"Le Sacre du Printemps"
Compagnie Heddy Maalem
Joyce Theater
New York, NY
June 12, 2008
by Susan Reiter
copyright © 2008 Susan Reiter
Another week, another "Sacre." Last week it was Michael Clark, with the score live on two pianos. This week, it's French-Algerian choreographer Heddy Maalem's interpretation, with taped music (a viscerally powerful 1969 Cleveland Orchestra recording conducted by Pierre Boulez). This one has the (dubious) distinction of interrupting the score in between its two parts, for an interlude of video, sound effects and some dimly visible posturing on the darkened stage. Two such interludes also opened and closed the hour-long evening. They seemed to place this particular rite within the context of a journey from purity within the natural world towards the increasingly brutalizing, impersonal existence of contemporary civilization.
There was no curtain, so the plain white walls, floor and backdrop of the set design were visible as the audience entered. For the rather extended opening, the sound of a torrential thunderstorm was heard, and some arty indistinct video of natural phenomena was projected on the backdrop. Two silhouetted figures were visible, their bodied bent over, former a scupltural image with primal overtones. Just before the Stravinsky score began, the rest of the dancers entered to form a line upstage, their bodies slumped, arched or twisted into interesting silhouetted shapes.
Once the music began and they became more fully visible, their brightly colored swimsuit costumes set off their muscular, athletic bodies. Six of the men wore trunks, the six women modified bra tops and briefs. Set apart by their costumes were two lanky, dreadlocked men in pale blue boxers. As the ensemble regrouped and reconfigured themselves, these two urged them on or were positioned in the middle. If there was more of an actual scenario in evidence, they might be the elders or leaders of the culture, but often their roles were indistinct. Their ability to spring into jacknife jumps with no visible preparation, and the overall vibrancy of their performing presence, were certainly evident.
While the performers -- who hail from Nigeria, Senegal, Benin, Mozambique, Togo and Mali -- have beautiful, powerful bodies and are stunning to watch in thermselves, they came across as more athletes than dancers. There was an odd overall slackness to what unfolded. They would pair up or form groups, perform an assigned interaction for the prescribed time, and then procced, in rather mundane fahsion, to where they had to be next. There was little sustained tension; the movement phrases rarely felt organically shaped, nor did they create a cumulative impact to match the surging rhythms and pounding extremes of the score.
Some of the clustered groupings they formed were intriguing, and at one point they paired up and the men nestled their heads on the women's thighs as the women curled over them. It was an intensely sexual image, and made one think this particular interpetation of the score was about a fertility rite. But scenes and interactions came and went without sufficient development or followthrough.
Maalem, who has had his company since 1991, and whose bio refers to his martial arts and boxing background but not his dance experience, keeps the stage busy for the duration of the music, but whatever compelled him to take on "Sacre" is not persuasively conveyed.
Part One ended with the dancers clustered downstage, stomping fiercely, as the lighting returned them to silhouettes. A few remained on stage, positioned on the floor in near-darkness, as video -- apparently from Lagos, Nigeria, where Maalem created the work -- showed buses and alternating images of two beautiful, lost-looking boys who seemed to be filmed while in transit. The sound of rhythmic, mechianistic pounding accompanied this interlude, which then gave way to part two of the score.
One of the women, in a pink swimsuit, emerged as the (presumably) Chosen One. She was selected without fanfare during a section for just the women. Suddenly, she was in the center and the rest formed a frame surrounding her. They exited in a snaking line to an upstage corner as the men took over, with simple but rhythmically insistent moves -- inching forward with small, chugging steps, or forming a line with their hands on the waist of the man ahead, in a line as they pulsated to the beat -- that aspired to match the urgency of the score, but had the effect of mickey-mousing the music. When the dancers paired up, their bodies bounced against each other with vibrant force, but there was little continuity to the often random series of images.
Maalem fails to build to any climax; the selected woman was more passive than active during the final music, lying on her back with her knees up for much of the time. A very tall man crouched over her near the end, and others rolled themsleves towards her. But as the music reached its conclusion, the stage picture had no assertively final impact, and the audience seemed unsure whether or not there was more to come.
There was, and while it seems unwise to attach an addendum to this powerful score, this final short sequence had the most visceral dance power of the evening. One compact, lithe man stood downstage, feet planted, and began to shake and shudder, as though reacting to an electric shock. What began in his hands and arms gradually took over his entire body, as the accompanying sound, of some kind of cart or vehicle ominously approaching abd bearing down, getting closer and louder, created an ominous effect. These final moments offered pure dance power and a suggestion of impending tragedy far more compelling than any of the sincerely performed but oddly unmotivated activity that came before.
