Rita Felciano

Free as the breeze?

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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Free as the breeze?

arts@sfbg.com

>>Read Robert Avila’s interview with Joe Goode here

DANCE/THEATER Walking behind the tour guide who led us through the old San Francisco Mint’s elegant rooms for the Joe Goode Performance Group’s striking Traveling Light, I kept thinking of the Medicis and the Ming Dynasty. For their own selfish purposes, these corrupt supercapitalists commandeered and bought great beauty, of which we are the beneficiaries. On a more modest scale, the Mint, as so accurately described by Goode, was a temple of money. It was also a splendidly designed locus of hope for ordinary Joes and Janes who placed their trust, and their cash, in a place that promised the security that an expanding, institution-building nation could provide.

That’s why the Mint’s exquisite architecture speaks loudest in the basement. Jack Carpenter’s magisterial lighting creates shrines to the ordinary citizens on whose shoulders the Mint — and the country — was built. Carpenter ignores the presence of chandeliers — in a basement of all places! — and places red spots along the brick walls, transforming the hallway into a gallery.

Deep inside the safes — protected by exquisitely crafted steel doors — Goode places his works of art: a woman knitting, another in a bathtub, a perhaps homeless couple, and a tea-drinking Victorian lady tied down by propriety. Masterfully, Carpenter’s murky lighting transforms them into silent witnesses of a problematic past. Yet the atmosphere feels like one of your favorite watering holes on a Friday night.

Upstairs, Goode moves his seven dancers, supplemented by eight additional ones, through the Mint’s ostentatious public rooms and stark courtyard. For the next hour, they bring to life finely designed mini-dramas that possess a diorama-like quality. Watched over by a splendidly uniformed Fire Marshall who is quite at home in the building’s opulence, Traveling Light becomes an elaborately designed machine with interlocking gears that shuttle witnesses from one station to another.

I happened to be with the people who first see wealthy and bored Damara Vita Ganley abandon her “exalted” position to mingle with the groundlings. Here, worldly goods mean clean water. At least, the thinking went, these folks have each other. Out of robust duets and trios two men peel off, sent into a better future. Noble sentiment, terrible dramatic ending.

In the courtyard, which suggests a prison yard thanks to Carpenter’s lighting and Goode’s omnipotent voice from above, Filipe Barrueto-Cabello struggles as a poor working man. Haunted and perhaps supported by female spirits, he is barricaded against the elements, but longs for beauty. Andrew Ward and Alexander Zendzian are marvelous as W.C. Fields-like storytellers. The courtyard yields one of the evening’s most poignant moments: Barrueto-Cabello hugging and losing some cabbages as a solo clarinet wails. (Jay Cloidt’s score is first rate and invaluable throughout.)

In one of the inside rooms, Carpenter covers the chandeliers and hangs empty picture frames to better facilitate a detailed trip down memory lane. Jessica Swanson, a proper middle class lady, muses about a summertime affair with a young man (Melecio Estrella) whose calloused hands linger on in her mind. Their stiff-limbed yet passionate struggle doesn’t need words to be eloquently rendered. Elsewhere, in a Virginia Woolf-like touch, Patricia West searches desperately for a quiet place to get her life on track. Buffeted by intruders, she is caught in a turmoil that has more than a current of violence. It leaves her wan, alone, with only the echoes of her own words.

The carefully-honed Traveling is a very special vehicle for Goode’s excellent dancers-actors-singers, who are well supported by the additional cast. At one point Cloidt gives a quartet a four-part a cappella harmony, and they sail through it with ease. Goode badly wants the world to be a better place, but that’s not why we keep watching him and listening to him. We go back because his work sings, dances, and speaks with rare eloquence. I think what we want — and get — is what Barrueto-Cabello hungered for: beauty.

TRAVELING LIGHT

Wed-Sun, 8 p.m. (also Fri.–Sat., 10 p.m.), through Aug. 1, $29–$44

The Old Mint Building

88 Fifth St., SF

(415) 561-6565

www.joegoode.org

 

Peripheral vision

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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Peripheral vision

DANCE Liss Fain has been choreographing in San Francisco for the last 20 years. Her work has remained on the periphery, probably because it doesn’t sync up with trends or the tenor of the times. Fain choreographs highly structured, emotionally cool works in which she shapes and shifts a ballet-based modern dance vocabulary as if to see where she can take it. This type of approach and Fain’s type of craft are rare today. It’s a pleasure to see an active intelligence engaged in such full-bodied work.

Fain also chooses high-quality collaborators. Her company’s costumes — designed by Mary Domenicko and James Meyer this season — are elegant and finely detailed. Fain has worked with the excellent Matthew Antaky for years. His visual and lighting concepts place her dances into richly evocative environments.

Last weekend (June 17-19) at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, Liss Fain Dance presented two premieres, How it Ends and Speak of Familiar Things. Both were excellently performed by a sextet of new and veteran Fain dancers: Brendan Barthel, Mira Cook, Jennifer Beamer Fernandez, Shannon Kurashige, Alec Lytton, and Bethany Mitchell.

For How it Ends, Fain chose fierce percussion by Iannis Xenakis, a shimmering instrumental score by Marcos Balter, and a choral hallelujah by John Tavener. The piece showcased sharp shifts of energy within a single phrase. Fain also used strong gestural language to flatten or cleave space. A face-caressing gesture was as intriguing as it was repetitious.

Proceeding at an even pace, the piece developed a slight trajectory. Initially it elaborated on unisons, most interestingly when a trio for women stepped in and out of commonality. In the more lyrical middle section, two athletic duets for very different dancers took center stage. Barthel and Kurashige shaped each other in precisely calibrated interactions where Kurashige often appeared to take initiative. Lytton and Mitchell’s mutual lifts and floats picked up speed until they found themselves — in a delicious moment — frozen side-by-side in a tiny plié. In the work’s third and most affecting section, the dancers became hesitant. Before leaving the stage, they walked and stopped, as if waiting for something to happen.

A similar instant occurred in the somewhat loquacious Speak of Familiar Things: after his partner walked away, Barthel stood watching a female duet defined by parallel moves. Overall, the piece presented a stream of variably captivating solos and duets. A strong, compact dancer, Kurashige was commanding. Throughout, Beamer Fernandez impressed with her upper-body work, and Mitchell with her speed and power.

Love streams

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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Love streams

arts@sfbg.com

DANCE Dance Continuum SF’s artistic directors José Ivan Ibarra and Peter Litwinowicz danced and studied with Bay Area José Limón disciples Gary Masters and Cheryl Chaddick. Though they are their own men, the lineage shows. Limón’s weighted yet luminously airy style and his taking on of momentous topics without a whiff of irony is not much in fashion these days. So the old man would have approved when the four year-old company called its June 11-13 concert “Life, Love and Rituals.”

To a contemporary viewer, the ability to translate emotionally resonant material into movement language that communicates clearly and simply is refreshing. No wonder Continuum has attracted a group of beautifully trained dancers who seem to thrive in this capacious environment. They are, in addition to the choreographers: Blane Ashby, Kyla Farrow, Heather Glabe, Lindsay Shapiro, and Jennifer Wright.

The ambitious program featured five world premieres. Of the two choreographers, Ibarra has the more theatrical bent. Sometimes his movement language can look a little facile, but it doesn’t unduly undermine his expressive intent; Ibarra creates solid dramatic structures. With the dark Picasso Blue, he turns commedia dell’arte inside out. Starting out lightheartedly, he tightens the screws until Harlequin’s (Ibarra) heart is broken; Columbina has gone mad; and Pantalone (Ashby), the old fool, turns out to be a devilish manipulator. The puppetry’s mechanism is awkwardly conceived and the double duets looked unbalanced. Still, despite the oddly chosen Brahms quartet, my heart wound up in my throat.

In the trio Love Shirley, Ibarra’s lover/pimp character gets his comeuppance from Farrow and Glabe’s entertainers/hookers. The piece’s ambivalent relationships strike a note of disease. But even as you root for the women, it’s disconcerting to watch how Ibarra evokes the insidiousness of shifts in power. It makes you sit up.

Perhaps the lyrics in the finely crafted Café o Canela anchor its three sections too literally, but the piece plausibly portrays a disintegrating relationship. Listening to Ashby’s icy self involvement, after having watched Farrow’s plangently but strongly danced solo about marital loneliness, is chilling. The two call up the memory of a perfect love (Ibarra and Glabe in Mexican costumes) observed on their honeymoon. The lovey-dovey duet looks charming, but also like a saccharine projection of “native” life. In the climactic tango-inspired duet, Ashby and Farrow elastically drift and float until they finally cut the thread.

Litwinowicz’ two premieres, Rituals and Lonely, but not always alone make their own statements about what it means to be alive. In the simple but pristine Rituals (Farrow, Glabe, and Shapiro) different-colored scarves suggest the time passing of time and changed circumstances. Their fluid usage also evoke continuity within familiarity. Making excellent use of stage space, the dancers’ dissolving and reconfigured unisons, gentle canons and the periodic solos flow on top of a bed of constancy of, at the very least, purpose.

Lonely is one of the best dance/video works I can remember. The two media interlock tightly yet with flourish. Dancers on stage lusciously express — and sometimes shape — the thoughts and dreams of their video counterparts until Glabe reverses direction. Individually, in its distinct episodes and as an accumulation, Lonely convinces because it is smart, funny, and poignant.

Sparkle motion

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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0
Sparkle motion

arts@sfbg.com

FILM The wind blowing through the California Palace of the Legion of Honor courtyard would chill ordinary mortals to the bone on this Monday morning in early May. The museum is locked tight but the organ music that keeps wafting through its majestic outdoor columns seems oddly appropriate to the cavorting of two very slender, bare-chested young males and the object of their teasing attention, a spectacularly adorned ballerina. San Francisco Ballet dancers Jaime Garcia Castilla and Martyn Garside, and Trannyshack favorite Matthew Simmons, a.k.a. Peggy L’Eggs, apparently don’t mind a bit of physical hardship in the service of dance. They are the stars of Paul Festa’s new film, The Glitter Emergency.

Commissioned by ODC Theater, Glitter is the centerpiece of Festa’s full-length theater work, The Violin Show which will premiere in fall 2011. Right now on this gray day, the trio — with SFB dancer Myles Thatcher acting as choreographer — is dancing to music that only Festa hears.

He has had the score, Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in D Major, inside his head every since he first heard it as a teenager. Planning a career as a concert violinist, he started to play it at 15. “It’s music I always thought should be a ballet,” he explains in a phone interview from his home in San Francisco. To his ears it sounded like leftovers of some ballet music. Considering that the Concerto was written in 1878, one year after Swan Lake, that is not a surprise.

Growing up gay in the 1980s when there was a “huge closet door” in the way of role models, Festa was always latching on to historical figures who might have been or were rumored to be gay. So the Tchaikovsky concerto was a natural match. He remembers the first movement, in particular as “so extremely joyous, so over the top, so excessively pushing boundaries” that to him it overflowed into camp.

Drawing on his experience performing at the Trannyshack, he decided to perform at least part of the score in drag, pretending to lip-synch the music while actually playing it live. He tried it a few times but it didn’t work. For one thing, Festa remembers, “it’s very difficult to act and play the violin at the same time.” But he also found that, though he could make fun of something that he also deeply loves — an essential ingredient to contemporary drag — he himself could not physically embody that experience. “What I needed,” he explained, “was a drag queen.”

He found her in Peggy L’Eggs; a few years ago, he had accompanied her in a one-legged, roller-skating rendition of Fokine’s Dying Swan. She became Peg-Leg Ballerina, Glitter‘s Cinderella who desperately wants to become a dancer but whose dream seems unrealizable because of a substantial physical handicap. Two evil stepsisters (Rumi Missabu of the Cockettes and Eric Glaser) hold the poor thing captive until the arrival of superhero Stringendo (Festa on live violin) and his two pixie assistants.

It’s not by chance that Festa went into the world of ballet for this parable about hope and transformation. Ballet has long resonated in queer culture, probably in part because of its presentation of an “unnatural,” aestheticized, and idealized body — female and male. In many ways ballet is an absurd art. It shouldn’t be possible. Additionally, it embraces giving pleasure as an end in itself. In some eyes, this makes the art intellectually suspect, unlike modern dance, for instance, which supposedly deals with weightier, more substantial issues regarding the human condition. But for those outside accepted norms of being, ballet can be welcoming.

Since he is comfortable in both worlds, Festa structured his 20-minute ballet film as “a mashup between silent film and music video.” Growing up in San Francisco, he remembers every Friday night going to the Avenue Theater for its double bills of silent movies with live accompaniment. Interestingly, he thinks that silent film may be making something of a comeback, in part because of the work of Lady Gaga.

Though Glitter shimmers with rhinestones, confetti, and silliness, like a lot of ballets, its heartbeat is steady and strong. “Do not turn away from the magic inside you,” exhorts one of the film’s copiously strewn-about subtitles to which our Cinderella responds with the longest batting eyelashes ever seen on a would-be princess. It’s a lesson she will apply when she finally meets her “better” self (SFB dancer Sylvie Volosov).

It’s also a lesson Festa himself had to learn. And he too had a mentor. While still at Juilliard, focusing on becoming a concert violinist, he developed a hand ailment that stopped a budding performance career in music. At the same time, he entered a 15-year long friendship with one of his professors, Albert Fuller, a pioneer in advocating the use of original instruments, who also taught performance practice at Juilliard.

“He and I used to sit at his bar for hours late into the night and listen to music and he would narrate his theater of the imagination.” A Schubert quartet would become a dramatic opera, a Poulenc organ concerto a horror film, and an old washerwoman would dance to Bach. But Fuller also taught him how to live his life. “He had a mantra that he kept repeating: ‘fantasy comes before fact.’ ” It may take a wise old professor or an outrageously silver-clad violinist in seven-inch platform shoes to turn dreams into reality, but as Festa’s Glitter attempts to show, it can be done. And we can laugh all the way through the journey.

Glitter will be shown with Festa’s homage to Fuller, Apparition of the Eternal Church (full disclosure: I have family members who appear in Apparition), a film inspired by Olivier Messiaen’s music.

THE GLITTER EMERGENCY AND APPARITION OF THE ETERNAL CHURCH

Thurs/27, 8 p.m., $10

Supperclub

657 Harrison, SF

www.theglitteremergency.com

 

Global movement

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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Global movement

Albert Einstein said that “dancers are the athletes of God.” He didn’t say which god he had in mind, nor has the quote made all that much sense. What’s so hot about being in sports? Martha Graham tried to explain it by saying dancers achieved that exalted status through the practice and discipline of their daily work. But couldn’t that be said for any artist? Still, looking at the lineup of dancers at this year’s San Francisco International Arts Festival makes me think Einstein had a point after all.

Dancers are a breed not quite of this world. They certainly are among the most unpractical people roaming this wobbly universe. What they make doesn’t last. It can’t be bought, pawned, hung on the wall, or reproduced to bring in royalties. Their careers are short. Except for the very few, they can’t support themselves with their work, and every time they practice their craft they risk one limb or another. Fortunately for the rest of us, they know what they are in for, and they learn to live on air and love. What dancers also appreciate is a good floor — no splinters, not too slippery, not too sticky. And, yes please, some decent lights.

That — and the till — is what the San Francisco International Arts Festival can offer its dancers, who come from as far away as Brazzaville, the Republic of Congo; Vevey, Switzerland; and Berlin. They also come from Boston, Brooklyn, and the Bay Area. Additionally, the festival, now in its seventh year and still a shoestring operation, assists with the intricacies of individual fundraising — and acquiring visas — but the responsibility for production costs and traveling remains up to the invited artists. This is not the way it’s supposed to work. Whoever said that the biggest supporters of the arts are the artists hit it closer than Einstein did.

But in these parlous times, we take what we can get. The offerings this year certainly look intriguing. What’s not to like in these double bills and single program evenings?

Dana Lawton Dances with Studio Rue Dance For Who is She?, Lawton and three colleagues choreograph famous women on each other; Lawton will be Marilyn Monroe, by Jia Wu — who had previously never heard of the blond bombshell. Perception also shaped Studio Rue Dance’s Byb Chanel Bibene’s solo, Clinic. On leaving the Congo, he had to learn the hard way that whatever he did, he was first seen as “black” and only then as a “man.”

Christian Burns and Anthony Discenza with Company Prototype Status Rarely do visuals and dance support each other as effectively as in the Burns/Discenza Beneath Your Sheltering Hand which looks at how the media messes with our psyche. The Swiss Company Prototype’s Marvin — watch an android come to life — will also be performed (with two other solos) on their own individual program.

Erica Essner Performance Co-op with Gretchen Garnett and Dancers Ten years ago the Erica Essner Performance Co-op moved to New York. Now they are back because Essner wants us to see “her astounding dancers” in two recent pieces. Last year Gretchen Garnett and Dancers performed as part of SFIAF’s Mash — wild, wooly, and worthwhile — Union Square series. This year they have an indoor spot.

Single slots are taken by Amy Seiwert/im’ijre and motion sensor wizard Frieder Weiss‘ world premiere, White Noise, a collaboration Seiwert loved because it pushed her outside her comfort zone. Boston’s Collage will bring East European music and dance. The Bay Area’s The Foundry isn’t asking you to come to see its Please Love Me in a theater. They’ll come to you, perhaps in a bar, park, or parking lot. 

SAN FRANCISCO INTERNATIONAL ARTS FESTIVAL

May 19–31

Various venues, most shows $25

1-800-838-3006

www.sfiaf.org

Human, nature

David Talbot
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Human, nature

arts@sfbg.com

DANCE If Deborah Slater had not grown up into an artist, she might have tried her hand at science. She bases her dance theater pieces on extensive studies of physical reality. Her inspiration can come from concrete objects like furniture (Hotel of Memories) and paintings (The Desire Line) or less tangible phenomena like sleep (The Sleepwatchers), perception (Passing as … The Mathematics of Being), and death (A Hole in the World). Accessing Slater’s works can take patience, but her creations stay with you because they are formally inventive, finely crafted, and engage the mind and heart long after you leave the theater. But rarely have the many strands she weaves together resulted in a piece as sprawling, ambitious, and poetic as her 20th anniversary premiere Men Think They Are Better than Grass.

Seen at a preview performance, Men — the title is not anti-male, but refers to humankind — takes on nothing less than the destruction of the environment that started probably as soon as humans were given "dominion" over the earth. Instead of reiterating well-rehearsed arguments, evidence, and position papers, Slater and codirector/dramaturge Jayne Wenger went to poet W.S. Merwin. Excerpts of his writings provide the backbone and scenario for this evocative, richly textured canvas of sound, color, language, and movement. The poetry, heard on tape and — helpfully — reprinted in the program, was recorded by a number of well-known Bay Area artists.

Men explores human alienation from nature in a series of imagistic episodes that, though loosely structured, build momentum. They are dark (dancers rushing about in increasing desperation), funny (Justin Flores transforming himself into a man made of briefcases), and dreamy (people trying to dig up the firm ground of history that proves to be unexpectedly porous). Perhaps most remarkable was the way Men deepened its sense of entropy, barely alleviated at the end by something, at least, suggesting a way out. As the piece darkened, the confrontations between the dancers, who had stripped off their business black to reveal battle fatigue greens, became increasingly agitated. They intensified to the point where they had a Lord of the Flies aspect to them. You also wanted to gasp for air every time the dancers crushed themselves into an ever-smaller piece of terrain.

Still, at this point, the choreography worked best in the small units: Travis Rowland heaving one woman after another, Private Freeman on a "war path" to protect his potted plant, and the fierce Kerry Mehling in anything she lent her regal body to. Some of the ensemble sections, particularly the unisons, needed more of a profile; they sometimes looked tense and rushed beyond what I think the intention was. All the dancers — Natalie Green, Kelly Kemp, Wendy Rein, Breton Tyner-Bryan, Shaunna Vella, and the others already mentioned — contributed to the choreography.

Men was a collaborative enterprise in other ways as well. Thom Blum and Floor Vahn’s soundscape of natural and animal sounds beautifully evoked the natural world, so increasingly absent in the lives of these depraved-deprived people. Elaine Buckholtz’ videography added its own poetry. Allen Willner designed the dramatic lighting, Laura Hazlett the fine costumes. What did not work was Mikiko Uesugi’s metaphoric use of plastic sheets for chopped-down trees. *

MEN THINK THEY ARE BETTER THAN GRASS

Thurs/6-Sat/8, 8 p.m.; Sun/9, 5 p.m., $25

Z Space at Theater Artaud

450 Florida, SF

www.deborahslater.org

Tropic of dancer

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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Tropic of dancer

arts@sfbg.com

DANCE Judging from the packed salsa classes he’s been teaching at Dance Mission Theater for 12 years, Ramón Ramos Alayo is correct: the Bay Area is a hotbed for Cuban-Caribbean culture. But even he underestimated its pull. When I spoke to him on a recent balmy spring evening, he was expecting that night’s attendance to drop. “It’s light and warm, so people like to spend their free time outside,” he explained before heading for class. Wrong. If more aficionados had shown up, they would have had to move the furniture.

In addition to being a highly sought-after instructor — he also teaches modern dance at ODC — Ramos Alayo is a dancer, musician, choreographer, and the director of the annual CubaCaribe Festival (this year’s installment takes place at Dance Mission Theater April 16-May 2). Multitasking may be in his blood, but it’s also something he was trained for.

At the Havana National School of Art, where Ramos Alayo enrolled at age 11, every student had to study ballet, folklórico, and modern dance. “If you didn’t pass the grade in each genre on every level, you were out,” he remembered. After getting his master’s, he had the choice of joining either a modern or traditional company: he went with two modern groups. But when he founded his own Alayo Dance Company in San Francisco in 2002, he made its mission inclusive, fusing Afro-Cuban, modern, traditional folkloric, and popular Cuban dance styles. Although for some fusion suggests loss of identity, to Ramos Alayo it indicates creating something new from what exists.

As a choreographer and performer, Ramos Alayo is as at home in dances based on the Yoruban Orisha myths performed at the Ethnic Dance Festival as he is in original works inspired by political history and personal experience. His 10 dancers have to be able to do it all. Blood + Sugar is a raw dancer theater work about slavery; La Madre takes an intimate look at family. One of his earliest pieces, Wrong Way, is an athletic yet poignant duet for two men. He doesn’t recall the details of the recent Grace Notes, a free-flowing improvisation with bass player Jeff Chambers, but he does remember how good it felt to be performing it. “We had never rehearsed. We just looked at the score, and I had some spatial cues.”

Ramos Alayo’s wide-open approach to what it means to be contemporary artist living in the diaspora also shapes his curating of CubaCaribe, now in its sixth year. Under the overall banner of “From Katrina to Port-au-Prince,” this year’s festival honors the survivors of recent catastrophes. The first weekend will present Haitian and Haitian-rooted ensembles. New York’s Adia Whitaker is a modern, Haitian trained dancer-choreograher; Afoutayi recently relocated from Haiti to San Francisco; and Kumbuka is a New Orleans-based Haitian-Carnival ensemble. Afoutayi and Kumbuka make their San Francisco debuts.

The second weekend traditionally showcases local artists. Liberation Dance Theater’s current work is based on modern dance and reggaeton — a mix of Caribbean-based music styles. Alfafia is a collectively-run Haitian group from San Francisco City College. In the past, Paco Gomes has elegantly fused Afro-Brazilian with modern dance.

On first glance, Los Lupenos de San Jose, a group known for its rendition of regional Mexican dances, is not a natural for CubaCaribe. What got them an invitation was Salón Mexico, Susan Cashion’s choreography of social dances like el danzón and the mambo. They originated in Cuba but started their worldwide journey by way of Mexico.

Ramos Alayo’s new hour-long Migrations was inspired by New York subway performers. Joining his own ten dancers for the third weekend will be a hip-hop artist, a tap dancer, and a steel-drum musician.

CUBACARIBE FESTIVAL OF DANCE AND MUSIC

Through May 2, Fri–Sat, 8 p.m.;

Sun, 7 p.m.; April 25, 3 p.m., $12–$22

Dance Mission Theater

3316 24th St., SF

www.cubacaribe.org

Bright futures

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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0
Bright futures

arts@sfbg.com

DANCE This past weekend, Kendra Kimbrough Barnes and José Navarrete with Violeta Luna — CounterPULSE’s winter artists-in-residence — showed what artists can do, given time and space to work. Both tackled complex issues that extract high human costs. For Barnes it was imprisonment; for the Navarrete-Luna team, water. Both half-hour pieces will benefit from some refinement and rethinking.

Barnes calls her Home Is That Way? a work in progress, so one can hope it will return in a modified form. Home doesn’t even to attempt to untangle the morass surrounding the justice system, instead trying to shed light on the personal cost for prisoners and their families. Intimate yet far-reaching, Home has strong bones; they need to be fleshed out. Seen through Shelley Davis’ chain-link fence, Barnes, Clairemonica Figueroa, Kayos Makaya, and Travis Rowland are four automaton prisoners who do their own version of walking the walk. When Figueroa puts a slight drag into her step, she fills it with the weight in her soul.

The often haunting Home reworks all-too-familiar images well. The dancers spread-eagle themselves against the wall, and you don’t know whether there is guard behind them or whether they are trying to push the stones down. A lineup turns into a row boat with a futile dream of getting away. In a prison yard, the men work at bodybuilding, the women at connecting with each other. When Home attempts to recall a time of innocence, it runs into a common theatrical conundrum. It’s almost impossible for adults to slip into the skin of children. So these games of pattycake, kick the ball, and hopscotch look imposed instead of embodied. The piece’s un-credited writing, though undoubtedly heartfelt, also has a stiff earnestness to it that undercuts its emotional thrust. Davis’ set, including what looks a place for dreaming, needs better lighting.

At the end of another work in progress, New Rituals for a Desperate Era, Navarrete invites the audience to fill out a petition to Congress to recognize water as a human right. He explains that he wants the audience to go away having done something hopeful. Audiences will also take something good with them if a piece is rounded off successfully. He and Luna might try to do that in addition to the political gesture. Luna is a performance artist from Mexico whose finely tuned theatrical skills complement Navarrete’s more exuberant antics. Together they have created a wild ride that starts cosmically and ends in a carnivalesque phantasmagoria. Major credit has to go to long-time Bay Area designer Lauren Elder’s stunning set and costumes, the key to which are that detritus of modern society: the plastic water bottle.

Rituals is divided into distinct episodes, with Luna taking the lead in evoking a holistic perspective of nature with slow-paced but tightly controlled images of birthing and growth through sacred practices. Navarrete is a motor-mouthed huckster of “agua mágica” — the product of multinational greed — that promises to heal everything from asthma to sexual dysfunction. He also beautifully segues into a transformation from an oil-slicked subhuman into a dying fish who dreams of clean water. The final image of the transformation of the gods takes too long, though it’s worth the wait.

Last but not least

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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0
Last but not least

arts@sfbg.com

DANCE Looking at the last piece by the greatest choreographer of the second half of the 20th century seemed a daunting prospect. What if it was less than good? Could I see it as something that stood on its own terms regardless of the context?

My concerns evaporated the minute the curtain opened on Merce Cunningham’s Nearly 90(2), the traveling version of Nearly Ninety, which premiered on Cunningham’s 90th birthday, on April 19, 2009. (The superscript for the road show is surely a final twinkle from those pale blue Cunningham eyes.) The elaborate set is gone; the musicians (John King and Takeshisa Kusogi), performing former Led Zeppelin bass player John Paul Jones’s score, are now in the pit. What remains the same, one has to assume, is the choreography, still performed by a cast trained by Cunningham himself. Nearly 90(2) is an exquisite piece of and about dance making; it is perhaps the most intimate work of his extraordinary career.

Throughout his life, Cunningham resisted narrative readings, but in Nearly 90(2) I couldn’t help feeling the choreographer’s presence; he seemed to be looking at the dancers one by one as they walked in from opposite sides of the wings, as if on call. He paired this one with that one, tried to see what could be done with trios, and finally took a close look at some individuals. Watching the piece felt like observing the process of shape-giving.

The pacing was slow and deliberate; the clarity with which each torque, each angled limb, and each crossover step was given time to reach the fullness of its expression encouraged close watching. But it was not just the audience that was seeing through Cunningham’s eyes: the dancers, too, participated in this process of looking. They’d finish a phrase and then sit to see where the section would spin to with someone else. At one point, a trio — looking uncannily like a Henry Moore sculpture — implacably watched another trio and then returned to its own work.

With its multiple points of view, Cunningham’s choreography often looks structurally unfocused. Nearly 90(2) was formally transparent. The choreographer, one more time, contemplated a set of questions and, here, set them out in front of us like a diorama of possibilities. What could be done with, let’s say, that most basic of building stones, the duet? Are two dancers, physically apart, a duet? At what point do two duets become a quartet or four soloists? But Cunningham doesn’t care about the answers; he is interested in the questions.

When Andrea Weber and Rashaun Mitchell, the first of five couples, stretched, cantilevered, and folded their limbs, they were off-balance yet in equilibrium with each other. When all five duets engaged in similar encounters, you couldn’t miss the individuality of the combinations. No wonder fleet-footed Julie Cunningham and newcomer Jamie Scott smiled at each other in passing.

Before looking at each dancer individually, Cunningham explored trios that were more grounded than the often precarious duets, supported on two legs while the other two had landed somewhere in space. Here Cunningham’s dancers explored volume and weight. They first grew and contracted like a bellows, never letting go of each other even as Weber pulled herself across the stage like a plow horse. Later, the partners were knitted together through small, intricate exchanges, but they didn’t touch.

The solos finally looked like little bouquets that Cunningham wanted to pass to individual dancers: John Hinrichs’s push-up flipped open like a book, Melissa Toogood shone in sparkling footwork, and Mitchell’s hip rotations on top of a deep plié rolled across the stage like an earthquake.

So you think you can choreograph?

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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So you think you can choreograph?

arts@sfbg.com

DANCE On March 11, at the eighth Dance Discourse Project — an ongoing series of artist-driven discussions sponsored by CounterPULSE and Dancers’ Group — the topic was “Dance in Pop Culture.” Reality shows like So You Think You Can Dance? and Dancing With the Stars have raised questions about their effect on theater-based dance. Most participants agreed that these media-driven programs have created at least one beneficial change. For reasons cultural and historic, large sections of the population still think of dance as something unknown and unfamiliar. The popularity of these programs — controversial as they are in terms of artistic quality — have made dance more accessible and democratized the art.

The night after that discussion, democratization of a different type took place in the Mission. It was time for another entry in Dance Mission Theater’s long-running “Choreographer’s Showcase” series. Twice a year a cattle call goes out to dancers in the Bay Area. It’s not for a chance to audition or submit a proposal to be considered by experts. Rather, it’s a wide-open process: you have something you want to show, let ’em know — first come, first served.

The result is a freewheeling two hours of dance, with usually about 12 soloists and groups. They range from the barely competent to the highly professional. The house is packed with family and friends who come to cheer their favorites and are exposed to a wide spectrum of theatrical dance. This latest show was no different.

Three soloists stood out. Herve Kayos Makaya’s La Lutte Continue, performed by the choreographer, showed a superb dancer dragging two heavy burlap bags before bursting into an explosive African and Western vocabulary mix of leaping feet and racing arms. Currently a work in progress, the finished Lutte is something to look forward to at the CubaCaribe Festival in late April. First Creation had choreographer-dancer Alison Hammond scoot around the floor, shaking a tambourine. Kneeling on the floor, flowing hair obscuring her head, she deployed neck muscles the size of a prizefighter into a rollicking earthquake before sending her long legs into crotch-exposing propeller rotations. Surely this was one of the oddest performances seen on that stage. Liz Brent’s masked that person you meet was so short it was over before you noticed it. Though tentative, the idea of using hands as a primary expressive tool warrants further exploration.

I have a soft spot for the large Strong Pulse Crew, Kirstin E. Williams’ hip-hop student group from City College. For some of the dancers, it’s a chance to shine; for others, it’s a chance to try, and there is room here for all. Bringin’ It Back Remix featured a welcome dream section in which the dancers choreographed their own parts. Meanwhile, Kimberly B. Valmore teaches college students using a ballet-based eclectic vocabulary. The imagistic Answer the Call, with a central couple surrounded by an ensemble moved with a pulsating febrile intensity, nicely balanced stasis against full-force propulsion. Some of Valmore’s dancers have professional potential. Silvana Sousa’s samba choreography for Syncope of Brazil highlighted the difference between dancers and performers. Except for the three soloists, these samba dancers were too self-consciously awkward to bring to their performance that all-important ingredient called projection.

Two companies managed to create compelling emotional atmospheres. Lee Parmino and Janey Madamba’s Awakening made good use of a small corps in a piece that suggested disruption and healing of a relationship. There was something vaguely ominous in Hilary Palanza’s bent-over and head-butting duets A Perplexing and Brief Study of My Loss. She was shattered by more the score’s sounds of breaking glass.

Creativity continuum

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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Creativity continuum

arts@sfbg.com

DANCE Conceptual art and minimalism are not usually associated with dance. Yet the terms frequently swam into consciousness at last weekend’s three choreographers program at Theater Artaud. Spare, rigorously crafted works by Hope Mohr, Molissa Fenley, and Yvonne Rainer made for an unusually satisfying evening of mostly pure dance. Mohr presented the program in the context of her company’s "third home season: three generations."

Rainer’s 1966 Trio A is a legendary work, originally performed by three dancers as part of Judson Church Dance’s revolutionary rethinking of the art form. It consists of a single, intricately structured, four-and-a-half minute dance phrase, presented impersonally and as evenly on keel as possible. As performed — out of sync — by Mohr and Robbie Cook, Trio A offered different perspectives on the same material. Watching it felt like observing two Rubik’s cubes in action, and it was totally involving.

In the second version, Trio A Pressured, Cook assumed the role of an obstacle trying to push Mohr, who was repeating the phrase, out of her single-minded commitment. He hopped in front of her, mirrored her movements, and acted like a mechanized clown. Although not that interesting in itself, it turned Mohr into something akin to a sleepwalker.

Hope turned the middle part of this so-very-welcome program over to Fenley, who has been making pristine, tightly built solos for more than 30 years. Mass Balance is her latest piece, designed for herself and a very long white pole.

Fenley moved little — a couple of pawing step here, slight turns of positions there. Most noticeable were her hands: they are gnarled but strong, with fingers that curl like roots that have grown around a foreign object. By the end of Mass, the pole was no longer a stranger. As she quietly held it with an outstretched arm, it became an extension of her body even as she got ready — but didn’t — to let it go.

In her gray tunic and pants, Fenley had something of a priestess about her. Yet that thing in her hands talked a lot. It became a ballet barre, an oar, an offering, something that welcomed a caress, a challenge to be controlled, perhaps even wings. Even if you were not imagistically inclined, the beauty of Fenley’s reserve and her mastery over time and space were enough. I’m not even sure she needed Cenk Ergun’s electronic score.

Mohr named her new Far From Perfect accurately. This quintet is not perfect, but it’s very good — her best work yet. Most satisfying was to see how carefully she shifted gears and opened the complex subject about the nature, and process, of making art into a contemplation of the pain human beings inflict on each other. These two subjects do not naturally go together, but Mohr made sense of the connection.

The first part, with its shifting relationships in which dancers constantly reconfigure space, was pure dance — economical, linear, fluid. But small inconsistencies crept in. They were like the first raindrops you aren’t quite sure you felt. When Emily Hite quit the stage, we were left with two couples, and lightning struck. They kicked, threw, and imprisoned each other, tearing apart connections but also hugging until the tempest passed and one woman was left weeping.

The dancers (Hite, Laura Blakely, Derek Harris, Cameron Growden, and Tegan Schwab), the collaged music, and the text — a compilation of Mohr’s writing and a poem by Brenda Hillman — were excellent. At 50 minutes, Far can be tightened; it should be seen again.

Zaccho Dance keeps it in the family

John Elberling
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0

Thirty years of surviving and thriving in an area as competitive as dance, and twenty year of community involvement is more than enough of a reason for a party. Let’s say a big gala with invited donors who can help balance the budget? A retrospective of what has gone well? Nope. That’s not how Joanna Haigood’s head works. For her, it’s a reason for “Family Day,” an open house for the community with classes for the youngest and those a little stiff around the edges. So how about Movement and Storytelling for kids, hip-hop for teens, a Dance Work Out for a sedentary parent, and Circus Art for grandma. She won’t swing from the trapeze, but her spirit will get a boost. Each 45-minute class starts on the hour, and food and refreshments are provided.

Sat/6, 10 a.m.-4 p.m., free

Zaccho Dance Theatre Studio

1777 Yosemite, Studio 330, SF

(415) 822-6744

www.zaccho.org

 

 

Connecting flights

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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Connecting flights

arts@sfbg.com

DANCE The buzz surrounding the Akram Khan Company’s second Bay Area visit — they first appeared in 2003 as part of the San Francisco International Arts Festival — proved that sometimes pre-performance excitement is not the result of marketing hype. A copresentation by San Francisco Performances and Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, Khan’s bahok (2008), a 75-minute evocation of displacement in a world constantly on the move, proved witty, humane, and haunting, despite its sentimental ending.

Though bahok (“carrier” in Bengali) is set for an international cast of eight, this was of less interest than the way Khan peeled away each dancer’s anonymity. The piece showed individuals who tease, love, fight, and ultimately find commonality despite linguistic and cultural differences. Each, some more clearly than others, was a “carrier” of the cultural forces that shaped them. But that’s not all they were.

Tall Taiwanese ballerina Cheng-Fang Wu’s character was an image-obsessed show-off. Her duet with the much shorter Indian Saju was pure Marx Brothers. Seoul-born Young-Jin Kim appears hopelessly lost in an interview with an immigration official but becames a determined peacemaker when breaking up a fistfight. And what about the neurotically self-possessed Spaniard Eulalia Ayguade Farro? She’s the one who breaks the ice by picking up a bag dropped by the catatonically staring Sung-Hoon Kim.

bahok is set in a place of transit, an airport, a bus station — but also, perhaps, a center for processing migrants. In Fabiana Piccioli’s somber lighting, the sense of nowhere numbs spirits as well as limbs, as those assembled wait for their numbers to come up. From anonymity and suffocating stasis, Khan built bahok into something like a community of hope — still waiting, but bathed in what looked suspiciously like a sunrise.

With an immaculate sense of timing, Khan layers individual dramatic episodes with fiercely physical dancing that rebounds from the floor even as it gives into it. The work started slowly with tiny movements from the seated dancers. A leg opens; an arm drops; papers are rustled. The immobile Sung-Hoon Kim seemed planted in front of a babbling electronic message-board, yet he had the first big solo, in which he sliced space with fractured fury only to melt into the ground. Then, one by one, the dancers opened themselves.

Among the most complex characters was a gymnastically flipping Farro, who raced around like an errant firecracker and turned into an attack dog when somebody dared to touch her precious papers. She just about ate the glued-to-his cell phone Saju when he didn’t seem to know all that much about Indian mythology. The dynamic Saju, who has a flair for the deadpan, later defended himself in a hilarious, but matter-of-factly delivered, pan-Asian solo.

Khan doesn’t shy away from metaphors; he slips them unobtrusively into his physical language. South African dancer Shanell Winlock, who tried to facilitate the interview with the non-English-speaking Young-Jin Kim, tells the invisible interrogator that she carries her father’s shoes in her bag. Later, having donned a man’s jacket, she stepped into them and haltingly performed a half-remembered version of an over-boot dance invented by South African miners.

One of bahok‘s wonderfully humorous duets showed Slovak Andrej Petrovic trying to wake up his floppy-doll Korean girlfriend, Set-Byeol Kim. Her resistance drives him to distraction, but they make a go of it, her still-sleeping form sitting on top of him as they try to find a common rhythm for their competing arms. Their bumbling was touching, funny, and all too believable.

I just wish Khan’s ending had not literally spelled out bahok‘s meaning on that otherwise well-used message-board. There was no need for that. We got it just fine.

The heart of art

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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0
The heart of art

arts@sfbg.com

DANCE In 1960, San Francisco City Hall’s glorious staircase became infamous when police turned fire hoses on protesters at a hearing of the House Un-American Activities Committee. Fifty years later, these same stairs will become the stage for a very different event: Erika Chong Shuch Performance Project’s Love Everywhere, a celebration of love and marriage equality.

Chong Shuch had never heard of the protest incident when Dancers’ Group commissioned her as part of its ONSITE initiative — free performances in public spaces that offer artists the opportunity to create something otherwise not possible (Joanna Haigood, Patrick Makuakane, and Anna Halprin are previous participants; Benjamin Levy is next). When Chong Shuch received the grant, she was asked to consider the Civic Center area as a possible site.

She first looked at the San Francisco Public Library, but upon walking into City Hall she was struck “by the beauty of the architecture of this public space that belongs to everybody living here.” She knew she wanted to make a work about “love and joy and the big things in my life as opposed to the difficulties.” Deciding on a Valentine’s Day piece, she was reminded that Feb. 12 is the sixth anniversary of when the city started issuing marriage licenses to same-sex couples. That sealed the deal.

“I remembered how incredibly joyous it was to be in that City Hall space at the time, and I was inspired to try to generate that kind of joy,” she recalls.

You certainly couldn’t miss the love and joy in the couple dances, spiraling chains, and whirling circles practiced at a recent rehearsal in the Margaret Jenkins Performance Lab. Fifty or so performers (“At this point, I am not sure myself of how many,” she says) answered Chong Shuch’s call for volunteers to join her octet of professional dancers. These folks — primarily young, but with a gray head or two — were having the time of their lives.

Two also had a surprise awaiting them. In addition to calling for volunteers, Chong Shuch sent out a request for marriage vows that people had written for each other. She received around 30, ranging from “African ceremonial” to “quirky and artsy” and “formal, God-ly.” These vows form the texts for Love. One became the basis for a call-and-response: “I promise to pay close attention; I promise to listen.” But one couple recognized lyrics from a Daveen DiGiacomo song composed for the piece — because they had selected them for their wedding. “It’s a lovely way for this couple to have their own vows reflected back to them,” Chong Shuch says.

Using amateur performers — “I don’t like to call them that, I prefer to simply call them people” Chong Shuch says — seems to be something of a trend among Bay Area choreographers. Joe Goode, Janice Garrett and Charles Moulton, and Chong Shuch in her 2008 After All have done it successfully. It’s a way to fill large spaces where the added numbers often serve as choruses, but it’s also a sign of what might be called an attempt to “democratize” dance.

For Chong Shuch, this means thinking differently about her own role as choreographer. Just as she increasingly seeks her professional dancers’ input, she also thinks that “regardless of their training or lack thereof, individual expressions are still of value and of worth” — and, therefore, have a place on stage.

LOVE EVERYWHERE

Fri/12, noon–1 p.m., free

San Francisco City Hall Rotunda

One Dr. Carlton B. Goodlett Place, SF

Sat/13, performances TBA (check Web site for updates)

Sun/14, 9 a.m. and 11 a.m., free

Glide Memorial Church

330 Ellis, SF

www.dancersgroup.com, www.erikachongshuch.org

Queer and present

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Queer and present

DANCE In the middle of Keith Hennessy’s “A Queer 20th Anniversary” performances — which end this weekend with the Bay Area premiere of his 2008 Crotch (all the Joseph Beuys references in the world cannot heal the pain, confusion, regret, cruelty, betrayal, or trauma …) — the reprise of his two-part How to Die (2006) nearly filled Dance Mission Theatre. At the end of the evening, he asked for donations to help him defray a looming $5,000 deficit. Just about everyone gave.

Perhaps Hennessy didn’t mind begging. Stepping out of a persona and addressing the audience directly, after all, is part of his artistic make-up. Still, I winced. After two decades of investigating theater as a locus for truth-seeking, of innovating formal structures, of honing performance skills and creating work that is serious and thought-provoking, an artist deserves better.

Although Hennessy has a sizable, loyal audience, primarily in the queer community, his theatrically pungent work rattles everyone’s cage; injustice, poverty, violence, and hypocrisy set him off. Broadway it ain’t. Compelling — and sometimes uncomfortable — dance theater it is. You don’t have to agree with Hennessy’s perspective on sex’s redemptive power to appreciate the richness of his references, the skill with which he translates ideas to the stage, and the force of his commitment to what he does.

Hennessy is a stripper, not because he often performs in the nude, but because he tears off the blinders that protect him and us from what we don’t want to see. The question, of course, is what remains. Vulnerability for sure. But perhaps Hennessy is also a romantic, hoping to find something pure underneath all the garbage we accumulate.

In Homeless USA, part one of How to Die, he makes us look at the homeless in front of our noses. In part two, American Tweaker, he conjures up the drug-addled sexual abandon of the early 1980s. Even on second viewing, neither work was easy to watch. There is something of the fleshy rawness of a Francis Bacon canvas about them. But Hennessy also pushes theatrical verisimilitude to the point of absurdity, which allows an audience to step back from the emotional onslaught.

Homeless USA was derived from research on homeless men — many of them veterans — who commit suicide by being decapitated by passing trains. Hennessy started out gently, with Jules Beckman as a pugnacious sidekick, but turned up the heat by “masturbating” on the train tracks, and stumbling over the list of reasons to commit suicide. While “drowning” himself in a bucket, he became his own lighting designer. Attached to a string threaded through his nose, he recalled a delicate Petrouchka. In these scenes, Hennessy’s intensity — he often approaches a kind of religious fervor in his performances — was riveting.

At the core of the manic American Tweaker, a train-wreck evocation of a sex-obsessed disco and bathhouse scene, was a prolonged, extremely violent (though simulated) scene of anal intercourse. It ended with Hennessy whimpering on the floor. Addressing the audience, he confessed that at this point “I usually don’t know what to say.” Neither did I. The final healing ritual had Hennessy hanging upside down, Seth Eisen as an apparition from A Thousand and One Nights, and Beckman’s wondrous music. Rituals necessitate a community of believers. I wish I could have been one of them.

In Crotch, Hennessy draws props from his performance theory studies and (as the piece’s full title suggests) the work of the late German artist and philosopher Joseph Beuys. Among the most clearly referential are a tub of lard and a piece of felt: Beuys claimed after his Luftwaffe plane crashed on the Crimean Front in 1944, Tatar tribes people saved his life by wrapping him in lard and felt. The way Hennessy uses the lard is simultaneously freaky and profound.

CROTCH (ALL THE JOSEPH BEUYS REFERENCES IN THE WORLD CANNOT HEAL THE PAIN, CONFUSION, REGRET, CRUELTY, BETRAYAL, OR TRAUMA …)

Fri/29–Sun/31, 8 p.m., $15–$25

Dance Mission Theatre

3316 24th St, SF

www.brownpapertickets.com/event/82278

Swans, symmetry, and sensations

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Swans, symmetry, and sensations

DANCE Looking back over a year’s dance performances feels like reading a horoscope backward. Were there surprises, disappointments, new loves, emerging trends, familiar encounters, and reasons for hope and despair? Of course. Perhaps the best part of this yearly exercise is that it allows works to bubble up that for one reason or another — quality, daring, perspective, innovation — stuck in the mind. You want to see them again. Some, you actually will. As for the not-that-again, forget-it, or please-don’t pieces, they already have sunk into the grand pool of oblivion. The following is a baker’s dozen of top picks, chosen roughly in the order in which they were seen.

Sean Dorsey’s dance-theater piece Lou, based on the writings of transgender pioneer Lou Sullivan and danced by Dorsey, Brian Fisher, Juan de la Rosa, and Nol Simonse, was a penetrating portrait of one man’s courage and lust for life. It also highlighted Dorsey’s increasingly fluid skill in fusing language and dance.

San Francisco Ballet’s most recent Swan Lake (to be reprised in January 2010) is an odd mix of traditional (the choreography) and edgy (the production). By using the bold design of a ballet neophyte, Broadway-credited Jonathan Fensom, Helgi Tomasson took a huge risk in offending traditionalists who like their swans pure. Danced fabulously well, this is a Swan Lake for our own time.

Pichet Klunchun and Myself was just a one-night stand, but what a night it was. To watch French super-theorist Jérôme Bel and classical Thai dancer Klunchun play their intellectual ping pong game about life, dance, culture, and everything in between was to watch two master performers at work.

The big deal about Jess Curtis/Gravity’s brainy and sensuous The Symmetry Project was not that Curtis and Maria Francesca Scaroni performed nude, but that they embodied the idea of relationships — physical, intellectual, emotional, erotic — as being constantly in play.

Presented by the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art in conjunction with their exhibit on William Kentridge, The Return of Ulysses was Kentridge’s translation of Monteverdi’s jewel into puppet theater. The multiple perspectives on time and place and the exquisite cooperation between puppets and singers were awe-inspiring.

ODC/Dance — just because of who they are. Sometimes we tend to take established hometown companies for granted. Yet these dancers have never looked better. Additionally, both Brenda Way’s In the Memory of the Forest and KT Nelson’s Grassland overflowed with commanding and beautifully shaped ideas.

We know Heidi Schweiker best as an interpreter of other people’s choreography. That’s why it was so gratifying to see her first full evening of work. Dreams of Speaking showed a choreographer of intelligence, imagination, and a fine sense of craft.

Ramón Ramos Alayo’s fifth annual Cuba Caribe Festival packed them in. It’s SoMa’s own ethnic dance festival sporting a highly partisan and knowledgeable audience and performers who compete — in a friendly way. High points were the sassy female Las Que Son Son and Alayo dancing up a storm with Silfredo La O Vigo.

Seen in a drizzly rain on a preview performance, Spirit of Place (to be reprised this spring), Anna Halprin’s tribute to husband Lawrence Halprin’s reimagined Stern Grove Theater, was a gorgeous response to a space where nature and art collaborate. The dancers looked like spirits emanating from this magisterial grass and granite environment.

Togetherness suits artistic and life partners Janice Garrett and Charles Moulton. For their second collaboration, The Illustrated Book of Invisible Stories (which returns in January 2010), they worked with two groups of completely different dancers. The result was mysterious, mesmerizing, and surprisingly fresh.

The big surprise at the San Francisco International Arts Festival was the extraordinarily skilled and theatrically vibrant The Angel and the Woodcutter, South Korea’s Cho-In Theatre’s eloquent retelling in movement of a popular Korean fairy tale. It deserved a larger audience.

Suzanne Farrell Ballet’s lecture-demonstration, The Balanchine Couple, served as a vivid reminder that Balanchine never ran out of ideas for pas de deux. The nine on this program could not have been more different — all of them first-rate. The program also brought home the painful truth that such finely detailed and musically phrased Balanchine interpretations are a rarity.

Sometimes it helps to look beyond the hook. The big deal about South African dancer Gregory Maqoma’s Beautiful Me was that he used material from three other (cooperating) artists for his own choreography. Fair enough, but what left this audience member speechless was the grace, virility, and technical and emotional virtuosity with which Maqoma realized this portrayal of self.

Finally, the Performing Diaspora Festival was an ambitious project “featuring traditional forms as a basis for experimentation and innovation.” It boasted an elaborate support structure of studio time, blogs, workshops, and symposia. In the two programs I saw, the work ranged from first rate to mediocre. Fortunately, this is a two-year project — so let’s toast to 2010.

Keefer of the flame

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Keefer of the flame

arts@sfbg.com

DANCE Next year it will be 30 years since choreographer and dance maven Krissy Keefer cofounded the radical feminist Wallflower Collective in Oregon, and 25 years since she relocated her social activist Dance Brigade Company to San Francisco. Perhaps those upcoming anniversaries naturally suggested a time for taking stock. Or perhaps it’s that Keefer’s 17-year-old daughter Fredrika (remember the little girl who couldn’t get admitted to the San Francisco Ballet School because she had "the wrong body"?) now dances with the company invited a look at the future — both Keefer’s and the country’s.

The new, full-evening The Great Liberation upon Hearing, Keefer’s largest work in years, is based on the Tibetan Book of the Dead; it runs Nov. 13-22 at Laney College in Oakland. For Keefer, this meant revisiting material she had already worked with in the 1995 Ballet of the Banshees. But her perspective has changed.

"I have been making issue-oriented work for over 20 years," she explains at her home base, Dance Mission Theater. "None of it has actually improved the social environment. The international trafficking of women is worse; the prison system is worse; the abuse of children and women is worse. And the polar cap, something I have made work about for years, is melting. That is no joke."

She admits having been skeptical about the new administration, yet jumped on the Obama bandwagon because "I did not want to be a party pooper." Now she is developing serious doubts. "What will happen in 2012? What if our puffed-up idea of hope doesn’t work out? What do we have left then?"

Strong-willed with a powerful voice and as articulate as she is opinionated, Keefer also has a sense of humor. Describing herself as "a little bit of Paul Revere because I always want to shout ‘wake up, wake up, wake up’!" she figured that theater-based information about that universal leveler — death and dying — might actually be useful in these troubled times.

"Useful" has been a key component in all of Keefer’s work. As an agent for social change in life and art, she may not have seen the hoped-for results. Nevertheless, she still believes that art can become a catalyst for people to "look deeper into our community structures or dig into our own personal hopes, joys, and oppression."

She can also point to at least one area of success where she has made important contributions: "Women’s music and culture have given rise to a whole generation of women who seem themselves reflected in it." Integral to Dance Brigade activities is its all-female taiko group; Grrrl Brigade, a junior ensemble for girls 9-18; and women-focused festivals such as the annual "SkyDancers: Women who Fly Through the Air." So perhaps taking on the taboo of death is just another way to accomplish Keefer’s dual goals of making good art and good social road maps. "We all have to die, and I find the Buddhist way actually liberating. It takes the fear of death away."

Her involvement with the Tibetan way of dying is also deeply personal. "When Nina [Fichter, Keefer’s friend and cofounder of Dance Brigade] died, I read the Tibetan Book of the Dead for 49 days." Thematically, Liberation is probably as big and ambitious a project as she has undertaken.

In a run-through at the company’s Dance Mission Theater, two weeks prior to the premiere, Liberation looked like a pretty straightforward dance theater realization of the process — in Tibetan Buddhist belief — that happens from the moment of death until reincarnation into a new life. Unusual for Dance Brigade, the cast includes a number of men: newcomer Clint Calimlim, the very experienced Jose Navarrete, and the magisterial Ramon Ramos Alayo.

The book is written in the form of a guide talking to the deceased to make the journey as peaceful as possible. The direct speech lends itself to the kind of dramatic dance theater Keefer often embraces. Here her voice weaves in and out of dance passages and speaks as much to the audience ("this is what will happen to you") as to the dead woman (portrayed by Lena Gatchalian).

The gorgeously intertwined Ramos Alayo and Tina Banchero represent the Samantabhadra, the Primordial Buddha who appears to the lucky ones at the moment of death. Recognizing the blinding light of ultimate reality, they enter nirvana. ("They are off the wheel," Keefer laconically observes.) Like most mortals, Gatchalian’s character has to go through "bardo" (transitional states) before being reincarnated. On her journey, she encounters the five Buddha families — in both their supportive and wrathful manifestations. Since they are danced by stylistically very different dancers, Keefer encouraged them to choreograph their own characters. The remaining choreography is by Keefer with contributions by Sara Shelton Mann. *

THE GREAT LIBERATION UPON HEARING

Nov. 13–22

Thurs.–Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun, 7 p.m., $23

Laney College Theater

900 Fallon, Oakl.

(415) 273-4633

www.brownpapertickets.com

Nol Simonse

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Nol Simonse

arts@sfbg.com

Nol Simonse has no preconceptions about what he wants in a boyfriend, except one. "He has to be able to cut and color a mohawk," the 36-year-old dancer explains before a rehearsal at Dance Mission Theater. His own have ranged from huge to skull-hugging and have tapped into all the colors of the rainbow.

His hair might be the first thing you notice about the tall, reed-thin, and (currently) blond Simonse. But it’s not what you remember once you’ve seen him on stage, with or without an adorned head. He can melt to the floor and give the impression he’s spilling out of his skin; the next moment, he might be caressing some invisible tendril and reaching for the sun. No wonder he is ubiquitous in San Francisco dance.

Simonse has been dancing for major companies like Janice Garrett and Dancers and Stephen Pelton Dance Theater since 2002. Garrett calls him "an amazingly soulful" artist; Pelton admires him because he is always "fully present within the movement." Simonse was a founding member of Kunst-Stoff, was part of Dandelion Dance Theater’s Undressed Project, and has been dancing with choreographers as different as Sue Roginski, Christy Funsch, Heidi Schweiker, Kara Davis, and Sean Dorsey. Filmmaker Greta Schoenberg shot 2006’s Hopscotch with him. When ACT approached him about working with a group of SF Ballet dancers for their The Tosca Project, his response was "why not?" His appetite for dance is insatiable. Simonse needs a database to track his schedule. Instead he writes himself notes "on little sheets of paper — I don’t do computers."

All this activity is not what Simonse expected when he moved to the Bay Area from Virginia, having dropped out of college because he "couldn’t dance 12 hours a day and party all night." He was living in a Tenderloin hotel when he met Tomi Paasonen, cofounder with Yannis Adoniou of Kunst-Stoff. "I hadn’t been dancing for a while, but Tomi told me all I had to do was shake around and be weird." That gig yielded him his first paying job: "I was a pig — a very big pig."

Shortly after that momentous debut, Simonse met ballet teacher Augusta Moore, who encouraged him to seriously pursue his training. His last piece with Kunst-Stoff was Less Sylphides, Adoniou’s deconstruction of one of the great classical ballets. Simonse hasn’t stopped dancing since. Except — ah, yes — he now also choreographs.

>>GOLDIES 2009: The 21st Guardian Outstanding Local Discovery awards, honoring the Bay’s best in arts

Global informing

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Global informing

arts@sfbg.com

DANCE For too many years ethnic dance, traditional dance, folk dance, culturally-specific dance — whatever label you stick on it — has been a stepchild on American stages. Considered of little interest to observers beyond the cultural groups in which its practitioners were based, general audiences admired its colorfulness and derided its lack of innovation. Yet with increased exposure, traditional dance forms have become more respected and have done their part to make the world more of a global village.

With the art form less under siege, stirrings have been coming from within the genre by dancers pushing at the traditions’ parameters. It’s a worldwide phenomenon. In the mid-1990s flamenco dancer Joaquín Cortés bared his chest and started performing to pop and jazz. Purists shuddered when Kathak dancer Akram Khan started to integrate modern dance practices into his performances. At the SF Ethnic Dance Festival this year, winds of change can also be felt at the venerable Ethnic Dance Festival. This year Los Lupeños de San José, one of the Bay Area’s oldest Mexican companies, performed a hot mambo with the women in anything but long flouncy skirts, and Indonesian dancer Sri Susilowati’s mourning dance was full of contemporary accents.

Traditional dancers who want to rethink conventions often feel homeless because they don’t fit into any established performance categories. That’s where Performing Diaspora steps in. CounterPULSE’s two-year initiative culminates in three weeks of performances starting November 5.

Debbie Smith, cultural program coordinator at the Arab Cultural and Community Center, is one of the three curators who chose 13 artists from the more than 60 who applied from throughout California. As "a little white girl from Texas" (as she calls herself) who speaks Arabic and is trained in Egyptian folk dance, she has learned to live with the sensitivities that surround fears about dilution of content and about perceptions of being less than respectful to well-defined art forms.

Since Performing Diaspora is the first festival of its kind, the curators had to feel their way into this new arena. It was a delicate process because "the need for support in dance is so great," Smith explains. "We did not know what we would get, though we were looking for artists who served traditions without wanting to be confined by them."

What the Festival got were artists like Charlotte Moraga, the primary dancer of the Chitresh Das Dance Company. Twenty years ago at San Francisco State University, the jazz dancer from Florida stumbled into her first Kathak class when the jazz class she wanted was full. The festival also got Devendra Sharma from Fresno, who learned Nautanki, a traditional folk music theater style from northern India, from his father.

At a recent work-in-progress showing, Moraga’s A Conference in Nine, based on a Sufi poem, A Conference of Birds, was performed with jazz, North Indian, and South Indian musicians. It looked as traditional and contemporary as you would want. The same was true for Sharma’s Mission Suhani, a reinterpretation of one spunky woman’s refusal to be cheated out of her dowry.

Almost half Performing Diaspora’s lineup hails from beyond the Bay Area, with artists who have made rethinking traditions a core element of their work, and those who only recently entered this wobbly territory. But the most unexpected participant in Performance Diaspora is a local: Kunst-Stoff’s Yannis Adoniou, best known for his ballet-based postmodernism. He will present Rembetiko, a work-in-progress based on the underground culture of Greeks who returned from abroad at the turn of the 20th century. "My uncle was a rembetiko musician", Adoniou says. "I used to dance to his music when I was five."

Performing Diaspora

Nov 5-22 (Thurs-Sat, 8 p.m.), $15–$25

CounterPULSE, 1310 Mission, SF

(415) 626-2060, www.counterpulse.org

Stayin’ alive

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Stayin’ alive

DANCE Oakland Ballet Company refuses to die. Its latest resurrection happened Oct. 16-17, after Ronn Guidi’s abrupt resignation in April had issued what used to be a thriving East Bay institution’s most recent death certificate. But some people can’t take no for an answer, and we all should be grateful to them. In this particular case, it’s the dancers — some veterans of the Oakland troupe, some freelancers but also members of Ballet San Jose and Smuin Ballet — who stepped into the breach. The choreographers donated their works. All but one of the pieces, Amy Seiwert’s Revealing the Bridge, had been performed by Oakland Ballet before. These works offered a glimpse of why the company has been such a vital part of Bay Area dance. It may have made a reputation for itself with the Diaghilev repertoire, but it was equally important in fostering contemporary ballet choreography, much of it locally grown.

The company, under the temporary leadership of Oakland veterans Michael Lowe and Jenna McClintock, has much going for itself: some money in the bank, a wealth of talent, and the good will of its audiences. Performing at Holy Names College — where the old company performed when money was really tight — brought in a crowd of young people, some of whom seemed new to ballet.

Book-ending three pas de deux with two ensemble pieces made for a varied, agreeably pleasing program that showcased ballet-speak in any number of dialects. Alonzo King’s 1990 Love Dogs showed him in much a less angular mood than his later works; Carlos Carvajal’s "Wedding Pas de Deux" from Crystal Slippers enlivened a grand tradition with young love; Seiwert’s Bridge smoothly stretched space. Val Caniparoli’s congenial and rhythmically smart Street Songs opened the evening; Lowe’s Double Happiness closed it with excellent duet work, but rather bumpy ensemble dancing.

‘Dead’ is alive

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‘Dead’ is alive

DANCE REVIEW Wonderboy, Basil Twist’s adorably insecure puppet in Joe Goode’s 2008 work of the same name, has grown up. His name is Monroe (Daniel Duque-Estrada), and he lives in a community looking eerily like that in one of Armistead Maupin’s light-hearted Tales of the City. It even includes a wise woman named Anna (Lura Dola) who likes to grow plants. But Goode digs deeper.

Monroe is the hero of Goode and Holcombe Waller’s new musical Dead Boys. He is still scared, but now to the point where he has shut down his emotions. It’s not a good way to be, particularly if you are a would-be writer whose sense of pain, anger, and helplessness paralyzes your work as well as your life. One of Dead’s funniest monologues is Monroe’s raging using performance theory vocabulary, the lingua franca in today’s academy.

Created with and performed by students from UC Berkeley’s departments of Theater, Dance, and Performance Studies and Music, the evening-length Boys is a "multidisciplinary mashup of dance, music, and theater," as Goode calls it. At 90 minutes, it takes Monroe a long time to take the risk of perhaps being hurt one more time. Nor is his motivation for the decision — the channeling of one more gay man having died unnecessarily? — all that clear.

Dead is Goode and Waller’s second collaboration, and one can only hope they continue to work together. The wistfulness and wit of their sensibilities are in synch. Waller writes good melodies, but his use of the six musicians is first rate. Often the orchestra makes its own comment on the action.

Dead‘s first act is slow in setting up the characters’ gender-fluid identities. It becomes a background-foreground issue and tends to hold back the work’s dramatic thrust. That could be better balanced. Goode, however, peoples the piece with intriguing individuals: the motor-mouth, bondage-embracing jock (Ben Abbott); the flower child/seer Roberta (Caitlin Marshall); and Monroe’s counterpart, the commitment-leery Carly (Rachel Ferensowicz). Carly’s hilarious go-away-closer duet with transsexual DJ (Megan Lowe) is a jewel of sharp choreography, split-second timing, and valiantly performed vocals. In general, the performances are good; some approach professional-level.

The choreography, mostly for the chorus, is small-scale but appropriate, since it speaks for the unseen — the dead boys. The set (Erik Flatmo), costumes (Wendy Sparks), and lighting (David K.H. Elliot) are excellent. With some work, this show could travel.

DEAD BOYS

Fri/16-Sat/17, 8 p.m.; Sun/18, 2 p.m., $15

Zellerbach Playhouse

UC Berkeley, Berk

(510) 642-8827

www.tdps.berkeley.edu

Partly cloudy

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DANCE REVIEW In December 2007, a preview of the first section of Margaret Jenkins Dance Company’s Other Suns (a Trilogy) raised high hopes. Unfortunately, the 80-minute triptych, which premiered Sept, 24-26 at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts and is scheduled for a four-city national tour, did not quite fulfill them.

Jenkins paired her own company of eight with six dancers from China’s Guangdong Modern Dance Company. She also invited guest artists Amy Foley and Norma Fong from Robert Moses’ Kin Dance Company. To work with so many magnificent dancers and strong personalities must have been glorious and grueling, even for a choreographer as experienced as Jenkins. For the audience, much of it was pure bliss, particularly once the Chinese dancers came more fully into their own.

Jenkins slightly revised part of the piece, with Foley taking over from Melanie Elms the role as the instigator. Gone also is Alex V. Nichols’ mysterious pool but the seas of low-hanging lights stayed. Suns encountered its major stumbling block in the second movement for which Jenkins — whose dancers always collaborate on the choreography — deployed the elegantly pliant Guangdong dancers in canons and unisons. Visually and kinetically weak, it undermined Suns‘ trajectory; the third movement should have been a culmination of what preceded. Instead, despite recurring movement motives, it looked tagged on. Paul Dresher’s minimalist rehash did not help.

At its best, Suns suggested a sense of scintilutf8g vibrancy and aliveness coming from the unexpected. Gestures evoked responses from two feet away or all the way across the stage. Darting breaks redefined unisons. Joseph Copley and Li Pianpian’s delicious partnering was both fleeting and predestined. Foley and Lu Yahui solos ran on parallel yet differently grounded tracks. And how about Tan Yuanho’s balletic athleticism and Steffany Ferroni’s fierce physicality, or Margaret Cromwell, who flung herself like a shooting star? Suns may not be perfect, but the dancers come pretty damned close.

Mark of quality

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a&eletters@sfbg.com

DANCE REVIEW The Mark Morris Dance Group’s regular visits to the Bay Area have assured it a faithful and knowledgeable audience. Yet rarely has it received the kind of enthusiastic applause that greeted its West Coast premieres of Visitation and Empire Garden, and the magisterial V (2001), at Cal Performances. Morris is that rarest of contemporary artists — a great entertainer and a great humanist.

In the history of Western art, the Visitation refers to paintings that depict the pregnant virgin meeting her cousin, Elizabeth, who is pregnant with John the Baptist. They illustrate a tender relationship between two mothers-to-be. It’s doubtful Morris had this kind of religious iconography in mind when he set his lovely Visitation to Beethoven’s Cello Sonata No. 4 in C, although the work did suggest the intimacy of old friends. The outstretched hand became the central gesture for convivial meetings and partings that were as public and private as the ongoing "conversation" between the piano and the cello. You found yourself looking in on an elegant salon that — after all, this is Mark Morris — was also a playground of rabbits hopping and toy soldiers stomping. Maile Okamura was the butterfly looking for a place to light.

The other new work, Empire Garden, supposedly took its name from a Chinese restaurant; it’s a much darker affair. I can’t pretend to have penetrated Charles Ives’ gnarly Trio for Violin, Cello and Piano, best known for threading Americana music into its central scherzo section. Morris responded by densely layering kaleidoscopically-changing images that tumbled on top of each other. He packed a pulsating stage space with prayer meetings, hunting scenes, ballroom couples in rigor mortis, robotic escorts, human pyramids, and pontificating leaders. But he also gave his dancers tiny wistful gestures for the hands or a foot. The whole Brueghelian canvas had a slightly deranged energy from which emerged a rather foreboding dance of death finale. Julie Worden, magnificent in the grandeur with which she enlivened her singular role, stood out from an ensemble that has never looked better.

V, to Schumann’s Quintet for Piano and Strings, resonated with particular poignancy at its local premier in October 2001, three weeks after 9/11. That reference — which Morris always resisted — has faded. What remains is a dance that is powered by the rigors of formal design. The dancers were divided into two groups of seven, dressed in either off-white pants or blue skirts (by Martin Pakledinaz). The choreography stuck closely to the music — sometimes almost mockingly so — and much of it had a swingy pliancy to it. Large arm gestures also suggested a ceremonial quality. Somewhat mysteriously, a duet called up an unsustained echo from the wings.

But V‘s most remarkable section starts in the central Largo, for which Morris uses the simplest of human movements. One group walks, the other crawls, out of the wings. The drama happens when the vertical and horizontal lines intersect — basic geometry. The piece has two endings: an orgy of embracing, and a V-shaped military phalanx moving downstage. Take your pick.

DanceWright Project and special guests

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PREVIEW "Jamie Ray Wright came to dance later than most," the choreographer and artistic director of the DanceWright Project says of himself — an understatement if there ever was one. At Stanford, Wright was a pop musician who then embarked on a career in marketing. For 20 years he watched dance from the audience’s perspective but finally "could stand it no longer" and started to study ballet 24/7, three hours a day. No, he didn’t become even a second-rate Barishnikov — but he did become a choreographer whose work has been floating around the Bay Area for the last half dozen years or so, most prominently at the Black Choreographers Festival. Neither are his dancers virtuosi. But what he and they have in common is a sense for craft, a lack of pretense, and a love for ballet that enlivens every turn, every gesture and every encounter. In addition to pieces from the rep, the evening will feature a world premiere, Bella Donna, performed to the live playing by jazz guitarist Chris Tozzi. This is the DanceWright’s first self-produced evening, and it has invited some other "newcomers" to share the program. Enrico Labayen, who used to be very active in the Bay Area a decade ago, is resurrecting his Labayen Dance/SF; Kat Worthington, a dancer with Wright, is introducing her own group; and the locally little-known Dac Pac, a youth company from Santa Clara.

DANCEWRIGHT PROJECT AND SPECIAL GUESTS Fri/18–Sat/19, 8 p.m., $15–$18, Dance Mission, 3316 24th St., SF, (415) 826-4441, www.brownpapertickets.com/event/76954

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