully designed by Tyler Micoleau) reveals the dancers feet. We watch their heels and toes stomping after each other in a circle until their bodies join their pads, running and splaying and actively gesturing and lights reveal their legs and torsos accordingly. The music shifts to a slow tune, reminiscent of speak-easies, and the dancers grapevine slowly across the stage, gliding to the easing Southern tempo, their eyes penetrating enough to make us squirm. In a warm light, the dancers return from off-stage and greet each other easily with laughs and hand shakes. Again in a circle, they perform an organized movement, a sports team warming up and stretching, and continue laughing and conversing all the while. Suddenly, they all sprint away from one another in opposite directions, sprint back, and collapse on the floor in laughter. Dividing into pairs, the performers find places to lie flat on the floor, they stomp their feet, they get up and jump over each other like leap-frog. Cool, green light projects a jungle-like atmosphere and the dancers begin singing a slow song, and yet hold a steady beat with firm claps. Still in twos, they move angularly around the stage to lyrics suggestive of god and heavy endurance. This idea shifts gracefully into the piece's first solo; a healthy woman, singing of "Adam in the garden," steps about the stage, repeatedly returning to a prayer position where her knees bend toward each other and she looks up to Him in need. Another dramatic, but not forcedly so, transition introduces bright, cool light and all the performers marching militantly, passionately, angrily. Their strong, firm voices and movements mob the healthy woman chase her around the stage, and then they all collapse to claps and lyrical moaning, "Jesus is real to me," and "Ooo, Lord." Warm lights accompany their gradual creep backwards on their knees. Suddenly, all get up and begin stomping in an awesome rhythm, jolting us yet again from our hypnotic trance and lulling us into another. Moving to each other, and interacting in a way that seems familiar and somehow tribal, they form a line and, for the first time, demonstrate technical movement. This movement continues, but four shirt-less men in rain-boots enter in a bold step routine. Using all accessible bare skin and flat surfaces to create a fearless and skillful beat, they take center stage among the (seemingly oblivious) swan-like performers around them. Zig-zag lights pattern the floor, and the disco balls (elements of the set designed by Thabiso Phokompe) precede a stage drowned in vivid red light and four slim, confident women donning wide grins and wide hips. They shake to Caribbean beats, competing to stand front-and-center. They salsa, they gyrate, they emanate sex. Their wide smiles match the music coming from off-stage ("We are happy people..."). Their smooth, sexy posing is followed by ecstatic jumping and prancing away from three lustful, grabbing men. Blue lights then replace the red ones, and three white dresses are carried out and laid top to bottom on the stage to provide the tip-toeing and delicate women with a bridge to protect them from setting foot on the bare floor. Three men move the dresses necessarily to provide the ladies with places to walk, or float. Finally, all but one of the men and the last woman to finish the dress walk, exit the stage. The pair lie side by side, look into each other, roll and climb over each other. They stomp and slap the floor in rhythm, which he takes over at a pace faster than her face approves of. This is the most intimate part of the piece thus far, perhaps with the exception of the earlier solo. The two exit the stage together, arm in arm, in a deep, blue light. Sudden magenta lights come up. The entire company prances out with arms linked, stepping and grinning idiotically together. Drums off-stage beat a quick rhythm that the dancers meet with fun, bright, and loud movements. And then we return to the piece's beginning: moving in a circle to techno music, and other elements of the piece: red, blue, zig-zag, green, warm, glittering lighting schemes, literally "bring it all together." The dancers' hands and knees seem to guide the rest of the dancers' bodies and are therefore highlighted especially. Next, classic ballroom dancing; then, electric reggae with huge gestures and arms and legs spread wide and high. All the performers again don huge grins and huge energy, and just when we feel that we might explode from this roller-coaster of passion and emotion, one woman grape-vines across the stage carrying a hand-made "Intermission" sign, a la Vana White. Intermission seemed surreal. Talk radio interrupted our euphoria, brought us back to the real world of the Yankees losing the Series and Schwarzenegger being elected governor. But fifteen minutes went quickly, and soon we were again presented with an aesthetic amazement. Sitting in a semi-circle, singing and rocking to gentle music, the dancers are reintroduced. They then, in a slave-like and altogether new manner, stomp in a line from stage-left to stage-right, pick-axing with their fists in a cool, severe light, and all the while, singing. Their song makes the next transition, into hip-hop music and bright, yellow light, less extreme. The dancers here move in quick steps, holding the beat with their feet. The movement is more controlled than at any other time in the piece; the men jump and spin in time, the women shake their shoulders and lift their knees in unison. A harsh light then overcomes the upbeat attitude, and a line of women meets a line of men at center stage. The two groups interact, utilizing the stage's entire area, throwing open palms and feet and high knees up and out. A loud "Hey!" marks a transition into a terrific step routine with still more energy and shouting. The performers' vivacity at this point is truly remarkable. But, as can be predicted, this routing doesn't last long. Four women in two pairs enter the stage. Sitting on the floor and leaning on each other, pointing their toes periodically and lifting their arms only to let them float down again with grace. They lie completely flat, lift up their skirts, keep the beat with their pointing toes, and sit up again. Dark blue lights deepen the tone, and the healthy woman from the beginning flops down at the other end of the stage; she convulses, gives up, rocks herself, she struggles, swimming, to the other side of the stage, rowing, scooting, toward the group of maraca and Congo players at the other end of the stage. She yells up to Him, grabs her face with her hands, is desperate and agonizing, but survives. Our journey was a long one, no doubt. Our attentions were focused toward duets and solos and entire companies, toward blues and reds and greens, toward hip-hop and reggae and tribal. But in the end, this is not collaboration, not a collection of parts, it is one whole, intended to express joy and love and life. And, because this is dance that three companies, three cultures, and three continents share, it is altogether fun. What the companies have learned, and shared with us, is a lesson of immeasurable value: understanding. Just as the cultures of the performers and collaborators were fused, the audience members found a common connection in their appreciation of movement and music.
|
|
