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Review Journal, 12-10: Cave-dwellers; Winter was Hard
Varone Mines Kentucky; Brown Winters with Schubert
By Susan Yung
Copyright 2002 Susan Yung
NEW YORK -- Doug Varone's
"The Bottomland," an evening-length dance-theater piece in two distinct
parts which premiered at the Ohio Theatre Thursday, is a fascinating
virtual expedition to the exotic setting of Kentucky. Varone, who
directed and choreographed the work, continues to demonstrate a
voracious appetite for theatrical experimentation. Such boldness
complements his choreography, which can range from voluptuous lyricism
to the most pathetic gestural expressions of human nature. "The
Bottomland" shows an extraordinary level of conceptualizing and
planning, in addition to the creative elements. Varone has added
a dash of high technology and a dedicated company of talented performers
to create a memorable evening of theater.
The evening's first
part, "Songs That Tell a Story," was performed in front of a breathtaking
high-definition video, conceived and directed by Varone, shot in
the Mammoth Caves of Kentucky. (The lead commissioner for the project
was the Wolf Trap Foundation for the Performing Arts Face of America
2002, which promulgates the exploration of America's national parks
through the performing arts.) The clarity of the picture was jarring;
the moss gem-like; the smallest movements alarmingly clear. The
performance began with a video shot of eight dancers leaning against
a rock wall; they began to move almost subconsciously. Varone has
a knack for flowing prosaic movement and dance together seamlessly,
as if the dancers learned his choreographic vocabulary when they
learned to walk. The performers entered the stage dressed in cotton
clothes (by Liz Prince) identical to those they wear in the video,
threw their arms open, then gathered in a cluster. Faye Driscoll
walked an invisible tightrope, foreshadowing a tendency to go her
own way.
The women lip-synched
the words to music sung by Patty Loveless, a native Kentuckian who
performed (and co-wrote one of) the first act's nine recorded songs
by artists such as Ralph Stanley and Emory Gordy, Jr. Downstage,
Larry Hahn and Natalie Desch worked out a quarrel at the same time
they were shown on-screen in a happier moment, dancing in an embrace.
Driscoll and John Beasant, in a poignant match made in heaven, traded
facial contortions and clasped hands, nearly simultaneously both
live and onscreen. In the song "Rise Up Lazarus," the dancers moved
in bold phrases, their upper bodies carving concave loops, their
arms swinging up to complete an X. As the group created geometric
formations, the video showed the same sequence in plan, providing
uniquely complete information about the dance. The only drawback
to the video was that it was so vivacious it sometimes distracted
from the live performances.
The company's older
dancers are the most interesting to watch -- Varone's style rewards
not so much physical virtuosity as emotional investment and trust.
Thus, Hahn and Nina Watt, a veteran of Jose Limon's troupe who made
her Varone company debut in this run, were riveting as a couple
at odds due to his philandering, abusive ways. (Watt performed with
Limon alum Varone in "Short Story," a gorgeous duet he set on the
Limon Company a couple of seasons ago.) The second act, to filmic
music by Gaeton Leboeuf, zoomed in on the sociological makeup of
this couple and the group we'd earlier watched dancing through the
cave. The dreamy facade was stripped away -- the film replaced by
beautifully crafted, miniature, depression-style houses on wheels
(by Allen Moyer) -- leaving us to confront a community rife with
xenophobia, bullheadedness, radical religion, and more.
While it was an interesting
turnabout, Act Two was somewhat undermined by the success of Act
One, and by a reliance on acting, rather than metaphor or implication.
In the second half, the dancers were required to flesh out the details
of their roles, and it is here where maturity was an advantage.
Varone's older dancers have either been with his company for a long
time, or, like Watt, have a long-term connection with the choreographer,
so that they bring maturity, familiarity, and, again, trust. Eddie
Taketa and Adriane Fang, in a bit of obvious casting, played an
Asian couple new to town and rejected as outsiders, eventually hunted
down and stripped naked by the rabid, snarling townspeople; they
communicated affectingly in a mysterious sign language but I wanted
to see more from these two consistently riveting dancers.
Daniel Charon portrayed
with powerful intensity a healing preacher. In many ways, Charon
reminded me of Varone -- the explosive, feline manner in which he
moved, the natural way he shook out his legs between steps, his
shoulder carriage, even the tilt of his head. This was fortunate
as it emulated some of the missing electric presence usually conveyed
by Varone, who did not perform. Desch danced with fierceness, sinking
her chest into a deep contraction, then reversing it to carve a
convex arabesque. Beasant's character went a step too far by actually
sobbing at the loss of his funny-faced sweetheart, Faye Driscoll,
who made a dramatic stage presence despite her absence for most
of the second act. We knew Driscoll was different, as she was the
only character who seemed to acknowledge the camera or audience.
The second act of "The
Bottomland" in some ways felt like an apologia for an underlying
travelogue tone in the first act, which was presented last August
at Wolf Trap, the lead commissioner. (One wonders how the second
act's searing sociological profile might have been received had
it been performed on that occasion.) Varone's work has something
for everyone, from his richly coded, subtle hand semaphores, to
his blatantly play-acted scenes. My one wish is that he would trust
his audience to interpret his unspoken but lucid movement code more,
rather than relying as much as he does on acting. Somehow, we get
it, and the magical part is, we're not certain why.
"The Bottomland" continues
through December 22, witih lighting by Jane Cox, video production
by Blue Land Media, and photography directed by Rob Draper and Vincent
Gancie.
Like Doug Varone, Trisha Brown has been branching out for years.
Both, in fact, have made serious forays into opera; Varone has choreographed
productions which have been presented at City Opera and soon, a
production of "Les Troyens" at the Met. Brown has directed and choreographed
opera, notably a glorious production of Monteverdi's "Orfeo." A
new production of "Winterreise," directed by Brown and featuring
baritone Simon Keenlyside, pianist Pedja Muzijevic, and dancers
Brandi Norton, Seth Parker, and Lionel Popkin, premiered last week
at John Jay College as part of Lincoln Center's Great Performers
series. (Trisha Brown Dance Company performs two other dance programs
as part of its season, which runs through Friday.)
Seen December 6, this
cycle of 24 songs by Franz Schubert, set to poems by Wilhelm Muller,
may seem like a modest-scale proposal to stage, but it must have
been difficult to resist overshadowing the solo baritone and piano,
who sort of plow through the cycle's dark, compact range of emotion.
(Composer Arvo Part recently said in The New Yorker that "Schubert's
pen was fifty percent ink, fifty percent tears.") Yet Brown rightly
chose to match the range of movement to the intense, focused breadth
of Schubert's cycle rather than letting dance overtake the work.
Muller's poems concern
lost love and in its bleak aftermath, the journey to life's end.
(If it were not already tragic enough that, just 31, Schubert edited
final proofs on his deathbed, Muller had passed away the prior year
at age 32.) The prose is incredibly dark, but Jennifer Tipton's
lighting gave the stage a brilliant, bleak Arctic iciness, rather
than gloominess. Apart from the first song, in which Norton wore
a delicate dress whose skirt comprised a lattice cage and crystal
strings that shimmered as she strode in spirals, the dancers wore
cool-hued PJs designed by Elizabeth Cannon, and Keenlyside warmer-toned
shirt and slacks under a waistcoat.
Brown chose simple,
quiet movements which either alluded to the text or played off of
the rhythms of the music. The choreography rarely mimed the words;
rather, Brown introduced motifs that recur throughout the poems:
walking and wandering, icy tears, shadows, rest (temporary or permanent),
and predatory nature -- winter, dying trees, circling crows. The
performers repeated a tree motif, holding their arms at 90-degree
angles alone or while standing in a line, giving the appearance
of a many-armed shiva. Often the dancers supported Keenlyside, either
imagistically, with their arms paralleling his, or literally, using
their feet to right his listing body or supporting his frame on
their aligned shins. In "Rest," the arms floated softly as if on
currents of air; the dancers helped the exhausted Keenlyside to
walk. Were they guardian angels, or harbingers of death?
"Winterreise" is a true
collaboration between Brown and Keenlyside, who previously portrayed
Orfeo beautifully under her direction. Keenlyside blended in naturally
with Brown's dancers. His stature is similar to theirs, and he moved
confidently and easily without a hint of stiffness, through all
manner of positions, even singing crouched to the ground like a
dog sniffing the earth. His voice was clear, accurate, agile, and
seemingly gained strength throughout the rigors of the cycle. Brown
remained sensitive to the singer's innate talents while pushing
him beyond an opera singer's normal limits. She showed palpable
respect for the songs by matching their scope and focus, and by
asking her dancers to assume an important, if supportive and subservient,
role.
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