What: Montreal's The 7 Fingers cirque company returns to New York with a devised piece inspired by the liminality of travel, of leaving, and of connecting.
And? We've talked before about how any artistic endeavor, once it's out there, becomes not only the creation itself, but also a collaboration with its audience. We can't help but bring ourselves to any piece of work we experience. And so what do your brain do, what stories does it tell, when you're watching a piece that is often abstract, that engages with language only about a third of the time? Your brain connects it to your own story; you mirror it, you let it mirror you. And so you see a woman twisting herself up in hanging white fabric, high up and beautiful and in total control, and yet held up by nothing, and you think, "this is what loneliness feels like." You see another woman, a man balanced on her shoulders, as a third person climbs to stand on his shoulders. You see her body shaking with the effort, but you see her standing, still, keeping her friends safe until they climb down, and you think, "this is what strength looks like." You see a man position himself on a pole upside down, you think, "he's like the Hanging Man in Tarot," and then he lets himself fall smoothly down, stopping just before his head would hit the floor. There's so much joy in this production, there's such power in the way the nine of them carry each other, catch each other, watch and listen and release and breathe as one. And I think if I were in a better headspace, that would be my main takeaway, because that's what I love about collaborative storytelling: everyone working together to create the moment. But it's been a hard week, so I thought instead about loneliness and strength, and the melancholy that can attach to both. But I'm documenting the community aspect as well, as something to return to when I'm feeling better. Because it's important too.
Philosophy aside, this was fantastic. I adore 7 Fingers, and will catch their work whenever they come to New York. They bring such joy and poetry to all their pieces, somehow more grounded and human than the expansive work of their cousin in Canadian circus work.
What: New York City Center presents Sophie Treadwell's seminal work about a woman who, caught in the repressive and mechanical restrictions of her life, is driven to murdering her husband.
And? The most striking thing about this production is the percussive choreography crafted by Madison Hilligoss and performed in large part by Veronica Simpson and Michael Verre, both credited as The Machine. In this production their relentless tapping of shoes, ringing of bells, and whacking of hammers articulate the tension and anxiety inside Helen's mind. At her job, with her mother, or near her boss-turned-husband, nowhere seems a safe and quiet place for her to retreat. And so too the audience is inundated with the constant beat, a pace under which we could either fall into lockstep, or stumble and be trampled. Only when she meets the man who becomes her lover does the noise seem to recede at last. I like this dilation of Treadwell's already mechanical and rhythmic text, though it does at times obscure the text, the tapping overpowering the voices. I think in general the sound design needs to be adjusted, to better balance both. A conceit can be effective, but it shouldn't be at the expense of clarity. Otherwise I like the kinetic movement of the piece, as well as the use of the ensemble to surround and overwhelm the Young Woman.
