Silesia's 17th Annual Contemporary Dance Festival & Conference
Bytom, Poland
June 27 - July 10, 2010
by George Jackson
copyright 2010 by George Jackson
Two performance events at this year's contemporary festival had choreography from the past. One was a summary of and commentary on "Giselle" by classical dancer Rainer Krenstetter who stepped into and out of the role of Albrecht while conversing with historian Claudia Jeschke. The other was a 1920s expressionist solo - Andrei Jerschick's "Madman" - within the framework of Georg Blaschke's variations on it and a film of Jerschick teaching the original to Harmen Tromp who taught it to Blaschke who taught it to Petr Ochvat who danced it and the variations live. The festival's more than 27 other performances focused on current choreography.
Krenstetter starts his "Giselle" with Act 2 as Albrecht comes to grieve at Giselle's grave. Props are minimal: Albrecht enters from the right, wrapped in his cloak and sadness, and carrying lilies; a simple cross on the left marks the gravesite. Krenstetter is young, blond, handsome and, notwithstanding his expression of Albrecht's sorrow, he seems noble. Suddenly, like electricity in the air and danger in the music, the Wilis' presence is felt. Albrecht senses them although he can't see them, and through him so do we. Then, Giselle comes into focus. We see her because he does, and because he dances with and partners her we know how lightly and softly she moves. Krenstetter did Albrecht's big Act 2 solo twice, speaking about its meaning and sketching in (more than marking) the steps the first time and then doing it full out. His dancing has the luster of large, ripe pearls. Even when Albrecht is desperately near the end of his strength he still conveys an innate elegance. How clear and multiple were the brises, and yet this diagonal of minute brush steps seemed utterly simple. Albrecht's parting with Giselle had finality. I suspect that there were tears in some eyes as certainly as if a visible Giselle had been on stage.
Exploring Act 1 of "Giselle" next, Krenstetter had a somewhat different attack. He almost dashed through it but lovingly, sampling the gestures and other pantomime, dancing a step sequence here and there, and relating the action compactly but not without a sense of humor.
The house (Main Stage of the Bytom Cultural Center, July 6) had been full for the first part of the evening, a contemporary work - "O Sounds" - by T.H.E. Dance Company from Singapore. Only about half the audience returned for "Giselle" but I saw no one walk out. A long question and answer session with the audience followed "Giselle". In it, Krenstetter and Jeschke made the point that performers must think of even an old ballet as happening right now if they want to be convincing. Wisely, though, this pair of presenters did not think it necessary to defend their interest in dance from the past.
Four generations were involved in "Madman" ("Mensch im Wahn") / "Now It's Your Turn ("Jetzt bist Du dran") at the Szombierki Power Plant for June 29's late performance. The oldest participant, Andrei Jerschik, was 94 in 1995 when he was filmed teaching his 1929 solo to a younger man, Harmen Tromp. Georg Blaschke, who in 2008 assembled the current revival of and framework for the original, learned it from Tromp and is his junior. Younger still, in his early 20s, is Petr Ochvat who has been performing the piece for a couple of years (see danceviewtimes for Nov. 2, 2008). According to the program notes, the main point of "Madman/Now" is the act of passing on and reconstructing choreography. Yes, that has become part of it but Jerschik's original had another purpose that should not be lost. It is a rather short dance to and against traditional music (Rachmaninoff's piano prelude in G minor, opus 23, #5). The man immersed in madness doesn't just stomp around wildly but is seen in different stages, different clinical types of dementia. One type is the dictatorial and in 1929's Central Europe, Jerschik was making a political point.
That emerged too at this performance. At first we see only Ochvat as the madman, but then Tromp and Blaschke appear, cross the stagespace and sit down to watch intently. They are more than teachers observing their pupil. The two men also seem to be society's representatives watching. Will they, can they interfere?
When I saw "Madman/Now" in Vienna in 2008, Ochvat with his soft halo of fair hair, strong features and intensity of motion reminded me of William Dunas, New York's expressionist dancer of the 1960s. I let Dunas, who was thinking of reviving his solos, know about Ochvat. Dunas was interested. Before anything could be arranged however, Dunas died - a victim of the 2008 economic crash. This time - not as boyish, with a close crewcut and gaunter in the face - Ochvat still reminded me of the remarkably chameleon Dunas.
Ochvat remained in Bytom for the duration of the festival and I was hoping he would take Claudia Jeschke's class on dancing "The Afternoon of a Faun" from Nijinsky's notation, but he didn't. Some things refuse to be reborn.
The festival's contemporary choreography came from all over - Poland, Israel, Norway, Iceland, Austria, Finland, Denmark, USA, Hungary, Hong Kong, South Korea, Brazil, Canada, Singapore, Germany, Mexico, Belgium and Russia. To my eyes, much of it stuck to the same template. There seems to be the obligation to continue for 60 to 90 minutes whether warranted by movement invention or thematic ideas or not. Mood swings are primary in unifying performances whether the actual movement changes or not, whether the dancing is polished or raw, technical or pedestrian, and whether there is music, sound or silence the point seems to be to go from joy to anger to calmness, etc. If there is music, the preference is for the sort that can readily be mickymoused or ignored. Dancer to dancer interactions frequently have a violent strain whether males, females or both are involved.
There were, of course, exceptions. Israel's Yossi Berg and Oded Graf have a productive patter going between them, like the comedians Abbott and Costello. It serves neatly as the basis of several of their pieces but adding a woman to the mix, even if she's not a glamor puss like Dorothy Lamour, dilutes their act. Brazil's Korina Kordova was my whipping boy a few summers ago because she hid her abilities in a solo she had made. Her new solo, "Boderline" allows her to show in bravura ways the reasons for such things as turning without classical balance but like a whirlpool, for running not like a dancer but as a messenger, and being sexy in the torso while stern in the limbs as if for a tango. Yes, these facets involved mood swings yet they emanated not arbitrarily but rather from a character one would recognize again, a personality as substantive as Krenstetter's Albrecht. "Box to the Power 4" by Canada's Greek choreographer Paraskevas Terezakis challenged 4 male dancers to show individuality and consistency and yet be part of the group and its mood swings. From the USA, Laura Peterson's "Forever" was so unemotional that it seemed to last forever. The name of Folkwang brings to mind such figures as Jooss, Susanne Linke and Pina Bausch, but this historic German school's Tanzstudio company concentrated on no touch partnering in Rodolpho Leoni's aptly named "Bits and Pieces". Out of the mold except for its repetitiousness was a revue-style black mass featuring male dancers on pointe and on stilts; titled "Battle between Carnival and Lent" it was choreographed by Ewa Wycichowska for the Polish Dance Theatre from Lodz. I was at most but not all of the 27 plus contemporary performances. Sitting in on some of the classes I found to be more entertaining and instructional.
Jeschke's teaching from the notation of "L'Apres-midi d'un Faune" again raised the question of whether Nijinsky's choreography is a modernist version of character ballet or his form of modern dance. Another question has concerned the climax. According to the notation, the Faun lies down prone on the Nymph's shawl thrusting forward while arching his upper body toward the sky; then, still prone, as he stretches out on the ground to fall asleep, his hands and arms, which had supported the arching, slide straight along the sides of his slumbering body. Most of the students taking the class fully (i.e., learning the movement) were women. Yet at a late-night student jam session, the women mainly observed and it was the men who danced solo or with each other but without touching.
In a class I was watching, the combination being given was knotty. It shifted up and down and over. It was long and remained unresolved. This was for a lesson in contemporary technique being given by Jacek Luminski, director of the Silesian Dance Theatre and founder of this festival. Luminski himself, looked somewhat awkward leading the class. Initially done in silence, the combination was then rehearsed to what sounded like a popular chanson. That music didn't help much in propelling the movement. Luminski finally switched to a classical recording, a Tchaikovsky symphony would be my guess. Suddenly the movement began to make sense, bodies started to dance. Knotted postures acquired rhythmic meaning and unwound smoothly. The dancers seemed storm driven, wind whipped as they moved across the studio floor and they gave the lengthy passage a finish. I have no idea whether I was watching just an exercise or part of a Luminski choreography. If the latter, to which music will it be danced in performance?
P.S. Following a fortnight in Bytom, I visited Dresden. The city's core consists of baroque buildings (tastefully restored or rebuilt) and those that are ultramodern. Four of Dresden's structures have significance for dance. Centrally there are the Royal Saxonian Dancing School in a baroque palace and the 19th Century house of the Semper Opera. In an eastern portion of town and hard to find is the Gret Palucca School for Dance, built in a style favored by 20th Century autocrats. In the far northern suburb of Hellerau (take the #8 tram) is the Festspielhaus from just before World War 1, used by Jaques Dalcroze as one of the birthplaces for modern dance. All four sites were fairly silent on days in midsummer but that allowed their ghosts to follow my footfalls through the echoing spaces.
