Posts Tagged ‘Leni Riefenstahl’

A Masterwork by Israel Galván

Friday, January 4th, 2013

By Rachel Straus

Israel Galván in "Lo Real"

The most indelible dance production of the year, for this writer, was the world premiere of Lo Real/Le Réel/The Real. Conceived by the flamenco dancer-choreographer Israel Galván, and seen December 22 at Madrid’s prestigious Teatro Real, Lo Real’s subject is the Nazi’s genocide of the Roman and Sinti people (otherwise known as the gypsies). This intermission-less, two hour and ten minute production is nothing but ambitious. But in the hands of the 39-year-old Galván, Lo Real neither traffics in sentimentalism nor graphic violence. Instead the work reads like a metaphysical inquiry, an exploration into the fundamental nature of being in the world.

Consider this scene. Galván hammers an old upright piano apart with his sputtering footwork. In doing so, he destroys the harmonic integrity of the instrument. When he forces the piano apart, we hear its strings shrieking as they stretch. We see Galván in a deep lunge with his muscular arms working to push the battered object to its breaking point. But the piano doesn’t dissemble. Instead its strings, like Galván’s wiry body, produce a shrill, taut dissonance, one that is awe-inspiring in its intensity. At this moment, the image of the persecuted gypsy becomes real: Galván, stripped of his shirt, dances while caught in a barbed wire fence. His angular, contorted gestures and his sharp, hard footwork eviscerate him as they reveal the unique quality of his dancing, which bends the tradition of the Seville school of flamenco beyond recognition.

Photo by Daniel Munoz

The title of Galván’s production is key to understanding the choreographer’s perspective. Lo Real/Le Réel/The Real isn’t some semantic word play favored by choreographers wishing to seem intellectual. It’s a functional title. By inscribing the same word in Spanish, French, and English, Galván alludes to the foremost countries (Spain, France, the U.S and UK) that have consistently embraced Galván’s artistry. The title also pays homage to Jacques Lacan’s theory of The Real, which states how the real is that which is authentic and absolute.

Death, Galván has alluded in interviews, is his Real. And in his production, directed by Pedro G. Romero and Txiki Berraondo, it is treated through a reel of distinct images and scenes. Some are comedic: The Nazi film director Leni Riefenstahl appears as a vamp in a red tuxedo-style corset who straddles an old-fashioned lighting stand, thanks to dancer Isabel Bayón’s frighteningly certain performance. Some of Lo Real’s images are tragic: In the finale of Belén Maya’s solo, she cannot stand. Nonetheless, Maya performs her rhythmic footwork while lurching forward to the lip of the stage on her forearms.

Isabel Bayón and Israel Galván in "Lo Real"

Almost all of the spectacular performers, including singers David Lagos and Tomás de Perrate, guitarists Chicuelo and Caracafé, violinist Eloísa Cantón, drummer Bobote and dancing wife Uchi, emerge from the recesses of the vast stage like specters. Either alone or in pairs, they perform transcendent defiances against the inevitability of death, through their song and dance.

Galván’s Lo Real/Le Réel/The Real will next be performed in Paris, Amsterdam and Ludwigsburg and then will return to Spain via stops in Seville and Granada. Let’s hope it comes to New York soon, before another year ends.

Political Mother: Bring Earplugs and Irony

Saturday, October 13th, 2012

By Rachel Straus

Hofesh Schechter is a slippery soul. In Political Mother, seen October 11 as part of Brooklyn Academy of Music Next Wave Festival, the Israeli-born choreographer cloaks his earnestness in irony. The 80-minute, 2010 work is structured through a series of blackouts in which 12 dancers and seven musicians evoke the demagoguery in politics, and entertainment.

Photo by Juileta Cervantes

The work pivots on three visions: the rock concert, with the rapper raging into his microphone above supplicants of fans. The military-style drummers, who appear in portals like a set of Kodak negatives, and who drive the dancers into waves of hyperkinetic motion. The tribe, who perform Hasidic-like folk dances, but with an intensity that beckons questions about their sanity. Dressed like prisoners, with arms raised in their air as though they are shackled from above, they not so subtly evoke those who lived in concentration camps.

Despite these visions, what stays in the mind about Politcal Mother are the slick production values and the deafening sound of Schechter’s pounding music.

Repetition is used to drive home Schechter’s theme: whether you are in Nazi Germany, present-day Williamsburg, Brooklyn or watching a James Bond movie (Daniel Craig was in the audience), it’s all the same. Humans behave like drones, they suffer like beasts, and one man will always rise to the top in attempts to control others.

Photo by Julieta Cervantes

So where is Mother in all this antic behavior? She is folk dance. In electric-yellow lights, at the dance’s end, we read the following words, “Where there is pressure, there is folk dance.” For Schechter, folk dance appears to be the universal form of protest against oppression. It’s where Schechter’s creativity and carefully cloaked earnestness lies.

In folk dance, Schechter rejects the current state of high art, opera house dance, the codified vocabulary of ballet, which historically in Western Europe was the sanctified form of dance expression. With folk dance, Schechter taps into populism. He can skirt between visions of the rock concert, the neo-nationalist volk of Leni Riefenstahl’s films (that helped consolidate Hitler’s power), and the zealousness of far-right religious fundamentalists. What’s notable is that these adopted visions are cynical ones. But, nonetheless, with folk vocabulary—the stamping rhythms, the democracy of the circle dance, and the erasure of gender (in Schechter’s use of it)—beats the heart of this Israeli’s artistry. Like a true postmodernist, Schechter isn’t able to openly love the folk dance he loves. He’s a choreographer in a cat’s cradle.

Throughout the work, I wondered how Political Mother could possibly end. With the cast going mad, the appearance of a masked gorilla, and two murder attempts by pistol, how could Schechter up the ante? The answer: Cinema technique. Schechter hits the rewind button. In less than five minutes, he gives us snapshots of the dance from end to beginning. Consequently the work opens, and concludes, with a Samurai-like warrior committing hari-kari with a sword that pierces his belly from front to back. Too bad this beginning didn’t get more laughs. Watching one male dancer with dreadlocks grunting and groaning from his self-inflicted wound was not a catharsis. It was a cartoon. Few got it. American audiences are indeed earnest.

Photo by Julieta Cervantes

Nonetheless, neo-folk dance is the wellspring from which many great choreographers (from Leonide Massine to Pina Bausch to Alexi Ratmansky) return for material. It’s a way of bringing concert dance back to the people, back to a human body that isn’t always upright and gloriously assured. In Political Mother, Schechter is on to something. Too bad he isn’t willing to tender his dancing credo with less ironic hyperbole.

In one notable section Schechter interpolates the music of Verdi—and—he leaves the stage empty. Solemnity, he seems to be saying, doesn’t include dance movement. Solemnity is reserved for sound, and in that respect Schechter may end up devoting more of his time to musical composition than to choreography.