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, 2-1: Shadows of the 'Future Past'
In the Tree-House with RoseAnne Spradlin
Copyright 2005 Chris Dohse
Sponsor this Writer. Click here for details.
NEW YORK -- In RoseAnne
Spradlin's "Future Past" (seen January 22 at Dance Theater Workshop),
artificial trees menace the space. When they're not loitering in
the wings. I'm guessing they're about ten feet tall. The trees create
a symbolic Schwarzwald in which Spradlin's mysterious, dream-like
world unfolds. If it's a dream, it's certainly a nightmare. The
trees huddle like a Burnam Wood full of the undead. Or they scatter
as casually nude bodies litter the floor for a Boschian Bedlam assault
on the senses.
A remarkable cast (Walter
Dundervill, Chase Granoff, Jennifer Kjos, Mina Nishimura, Stephanie
Tack and Tasha Taylor, with eight supporting players) spurts and
percolates through phrasework. Their presence is direct and visceral,
unafraid of the awkward fact of their bodies. They run in circles
as if lost, urgently taking off and returning, not getting anywhere,
Hansels and Gretels without bread crumbs. It's a matter-of-fact,
task-oriented energy, whether the task in question is partnering
a tree, beginning abrupt propulsive phrases or wracking the torso
with what might be sobs or succor. As it is a Spradlin dance, what
the dancers are doing is eclipsed by whom they are being. And how
they are being.
A body arrives in a
Voices, on tape, discuss
death and suggest a framework for all this. Maybe it's the severe
raked seating at DTW, but I find it hard to connect to this material.
Sitting so far above it, I can't see it eye to eye. I feel something
intuitive being called for that I can't rise to. It's satisfying
to see Spradlin create on such a large scale. Her unnerving authenticity
and opaque narrative are challenges. The flesh she peddles seems
unadorned, stripped to primal emotive impulses. Something tells
me that the dance is about terror. The kind of terror that paralyzes
the body before flight. I'm seeing this unearthly poise in a lot
of work this season: shadows lurking, threatening inert bodies.
John Bischoff's score
is filled with the unpredictable electronic buzzes and hums of a
1970s science fiction movie.
But what about the trees?
They're pagan, phallic, but also symbols of generation, fertility,
photosynthesis, rebirth, magic. Though these specific trees are
artificial, there's something monstrously alive about them, the
way they might silently eat our oxygen. Impermanent and subject
to combustion, they serve as symbols of the inexorable approach
Go back to Flash Reviews