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Review 2, 11-19: Participation Metaphor
Schussing the Korper with Sasha Waltz
By Nancy Dalva
Copyright 2002 Nancy Dalva
NEW YORK -- Sasha Waltz's
"Korper" -- which traveled from its home theater, Berlin's Schaubuhne
am Lehniner Platz, to the Brooklyn Academy of Music's 20th Next
Wave Festival last week -- really does feel like something new,
or rather, something neo. This is what German expressionism looks
like in the 21st century: a fusion form, as much deconstructed as
constructed, but reliant on the German past for its root images
and its ur-meanings, as I intuit them. "Korper" -- which means body,
and which is about the body -- is a 90-minute ensemble piece with
a cast of 13. (The cast is international.) It unfolds with an eerie
lack of tone. The funny, the tragic, the weird, the obscure, the
preposterous -- they're all given the same weight, which gives the
piece the look of surrealism and the feeling of a dream.
Trained in the manner
of the Wigman school, Sasha Waltz later danced in downtown New York.
She is knowledgeable about Merce Cunningham's method and Trisha
Brown's technique. She has looked at Indian art. She's interested
in genetics, and the idea of gene manipulation, cloning, and such.
The actual "dance" segments of her work -- the rest being, if you
will, theater -- looked Trisha-ish, but more ferocious. I would
have liked to have seen more of that, and less of people being dragged
by their nipples, or picked up by the skin -- these were not S&M
bits, and were brutal rather than kinky -- but I don't think Waltz
was out to transport me to some kind of dance heaven. I think she
wanted me trapped in my seat the same way that I am trapped in my
body. Hers is a kind of participation metaphor.
Waltz is interested
in stagecraft and its devices: a Lucite window traps dancers behind
it like ants in an ant farm, as subtle strips on the wall behind
them enable the performers to clamber vertically and horizontally;
bottles of water are spilled and splashed to portray body fluids;
a hole in a black wall serves as a kind of porthole for various
body parts, which appear like weird puppets; an actual skier schusses
from the top of the wall to the floor. The wall, which has also
served as a blackboard, crashes to the floor, and half the stage
becomes a plywood incline.
Waltz is interested,
too, in illusion: a two-headed woman, a man whose reflection is
a woman, a body whose legs go backwards, a body that's two torsos.
(These kinds of things tend to remind me of Robert Wilson, though
he is more concerned with surface and elegance, and is more adept
a manipulator of color, light, and scale.) She understands the uses
of nudity, and the effect of mixing the naked and the dressed. When,
in the Lucite window chamber, the naked are joined by a woman wearing
only dark underpants and socks and shoes, the effect is brutal.
Suddenly and horribly, they all look as if they've been stripped.
Throughout, the work
is dark. When the dancers aren't pseudo-nude -- they all wear skin-toned
briefs, so that the women seem more naked than the men, at least
to me -- they for the most part wear fairly ordinary black attire,
though at one point they wore only multiple strands of tiny bells.
It was then that they scribbled in white chalk on the stage's dark
back wall, and inscribed circles around themselves. This reminded
me of Leonardo's notebooks, but to a friend it depicted, with painful
vividness, the wheels of the trains that took the Jews to the concentration
camps, and the fences that penned them there. (Because Waltz doesn't
pin down her images, the work lends itself to personalization.)
To me, the most affecting image was perhaps the most simple: the
dancers, in a line, stepped around in a circle as if they were the
second hand of a clock, first ascending the inclined stage, and
then back around. While not utopian in any way, the moment suggested
a shared humanity.
Other sequences involved
or evoked trafficking in body parts, plastic surgery, being measured
for beds or coffins, Shiva morphing into a creature with an exoskeleton,
a mass grave, a woman whose many long braids were attached to two
poles, and a man in a box on the left of the opera house who "shot"
people in the audience with a fishing rod. He was either blindfolded,
or wearing dark glasses. At around this point, the ominous sound
of hissing, like gas escaping, came not only from the on stage sound
system, but from speakers behind us. (This is what I mean by participation
"Korper" is episodic,
to a fault. And although the episodes themselves have structure,
the piece has no real through-line, or, in Waltz-speak, no spine.
There, is, however, a recurring playlet, with different actors and
text but the same meaning: in each a story is both told and illustrated
by a narrator who experiences a kind of kinesthetic synesthesia.
For instance, in the segment called "Sigal's story," as the performer
says "First thing in the morning, I open my eyes," she points to
her nipples. As she goes on, she continues to mine her body for
metaphor, substituting one part for another. As the work proceeds,
three other performers will tell their different stories, to similar
effect. To complicate matters, there are also simultaneous non-speaking
translators, who indicate the correct, unmetaphorical, body parts
the narrators mention. One of these translators is a man wearing
an animal mask, which originally appears as the head of a stuffed
animal that is tossed on stage, then eviscerated by the performer
and transformed into a costume. (He appears to be some sort of Minotaur.)
By the time the last
narrator tells his story, the entire company is translating. "I
wanted," he says, "to show her everything, everything that makes
me different from everybody else..." I think, though, that Waltz
wants to show us that we are all the same. She wants us all to be
bodies, and she wants us all to be Berliners. For all its theatricality,
"Korper" ends abruptly, not so much as if it is over, but as if
it hasn't quite found an end.
Nancy Dalva is the senior writer for 2wice.
(Editor's Note: To read Paul Ben-Itzak's Sasha Waltz, "Coppelia,"
and the Manipulation of the Body, please click
here. To read Christine Chen's Orbiting Pina's World...and
waltzing with the Astronauts, which also considers Sasha Waltz,
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