Category — Site Authors

This past weekend I experienced something truly different. My friend, Moishe, who had been in Israel for most of his life, decided that he wanted to come to the United States to have some fun. Of course, he decided to give me a call and asked if I were available to hang out with him for an entire day. Although I’ve never seen him in person before, I knew a lot about him since we used to be pen pals back in the day.

Before I met him, I was nervous and curious as to the day ahead. I also thought if we didn’t have things to talk about, then the exchange would be quite awkward, and he wouldn’t have a good time in New York City.

During the middle of that day, I heard a knock on my door, and immediately guessed that it had to be my good friend Moishe. I welcomed him in, and for the next two hours we just talked about our different lives, and what his goals were for the rest of his life. Before long, my worst fears had come true. We had nothing else to say to one another, so our dialogue had quickly turned into silence. At that moment, I suggested we step out so that I can show him around the Brooklyn neighborhood that we were in. As soon as were exited the front door of my house, Moishe saw two pretty Caucasian girls walking down the street. Even though he barely knew how to speak English, he courageously approached them. This was the worst idea imaginable, or so I thought. With his bad, accented English, Moishe was trying to convince the girls to come and have lunch with us. After some initial confusion, the two girls finally knew what he was trying to convey, and decided to come with us. For the remainder of the day, I got to admit I had fun with the two girls, even though I had to engage them in conversation while my friend Moishe just stared at their pretty faces.

Truth be told, I honestly didn’t think my Israeli friend with a thick accent could pull off communicating with two American girls, let alone persuading them to lunch with us. I thought that the fact he was a foreigner would surly hinder his chances. To my great surprise, the girls found his accent hysterical, and took him up on his offer. Life is pretty good with Moishe around.

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“Where was I now? … All that flashed into my eyes were the countless shapes of people walking by to nowhere. Again and again, I called out for Midori from the dead center of this pace that was no place.” – Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami

My first encounter of a different culture came when I was about 8 years old. I invaded my best friend’s house almost everyday. I justified my forceful invasion as showing a sign of affection toward my poor, lonely friend who had to wait for her working parents by herself until the evening. As soon as I entered the house, I took off my shoes and ran straight into my friend’s father’s small library. His shelves were filled with thick books covered with leather and exotic prints. Some of them were in different languages. However, even the ones written in Korean were too long and complicated for me.

Amongst  the books, there were a lot of works of Japanese literature. After coming back from work, my friends’ father often told me about his grand collection of Japanese books. One of his favorites was Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami. While he was describing the book, he would mention something about loss, agony, despair and confusion. I had no idea what he was saying. As he delved more deeply into the meaning of those words, I would get terribly lost. The thickness of the book and the smallness of the font made me literally run away from him for the entire day. By that time, I hardly experienced any loss in my life. Nothing was yet confusing or frustrating. I wasn’t happy all the time, but satisfied most of the times.

I started reading Murakami’s novels when I entered middle school. So many things happened to me over the five years. I had to overcome countless losses, including my beloved family member’s death, which brought great frustration and confusion in  life. It was then when I thought of what my friend’s father had told me. I borrowed the book from library and started to read it. As I flipped one page to the other, I was able to understand and even perceive the truthful meaning of those words. Without even noticing it, I myself was maturing as an adult.

Murakami’s books are solely based on the adult’s culture. How do adults define their lives? How do they see themselves? Why do they exist that way?  These are Murakami’s favorite questions for adults.  Through my own experience, I was able to broaden my viewpoint on various aspects of life.  Murakami’s insight guided me to answer those questions thoughtfully. he never defines life with the exact words from the dictionary; from the most atypical environment, he looks out  for ordinary people. From insanity, he defines rationality. I love Murakami’s writing not only for his delicate writing style or narrative skills. I love him because he’s one of the few authors who actually makes me think. By encountering new culture, I was able to perceive my life in an entirely different perspective.

(http://catedraluisalbertoalvarez.blogspot.com/2008/02/medea-de-pasolini.html)

Practice, practice, practice. A person who wants to do well in nearly any sort of an activity is bound to hear this piece of advice; performers are no exception. However, there seems to be more to reaching success than just constant repetition. In the reading of Medea, a part of the Joel Segall Great Works Reading Series, the cast demonstrated that perhaps true talent and a bit of creativity play an even larger role in putting together a dramatic, yet convincing show.

After speaking just a few lines, Kathleen Turco-Lyon, the Nurse, impressed the audience with the soothing wave of her classical voice. Despite her plain black attire, Turco-Lyon’s melodic intonation created an effortless transition from the 21^st century in New York City into ancient Greece. While she did not spend a great deal of time speaking, the consistent display of emotion seen in her facial expressions made her character an important asset to the performance. Through her painfully real looks of horror and distress, the grave seriousness of Medea’s situation easily became believable.

Denise Ann Pelletier, who played Medea also left the crowd with a lasting first impression. Though she was offstage when her character was introduced, her sorrowful cry was able to fill the theater with Medea’s bitter rage and sour despair. The shaking intensity of her character’s emotions was carried out through the rest of the reading. At the same time, however, she managed to do so in a very controlled manner, avoiding the melodrama that results from an overdone attempt at a challenging role.

Despite the actresses’ passion and moving effect on the audience, Jason, played by Bryn Magnus appeared completely detached from the performance. With the rough voice of a man who could very well be your next-door neighbor, it was clear that he had little experience with performing Greek plays. There were also one or two instances in which he fought with a line until it finally stumbled out of his mouth. Evidently, he was unable to connect with his character, just as the audience was unable to connect with him.

Though Magnus’s performance was not quite up to par with the others, there were other valuable aspects of the reading that outweighed this weakness. Those who worked on this performance were resourceful and were able to effectively incorporate the highlights of the original play into this condensed version. Although the use of actual children in the reading would have heightened the tension of Medea’s plot for revenge, the use of two masks in place of them was clever and surprisingly quite fitting. Since the actors fully embraced the shiny white masks as the children, it was not difficult as an audience member, to do the same.

Moreover, the decision to use the entire theater as the actors’ stage helped to sweep the spectators into the messy lives of the miserable characters. In the beginning of the play, the chorus stood up from among the audience members, and this tiny surprise certainly caught their attention. At times, actors also entered and exited scenes through the sides of the theater. Though it was not always convenient to turn around and see who was speaking or coming in, overall, this technique kept the audience attentive and interested during each transition from scene to scene.

While some might imagine the reading of a play, rehearsed for a mere 15 hours, to be raw and rather unpolished, this performance certainly went beyond such expectations. Though the reading was far from flawless, the majority of the actors’ skills allowed Medea’s tragic story to smoothly unfold. Innovatively performed, this reading of Medea was an entertaining storm of anger, frustration and merciless revenge.

The image was taken from: <http://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/30/arts/dance/30fall.html?_r=1>

As the curtain was pulled away, two expressionless dancers in white unitard started dancing on the empty stage without music in Fall For Dance. As the light got brighter, the heavy metallic noises and ambiguous mumbles were coated on the dancers’ slow motions. XOVER started. There was neither rhythm nor liaison. When a group of identical looking dancers came out on the stage, a single word came across my mind:       “momentum.” I couldn’t understand why this clumsy and distasteful word, which retrieved the forgotten memories of my hateful high school physics class, kept entering my head while I was watching the modern dance performance.

The description of XOVER on the program booklet was “the final reunion of the “original collaborators”- Cunningham, Cage, and Rauschenberg- bringing together a beautiful assemblage of their individual mediums.” Certainly those three directors’ components were put together and lively appearing on the stage: Cunningham’s choreography, Cage’s music, and Rauschenberg’s décor and costume. What else was needed ?  However, the entire performance was like gobbling a whole pie of greasy pizza without drinking a sip of soda. There were too many things, so I couldn’t digest them all at once. All I needed was the moment that I could feel a sense of union, harmony, and ensemble. I didn’t feel like all three components were equally emphasized. When one component was strong, the other one was stronger.

As the performance was drawing to an end, I could finally understand why that clumsy physics word kept blinking above my head. Each individual dancer’s uniqueness was entirely eradicated. Without showing any sense of emotion, they were jumping up and down, flying over each other. Doing all those intricate acrobatic movements with their expressionless faces made me to question what they were dancing for. Are they enjoying their own performance? In my eyes, they were simply turning round and round, hand in hand rather than dancing. I could not see any attempt of communication between the dancers nor between the dancers and audiences. I had no idea whether they were actually understanding and interpreting the director’s intention or just doing it because they were asked to do so.

Let me put it into a simpler form: I felt like I was observing a massive atomic collision through a microscope. Since each dancer’s individuality was lost and his potentials were locked, I could see him as a hardened atom with heavy momentum rather than a dance performer. Such collision was eventually sublimated into an unidentified juxtaposition of harsh noises as musical accompaniment. It was ironic that the background painting, originally drawn by Rauschenberg, resembled a stop sign and bar in front of the train rails. Without reviving each dancer’s individuality, this performance would go on and on without having a definite end. Overall, it was a certainly something radically new, yet not enough to be a revolution.

After watching four distinct companies perform their own genre defining performances at this years Fall For Dance festival I was left more impressed with how varied the medium of dance can be, proven by how unique each production was, than the actual performances themselves.

The program for Fall For Dance opens with the genre melding modernist production Xover, followed by the bombastic and colorful I Can See Myself in Your Pupil. The third production, Vistaar, a world premiere, sticks to a more rigid form of dance in the Odissi tradition, traditionally performed in India. The closing act, performed by the Miami City Ballet is the most mainstream of the four performances, containing all the pirouettes and energetic leaps onto the stage that one would expect from a major ballet company, but it too is also unique for the fact that it is choreographed to the music of David Byrne, whose mellow vocals added a interesting contrast to the animated dancers on stage.

Xover, the most experimental, as well as the longest running dance performed that night might not even be considered, by many, to be a dance in the traditional sense, but a melding of audible art, as well as the two different types of visual art. The piece combines the sounds of the infamous composer John Cage with the kinetic choreography of Merce Cunningham, as well as the static backdrop and costumes designed by Robert Rauschenberg. The three interpretations of modernist art in each of the respected mediums tries to transcend preconceived notions about the mediums as well as question the idea of distinct and separate mediums altogether. On an artistic level it is fascinating, but for those that just want to be entertained it is too bizarre and detached to elicit any meaningful emotional response. What hurts the piece, in my opinion, is the music by John Cage, which overwhelmed the dancers and backdrop with distorted voices, combined with loud, often random bursts of various sounds; It often made the performance hard to grasp a hold of.

I Can See Myself in Your Pupil was a stark contrast to the opening act. Colorful costumes, as well as wacky haircuts set up the mood for a fierce, wild, and seemingly improvised dance routine. The production’s physical chemistry and crowd-pleasing moments replaced the avant-garde intellectualism in Xover with raw fun and energy. The choreographer, Andrea Miller, did not seem to care about melding genres as much as hammering out the most emotional energy she could from each of her dancers as possible, then storing that energy until finally throwing into the crowd. This was done in the form of a mock kiss or by further egging on the audience with wild hand gestures.

The final two dances were just as unique as the first two. Vistaar represented the Odissi dance form, focusing on a rhythmic dance that does not change tempo throughout. The costumes, music, and dance fit more as a cohesive whole more than any other dance that evening, but this also made it less memorable than the other dances. Expert ballet dancers dressed in bright gold leotards, bathed in golden light, and accompanied by David Byrne’s new wave vocals performed the night’s final production. It represented ballet in all its purity and form bursting forth sunshine as over a dozen dancers darted across the stage. Compared to the other performances it was alone by being what most people would imagine when they think of the medium of dance.

Fall For Dance did not blow me away, but the varied performances kept me entertained without ever getting me bored. Whether or not you will like the dances themselves is really a matter of taste, since each company portrayed astute technical skill in their own genre. There really is something for everybody, and for those who are newcomers to dance, the four performances offer a nice taste of how varied dance as a medium can be.

Everyone loves a spectacle. And the “Fall for Dance” festival at New York City Center last Thursday became no exception to that rule.

As I stepped into the already packed theatre, I was fully prepared to become more “cultured” as the night went on. However, when I first opened the night’s playbill, I quickly began to fear what was to come. And the night’s first performance, XOVER, performed by the Merce Cunningham Dance Company, did nothing to dissuade these fears. Although the dancing seemed as expected—incredibly intricate and expressive, of course—it was the piece’s accompaniment that worried me so: a wild conglomeration of coarse sound effects that seemed meant to grate against the “cultured” ear. At the very least, it made a large group of people around me quite uncomfortable (if that was a intentional, A+!), and at the very worst, I don’t believe that I’m the only one who feared the possibility of nightmares that night, or the only one that was often picturing a frantic escape down the side aisle. Still, despite the piece’s propensity for making the audience shake—be it from fear, or silent laughter—it successfully kept the crowd questioning the (wait for it) complete spectacle of experimentation in the arts.

The next piece in the line-up was, thankfully, just what was needed to maintain the audience’s faith in the night. Gallim Dance, with their performance of I Can See Myself in Your Pupil, kept the audience rapt from start to finish, but less out of awe than sheer curiosity. The piece’s ability to tell a story through huge, vibrant, freeing movements allowed each dancer to have a sort of individual character, that seemed to speak in isolation to the audience. This, along with the absolutely irresistible accompanying music—assorted songs by the group Balkan Beat Box—left me (and others) falling over from incredulous laughter, but in the best way: we all wanted more, and they didn’t hesitate to deliver. The performance was a perfect example of a dance piece successfully relating to the audience (which, in hindsight, seems odd, because it seems that the moves themselves, when taken out of the routine’s context, become nothing more than just movements; as a whole, the piece left many—including myself—very satisfied…and much more reassured of the direction the night was taking).  The piece’s fervor became a beacon for the rest of the night, giving the other groups—Madhavi Mudgal with her intricate dancers, and the glowing Miami City Ballet—a successful introduction that both reassured the audience, and made them want more.

I stood in Times Square like I was one the hundreds of tourists who stare in awe. Although I had been in Times Square countless times, the bright lights never failed to capture my eye. As I walked through the crowds of people, I heard a tremendous variety of different dialects, and saw cameras flash left and right. The allure of Times Square, like always, had me in a trance, but tonight I couldn’t stop and stare. I had to rush and get on line for the Jason Derulo concert. The line bent in and out of the city blocks like a slithering snake. I don’t call myself a fan of Jason Derulo’s music, but when my friends decided that we were going to his concert on Thursday night, I had no other options. While on line I saw that Jason Derulo attracted a huge range of fans. There was a group of excited friends who started talking to us about Jason Derulo. What I found intriguing about them was that they had come all the way from Australia, for the concert (as well as other reasons). They told us about a new and upcoming pop group from Australia called Trinity that was going to perform that night. I was surprised to hear that Jason Derulo, an American R&B and pop singer had such a huge fan base in Australia. The concert, unlike I had expected, was extremely entertaining. Jason Derulo’s singing, and dancing were spectacular. I also became a fan of Trinity; their pop music, which had an Australian taste, was unique and appealing to me. Watching an entertaining concert in my favorite place in the world made that night, one to remember.

New York is truly the cultural and artistic center of the world, and Fall for Dance is a microcosm of New York’s cultural diversity. Even if you think dancing isn’t for you, like I had previously felt, you are bound to find something that interests you in the show. It is truly a captivating collection of dance performances that exhibit cultures that stretch from all over the world.

What is one word captures the essence of XOVER? I would have to say bizarre. Everything, from the music, to the costumes, and to the dance was clashed together. First of all the music, if it can be called that, was absolutely horrifying. It ranged from sounds of nature to eerie sounds that felt as if they had been pulled straight out of a science fiction movie. As far as the dance goes, at often times, the dancers appeared rigid and emotionless, but they fit the bill for the music. Their all white attire also exhibited this sense of lack of emotion. In quite a few instances there was utter silence, and the dancers continued to dance in synchronization. It seemed as though the music they were dancing to was in their heads, and the noises were merely distractions. This encounter between the music and the dance was unique, even though the peculiar sounds hurt the Merce Cunningham Dance Company’s overall performance.

The next performance, I Can See Myself In Your Pupil, performed by Gallim Dance was quite simply phenomenal. The upbeat music in this performance snatched the souls of the audience members, as the deep bass and the singing trumpets became one with the viewers’ beating hearts. A flavor of Israeli music provided some of this upbeat music. The dancing was free, wacky and highly entertaining. Each dancer was wearing casual/club style clothing, which along with the music and the dance allowed the viewers to form a connection with the performance. However, the most exhilarating part of their performance was captured in the backdrop. The shadows of the wacky dances on the backdrop, created a second, equally as entertaining show. At the end of the performance, members of Gallim Dance received a well-deserved standing ovation; not one person in the full house was seated.

Vistaar by Mahavi Mudgal was a tremendous display of attention to detail, and Indian culture. It wasn’t the most entertaining performance, but it was very well done. All five dancers worked together as an extremely cohesive unit. Throughout the dance they were arranged in tightly knit patterns, and didn’t spread across the stage. Each one of their movements was in synch, including the stomps, and their intricate hand movements. Their attention to detail was stunning. Indian culture was exhibited through every aspect of the performance, from the music to the costumes. They wore Indian saris, which is a traditional dress for Indian women. The music that they were dancing to was predominately vocal, with the tabla (Indian drum) and sitar providing the background beat; this captured the qualities of classical Indian music. Focus and collaborative work made their premier a worthwhile watch.

The finale, The Golden Section, performed by Miami City Ballet was a sensational display of ballet. They were probably the most talented dancers in the performance, and they showed their talents with fast paced dancing, and executing countless spins and acrobatic lifts. In the background, the music sounded like it was from an aerobics workout video. However, I can’t lie, it was extremely catchy. From their golden attire, to their fast dancing, The Golden Section was truly a golden finale.

Fall for Dance is a must watch for all those who have the slightest passion for dance. It provides the audience with a wide array of entertaining dances. All of the performances were unique, and could stand alone, but Fall for Dance meshes them together to establish a fabulous viewing experience.

A less than hospitable waiter placed our slightly extravagant bill on the table. Temporarily ignoring it, five hands made a mad grab for the small pile of fortune cookies that had appeared on the table. Fortune cookies are really nothing special. They aren’t even Chinese, I recall being disappointed to learn of their American origin in my freshman year of high school. The obvious appeal of the small treat is of course the fortune within, but fortunes now seem to have developed an attitude which detracts from what little appreciation one can have of fortune cookies.

“The greatest danger could be your stupidity.” I don’t remember who received this tiny piece of “wisdom” but I do recall a communal sense of insult. It was funny, really funny actually, to be so maligned by a tiny scrap of paper shoved inside of a cookie. Together we discussed how fortune cookies have really deteriorated over the years, slicing apart whoever was responsible for the decline as though said person was a dirty politician.

We were disappointed in the fortune but thinking about it, I suppose fortune cookies are letdowns more often then not. Anyone who relies on the “lucky numbers” is almost sure to be letdown, a person who expects a sound piece of philosophy is unlikely to receive such and again the cookie tastes kind of like a stale cracker. I am a fan of the “Speak Chinese” vocabulary word now featured on most fortunes, but it doesn’t make up for all the other sub par elements of contemporary fortune cookies. One can only hope that some innovation in the field will be developed to save the ebbing breed. If not, what little luster remains in the tiny packages may completely fade.