Bon voyage for about a week!
I know we just started going out, but I’m already in need of some serious out-of-town action. I won’t be cheating on you, just visiting family.
I’m not saying you won’t hear from me. I’ll call when I can, and post if it’s something really important. But really, we could both use this time apart to think about things.
Well, you’ll be thinking about how much you totally love me. And I’ll be thinking about…well, let’s just say ditto.
Review: Glen Rumsey, little virtue
We have to be careful. In our culture that is ever more prone to valuing appearance over substantive quality, it is easier and easier to get by with mediocrity without really being held up to the light. The panelists that sit as judges on the average reality talent competition are rarely articulate or insightful enough to really hold anyone to close scrutiny. More often, we get a situation where two of the panelists are plaquating and encouraging, and the other, usually with a British accent, asserts his critical authority with insults and careless badgery. There is little conversation about what is worthy of our attention, what is truly marvelous and exceptional, what is challenging in idea and unmatched in skill. If there is anything we can hope to gain from “downtown” performance, it is a conversation that is risk-taking enough to hold up even its beloveds to a critical eye in the hope of understanding.
With that said, I was disappointed in Glen Rumsey’s new work, little virtue, which premiered last night at Danspace. Read More…
Preview: Elke Rindfleisch’s “Do I Know You?” at Galapagos Art Space in Williamsburg; Sunday, July 1, 7:30PM $10
Back in 2003, Elke Rindfleisch began working in a style that people have now come to know her by: a highly flexible and unexpectedly athletic facility applied to mostly abstract movement but never veering too far away from the theatrical. The work created then, “Say,” also happened to be the first artistic collaboration she embarked on with her husband, Chris Woltmann, a composer who has also recently (and thankfully) picked up the craft of dance photography. Their match as partners in creation of dance threads many ways, all of which can be seen in Elke’s upcoming engagement at Galapagos Arts Space this Sunday. Read More…
New York Mag registers its review of Sicko…and it’s a winner!
Seriously. I think this is the final tilt to the positive. Reading this review kind of made me think that trying to critique a documentary of this specific type through purely aesthetic ethics, might do a complete disservice to the culture that is intended to benefit from the information films like Moore’s provide. They aren’t meant to “show”, they’re meant to find out. In this light, Moore’s work is less art (all the stunts and creative editing aside) than it is investigative document: read evidence.
Read more from us here.
These kinds of things are bound to happen, as Pina Bausch continues her greatest-hits-of-the-world tour. Cultural pastiche becomes novelty, and the fabric of composition and form begin to dissolve.
Paul Ben-Itzak isn’t too fond of the new Pina at Paris. In his DanceInsider review, he bemoans the cacophonic blasting music and the lack of unity between Pina’s vignettes.
He does, though, roll out his own blast of praise for Indian dance virtuoso, Shantala Shivalingappa. I can’t totally agree with him (I know, everyone loves her), but I thought her “Pink Panther” dance in Nefés was the only part of that production I didn’t want to see again, and then began the repeat.
Read this review of the Bastille Opera’s latest production via future-NYC Opera-artistic director, Gerard Mortier.
Mr. Mortier, like Peter Gelb at The Met, has vowed to bring a whole bag of tricks to try to young-up the opera crowds at Lincoln Center. Well, regarding Emir Kusturika’s “Time of the Gypsies”, here you go…
“a so-called Gypsy punk opera, with amplified orchestra and voices, pop-up décor, a flock of geese and a heavy dose of Balkan magical realism.”
Umm, well, first of all…NO!
Didn’t anyone see Don Juan in Prague? Contempo-Gypsy and opera don’t mix. I’m no purist by any means, but electro-Balkan-magic-whatever-the-fuck is not the answer to opera’s problems.
But get ready, NYCO fans, cuz that’s what you’ll be getting…
I was first exposed to Glen Rumsey (or his work, at least) in 2005. His first evening-length work, ignored in my heaven, commissioned by and performed at Location One Gallery in Soho, was an amazing surprise, not only to me, but to reviewers throughout the city. Based on passages from Glen’s dream journals, the work was an alluring, pictorial journey, told through stylized and vernacular movement, costumes made out of bubble wrap and back backs, where a host of ambiguously drawn characters came in and out of sequence. It was highly theatrical, but also solid as a dance piece. Ok, I wanted to hump it.
So I’ll definitely be heading down to Danspace this week to check out his new piece, little virtue, which promises to explore gender confusion and soul-searching through the body’s relationship with the world. Should go well with this amazing queer article in The Voice.
The Public’s Central Park production of Romeo and Juliet drowns in Eric Grode’s review in The New York Sun. Apparently the waterworks (a giant pool in the middle of the set) tsunami the drama and wash out the actors.
Still kind of want to check it out, since it sounds like Lauren Ambrose (of Six Feet Under celeb) delivers a wet-t-shirt Juliet let you’ve never seen. Well, except maybe in that senior-class production at your undergrad theater school.
We’re really pulling for Sicko here…and here. We know, we know. We just really want this film to kick some corporate-corruption ass.
Read J. Hoberman’s review in The Voice for a pretty decent write-up.
I’ll never forget watching that woman skin the rabbit in Roger & Me during my 11th grade AP History class. No doubt, we’re in for a smorgesborg of nastiness in this new flick. Vintage Moore. Vanguard voyeurism. Let’s keep our oxygen tubes crossed!
“MY epiphany came when I told a friend I was going to a chamber music concert, and she — well-educated, well-heeled, operagoing — made a throwing-up gesture into her hand.”
This kind of sums up the genius of Anne Midgette. (It takes so much energy not to call her “Midget”!!!)
I mean, I might take issue with this tone that Times reviewers of various ilk assume when they report on the pedestrianization of the classical arts: That it’s new to them. Cuz as long as I’ve been in this city, there’s been a vital and steadily growing scene for alternative classical music performance. But hey, for ministers of culture, they could be worse. Although, I’m not sure if it gets any worse than Alastair Macaulay’s memoir-reviews of ballet. (He’s like that annoying guy on train who gives you his life story when all you did was asked what the next stop is.)
Check out the audio component of the article. Midgette sounds totally hot, and she has the subtlest, sexiest little lisp, just enough to make you lean in…