“In the dark times
Will there be singing?
Yes, there will also be singing
About the dark times.” –Bertolt Brecht
“Prepare. Resist. Imagine…The Arts must lead the way,” encouraged Brenda Way in front of a preshow curtain. Given the state of the nation and explicitly mentioning the demise of the Kennedy Center, the ODC Founder and Artistic Director is taking action by doubling down on her commitment to programming and education as ODC launches its commendable 55th season. Of its four performances, a Gala Performance on Friday will feature six of Way’s dances from 1996 through 2025.
Opening night began with Inkwell (2024,) which explores the exaggerated power of a demagogue (Bradon “Private” Freeman) over an unwitting but colorful human with platinum hair (Christian Squires) and the journey from seduction to indoctrination. Its inspiration comes from the dire, late 1920s cartoon world of Max Fleischer, influencing both Kimi Okada’s “All That Jazz” comic strip choreography and Yuki Izumihara’s stunning black and white abstract projections. Maya Okrada Erickson’s whimsical vaudevillian costumes also tap into this black-and-white frenzy, pulling her contrasting looks from Chanel, Holstein cows, and piano keys. These mischievous outfits immediately impact the stage, informing the dance while the full scrim projections frame it. There is, delightfully, nothing grey about Inkwell, in subject or visuals as dancers (the “Townies”) Keep On Truckin across the stage, spinning, twirling, tossing, and seducing, Christian Squires with dazzling disregard and vague curiosity. It works. He becomes smitten. And by the end, he is stripped of his outstanding red plaid jacket and trousers for the black and white pizzazz of conformity.
But despite this uniformity, Colton Wall’s breathtaking agility and gymnastic timing make him stand out among the Townies. The music—a Looney Tunes Hip-Hop-whistle blowing, kazoo-tooting mashup was smartly edited by Miles Lassi, who propelled the momentum and kept grins spreading.
Laurie Anderson’s “Big Science” music (1982) carried both the baby boomers in the audience and Brenda Way’s “Unintended Consequences (A Meditation)” (2008) with timeless urgency and astuteness. “Cause when love is gone, there’s always justice. And when justice is gone, there’s always force. And when force is gone, there’s always Mom. Hi Mom!” Anderson’s music is always relevant, but the choreography with seven dancers in Army-like fatigues seemed recycled, a playback from another period without a compelling connection or strong juxtaposition to the forcefully driven narrative of Anderson’s talk-singing, techno beat. “I’ve got this funny feeling that I’ve seen this all before.”–Laurie Anderson.
Despite “Unintended Consequences” noble intention to take on the effects of “America’s fetish of individualism and its perversion into every man for himself,” it fell flat, unable to successfully express its pithy intention through engaging movement—even with creative airplane-like gestures and couplings and a moment of unity by its ending.
The “Areas of Relief” dance was that and much more. A world premiere directed by New York-based Sidra Bell, commissioned by Way, has three seamless acts and eight dancers. “Areas of Relief” is a psychedelic, everything-everywhere-all-at-once phenomenon, risking everything while managing focus and maintaining its spinning orbits. The music, by the acclaimed guitarist Mary Halvorson, was performed live in the orchestra pit by the Eclecta Quartet with electric guitarist Liberty Ellman. But by the second act, prerecorded music is brassier and more percussive than the live ambient sound of cello, violins, and guitar, making the score holographic. The score exists in different galaxies, with extended segments of silence becoming its own sound. Clever, smart, and disjointed in the most appealing manner as dancers create similar multiple layers of movement up and down the stage.
Part one, “The Possibility of Presence,” starts this cosmic extravaganza with dancers in blue unitards appearing like Trekkies moving through the final frontier—an empty smoke-filled stage, as Yuki Izumihara’s celestial projections of spheres and spiraling stardust add a grandiosity that hints at infinity. Izumihara’s sharp aesthetic and ingenuity impress with stunning precision for the second time tonight.
By part two, “Where Do We Stand,” Kyo Yohena’s whimsical fairy-like costumes and Cass Calder Smith’s equally lite-touch scenic design shift the dance from cool outer space to warm ephemeral lunacy. Tulle on costumes, like a river unfolding or a cocoon wrapping dancers, complements three sheer panels that descend, hovering like veils washed with watercolor strokes until the images of the dancers’ faces superimpose into those renderings.
“Folk Dance” was the final segment and was everything but traditional folk dancing, becoming a more psychedelic 60’s rock concert with a light-show atmosphere. Alexander V. Nichols’s lighting absorbed the dance, making the veils seem a natural part of the choreography. Given the broad nature of “Areas of Relief,” when beams of light shine down on the stage, it’s hard to imagine them not being part of an alien abduction. “Areas of Relief” is triumphantly risky, dancing and delivering from the edge.
David e. Moreno
