Questions, A Review of ‘I Don’t Believe in Outer Space’

As a dancer for around 12 years, I found myself looking to the technique of the dancers.  Their lines, as they whirled about the stage – creating divine shapes to delight the audience.  Watching “I Don’t Believe in Outer Space,” I didn’t see these brilliant lines; the technique – missing.    What was I watching?  A mocking of all I have ever learned?

The story, if it ever remained consistent, seemed to be twisted, dark.  Everything was aggressive – each movement seemed to pierce the aesthetic qualities of any performance.  Even the acting overwhelmed the audience – especially of the conversation between the uninvited guest and the polite host.  The disparities in the two characters, yet played by the same woman were amusing and disorienting at the same time.  It was mere recitation, even mentions of the stage directions – but they were brought to life in different voices and a masterpiece of exaggeration.  These bent views of the performance became a style that many in the audience appreciated, with laughter at various moments.  But are we supposed to laugh?  Was this social commentary – in this presentation of freaks, are we supposed to realize something?

This may go back to the notion of whether art needs to have meaning.  I’d imagine that this did not have much meaning; there was no story, no moral message.  It might require a certain intellectual or creative stamina to ride along with the performance – the sweat, the infinite movements, and the relics of a quasi-story.  However, the intensity of the piece is not to go unnoticed – it forges its own existence in the gaps of traditional dance performances.  As it left me with more questions than answers…