This is the blog of the Arts Reviewing and Reporting Class Spring 2018 at the University of San Francisco. As Oscar Wilde wrote, “To the critic, the work of art is simply a suggestion for a new work of his own.”
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Tuesday, September 30, 2014
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J. Michael Robertson directs the journalism program in the Department of Media Studies at the University of San Francisco. He was an editor/staff writer at the San Francisco Chronicle, 1980-1991, and Atlanta Magazine, 1976-1980. He received a Ph.D. in English Literature from Duke University in 1972.
Saturday, September 27, 2014
Songs of the Class
J. Michael Robertson directs the journalism program in the Department of Media Studies at the University of San Francisco. He was an editor/staff writer at the San Francisco Chronicle, 1980-1991, and Atlanta Magazine, 1976-1980. He received a Ph.D. in English Literature from Duke University in 1972.
Friday, September 26, 2014
How I Learned the Instruments of the Orchestra
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J. Michael Robertson directs the journalism program in the Department of Media Studies at the University of San Francisco. He was an editor/staff writer at the San Francisco Chronicle, 1980-1991, and Atlanta Magazine, 1976-1980. He received a Ph.D. in English Literature from Duke University in 1972.
Things I’ll be Thinking about Sunday Afternoon
Based on Ms. Lee’s remarks, I assume the thrust of the performance
will be somewhat didactic. My impression
she want us to feel something about a moment in Chinese-American history that
still has relevance. I’m not sure, however, what we are intended to feel. Did
you get an idea from her remarks how she wants us to feel? Or if she assumes
some we might act in some new way as a result of this experience? Obviously
your feelings remain our own. A thoughtful take in your review might be that
the artist wants us to feel one thing and you feel another. Feel free to
challenge the artist. It’s your
experience.
While watching the production, I hope to choose several particular
moments to focus on determined by my emotional and intellectual reaction. I’m hoping
there will be an emotional, not just an intellectual, connection. If I find
myself puzzled or put off, I’m going to fight that response, at least for a
while. I want to work with the performance, not against it. I want to be fair.
Knowing (I think) what the artist has in mind, I’m going to ask myself if the
piece works for me on those terms, and if – not for me - it might work for
others? There is such a thing as a
partial success.
Although I don’t want you to write only as if this is a “pure”
dance experience, with no larger social meaning, you might choose to emphasize the
specifics of the physical performance. You might choose one dance – that is,
one episode in the presentation - to scrutinize as a series of physical acts. Wandering
around the net, I came across some possible vocabulary for description of dance.
You might talk about:
· * spatial arrangements (stage position, groupings, partnering)
· * axial and nonlocomotor movements (bending, twisting, stretching,
swinging) and locomotor movements (walking, running, hopping, jumping, leaping,
galloping, sliding, skipping)
· * use of body parts (head, trunk, arms, legs, feet)
· * relationships (near, above, along, connected, shadow)
· * shapes (curved, angular, symmetrical)
· * balance (on balance, off balance)
· * space (self space, general space)
· * size of movements and actions (big, medium, small)
· * level (high, middle, low)
· * direction (forward, left, up)
· * pathway (curved, zigzag, straight)
· * single focus and multi-focus (might be particularly useful in
judging multimedia)
· * time (fast, medium, slow)
· * rhythm (pulse, pattern, breath, accent)
· * energy (sharp, smooth)
· * weight (strong, light)
· * flow (free, bound)
· * general understanding how human structure and function can affect
dance movements and movement potential (think of gymnasts and cortortionists)
(The preceding bullet points were taken from a
description of what an applicant desiring a certificate to teach dance in New
York State public schools should understand.)
Your opening paragraph might do a variety of things, from plunging
into description of a specific moment in the presentation to stating your
reaction to the overall piece to a provocative bit of personal history or
philosophy to prepare the reader for detailed development later. The name of
the dance company will probably show up pretty high in the piece. But bury
information about where and when the performance took place. Interest me before
you tell me that.
Here are some other questions you might ask yourself:
·
Are you comfortable talking
about the technical ability of the performers in carrying out the vision
of the choreographer. Were the dancers technically up to the task? Did the
group look well-rehearsed?
·
Is the music was suitable for
the dance? Same thing for costumes.
·
Were the sets and props
necessary and effective for the dance?
·
Do you find your eyes
following one particular dancer? Can you explain why?
This production will also involve video. I think the video will be
background, and the dance will be foreground. If that’s the case, the role of
the video will be to support and complement the dance – though I suppose an
artist might want to create a tension in mood or tone or content between
foreground and background. My assumption is that we will be concentrating on
the “real” – the dance – and not the video. Bottom line is that I want you to
identify any and all multimedia elements and comment on them.
Also, there may be voiceover. Could be poetry. Could be prose.
Questions are the same: How do all these elements fit together? Don’t just say
they do or don’t. Be specific about what’s going on. What exactly are the
sounds and the video and the actions of the dancers at a specific moment that
either please or displease you?
Going into this review, you are going to have some expectations, some anticipation of what you are going to experience. You might include some of that in your review. I don't want it to crowd out the details of the actual performance, but the degree to which your expectations are confirmed or confounded is one way of judging the success of the presentation.
Labels:
dance review
J. Michael Robertson directs the journalism program in the Department of Media Studies at the University of San Francisco. He was an editor/staff writer at the San Francisco Chronicle, 1980-1991, and Atlanta Magazine, 1976-1980. He received a Ph.D. in English Literature from Duke University in 1972.
Thursday, September 25, 2014
Some Reviews of Dance Plus Multimedia
A Clean, Well-Lighted Place Full of Bells and Whistles
Human beings have a very good reason for covering their ears when they hear loud noises, or their eyes when confronted with harsh flashing lights. Both sensations are painful; people protect themselves.
For this same reason, art often employs technological devices to produce these effects. Emotional or intellectual violence can sometimes best be captured by extremes, and art forces such encounters. Maguy Marin’s dance-theater work “Umwelt,” which uses a howling wind tunnel to build an oppressive world, comes to mind.
But what if nothing is built? What if nothing is felt? What is to keep viewers from turning away?
Earplugs help some. Japan Society handed them out, unasked, to its audience on Thursday when the multimedia Japanese spectacle “True” opened a three-night run. The 70-minute work, a collaboration between Takayuki Fujimoto and Takao Kawaguchi of the collective Dumb Type and the choreographer Tsuyoshi Shirai, is full of bells and whistles. Program credits include one for “myoelectric sensing/vibration mechanism support” (Masaki Teruoka) and another for “sound/oscillation/programming” (Daito Manabe).
It sounds fancy, but the results are all too meager. Technology without theater doesn’t have much to say.
All begins calmly, in an antiseptic space, maybe an office. Mr. Shirai stands in the clean space, which contains only a table and is bounded by lighted scaffolding on both sides. This table, with its normal scattering of objects, holds special powers. Pick up a glass, and a portal of howling sound opens. Set something else down, and the ring of colored lights overhead goes crazy.
It takes a minute to notice the man (Mr. Kawaguchi, a silky, versatile mover) in the shiny red raincoat, lurking in the scaffolding. Soon enough he’s unleashed, offering a few clichéd thoughts on perception, color and such. As he speaks, key words are picked up on the video screen behind him, which looks for all the world like a giant screen saver.
Surrounded by all this silliness and hindered by ineffectual choreography, the men don’t have much hope of making an impact. Who is to know if they’re telling truths or falsehoods?
Who Are We? Where Are We? What Are We Doing? You Decide
Marguerite Duras is one of those rare writers (Sarah Kane and Gertrude Stein are others) whose blithe indifference to genre makes them ideal for use in multimedia performance, where effects become pregnant with meaning and language leans toward background music. "Destroy, She Said" (1969) belongs to a radical phase of Duras's career (after the 1968 student protests in France), when she began labeling her fascinatingly fractured texts more or less arbitrarily as novels, stories, plays or film scripts. It was perceptive of the adaptor and director Ivan Talijancic and his WaxFactory collaborators to recognize this coldly erotic, deeply ambiguous story as a potent foil for their technical wizardry.
The set for " ...She Said," a 45-minute visual gem presented in English at the Brooklyn Lyceum as part of the Act French festival, is a wide, white-walled tube that recalls the tunnels in the old TWA terminal at Kennedy Airport. Raised about three feet off the floor, it seems to float in the dark as numbers, words and multilayered video clips are seen on its rear wall and three actors - a man and a woman in white (Dion Doulis and Katarina Stegnar) and a woman in black (Erika Latta) - move about in tightly choreographed patterns, starkly silhouetted by lights embedded in the walls and floor.
The actors play unnamed characters whose identities are fluid and who behave sensually in a detached, formalistic way. Sometimes they wrestle together and rise from the floor lit by a pulsing strobe, their movements acquiring an eerie, punctuated harmony that evokes plants growing in time-lapse photography.
Unfortunately, the text overlaid on these gorgeous, animated images is even more fractured than Duras's and extremely frustrating. The book tells an elegantly indeterminate story about calcified love and predatory destruction among four people staying in a hotel for convalescents.
"...She Said," by contrast, relies on the rather tired and limited idea that obscuring specific location and time is in itself interesting. The closest the show comes to situated action is when unlocatable, miked voices say, "Where are we?" "In a hotel." "Could it be some other place?" "It is up to the spectator to choose." Most of the lines are apparently selected at random from either Duras's book or from her famously petulant interviews.
Occasionally, Ms. Latta steps out of the white tube and speaks directly with the audience as "the author" at a long table at floor level beside the production's four technicians. Her yearning for a closer and more meaningful connection with "her" creations ties the action together to an extent, though her posing in black gloves holding a drink and smoking is pretentious.
For all its homage to Duras, "... She Said" is a very different sort of "hybrid" artwork from the ones she conceived. It's much more slick, constructive and purposeful, with its confident technical display, than the deliberately broken and disruptive "Destroy, She Said" (which Duras once fondly called "imbecilic"). At one point, Mr. Talijancic inserts a line I couldn't find in Duras's text: "Perhaps someone from the outside could manage to find out what's going on inside." Don't count on it.
" ...She Said" continues through Sunday at the Brooklyn Lyceum, 227 Fourth Avenue, Park Slope, (212) 780-3372.
Masks That Reveal, Not Conceal
There is a moment in “The Only Tribe” when it seems as if there were going to be a giant brawl on the small stage of the 3LD Art & Technology Center, where this multimedia performance piece, directed by Roland Gebhardt, opened last week.
Two groups of strange creatures in gray unitards are massing: one wears tall white masks (think of piano keys) with various designs cut out of them; the other has triangular masks of the same material, and moves in a sinuous, winding manner in contrast to the abrupt, angular movement of the rectangle heads. All right, I thought to myself, someone has finally figured out how to make geometry interesting.
Alas, no such luck. Other groups in differently shaped masks appear, but the fight never happens. Neither does much else in this choreographically bland exercise in social dynamics.
As its name declares, 3LD is interested in the marriage of art and technology. But “The Only Tribe” is a distinctly uneven partnership. Reid Farrington’s video projections, which play out on the masks and a scrim at the front of the stage, offer the only real moments of excitement and playfulness. The kineticism of his layered images, particularly when spectral versions of the various tribes are multiplied and collapsed on top of one another, is never equaled by the flesh-and-blood dancers.
There is something quaintly old-fashioned in their vaguely futuristic look and broadly differentiated movement groups. (Choreography is by Peter Kyle.) Thoughts of the multimedia and modern dance amalgamations created by the choreographer Alwin Nikolais come to mind.
Toward the end of “The Only Tribe,” various corporate logos pop into the video mix, along with words like “love” and “greed.” Is this a commentary on contemporary society’s fixation on consumerism, at the expense of nourishing relationships? Perhaps. But with critiques this one-dimensional, mass culture isn’t looking so bad.
“The Only Tribe” continues through Dec. 20 at the 3LD Art & Technology Center, 80 Greenwich Street, at Rector Street, West Village; (212) 645-0374, 3ldnyc.org
The Dream Factories
Mabou Mines's Joycean Schizophrenia; Ogawa's Twisted Love
Words onstage are weaklings. Consider the way music so easily overpowers its libretto in opera. Or the way multimedia images in avant-garde performance or gestures in more traditional drama speak volumes without uttering a syllable. Yet language provides our deepest vein of meaning. Only in the abstraction of the symphony or ballet are we truly liberated into a world beyond linguistic consciousness, and even then we run a silent commentary to ourselves about what we're experiencing. In experimental theater, the balance between text and stagecraft is a precarious one. New forms of storytelling aspire to treat the word as merely another part of the mise-en-scène. Artaud's injunction to "burn the texts" wasn't so much trying to banish language as to return us to a forgotten mode of ritual....
Mabou Mines has a long history of formulating theatrical language from an interdisciplinary mélange. Dance, music, drama, cartoons, puppetry—all contribute to a unique brew that's ultimately concerned less with digestible narrative than visionary experience. The company's latest work, Cara Lucia(Here), takes up the subject of James Joyce's schizophrenic daughter, though not (naturally enough) by traditional biographical means. What's at stake is the flame of a rattled yet brilliant mind and the way in which that flickering light has been interpreted and thus, in one way or another, falsified.
Mabou Mines has a long history of formulating theatrical language from an interdisciplinary mélange. Dance, music, drama, cartoons, puppetry—all contribute to a unique brew that's ultimately concerned less with digestible narrative than visionary experience. The company's latest work, Cara Lucia(Here), takes up the subject of James Joyce's schizophrenic daughter, though not (naturally enough) by traditional biographical means. What's at stake is the flame of a rattled yet brilliant mind and the way in which that flickering light has been interpreted and thus, in one way or another, falsified.
Ruth Maleczech plays Lucia, age 69, confined to a psychiatric ward. Wearing a pistachio-colored dress and mink stole, she sits in a chair that elevates with the mad freedom of her character's thoughts. Facts morph into fragmentary fantasy as Old Lucia reviews a life spent largely in mental institutions. She memorializes her many suitors, including former sweetheart Samuel Beckett. Intermittently, she frets about having enough money from her father's estate to maintain herself in her waning days. Across the stage, Clove Galilee, tethered like a wayward dog, portrays the young Lucia striving to be worthy of her genius father while garrulously preoccupied with her (doomed) romantic prospects. Closeted away is Rosemary Fine as Issy, the Lucia-like figure from Joyce's Finnegans Wake, who reads passages from the puzzling poetic stew and occasionally emerges from her hiding place to mock her real-life model.
The treatment is circular rather than linear, with little concern for narrative exposition. Written and directed by Sharon Fogarty, the 80-minute piece constructs a three-dimensional collage with help from Jim Clayburgh's fluid sets and lighting and Carter Burwell's elegiac score. The words, which exist on equal terms with the individual design elements, are not to be systematically assimilated into a coherent story. Like the rainy seascape imagery ingeniously created by Julie Archer's video sorcery, the piece is meant to wash over you with the flux of its delicate insights. Maleczech anchors the production in unwieldy human truth, refusing to straitjacket Lucia with one of the diagnoses proffered by the nurses and academics who cartoonishly file their reductionist opinions on video. In the actor's physical obduracy and irrepressible theatrical autonomy lies the inarticulatable meaning of a woman who could not stay afloat in the surrounding ocean of ordered words.
December 9, 2002
DANCE REVIEW
DANCE REVIEW; Down-Home Doin's, Through Mixed Media
By ANNA KISSELGOFF
''The Bottomland,'' Doug Varone's highly imaginative new multimedia piece celebrates a national park in Kentucky with an oblique tale, the stuff of which country music is made.
Fragment by fragment, Mr. Varone creates a sense of place at the Ohio Theater, where the two-part work commissioned by Wolf Trap Park's Face of America series about national parks will be performed through Dec. 22.
The first half includes a film of the company, Doug Varone and Dancers, inside the caverns of Mammoth Cave National Park in Kentucky.
Love gone wrong seems hardly the theme in this section, as the filmed dancers in their plain Appalachian clothes interact with their live selves.
Nonetheless a tape by the country singer Patty Loveless hints at the domestic drama to come. The seeds of Part 2 are imbedded in the first half, in the way that the dancers are defined through spatial composition. An image of a love triangle flashes by with subliminal fleetness.
By the end of the performance on Thursday night at the theater (66 Wooster Street, between Broome and Spring Streets, in SoHo) a story had been told. An abusive husband gangs up with fellow rednecks on an Asian couple, the outsiders in a rural community. Most of his time is spent tormenting his wife as he makes advances to the town tease, who can't make up her mind about him. A fire-and-brimstone evangelist tries his best to set things right.
The tale may not be new, but Mr. Varone fills the telling with surprises, not the least of which is his use of movement in a strong theatrical setting.
Each component works on its own level. The dancing, although not continuous, can erupt with violence and intricacy, then subside into occasional calm. Gaétan Leboeuf's original score for Part 2 has its own drama. The video by Mr. Varone can teach city slickers something about the huge expanse that nature can cut through rock with underground rivers. When the dancers move a set of dollhouses by Allen Moyer, the gabled props suggest both a town and the way a community can close in upon itself.
Mr. Varone, 46, has emerged in the last decade as one of the few modern-dance choreographers of his generation still able to convey depth of emotion through movement. There is a strong pure-dance aspect to his highly physical and fluid choreography. But even the most plotless of his works have an emotional undercurrent. He has done a remarkable job here of coaching his dancers, down to every dour, pained or joyful facial expression and frozen posture.
Recently he has become increasingly interested in storytelling indirectly conveyed through dance. ''The Bottomland'' nonetheless has some antecedents in ''Momentary Order,'' a wonderful work that he created about a Maine community of French-Canadian descent that was seen at the Ohio Theater in 1992. That piece was more stirring than ''The Bottomland,'' possibly because Mr. Varone and his company were immersed in that community in Lewistone, Me., during a seven-month residency. In that piece, as in the new one, Larry Hahn offered a brilliantly complex portrayal with his weather-beaten persona as a heavyset protagonist whose feelings cannot be contained. In both productions the community is dressed in plain garb (this time by Liz Prince).
The first part of ''The Bottomland'' was seen without Part 2 in August at Wolf Trap Park in Vienna, Va., near Washington. The Wolf Trap Foundation for the Performing Arts commissioned Mr. Varone for the third annual event intended to celebrate a national park (Yosemite in 2000, Virgin Islands National Park in 2001).
''Songs That Tell a Story,'' the first half, has all the earmarks of a work done on assignment, and there is something familiar about dancers dancing the same thing both live and on film or picking up motifs transferred from one medium to another. At the same time the huge size of the caves and Mr. Varone's play with perspective on film create a wondrous space.
Essentially the dancers look like dancers in Part 1, although there are vignettes that explain the action in Part 2. Mr. Hahn and Natalie Desch, both outstanding in the subtlety of their acting, do some country dancing in the cave on film. Only later is there a hint that Nina Watt will play a major role as the brutalized wife who befriends the Asian couple who teach her to use chopsticks, Adriane Fang and Eddie Taketa.
None of this is as simple as it sounds, and there is a witty duet between Faye Driscoll and John Beasant III set to the song ''Raging Fire.'' Performed on chairs, the duet is filled with grimaces with the dancers both on film and live as they express their desires. In ''As Told at Night, When the Air Is a Different Color,'' the second half, Mr. Beasant is at first indifferent to Catherine Miller as he mourns Ms. Driscoll, who has left him.
There is no humor, however, in the performance of the suffering Ms. Watt, long a great dancer in the José Limón company, or even in the exaggerated solos of Daniel Charon as the preacher. By the end of the work, lighted by Jane Cox, Mr. Varone has brilliantly brought his dramatic tension to a peak. The cumulative impact is unmistakable.
Photo: Members of Doug Varone's company in ''The Bottomland,'' which celebrates Mammoth Cave National Park. (Michelle V. Agins/The New York Times)
Garret + Moulton's latest project, "Luminous Edge," which opened Thursday night at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts in San Francisco and continues through Sunday, ambitiously examines the relationship of light and dark as symbols of the human condition. With an onstage orchestra of eight noted experimental musicians, joined by contralto Karen Clark, the dance begins in dim light and takes us through various landscapes of light and dark. We watch as the chorus edges center from both sides of the stage to form a corridor that is illuminated as each of the main couples sweeps down its center in twisting, lyrical phrases.
We see the same couples in sharp spotlights moving and yet entrapped by the 18 black-clad chorus members, whose entwining arms and hands seem like tentacles that embody both external and internal forces, from tree limbs to doubts and fears. The chorus, in other word, gives stunning shape to the shadows, and the 18 young performers were almost flawless in their deft timing and articulation.
Such layered communication defines "Luminous Edge." Wherever the stage is awash in light, the darkness at its edge is as strong and meaningful. Whenever the dance sweeps, its line is also broken and fragmentary. And wherever it depicts loss and death, as in one of the poignant vignettes where dancers are embraced, then lowered gently to the ground like victims of plague or war, it does so with abiding tenderness and care. Even death becomes exquisite.
The strongest moments are those many that combine the chorus and the six accomplished dancers (Nol Simonse, Tegam Schwab, Michael Galloway, Carolina Czechowska, Vivian Aragon and Dudley Flores). Whether chorus members are arrayed stadium style at an angle to the action, where they perform simple, mesmerizing movements made complex by Moulton's interleaving patterns, or gather in groupings around the central couples, they provide counterweight and give volume to Garrett's dashing, elongated limbs. And Moulton's ingenious actions, which combine the heft of early German modern dance with the whimsy of Busby Berkeley's drill routines, become systems and patterns that reflect the dancers' condition.
Dancer Nol Simonse captured the duality of heft and delicacy with whole-body sensitivity, his breath driving the flow of a hand and his weighted legs heightening the poignancy of his gestures. Pixie Vivian Aragon gave Garrett's actions a whipping ferocity, while long-limbed Carolina Czechowska accentuated the movement's magnitude and complexity. Tegam Schwab brought bound power to the work, moving with pent-up force. Michael Galloway gave it mystery and Dudley Flores brought elegance to a haunting and beautiful dance.
Local dance review by Ann Murphy
Together, Garrett and Moulton make a team that, in its finest moments, crafts deep, affecting dance that pushes the boundaries of abstraction, edges powerfully toward archetype, then returns to the more prosaic ground of fractured, post-modern story. Their work echoes the dance of other senior Bay Area choreographers like Alonzo King, Margaret Jenkins and Brenda Way and seeks to find the thread in existence that binds us and gives us hope through inevitable trials and loss.
GARRETT + MOULTON
Labels:
dance review
J. Michael Robertson directs the journalism program in the Department of Media Studies at the University of San Francisco. He was an editor/staff writer at the San Francisco Chronicle, 1980-1991, and Atlanta Magazine, 1976-1980. He received a Ph.D. in English Literature from Duke University in 1972.
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