"Lanterna Magica," "Pseudopodia," "Contradance," "Gnomen," "Megawatt"
Pilobolus
The Joyce Theater
New York, NY
July 19, 2010
By Carol Pardo
Copyright ©2010 by Carol Pardo
Collaboration is central to Pilobolus, both as creed and as method. So it’s no surprise that the dynamic of the group and its opposite, the odd man out, appears twice on this program alone. It is the theme of "Contradance." New this year, choreographed by Renée Jaworski, the company’s current rehearsal director/artistic associate, and Matt Kent, a former dancer etc., "Contradance" is the first work in the repertory in which none of the company’s directors has taken part.
The curtain rises on a decorated but otherwise unidentifiable object at center stage. It’s a tipped over rocking chair transformed into a cocoon awash in talismans (a grill, a shoe). It is home to a man who crouches in its limited space; there’s no room for anyone else. His solitude is disturbed by a motley group of kazoo players who coax the hermit from his haven only to turn on him, violently. They even strip his home/rocker down to the wood. But the outcast strikes back. Perhaps that reaction convinces a girl detach herself from the group to curiously, cautiously, approach him. Their mutual exploration leads to love and finally to the outsider’s acceptance by and integration into the group. The narrative blends aspects of "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" with "Beauty and the Beast." The tone is sweet—if not too sweet—and earnest like a kiddie-matinee lesson in tolerance, confidence-building and the courage to venture beyond one’s shell.
Liz Prince’s costumes, the result of a jumble sale mash up, tilt the production dangerously from childlike to childish. "Contradance" just avoids terminal cuteness thanks to its music and its lead dancers. The score by family music man and Grammy-winner Dan Zanes begins with catchy, folksy rhythms. They’re an immediate hook. As the hermit, Jun Kuribayashi never condescends to his character. Eriko Jimbo, as the girl, can convey everything in the direction of her gaze, the angle of her head and neck.
"Gnomen," choreographed in 1997 by Robby Barnett, the late Jonathan Wolken and the dancers in the original cast (among them Matt Kent), plows the same furrow with much more nourishing results. Four men in black trunks take turns being the odd man out, each with his own leitmotif. Christopher Whitney’s head shakes as though it had been stuck in a bell. At one point he is upended, held by his hands, rigid like a clapper. Winston Dynamite Brown, the shortest of the men, spends his solo doubled over, his torso parallel to the stage floor, all but lost among the behemoths. As Jun Kuribayashi’s solo unfolds, full of pietà imagery, the cumulative effect of "Gnomen" lands right in the gut.
"Contradance" and "Gnomen" were the centerpieces of the evening, the first in its novelty, the second in its force. But the generous program included three more works. In the solo "Pseudopodia," equilibrium is impossible; any movement immediately invokes its opposite. The opener, "Lanterna Magica," is too close in look and tone to "Contradance" and logically inconsistent to boot. Why is the lantern which seems to magically direct the action, hung up and abandoned in mid-dance? The finale was "Megawatt" to a rock score by Primus, Squarepusher and Radiohead. The dancers enter, supine, marching not with the feet but with the shoulders. It is striking and surprising, but can be analyzed and decoded. I’d rather be blindsided, without being able to reconstruct exactly how it happened. Give me "Gnomen" any day.
