"Stacks"
Jonah Bokaer, choreographer; Anne Carson, poet; Peter Cole, sculptor
"Bracko"
Rashaun Mitchell, choreographer; Anne Carson, poet
NYU Skirball Center, New York
December 4, 2008
by Tom Phillips
Copyright 2008 by Tom Phillips
It appears to be chance that a piece about “collapse,” with repeated references to Detroit, goes up in the midst of an economic meltdown and the collapse of the U-S auto industry. But chance is a major element in the aesthetic of Merce Cunningham, to which Jonah Bokaer is an heir apparent, so they should get at least some credit for the coincidence. “Stacks” is a collaboration between Canadian poet Anne Carson, sculptor Peter Cole, and Bokaer. It was the first of a double-bill with “Bracko,” with poetry by Carson and choreography by another Cunningham dancer, Rashaun Mitchell. The collaborations were true to the Cunningham tradition of putting things together and seeing what happens, and sure enough, they had their peculiar effects.
“Stacks” begins with the poet reading a random-seeming collection of lists, from a manuscript balanced atop a pile of boxes, one of many piles scattered all over the stage. As she reads, four dancers explore the concept of collapsing – rolling and tumbling around the stage, dismantling and re-mantling the piles. Their best moves are when they kick the boxes (landing one in the box seats at the side of the theater.) The text is a catalog of seas, and shames, and definitions of “stack” (e.g. “a last-in, first-out construction, or LIFO”) mixed with references to the present-day corruption and decay of Detroit, and the violent Biblical story of Jezebel (although the poet is careful to note that the Bible “is NOT an example of a last-in, first-out construction, or LIFO.”) It’s all delivered deadpan by the mischievous poet, who seems to see today’s mountains of woe as only a re-stacking of the same eternally unstable pile of phenomena. Still, the action begins with boxes all over and the poet off to one side of the stage, and ends with her in the center, surrounded by tight, somewhat more orderly stacks. This seems to imply that her neat, idiosyncratic ordering of language has a function, as do all the arts, i.e. making some provisional sense out of existence. Not a new proposition, but one newly realized in this interesting space.
“Bracko” is Carson’s combination of Sappho and “Bracket.” It’s a pas de deux performed to fragments of Sappho’s love poetry, translated and read by Carson with the missing or lost parts duly noted by the word “bracket,” recited on cue by Elizabeth Streb. The blanks were filled in by choreographer Rashaun Mitchell with Marcie Munnerlyn, who danced mostly in silence. They began tethered by ropes, then helped each other unwind them, until they were freed for an agonistic, sometimes tender pas de deux. This was the dancing highlight of the evening, mostly in Mitchell’s whirling leaps and powerful pulls away from the floor. But it was the combination of the aching passion of the poetry, the pregnancy of the silence, and the tension between the dancers that ignited the event.
Still, the magnetic center of the whole show was the slim, prim poet in black pants and white jacket, whose performing élan was belied by her awkward bow and timid, tentative waves to the audience during the curtain calls. Carson is surely aware of the masterly wit she projects from the stage, otherwise she would just stick to writing poems.
Elizabeth Streb, of extreme dancing fame, seemed amused by the minimalism of just standing there and repeating one word, but as far as I could tell, her performance was accident-free.
Copyright 2008 by Tom Phillips
