to you by
New York manufacturer of fine dance apparel for women
and girls. Click here to see a sample of our products and a
list of web sites for purchasing.
With Body Wrappers it's always performance at its best.
Go back to Flash Reviews
Review 2, 5-6: The Vanishing Corps
Rencontres Choregraphiques: ou ca?
By Paul Ben-Itzak
Copyright 2004 The Dance Insider
New! Sponsor a Flash!
France -- Just before the close of the first act of Wanda Golonka's
three-hour walk-a-thon, which opened the Rencontres Choregraphiques
at MC93 last night, William Forsythe, not-at-all disguised in a
face-covering long blonde wig, orange sweater, green slacks, and
boots, rages about a cage under the seating of the grande salle.
It's a frighteningly apt metaphor for what is happening to much
dance here, as supposed 'choreographers' abandon research into the
body (in French, corps) for dilettantes' diversions into
the other arts. Thus we get theatrical, filmic, or other-media excursions
into territory the experts in these fields have already covered
long ago, and better, while dance rages in a basement cage, forgotten
by those charged with advancing it. So when Anita Mathieu chooses
to open her Rencontres Choregraphiques festival with a piece in
which only three of the nine segments feature something that could
feasibly be called 'dance,' I have to ask "Ou ca?" Or, roughly
translated, "Where?" Where exactly was the promised choreography
in this spectacle? And where's a curtain-stopping Intermittents'
strike when you need it?
Except for Forsythe's
explosive solo -- the program credits Golonka for the choreography,
but the precise energy containment and release here, as well as
the signature stop-and-start joint moves, particularly in the arms
and behind, plus the lack of developed choreography seen elsewhere
in the program, suggest Forsythe should get much of the credit for
what he dances here -- except for this expressive solo and a compactly
rendered and choreographed opening scene performed by Hilke Altefrohne
scaling and re-scaling a mountain made of a canvas draped over the
middle audience seating, except for these interludes, I feel like
I already wasted three hours of my life in my dwindling 43rd year
(I turn 43 tomorrow) on Golonka's "An Antigone," her take on a translation
of a translation of the Sophocles tragedy. (Or, as the futuristically
yellow-clad Jennifer Minetti droned at one point during an excruciatingly
long segment delivered entirely while sitting at a table in the
backstage scenery shop, "Perde de temps.") So I'm hesitant
to squander much more time in the quixotic quest to correct those
who really don't want to be corrected. But for the benefit of society
-- principally those who would come to see these Rencontres Choregraphique
under the mistaken belief they'll actually encounter choreography,
and those who would and have funded this festival in the 'dance'
category -- I feel one must address what looks like a sinister development
that has lately infiltrated dance, at least here in Europe. (Golonka
"An Antigone" -- I really
cringe at invoking that noble name in so ignoble an enterprise as
is being countenanced, condoned, and commissioned by Mathieu here
-- ends in a frighteningly fascistic fashion. After simply lying
on his back on a short rectangular platform and screaming for about
twenty minutes, Olivier Kraushaar then gets up and proceeds to 'invite,'
two by two, the spectators onto the stage, where he seats them in
their chairs. Incredibly, soberingly, alarmingly, no one refused.
My companion and I exited before he could attempt to compromise
us, but after departing, I realized that compromise was precisely
Golonka's agenda here -- worse, culpability. By (sweetly) inviting
the audience onto the stage after the artistic (and perhaps politically,
fascistically motivated) horror they had witnessed over the preceding
three hours, she was in effect seeking to implicate us -- just as
the killer, having accomplished his deed while a crowd sat passively
by, then induces each of the witnesses to throw a stone at the victim.
But I say: NO, NO, NO.
Go back to Flash Reviews