Thursday, October 20, 2016

Long Division: In the Studio with Lesley Telford

Earlier today the choreographer of Long Division, Lesley Telford, invited me to drop by the studio at Arts Umbrella on Granville Island, where she was working with members of her new pilot research-training program for early career dancers to test out some possible studies for different movement sections in the play. (In fact, I invited myself and Lesley generously agreed that I could stop by.)

As I have previously mentioned, Lesley just happens to be working with seven amazingly talented dancers as part of this program, and they have each taken on a character in the play, drawing from the text (which was spread out across the studio floor when I arrived) to improvise and develop individual gesture phrases that may or may not eventually get set in some related form on our corresponding actors when we begin rehearsals next week (yikes!). Lesley asked each of the dancers--Aden as Paul, Corrine as Reid, Brenna as Jo, Maya as Lucy, Stephanie as Naathim, Caitlyn as Grace, and Katie as Alice (apologies for any misspellings)--to run through the solo phrases they had come up with and I was amazed at how bang-on their instincts were in terms of energy and tempo and line, as well as things like muscularity vs. flow, repetition, different levels and directional facings, and so on. I was also pleased to note that I could also read each character in the movement without reading the movement itself as telegraphing too obviously this or that character's psychology or profession. Which is to say that is the furthest thing from mimeticism or pantomime.

The dancers also ran through different group sequences that they had developed with Lesley, including a portion of what might become the opening walking pattern (there's a recurring falling into gravity motif that together with simple moments where the dancers just stop and acknowledge each other in space, or else let a loose arm swing back and forth that had me smiling the whole way through). Lesley has additionally choreographed a bit where the dancers move downstage as a clump, with each of them taking turns fading into the pack, which is a nice visual image for how the characters are connected to each other, whether they want to be or not. Another sequence Lesley tried in canon for the first time today, and despite the fact that some of the dancers were only just learning the movement, it was most effective. Ditto the moments when the dancers took turns manipulating each other.

It was all so exciting to see and it was a joy to share with the dancers some of my thoughts on each of the characters whose movement vocabularies they are helping to build. That vocabulary will necessarily look somewhat different (less dancerly, more pedestrian) when transferred to the actors, but the point is that no matter where it has come from, it has to be performed with intention. To that end, it will be an enormous help to have the dancers with us on Wednesday afternoons as we move through the rehearsal process.

I keep having to pinch myself that we have such a fabulous creative team.


Sunday, October 16, 2016

The Flick at Granville Island Stage

I admit to hitherto being a somewhat skeptical celebrant at the church of Annie Baker, the thirtysomething American playwriting phenom who has taken the New York stage by storm with her extreme, almost hyper-naturalistic portraits of everyday folks going about their banally uninteresting lives, and struggling to make connections in language that is acutely and often painfully attuned to the prosaic speech patterns of our current digital age (lots of "likes" and "uhms" and many many pauses). The 2012 Arts Club production of Circle Mirror Transformation, the play that made Baker's name, struck me as disingenuously ingenuous in its unstudied approach to the baring of the inner lives of a group of amateur mechanicals in Vermont who find themselves part of a community centre theatrical workshop--and in my recollection that was only partly the fault of Nicola Cavendish's weak direction. However, the Arts Club's current production of The Flick, the play that won Baker the 2014 Pulitzer Prize for Drama, has made me rethink my assessment. The play contains all of Baker's trademark anti-theatrical conceits--long pauses, quotidian dialogue, real-time action in which nothing really happens--but this time there is more depth to her characters, not to mention the development of real dramatic tension between them. In this regard, the playwright seems to have substituted what I previously took to be winking irony for sincere empathy. She also embeds within this play a cogent aesthetic and socio-economic critique.

The Flick is set in a single-screen movie theatre in a small town in Massachusetts, one of the last such venues in the state that still shows 35 millimetre films. The plot centres on three main characters, all employees at the cinema. Avery, played by a superb Jesse Reid, is an upper-middle class college-age black man who is just starting out. Avery is a cinematic savant, with a deep knowledge of and affinity for the movies, but only those made on and projected as celluloid. He is also socially awkward in a way that suggests he resides somewhere on the autism spectrum, his phobias about shit and his depression about the breakup of his parents' marriage belying much deeper anxieties about the state of the world. Sam, a veteran employee in his thirties, is in charge of training Avery, which mainly consists of handing him a broom and waste bin into which to sweep the popcorn and other detritus left behind by the theatre's patrons (only one of whom, played by Aaron Paul Stewart, we ever see). Sam has never been to college and still lives with his parents, and Haig Sutherland portrays the character's affronted weariness, not to mention genuine woundedness, at the lot life has handed him (including at one point a painful skin rash) with a quiet dignity that by the end of the play almost makes Sam appear heroic. The third main character in the play is Rose, the projectionist, a super-sexual free spirit for whom Sam pines, but who only seems to have eyes for Avery. Shannon Chan-Kent manages the difficult trick of making Rose seem at once an unattainable romantic goddess (that she spends much of her time moving about silently in the illuminated projection booth of Lauchlin Johnston's amazing set helps on this front) and a flesh and blood desiring woman intent on getting what she wants (cue a hilarious seen of Rose twerking in front of Avery).

The inevitable romantic triangle becomes the most immediate source of dramatic conflict in the play, which stretches three hours and involves multiple scenes of Avery and Sam silently sweeping up popcorn. But it is part of Baker's durational method to show us that in the midst of these apparently trivial scenes of repetitive and routinized labour, and the "ordinary affects" that accompany that labour (to quote from the anthropologist Kathleen Stewart), things erupt without warning to throw us--and our characters--off course. What's more, the play suggests that these personal eruptions are actually symptomatic of a larger neoliberal ideology that, to quote another fancy-shmancy affect theorist, Lauren Berlant, conspire to keep folks like Sam especially in a constant state of "cruel optimism," perpetually longing for the thing they want, but which they are perpetually denied, or told they cannot have. Thus, Rose's clumsy attempted seduction of Avery during a weekend that Sam is away at a family wedding sets off a chain of mutual recriminations that actually climaxes in a tense scene in which race and class are set against each other as part of a zero-sum equation of employee solidarity versus individual self-interest. That is, the new owner of the movie theatre, having first announced his decision to move exclusively to digital projection (something that causes Avery physical pain), subsequently accuses Avery of being solely responsible for skimming off a portion of box office proceeds under the previous management, a scheme into which he was very reluctantly conscripted by Rose and Sam when he first started his job (because, as Rose puts it, "No one can live on $8.50 an hour"). Avery thinks the new boss is targeting him because he is black and wants his coworkers to come clean on the fact that they were also part of the plan, in the hopes that they'll all be forgiven. However, Rose suggests that there is less at stake for Avery because he is the son of well-paid academic whose tuition is free and who is only working this job as a hobby, whereas for her and Sam this is their livelihood. For his part, Sam sheepishly notes that Avery said he'd quit anyway if the place stopped screening actual celluloid films.

All of this is accomplished without any flashy screaming and yelling, just a simmering stand-off that is telegraphed mostly through silently accusatory glances. And it is to director Dean Paul Gibson's immense credit that he is able to get his actors to say so much with just the subtlest movements of their bodies, a slump of the shoulders or a refusal to turn around or the hanging of a head communicating so economically--but no less affectingly--defeat or pride or hurt. As Avery notes to Sam in a brief coda at the end of the play, these characters have been thrown together by circumstance, and that circumstance--a minimum wage job in a soon-to-be obsolete service industry--conspires against the chance of them ever becoming real friends. Given that, the kindnesses we do witness between the characters--including the one Sam makes to Avery at the very end--register as all the more powerful.

This is a superb production of a very thoughtful play. It deserves to be seen.


Saturday, October 15, 2016

Vancouver Dance History (2006-2016): Post 27

Yesterday we didn't have an interview subject booked, so Justine volunteered to recount her dance history to Alexa and I. This is something that the three of us are each supposed to do before this project is over. Mine will be very short.

Justine has been in Vancouver exactly a decade, arriving in 2006 with her partner, Josh Hite, who was starting an MFA at UBC. At this point, as Justine noted, she thought she had retired from dance, leaving behind a long career in Toronto without much regret (more on this below), as well as fourteen months in Los Angeles when she danced for two companies/entertainment franchises that seemed the antithesis of her rigorous contemporary training. The first was Diavolo Dance Company, which combined dance, acrobatics and circus arts, and whose death-defying stunts on stage were always preceded by cult-like backstage circle in which company members were required to say "I will die for you" (Justine recounted a terrifying story of a forward leap off a rocking boat that she had to do, but without the normal counter-ballast because one of her fellow members' feet had been crushed by the weight of the boat). The second troupe was called Hot Thing, and involved women in fishnets and short shorts doing the splits and lots of bootie pops at various celebrity clubs around LA.

After all of this, upon arriving in Vancouver Justine was quite content to be waitressing at Rangoli instead of dancing professionally. But eventually, through a connection with one of her former teachers at Ryerson in Toronto (where Justine did her post-secondary dance training), she was invited by Artemis Gordon at Arts Umbrella to sub for some of the classes normally taught by Yannick Matthon, who was at that time very often on the road with Crystal Pite and Kidd Pivot. Gordon then invited Justine to join as a full-time faculty member, and also to help her run the school administratively. Justine said that it was an insane amount of work and that the teaching was very hard, but that it made her a better dancer. It was also while at Arts Umbrella that Justine met Emily Molnar, John Alleyne (with whom she collaborated on a section of The Four Seasons), and various of the then company members of Ballet BC--an institutional connection that Justine maintains to this day.

Indeed, one of Justine's first choreographic forays in Vancouver was to remount a section of a duet she had created in Toronto on herself and recently retired Ballet BC rehearsal director Sylvain Senez for the 2009 iteration of 12 Minutes Max (which was curated by Joyce Rosario and Tanya Marquardt). The piece got picked up by Donna Spencer for the Dancing on the Edge Festival, and together with new work that Justine was creating with her partner Josh--notably, Copy, a performance-cum-installation at the Roundhouse that featured, among others, Megan and Vanessa Goodman, Molly McDermott and Laura Avery--Justine suddenly found herself making dances again, albeit in a way (and primarily as a result of her interdisciplinary collaborations with visual artists like Josh and Jen Wei and Brendan Fernandes and Kristina Lee Podevsa) that was fundamentally different in its conceptual focus from what she had previously understood dance to be.

Parallel to this Justine was also teaching, offering a class in contemporary technique at Harbour Dance (then the only such class in the city), and collaborating with Day Helesic to launch what would eventually become Working Class (now overseen by the Training Society of Vancouver and run out of The Dance Centre). And she was dancing in other folks' work, including Jennifer Mascall's White Spider, Company 605's The Inheritor Album, Tara Cheyenne Friedenberg's Highgate, and pieces by Wen Wei Wang, Claire French, Science Friction (Farley Johansson and Shannon Moreno), and others.

It was only after narrating her most recent dance history that Justine circled back to her time in Toronto, which began with her joining Robert Desroisers' eponymous dance theatre company upon graduation from Ryerson. During her years in the company, which toured regularly, she learned that nothing gets easier, you only become a better dancer. She also recounted stories of lost passports in Miami and drunken pool accidents in Bermuda. Interestingly, Justine framed her early career in Toronto in the context of her post-Vancouver returns to the city for the collaborative peer-to-peer choreographic and teaching workshops/explorations/creative exchanges 8 Days and Love In, which she noted have been so instrumental to the dance relationships she has formed in the past decade.

To this end, in answering the "Why Vancouver?" question Justine noted that the collaborators she now has in Toronto (including Jenn Goodwin, Heidi Strauss, Julia Sasso, and others) are a result of what she's done since moving to Vancouver. While initially Justine had absolutely no intention of staying here, she stated that she now has a deep support network, and that she also wouldn't be making the kind of work she's making if she hadn't come to the city. She likewise affirmed that for her the future is exciting and potentially limitless, not least because of a new generation of "badass dancers" for whom ideas of expanded choreographic practices are just a given and who have access to a range of resources that weren't available a decade ago. The key, according to Justine, is just to learn to share those resources and, in so doing, to do less in order to do more.


Thursday, October 13, 2016

Major Motion Picture at The Firehall

Out Innerspace's ambitious new full-length work of dance-theatre, Major Motion Picture, had its official premiere this past January at Dance Victoria. Now Vancouver audiences get to see the piece through this Saturday as it launches the Firehall Arts Centre's 2016/17 season of dance programming.

As their title suggests, Out Innerspace's David Raymond and Tiffany Tregarthen have drawn inspiration from film history, with various noir, spaghetti western, and martial arts motifs, among others, referenced in the choreography. Indeed, one of the many pleasures of watching this piece comes from revelling in how the movement, both in more rapid moments of horizontal seriality and in slower and sometimes static group massings out of which different bodies appear (and, just as ominously, into which others disappear), approaches the kinetic equivalent of cinematic montage. The terrific physicality of all the performers--Raymond and Tregarthen, joined by Laura Avery, Ralph Escamillan, Elissa Hanson, Arash Khakpour, Renée Sigoun and apprentice Elya Grant (all graduates of OIS's pre-professional training program, Modus Operandi)--is a reminder that for film theorists like Gilles Deleuze the "movement-image" of cinema is fundamentally rooted in the gestural vocabulary of dance. To this end, Deleuze references Charlie Chaplin and Fred Astaire, and there are arguably homages to both of these men's film oeuvres in MMP, not least in the funny and romantic closing "duet" that Tregarthen performs with a giant overcoat.

However, that overcoat is mostly worn throughout the piece by three other bodies, whose feet and arms we see moving in striking coordination, but whose collective torso remains headless. This overlord figure seems to preside over some dystopic future in which two different bands of comrades--one group all in black who appear to have mostly been cowed into reactive subservience by the system in which they find themselves, the other clad in white patterned onesies and balaclavas, who seem to incarnate a more anarchic impulse toward disrupting and even overthrowing that system--are set against each other. For some reason all of this put me in mind of Pink Floyd's The Wall, with the headless overcoated figure a version of the sadistic headmaster who grinds the students into meat, and with that film's aesthetic mix of live action and animation also translating into this work's unique juxtaposition of super sped-up and almost stop-motion choreography. The work is also filled with multiple moments of the dancers running on stage, doing double takes, occasionally crashing into or grappling with each other, and then dashing back into the wings--which suggested to me those sequences from Saturday morning cartoons when Scooby and Shaggy and Thelma and all the others keep running in and out of doorways and hallways, every now and then meeting up in the middle, but no one really knowing whom they might be chasing or fleeing, and why.

There is in fact a wall in this piece. It very prominently fills the downstage space at the top of the show, but is slowly pulled upstage during the spoken word prologue, in which Sigouin (I think) recites a mantra of "This is for you" into a stand-up mic stage right. (Now that I think of it, there are shades of Pink Floyd's "Hey You" lyrics in that opening interpellative direct address, and Sigouin at the mic at the top of the show portends Khakpour's later heavy breathing solo with an old-style hand-held mic later on, all of which brings to mind the Bob Geldof character ranting into a microphone in The Wall...) The wall is subsequently transformed into a screen, onto which the piece's stunning video designs are projected. This includes images of the performers--and also the audience--that are captured live via a light and motion-sensitive and radio frequency transmitting mobile camera hung from the stage left lighting grid. Seeking out different dancers' bodies crouched and cowering in the wings--including in one eerie moment the figure of Hanson looking at what I took to be a representation of her character's younger self on a cell phone--the camera is the real controlling mechanism in this hyper-mediated world, suggesting in turn that in our contemporary surveillance culture we may no longer have any real autonomy over any of our movements.

For all of these instances of revelation, I was left thinking that MMP never quite gelled into the sum of its parts. There were moments of amazing physical artistry--from the collective arraying of bodies and arms into a scary talking monster (whose image later returns on screen) and an amazing shaking solo by Raymond, to high impact partnering and richly organic segues into very satisfying bits of group unison. And yet, taken together, these moments felt inchoate in terms of the larger story being told: are the black and white groups at war with each other, or two different but equally oppressed groups; is the overcoated overlord figure defeated in the end and, if so, why the playfully romantic dance with Tregarthen that concludes the piece? All of which is to say that while I was definitely aware that some sort of narrative was being constructed in the piece (something I'm all for in contemporary dance-theatre and what generally attracts me to the work of Out Innerspace), I couldn't figure out how that narrative cohered. I'm not saying that I need meaning laid out for me or some kind of closure; but I do need an organizational logic. I also crave an emotional investment, which in this case was also lacking. I was definitely awed several times last night, but I can't say that I was genuinely moved.


Vancouver Dance History (2006-2016): Post 26

Yesterday Justine and Alexa and I were finally able to coordinate our schedules to undertake our first group interview since before the summer. Luckily for us our interview subject was Amber Funk Barton, who was so open and generous with us. The recounting of her dance history was like a long love letter to the community: starting with Arts Umbrella's Artemis Gordon, who took Amber under her wing following Amber's graduation from high school (throughout which Amber had been doing Goh Ballet Academy's half-day program), and eventually steering her towards Ballet BC's mentor program.

Following the conclusion of her formal training, Amber was lucky to dance for and receive further guidance from three other icons in the community: Joe Laughlin (where she first met James Gnam and Tara Cheyenne Friedenberg), Judith Marcuse, and Lola McLaughlin. Lola took Amber on her first tour of Europe, an epic transmigration of several major Vancouver dance artists and companies to Croatia coordinated by The Dance Centre's Mirna Zagar. Noam Gagnon and Dana Gingras of Holy Body Tattoo, Alvin Erasga, battery opera, Crystal Pite, Joe Laughlin, and others all made the journey. Gingras, in particular, would become a major influence on Amber, inviting her to be part of Heart is an Arena and teaching Amber that dance was as much about embodying ideas and energy as it was about performing the steps correctly.

During this time Amber was also starting to create her own work, beginning with two full-length creations in four months. As Amber said, in retrospect the way she went about launching her choreographic career was naively ambitious. For example, she created her company, the response, in 2008 because she had maxed out her eligibility for individual project funding. But she had an idea for a new piece and so she created a company in order to tap into a different pool of money and make the work happen. The result was Risk, which I well remember seeing at The Firehall, with Amber, the two Joshes (Beamish and Martin), David Raymond, and Heather L. Gray creating kinetic magic in and around a couch (a prop that Amber said they incorporated from the rehearsal studio upstairs at the Firehall). Amber took time to credit Firehall Artistic Producer Donna Spencer for her faith in her work, as well as her immense contributions to the development and promotion of dance in Vancouver more generally. For example, it was Donna who first connected Amber with Shay Kuebler, commissioning what would become Status Quo from them, and facilitating the work's subsequent travel to the Canada Dance Festival. Amber also noted that what she appreciated about Donna was that she was willing to invest in an artist's career over the long haul, recognizing that mistakes made in the short term would eventually pay off in more mature and satisfying work.

In terms of memorable experiences (both good and bad), Amber recounted the time she fainted on stage during rehearsal for Lola's piece while in Croatia. As Amber put it, the rehearsal was very hot, and she was wearing a plastic dress; but she didn't want to say anything, as she feared looking unprofessional. And so she continued to try to perform her steps and she collapsed to the floor. Afterwards Lola apparently worried that Amber might be pregnant. Then there was the story behind the creation of Hero and Heroine, a 30-minute duet that Amber created for herself and Josh Martin in 2010. Showing an excerpt of the work-in-progress at Dance Victoria for a bunch of different presenters changed Amber's perspective on how and why she makes work, and when and with whom she decides to share it. The work was apparently ripped apart, and in a way that reflected more of the presenters' own internal aesthetic battles than the integrity of the piece per se. Still, the experience taught Amber that she had to create work on her own terms, and not in order to please individuals who might be able to help tour that work.

Amber concluded her interview by saying that her decision to forge a career in dance was always simultaneously a decision to have that career here, in Vancouver. She also very wisely said that thinking about the future always involves a process of checking in with where she is at in the present, and that currently she is being sustained by and getting renewed energy from teaching. She noted that being a dance artist is undeniably hard, but that part of her also loves and thrives on the rigour. She also said that as a first world artist with access to resources that other folks in the world don't have (and no matter one's grumbling about how even more of such resources should be made available), she felt it was her responsibility to keep creating: because others elsewhere can't; and also because if you stop then the system wins. It was a very moving conclusion to an incredibly wise and wonderful interview.


Wednesday, October 12, 2016

Angels in America at Studio 58

Twenty-three years after it premiered on Broadway, Vancouver audiences get to revisit the first part of Tony Kushner's searing and historically epic AIDS drama Angels in America not once, but twice this theatrical season. The Arts Club's staging of "Millennium Approaches," which together with its bookend, "Perestroika," makes up Kushner's swirling and queerly Shavian "Gay Fantasia on National Themes," will be up at the Stanley next March. But right now, Studio 58 launches its 2016/2017 season with its own production of the same play. Under the assured direction of Rachel Peake, it's a terrific take on what is now a contemporary classic (if that doesn't seem like an oxymoron).

While Kushner's richly complex and linguistically luxurious dissection of American politics ensures that the work transcends its Reagan-era setting (indeed, the resonances of Roy Cohn's take-no-prisoners conservative bluster with Donald Trump's current election campaign are eerie), Peake nevertheless wisely eschews the potential trap of making this an artifactual period piece (though the 80s pop soundtrack pre-show and in between scene changes was greatly appreciated). She also enlists her incredibly talented cast and crew to help create the play's many moments of design magic in ways that are utterly quotidian, but no less breathtaking because of that. The Angel does not crash through the ceiling of Prior Walter's Manhattan apartment in this version of the play; instead, she enters on foot from upstage, the twinned concave walls of Drew Facey's elegantly simple set parting to let her and her impressive wingspan through as rock star lighting illuminates her way. A small army of silent but physically adept supernumeraries is crucial to achieving the Spielbergian effect of this climactic scene, as they are to ensuring earlier low-fi, high-impact bits of stage spectacle, as well as, more generally, the smooth transitions of set and properties between scenes. In this regard, Peake takes to heart Kushner's injunction in his notes to the play that it is alright--and maybe even imperative--that the wires show, as seeing the unseen hands that give shape to and support a worldview (be it an imagined theatrical one or an all too real ideological one) is a crucial element of the politics of this play.

But what deserves the most praise in this production are the performances. Dramaturgically, Kushner's play calls for many of the parts to be double cast, a conceit designed not just to save money, but that also thematically structures elements of the text, with different characters played by the same actor often echoing each other in terms of their dialogue or actions. However, in a student production like this it makes sense to draw upon Studio 58's deep talent pool and have each character, no matter how briefly on stage, played by a different actor. Happily, almost all of the supporting ensemble make the most of their short time in the spotlight, with Chloe Richardson's intensely physical Mr. Lies, Stephanie Wong's acerbic and practical Sister Ella Chapter, Krista Skwarok's weary and wise Rabbi Isador Chemelwitz, and Camille Legg's Republican Washington fixer Martin Heller making especially memorable impressions (and on the latter two fronts I was glad to see that Peake preserved the play's penchant for cross-gender casting). Josh Chambers and Raylene Harewood play Belize and Hannah Pitt, respectively, characters who enter late in the plot of "Millennium Approaches," but who become important figures in "Perestroika." Here both actors deliver quietly confident performances, with Chambers channeling just the right amount of camp and simmering resentment in Belize's dealings with "white crackers" like Louis, and with the physically tiny Harewood nevertheless giving us a sense of how the no-nonsense Hannah is able to command others to do her bidding, while also revealing a bit of the compassion that lurks underneath Hannah's hard exterior.

Conor Stinson O'Gorman's take on the historical figure of Roy M. Cohn, the closeted gay henchman of Joseph McCarthy and de facto executioner of Ethel and Julius Rosenberg, is an idiosyncratic one. He dials down the loud outward bluster and the explosive kinetic energy that I've seen other actors bring to the part (including F. Murray Abraham on Broadway and Al Pacino in the HBO miniseries); combined with a way of speaking that suggested to me more midwestern drawl than New York Jewish verbosity, and an almost laconic way of dealing with Roy's beloved multi-line phone in the scene in which the character is introduced, I was worried that things would go south very quickly with this crucial part. But cumulatively, over the course of the play, O'Gorman is able to give us a sense of the anger and deep self-hatred roiling underneath this Roy's more contained and deliberative surface appearance, which makes the character's late-in-the-play confrontation with his wayward surrogate son, Joe, all the more terrifying when it is unleashed in all its fullness of volume, physicality, and latent eroticism.

At its heart, however, this production is anchored by the stellar performances of the actors who play the two sets of couples whose relationships are imploding. Mason Temple and Elizabeth Barrett, as the unhappy Mormans Joe and Harper Pitt, and Brandon Bagg and Julien Galipeau as Louis Ironson and Prior Walter, gay lovers dealing with Prior's recent AIDS diagnosis, manage the delicate dance of conveying with utter conviction and heartbreaking honesty just how much they love their partners, but also how completely and hopelessly alone they are. The montaged scene in which Joe and Louis separately tell Harper and Prior that they are leaving is tricky not just because of all the different emotions that must be kept in balance, but also because of the rapid shifts in intercut dialogue. Here it is accomplished with affecting precision on both fronts, and that is thanks as much to savvy choices Peake has made in her casting as it is to her own exacting direction.

Temple's Joe, struggling with his repressed homosexual desires and with the weight of Roy's poisoned mentorship, is literally gutted by the years of denying and stamping out what he wants, coughing up his self-lacerated insides in the form of a bleeding ulcer. Joe, who feels so unloved, in fact becomes the least lovable character by the end of the second part of Angels in America; but it is to Temple's immense credit that here we genuinely understand Joe's struggle and even support Roy's and Louis's separate urgings of him to transgress. That such a transgression comes at the expense of the happiness of his long-suffering wife, Harper, is part of this play's heartbreak; Barrett plays this wronged character, who is also something of a truth-saying Cassandra in terms of what (both with and without the aid of pills) she sees going on around her in the universe, with such openness and vulnerability that the flip side of her pain, namely the wonder she experiences with the aid of Mr. Lies during her hallucinations, comes as such a marvellous and surprising balm. It is hard to convey genuine astonishment on stage, but Barrett accomplishes this task with great naturalness and spontaneity, such that the delight she experiences upon arriving in Antarctica is immediately transferred as something to share and feel alongside her.

Any actor who takes on the part of Louis has his work cut out for him. Not only does the character have the most lines to speak, many of them further freighted with the weight of Kushner's dialectical philosophy, but Louis also does the most despicable thing of all the characters in the play: he walks out on his lover at his time of greatest need. Bagg is an utter natural as Louis, luxuriating in the complex richness of Kushner's dialogue while also conveying how utterly wracked by guilt is this man who, as adept as he is at spouting the theoretical cant of revolutionary struggle, is not so good with the practical day-to-day struggles of dealing with sickness and death. Bagg also successfully taps into his character's gay Jewish charm; despite the actor's avoir du pois and bad hairpiece, it is easy to see why both Prior and Joe would fall in love with Louis. Finally, there is Galipeau as Prior, fabulous chosen messenger of the heavens who would give up that role for a little bit more time as a depassé diva on earth. Galipeau is tall and muscular, with a deep and sonorous voice that commands attention, making it easy to understand why he might be an angelic spokesperson. But he is also not afraid to tap into his feminine side, moving with lightness and grace while in drag and also, in the face of his illness and Louis's abandonment, showing us just how small and afraid he feels. The aforementioned split scene, which culminates in a shattered Prior indicting Louis for his crimes, is all the more powerful for how spent and empty and even more alone Galipeau makes Prior appear after Louis has gone.

In my personal repertoire of canonical works of Western drama, Angels in America holds a special place. I saw the play soon after it opened on Broadway, and subsequently in a very accomplished staging in Seattle. I also own DVDs of the HBO miniseries and have taught the play many times (and will be again this spring, in conjunction with the Arts Club production). Coincidentally one of the students I introduced the play to more than a decade ago during a course devoted to Kushner at SFU came up to me at intermission. He reminded me of the class and said that this was actually the first time he was seeing the play live. We both agreed that this production was an absolutely stellar way to experience this work in performance.


Tuesday, October 11, 2016

Vancouver Dance History (2006-2016): Post 25

Today Bevin Poole was in the house--or, rather, my office. Her dance history started in Williams Lake, where she grew up taking ballet and "70s-style jazz" (her words) classes in a pretty informal and "super-recreational" setting. So relaxed was the attitude, Bevin suggested, that you were actually discouraged from doing things too well. So it was a big learning curve for Bevin when she followed her sister to SFU to study in the dance program here at the School for the Contemporary Arts.

As Bevin put it, she had a hard time not just because her training to that point had been less rigorous (for her a battement was just a high kick), but also because she had an attitude problem. Now, knowing Bevin to be one of the more open and easy-going dancers in the community, this news came as quite a surprise. But Bevin confirmed that she was initially quite combative with her teachers--now my colleagues--at SFU. It was only when she did a fourth-year directed studies apprenticeship with Day Helesic at MoveEnt and saw how open and collaborative dancers like Amber Funk Barton and Farley Johansson and Shauna Elton were that she understood what it meant to be part of a process: to listen and be receptive as opposed to always being resistant and questioning.

This served her well as she launched her professional career post-graduation in 2007, first working with my colleague Judith Garay's company Dancers Dancing (as so many dancers in the community, I'm discovering, have over the past 20+ years). From there, she moved on to collaborations with Alvin Erasga (on Shadow Machine), James Gnam and plastic orchid factory (with whom she has been working since the premiere of _post), Tara Cheyenne Friedenberg (the first person to seek Bevin out to be in a show, in this case Highgate), Vanessa Goodman, Helen Walkley, Nicole Mion, and MACHiNENOiSY, among others.

More recently, Bevin has begun exploring her own choreography, developing her first solo as part of the most recent iteration of 12 Minutes Max at The Dance Centre. Challenging herself to think about what questions are in her body that she has not yet had a chance to explore in other people's processes, Bevin chose to engage in a rich exploration of slowness as a movement epistemology. Unfortunately I wasn't able to see that piece, but she received great feedback, and is eager to continue her choreographic explorations, including working with other dancers.

Most immediately, however, Bevin and her husband are preparing for the birth of their first child, who is due to arrive at the end of this month. It's amazing to me that Bevin was dancing up until just yesterday (in a music video for Tara Cheyenne Friedenberg). And also that she'll be dancing again in April, when Tara's How to Be premieres at the Cultch.

But then dancers are amazing people, and none more so than folks like Bevin who have agreed to be interviewed as part of this project.