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Lauren Gallo Lauren's Review of DeluxeJoyPilot at Dance Theater Workshop Most-Definately-Not-for-Tourists Guide to Modern Dance If you're looking to get your feet wet, or even your ankles or knees, this is not the show for you. You should definately try something safer, a kiddie-pool equivalent, perhaps, because your limbs will be more than drenched, they'll be stretched, pulled, spanked, and altogether manipulated. I was unsure when I got there (Dance Theater Workshop, that is) and my questions only increased in number as I entered the performace space. The stage was arranged with bright blue inflatable plastic chairs and high white beds about the sides, and we, the audience, were seated right there, on the chairs and beds, among the artists. When the piece begins, after everyone has taken their "seats", several dancers lie face down on the beds, while others massage and caress them. The remaining performers moved about the center of the makeshift boudior in rounded, smooth, fluent motions, like charmed snakes. As the beat quickened, thanks to the on-display-disc jockey, the dancers begin to interact with one another, those on foot push-pulling back-and-forth and switching roles between the pursued and the pursuing. Those on the beds all the while moving closer and closer, piecing themselves together like puzzles and pretzels, testing just how far they can push (or perhaps change?) each other. The performace takes a radical turn when audience members are called upon, or forced, to participate. Some were taken to smaller beds to be individually groped and fondled, the dancers placing their own heads and hands anywhere and everywhere, and bending legs and arms into semi-erotic positions. Those previously chasing one another, moved to the large beds, and looked to everyone in the room for affection and literal support, leaning and grasping men and women alike. And then the performance turns again. The beat quickens and the volume rises, red uplights overwhelm the previous blue ones, and the dancers either forget to be gentle and curious, or reach a new sense of comfort with their companions (performers and audience members, alike). They begin chasing each other, hurting each other: hitting, humping, spanking, tearing, pulling, shaking, grabbing, scratching, tearing, strangling, shredding. One dancer pulled down a gentleman's pants and spanked his bare ass before the rest of the audience, others humped a young woman's shocked face, and chest, and groin. Mouths hung open, eyes popped. And then the rythm slowed, two ofthe more outstanding male dancers met each other at center stage, face to face, and kissed, breathing and receiving air from the other, again curious as to how far and how much they could take from and give to the other. Two women followed suit, engaging in strenuous and intimate wrestling, every muscle and every movement on display. The performance's end was so anti-climactic as to be disorienting. The dancers simply found a companion and sat down to talk, periodically getting up and finding someone new. But we were all left in awe, our jaws still dropped and our eyes still wide, we continued to watch every interaction, between everyone, no matter how insignificant, in utter amazement. Eventually, some ten minutes after the lights had been partially raised, we realized that perhaps that was it, and cautiously began conversations of our own. No one moved, everyone simply sat and talked and watched in amazement. Eventually, I did leave. I had to, I had school the next day, but it felt strange to just walk out of something so penetrating and astounding, so personal and sexual and completely intoxicating, without any closure or formal farewell. So beware, there's no lifeguard on duty- I dove in head first and all but drowned. Want to read some more reviews? Click here. |
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