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Friday Film Focus 1,
2-2: The Wizard of Brussels
From Stage to Celluloid and Kansas to Oz with de Keersmaeker
By Rosa Mei
Copyright 2001 Rosa Mei
Last year, after seeing
a "minimalist" dance concert, I was asked by a friend, "So how was
it?" And I said, "It was like driving on I-70 through Kansas." Kind
of monotonous, kind of Zen-like, depending on your point of view....
I felt Kansas all over
again last month in Brussels, at the premiere of Anne Teresa de
Keersmaeker's new evening-length work "Rain" at La Monnaie. Flat
interstate driving to Steve Reich's droning and propulsive "Music
for 18 Musicians." An exceptionally beige piece, "Rain" is uniform
in color and texture, a frictionless contrapuntal study set in an
endless cycle of rinse, lather, repeat. Such was my immediate in-house
response. In another house, at a friend's home in Aalst a few hours
after the show, I began to watch a few of de Keersmaeker's dances
on video and was rather stunned that the transformation of her work
from stage to celluloid was not only successful, but some of the
best dance made for film I've seen to date. The drilled unison work
and repetition (common choreographic choices for de Keersmaeker)
gave a steady focal point for shifting camera frames and angles.
Thirteen ways of looking at Kansas. That which seemed flat and repetitive
on stage came to life on celluloid. Kansas just became Oz.
So what's the point...that
Oz is more exciting than Kansas? There's that, as well as that few
choreographers have actually mastered the medium of film as de Keersmaeker
has. Indeed, her signature use of unison, repetition and small gesture
seems almost more tailored to the medium of film than stage. Through
principles of extrapolation, viewers seeing only one small portion
of a unison or repeated phrase are able to surmise what is occurring
outside of the view of the camera's lens. This game of subliminal
deductive reasoning works precisely because the viewer is able to
second guess the move to come. The small gestures -- the hand movements,
the facial twitches and subtle emotional shifts -- register on film
(the medium of realism) better than on stage, where movements must
be able to project into the balconies.
Let's return to a brief
recap of the evening of "Rain" at La Monnaie. The movement: simple
variations of running, skipping, jumping and turning, tra la la
dance in post-modern Isadora mode. A sample phrase: step, run, run,
run, skip, arm fling side, fast roll to ground, stand arch, head
fling, head roll, arm fling, another fast roll to floor. The dancers:
a fairly homogeneous group, similar in body type and use of momentum.
De Keersmaeker has a penchant for simulating the dynamics of longing
in both the gasping use of breath and the rag-doll flinging of the
torso and limbs.
Progression: The course
of time is marked by gradual changes in costume color. Beige and
pastel hues shift to fuchsia, revert back to the original tones,
then lighten to beige and white. Dancers migrate across the stage
from large circle walking patterns to sharp shifting diagonals to
frenetic activity at various locations by subgroups of dancers.
The constant: One dancer remains in beige and white throughout the
piece, becoming a focal point, an unchanging variable. In the mechanistic
universe of "Rain," she seems to be the most human cog, clasping
another dancer to her in a spooning/swooning embrace towards the
end of the piece before being subsumed by the group as before. Overall
impression: A formalist study in patterns of grouping and regrouping,
pointillist dots in an impressionist painting.
Now let's look at an
evening-length work translated to film: "Rosas Danst Rosas," choreographed
in 1983 and filmed in 1997. The movement: pedestrian movement mixed
with loaded gestures. Flinging hair, a hand cupping a breast, pulling
the shirt off the shoulder and then covering up again. Sexually
frustrated schoolgirl inmates moving in unison and canon. The dancers:
a fairly homogeneous group, similar in body type and use of momentum.
Here, all women. The progression: a rainy night to a sunny day to
night to day. Movement occurs through various rooms of a huge abandoned
warehouse. You see the dancers inside, outside, through windows,
and behind walls. The constant: points of view shift constantly
from one dancer to the next as movement shifts from one locale or
camera angle to the next.
What's interesting about
de Keersmaeker's film work is that the repetitive, unison movements
actually help focus the piece as a whole. What seems monotonous
on stage helps ground her work in film, giving the viewer a fixed
element in a volatile environment. In a quartet where the same 8-count
phrase is repeated over and over again, the camera actually shifts
locale, both panning the action and cropping it in quick takes.
Sometimes the cut occurs as often as every two musical beats. If
the dancers were performing free-form improv, their movement and
the movement of the camera would actually cancel each other out,
resulting in sensory overload. By making the viewer familiar with
a given sequence of actions, de Keersmaeker actually trains them
to interpolate. Additionally, in the film version of "Rosas Danst
Rosas," you see the details of the dancers' facial ticks, the wispiness
of the hair, the small finger gestures. You hear the repressed sighs,
the rain drizzling outside, the urgent slide of shoes against the
floor. The editing of the film adds another rhythmic dimension to
the piece, and the RITO school in Leuven, designed by Belgian architect
Henry van de Velde, is as spectacular a setting, and as much a player
in the piece, as the mansion in Kubrick's screen version of "The
Shining." All the elements combine to create this complex symphony
of movement and stunning visual imagery.
If everyone could make
Kansas look this good, you'd be looking at Kansas in a completely
different way. There'd also be far more traffic jams on that barren
stretch of I-70.
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