Bamboo Blues
Tanztheater Wuppertal Pina Bausch
Brooklyn Academy of Music
Brooklyn, NY
December 11, 2008
by Leigh Witchel
copyright © 2008 by Leigh Witchel
There’s usually some glorious, wildly expensive bit of excess in a Pina Bausch piece; carnations, dirt, or a pool of water in the middle of the stage as in “Nefés,” her last go-round at BAM two years ago. If the title gave any clue, you’d expect “Bamboo Blues” to have a stage overflowing with bamboo, but there’s none. The work feels almost austere. There’s just fabric; huge swags of sheer white fabric draped on a large framework at the back.
Much of Bausch’s work seems to be created during residencies. Her company travels somewhere, Hong Kong or Korea or Istanbul, as in “Nefés.” This time it was India. You’d think these residencies would open up some trenchant observations on the places she’s traveled; you’d be surprised at how little they do. When Bausch does comment about Indian pop culture, it can be hilarious. The second act opens with a windblown couple straight out of Bollywood and two men holding large pieces of cardboard acting as a wind machine. Bausch is also fascinated by fabric; including the sari and its construction. A man rollerskates wearing a kurta and the elephant god Ganesh makes a brief, absurd appearance. There’s also the inevitable episode at a call center. But whatever the locale, it’s just ornamentation. It’s really all Bausch. She’s got her thing and she sticks to it. There’s about as much Indian about “Bamboo Blues” as there was Turkish about “Nefés.”
Bausch would have to work to make a piece that was less than competent, but there’s less in “Bamboo Blues” that stuck with one than “Nefés,” which had some stunning visuals and unforgettable absurdity. She came close in the second act when the Bollywood woman walked over to people in the front row, offered them her limp hand and loudly proclaimed “Nice to meet you” over and over. After, she announced that she “had a dream. I dreamed I was flying. I was flying and I was ironing.” She rushed about. “I was flying and I was ironing and I was cleaning the floor . . .”
All the dancers move excellently and Bausch parcels out lots of solos, as with “Nefés,” too many and too indistinct. They felt self-indulgent. One dancer who distinguished herself was Shantala Shivanlingappa, an Indian expert in Kuchipudi dance. On top of her skill she could afford us at least a tenuous connection to the conceit of the work.
Having seen Bausch’s more than thirty year old “Orpheus” this year in Paris, I miss the Bausch who could challenge and move me. Bausch’s humor once made you shift uncomfortably in your seat; now the jokes are reliable, amiable and tame. “Bamboo Blues” has almost the same construction as “Nefés,” down to the cast crawling across the floor, this time just before the end instead of right at the end.
If you’ve seen Bausch’s work, you don’t need to see “Bamboo Blues” unless you’re an avid fan – and most people in the audience were. The sharpest tools in Bausch’s kit are repetition and absurdity. A woman abruptly dumped her head into a bucket of water. A man watching took the bucket from her and safely out of her reach. The woman left the stage, came back with an identical bucket and did it again. As much as that nugget seems like nothing more needs to be added, imagine a procession of such moments for nearly three hours. Nothing was elaborated; Bausch didn’t dig into anything. The women took her bucket, left the stage and we moved on to the next skit. It could all add up to something and I may be the one who missed it, but compared to her best work, “Bamboo Blues” is vaudeville for the avant-garde.
copyright © 2008 by Leigh Witchel
