Jerome Bel and Theater Hora “Disabled Theater” challenged my preexisting notions of dance, and while I found the performance to be moving and insightful, I felt that much of the piece strayed from the physicality of dance and resembled a speaking platform to vocalize the plight of those with learning disabilities. I recognized the structure Jerome Bel used, which was similar to what was used in “Véronique Doisneau”. There was a narrative that facilitated the flow of the piece: in “Disabled Theater,” the narrative was by the multiple actors, but also translated to English. Initially I thought this language barrier would further distance the audience from the actors, but by the end of the performance, I realized that, having acclimatized to the delay in comprehension, this was not the case.

By the end of the performance, I felt that I had gained much on a humanistic level by understanding the performers as individuals, and not merely people with learning disabilities. I felt that the performers themselves, and not so much their actions, were imbued with the message of the piece. Their personalities and expression through taste of music and dance, which are very personal, showcased who they were aside from their disabilities, However, through the perspective of a student in an arts course, I felt that the performance was more a platform to express the plight of disabled individuals than a dance performance. This is not to undermine the performance’s profundity. Rather, I felt that the dance aspects of the piece (which were powerful in their autonomy) were eclipsed by the series of question and answer sessions that dominated the piece. In fact, the performers were referred to as actors, as oppose to performers or dancers.

I was particularly moved when one of the actors brought up the idea that the performance was like a freak show that was exploiting their disabilities. I completely understood this point. I feel that if the purpose was to showcase that people with learning disabilities are just like anyone else, they should not be isolated in a group where all members have a learning disability, but rather incorporated into a group where individuals without any learning disabilities are also present. In the end, however, it seemed that the actors sincerely enjoyed their time on stage, which to me made it seem successful.

I feel that Jerome Bel has a responsibility to the actors of Theater Hora beyond the performance if he truly believes in the message I conjectured the piece was about. As I am an amateur to the institution of dance, I do not know if there are any obligations a choreographer has to his or her performers after a show. Yet on a humanistic level, if Bel’s motive behind the piece was to empower those with learning disabilities, his work should not end with the performance. If it did, I would see the performance as exploitation of the actors. If not, I would view the performance as an outlet that will catalyze the growth and expression of the actors.

~Prima (Blog B)

Jerome Bel’s “Disabled Theater” was fascinating, entertaining, and very moving. I think that having a translator translate everything was very moving because you could see the facial expressions on the actors before you knew what they were saying.  At one point, an actress looked down – seemingly in shame as she spoke in German.  The translator then translated for her: “I’m sorry for my disability.”  I wanted to tear up.

I absolutely don’t think Jerome Bel was exploiting the actors’ disabilities.  I think he was giving them a second chance and a means by which they can believe they live a totally normal life.  Once they all stated that as a profession, they were all actors, I imagined it must be hard for disabled people to find parts in shows.  But you could hear in their voice that they were all very committed to being actors.  Bel let them truly be themselves on a stage, in front of an audience, just as any non-disabled actor would do in a theater setting.

Every actor was thrilled to be called up onto stage to do their dance rendition.  They all seemed to have so much fun showing their creations, and as an audience member, I was thrilled to see their performances.  Their excitement, even the clapping and lip singing from the other actors during each performance, was contagious.  I wanted to clap with them!  Every actor made me smile.  They had not a care in the world.  They danced how they wanted to.  They showed off their talents as best as they could and they had the power to control an audience.

What I don’t understand is why Bel would choose seven of the “best” performances to display.  It was apparent that every actor was proud of his or her work, so it upset me at first to hear that some actors would not be allowed to perform their piece.  I was relieved, though, when he gave the last three a chance.  But as to why he even broke them up into groups in the first place confuses me.  I thought the last three were equally as good, powerful, and moving as the first seven.

It just so happens that we have to perform a 3-5 minute dance performance as our final project.  For me to choose my song and choreograph my piece took a long time.  Hours and hours.  I really tried to convey that my dad lives a normal life and then reflects on his days and tries to find things that could be made humorous.  The actors we saw all also had to compile a 3-5 minute piece.  Seeing that they were able to successfully do so and especially have fun with it showed me that they are just as capable of performing as non-disabled people are.

Overall, I think Jerome Bel is doing a beautiful thing.  He is allowing these people that are probably always pitied to let their voice and body be “heard” saying that there is no need to pity them.  I would highly recommend this performance.  It’s a lot of fun and it made me feel warm inside.

– Kyle (Blog B)

Two Boys was quite an unforgettable experience for me, primarily because it broadened my perspectives on the nature of artistic vision. What could easily have turned into a messy, overly ambitious attempt at contemporary opera instead came together as a beautifully haunting work of art that transported me into the often-frightening, tragic, and exhilarating world that Nico Muhly had created.

I was left breathless by the natural flow of Muhly’s opera. There were no unintentional pauses or breaks from the dramatic plot line and the seamless transitions only served to heighten the opera’s already existent tension. Perhaps to the dismay of critics who believe that the use of media in performance detracts from the “liveness”–the presence–of the performers and their work, I found that the added media actually created a level of immediacy that would not otherwise be possible. The writer Walter Benjamin criticizes the “mechanical dilution of presence or liveness in a reproduction work of art” and the subsequent “depreciation of the presence of the artwork and a withering of its essential aura” (Dixon 116-17). Likewise, Peggy Phelan argues that “performance’s only life is in the present…To the degree that performance attempts to enter the economy of reproduction, it betrays and lessens the promise of its own ontology” (Dixon 123).

Benjamin and Phelan would likely be affronted by Two Boys’s elaborate and extensive use of movable projection screens to depict written reproductions of the sung online conversations between various characters and several beautifully rendered artistic images of the interconnectedness of the world wide web. Yet I found myself captivated by the brilliance in set design and by the screens’ ability to contribute to both the visual and emotional atmosphere of the opera.  Whereas Benjamin believes that the liveness and aura of the artwork are diminished by the presence of reproduction, I actually thought that having the verbally sung conversations displayed on the screens behind the actors contributed greatly to the dark and lonely atmosphere of the piece and also to the potentially violent and dangerous aspects of the Internet as portrayed in the opera. There is one particularly chilling section in which Brian is contacted online by the psychotic gardener, Peter, who begins to harass and abuse him with crass sexual comments. Although in itself disturbing, this scene’s unsettling nature is underscored by the fact that Brian and Peter’s conversation is being simultaneously written out on the projection screens, revealing Peter’s possibly intentional misspellings (the one that stood out most to me was “want some cumpny?”) Contrary to Phelan’s belief that the use of reproduction lessens the performance’s state of being, Two Boys used the projection screens skillfully to represent the idea that despite the Internet’s ability to literally connect the entire world, it really only results in a disconnect among individuals. The use of media in the opera actually affirmed and strengthened this idea throughout the performance, rather than detract from it.

I was also struck by how well Nico Muhly managed to combine a discourse on the damaging effects of the Internet with a decided appreciation of its beautiful intricacy and depth. When the projection screens displayed wispy, twisted images of spiraling webs and various artistic representations of all the connections between individuals made possible by the Internet, combined with the chorus members and dancers on stage, I was awed by the accuracy and clarity of the ideas being presented. I could feel the loudness of the Internet through these images–the messy, harsh, discordant sounds of too many voices clashing at once, but also the significance of the fact that all these voices could even be existing together at once. There can be no doubt that the creation of the Internet was–and continues to be–quite the unbelievable feat. It has become such an integral part of the way society functions that it nearly has the ability to dictate both our successes and our failures as individuals.

Roland Barthes writes of how media in performance is “deeply concerned with mortality itself, with the nature, the neome of humanity” (Dixon 122). This idea could not have been made clearer than it was in Two Boys. The use of images on the projection screens and even of the video footage of Brian and Jake all contribute to demonstrate the increasing dependence of society on this media that is claimed to be unnecessary. There is a paradox in the idea that even as humanity grows tremendously, it is a growth that is often spurred on and made possible by the use of technology and media. Society has created the means for engendering its greatest triumphs and for paving the path to its greatest downfalls through the Internet. As Philip Auslander put it: “the live itself incorporates the mediatized, both technologically and epistemologically” (Dixon 124). This has come to apply not just to performance, but also to ourselves–to the fact that our liveness as a society can no longer exist without the incorporation of media. And as art so often reflects society, we see in Two Boys how the Internet takes over the lives of Brian and Jake and, by extension, that of Detective Strewson, even with her little experience and knowledge of computers. In the production of Two Boys itself the use of media is incorporated so brilliantly and so well that it becomes a natural organ in the functioning of the stage, complementing both the performers and the music with style.

Two Boys was not perfect in story and many plot aspects were not as hard-hitting or as dynamic as they could have been. But what really brought Two Boys to life was the way it tied itself together. Through its gorgeously dark and haunting music and its dynamic actors, Two Boys created a purposeful atmosphere right from the start and did an incredible job at not ever losing it. In the end, however, the piece that truly held the entire opera together for me was the set, the lighting, and the media. I can’t recall ever being more impressed or stunned by something I have seen on a stage. There really was such a liveness in Two Boys, one that I believe could only have been achieved, ironically, through its stunning use of media and reproduction.

–Norine Chan (Blog A)

An opera fueled by technology and a plot pervaded by love, Two Boys was an outstanding production — one that I would even go so far as to say that it is a performance that you must see.

Its plot, which is enhanced by beautiful orchestral music and the powerful vocals of the performers, begins with the stabbing of Jake, a young boy, and Brian, Jake’s older friend, being accused of stabbing him — a crime of which he claims to be innocent. Forced to take on this case by her superior, Detective Anne Strawson immediately becomes frustrated with Brian’s preposterous story about a gardener who is a sexual predator and an aunt that is a spy — a story which she believes he has spun in a web of lies in hopes of retaining his freedom for as long as he can, since she thinks that Brian is guilty because he can be the only assailant.

Requesting the transcripts of his internet chats and reviewing the security camera footage from the shopping center, Detective Strawson sets out to solve the mystery of Jake’s stabbing and uncover the true identity of the assailant. Although she becomes frustrated at first, having to read “internet chat language” and use new devices like a computer, Detective Strawson overcomes her shortcoming and successfully pieces the story together and solves the crime.

Set in 2001, during the period and popularization and modernization of the internet that made it what it is today, Two Boys brings a more modern feel to the traditional opera with its extensive use of media — both in the plot of the story itself and in the production. Although some argue against the use of media, such as projectors, in operatic productions, Two Boys, in my opinion, takes full advantage of this media to further enhance the experience of the viewer and to underscore a main theme of it’s plot: technology.

Having both the “primary” and “secondary” events, terms that are applied by Benjamin and Auslander to the live performance of the actors and that which is conveyed to the viewer via media, respectively, only enhanced my experience of the play by making it easy to understand and clear the lines and emotion each of the actors was trying to convey. The media used in this opera added to the “liveness,” a term used by Steve Dixon in referencing the argument between those for and against the use of media in performances, of this performance, and it would not have been as powerful without it.

-John Wetmore (Blog A)

As my first opera, Two Boys turned out to be much different than what I had pictured an opera to be like. Even though it is a contemporary piece, with the use of less classical music and traditional sets and costumes, I still had gone into the Metropolitan Opera with the mindset that I would probably end up not really enjoying the performance. Contrary to my expectations, I had a great time – one because of the atmosphere of the opera house and two, because it was more modern so it was easier to relate to and understand the characters.

Each successive new generation now grows up surrounded by developed forms of technology where cell phones, computers and music devices are integrated into their daily lives. As opposed to the Detective Inspector Anne Strewson who didn’t own a computer and barely knew how to use one, it is nearly impossible for someone to accomplish anything work related now without using technology. It was interesting for this opera to take place in 2001 because it was at the turn of the century when people were just starting to test out computers and the Internet. For our class to go to this opera, we each had to step back and put ourselves back in time for more than a decade so that we could be in the mindset of the characters of the opera.

I loved how the gauze walls were used in the set. Not only were they somewhat transparent so the audience could see the people with the computers who were sitting inside, but it also served as a screen for the projection of the chat room conversations to be shown. This part of the performance made me think about Benjamin, Barthes, Auslander and Phelan’s references to “liveness”. As each character sang out their part of the conversation in the chat, the same line would appear behind them on the screen. This contrast of actually hearing the characters say their lines and thoughts and just seeing it on a screen goes well with Benjamin and Auslander’s views in how mediatized events are “secondary” to the live events. Even though the chat conversations copied showed exactly what the characters were saying and even how they were feeling through the use of emoticons and punctuation signs, we were not able to sense the emotions in the text as we did when the characters sang it.

This play of emotions in a live conversation versus an online chat room conversation shows how even the best reproduction lacks the presence of time and space of the actual event. Some people may have sided with Phelan and Barthe in believing photography, videos or recordings have the presence of the live body or actual event, and that they are “references” to the real event, I still think this opera shows us that this is not the case. In this crime mystery, the tape recordings of Brian and Jake by the shopping center are the perfect example for Barthe, Benjamin, Phelan and Auslander’s views on “liveness” because the videotaped version of the actual event proved to be only a surface image to what was really happening.

-Winnie Yu (Blog A)

With the lights turned off, a cold darkness fell upon the opera house. Save for one dusky light shining on the front of the stage, the entire stage was covered in darkness. A man runs onto stage, shouting guttural, strange words to the audience and then running back in to the depths of the darkness.  On the whole, I was pleasantly surprised by Anna Teresa de Keersmaeker’s Cesana. I might be in the minority party when saying this, but I absolutely loved the first half of the dance (before the lights were brightened). The taunt manner in which the dancers held onto each other as they walked out of and into the darkness was riveting. With the light being so dull, after some time the eyes projected a hazy, other-worldly glow on the people.  Though I understand the complaints others have, I found the effect of the lighting with the white glow of the white chalk circle to be amazing. However, one thing that confused me was whether the gradual brightening of the light was intended or because of the opinion of the woman who shouted about not being able to see the dance. One possible interpretation of this lighting change is that the actions and working of this group of people was becoming increasingly more transparent, and the discord and chaos we see towards the end of the dance is a result of that. The gradual lighting of the stage could show the progression of a “day” (in this case a certain time period), with the interactions between people coming to an explosive climax at the end. One effect of there being little light at the beginning of the dance was that I really had to trust my ears and listen to the sounds the dancers were making so that I could form a visual picture in my head as to what was going on in the entire stage. During some parts I closed my eyes and using the sounds simply imagined the dance in my mind – the entire procedure allowed me to feel the intense emotions that were rampant across the stage.

Other than lighting, another very important part of the dance was music. The entire soundtrack to the piece was a cappella, hummed by performers on stage who worked and moved with the dancers. In that sense I was very pleased; the singers were as much a part of the performance as the dancers; I could see no line between both. The only time I could tell who was singing was when I noticed one person, always different, would be conducting the dancers. The music, accompanied with the lighting, created a very dynamic rather spooky atmosphere.

Many of the movements in Cesana were constantly repeated. Dancers constantly ran in circles, perhaps representing the never-ending repetition found in life. Many of the movements took place around the chalk circle; towards the end of the dance there were pairs dancing in unison with one another. Some slide their feet along the chalk, slowly making their way around the circle and at the same time smudging the very foundation of the circle. The degradation of the chalk circle expressed the slow decline of a society through the general, peaceful movements. In addition to the movements around the chalk, the individual movements on the rest of the stage were radically different. Dancers would run onto the stage, pushing and touching others, causing what at some points seemed to be a brawl. There were many solos throughout the piece, each showing the turmoil the character the dancer portrayed was going through. There was much discord between the individual and the group; actions and appearances that had to be kept up in front of others melted away when alone.

As I whole, I thoroughly enjoyed Keersmaeker’s Cesana. While watching the entire piece, a story played in my head. Each movement meant some, every piece of the performance added to my experience. After the performance, I read through the booklet given to us and read a bit about Keersmaeker and her intention behind the piece. I was surprised when I was able to see much of that in her piece. In addition, I thought the lighting choices were brilliant in this piece, and the music was a very good accompaniment to the dance. Though there are many things I still do not understand from the piece, on the whole I can say that I enjoyed it at some deeper level, which made this entire evening worthwhile.

Malavika (B)

After having greatly enjoyed Kyle deCamp’s Urban Renewal, I had high hopes for Anne Teresa deKeersmaeker’s Cesena; however, I left the BAM theatre in disappointment. The tickets were, in my opinion, not even worth $5, let alone the $20 we paid for them. To support my point of view, I would like to call attention to the fact that people, who willingly paid $32 (and more) per ticket to see the show, were getting up and leaving in droves — something I had never seen at a performance before.

The first third of the performance, which I could barely see, was not impressive in the least. From opening with a man screaming words in a foreign language to ending with a group of people coming out from the shadows arm-in-arm, I didn’t really get the point of the entire scene. (Around the end of the first third, a brave woman, whom I applauded, in the audience spoke out against the injustice of charging people $32 a ticket and having them not be able to see the performance.)

The second third, which I could actually see, was much better, compared to the first, with wild movements and a more active performance. the dancers seemed to come alive at this point, making the experience of watching it much more entertaining.

The final third of the performance was, in my opinion, the best part because I could clearly see everything on the stage and because the dancers were wide-awake and, as it seemed, more comfortable in their movements. The only thing I didn’t like about the stage’s being so bright was the lackluster stage, which was undecorated.

The things I like the most in Cesena were deKeersmaeker’s use of the stage, of a theme, and of lighting. With a huge white chalk circle in the center of the stage, I was reminded of an African tribal ritual, and with the hymns the dancers were singing as they performed, I was reminded of sitting at Church every Sunday. I feel like deKeersmaeker deliberately used the circle and the experience at night to create a religious theme, in which the context of the performance took place. Although I was annoyed at first that I could barely see what was happening on stage, I realize now that deKeersmaeker deliberately started the performance in pitch blackness so that she could slowly increase the intensity of the light throughout the performance, creating the illusion of night turning into day.

Overall, I do have to say that I did not enjoy deKeersmaeker’s Cesena; however, the performance, in the least, did has some ups that were somewhat enjoyable and entertaining.

-John Wetmore (Blog A)

“Cesena”, choreographed by Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker, is a beautiful mélange of light, dance, and music.  This is not to say that I wasn’t confused throughout much of the piece.  In fact, compared to during “A (micro) history of economics, danced”, I was more frustrated at times because I didn’t understand what was happening.  However, after reflecting with the help of the NYTimes article and BAMBill, I was better able to admire the talent and appreciate all the thought that went into this performance.

Light was definitely a powerful component in this dance.  The stage started off pitch black with only a dim light in the center and progressively got brighter.  It is interesting to note that De Keersmaeker created En Atendant, a compliment to Cesena, which gets darker throughout the piece.  She also chose to portray the transition from the Middle Ages to Renaissance, which I thought was very fitting.  The physical darkness represents the Dark Ages as the Middle Ages is sometimes called and the brightness a revival or rebirth of culture.

She also intended these pieces to be performed in natural light outdoors, starting at dusk or dawn.  This would be a very different experience because they wouldn’t be able to adjust the lighting, as done when someone in the back yelled that they couldn’t see the movements.  At the time, I was somewhat glad that they turned the lights up.  Like some of my classmates, I had been squinting to see what the dancers were doing.  The person in front of me was looking through his binoculars, the people behind me were whispering how they couldn’t see, and many people actually left.  Looking back, I think the beginning was meant to be a more auditory experience, hearing them singing and listening to the rustles of the movements.  The big picture was slowly revealed with the gradual addition of light.

I was also amazed by the combination of dance and music.  According to the NYTimes article, de Keersmaeker wanted all the dancers singing and singers dancing.  This was really apparent to me when the stage was bright and I realized that everyone on stage could not only dance, but sing as well.  I felt the vocalizations were synchronized with the lighting.  The piece started with one dancer vocalizing and more people joined in until everyone was singing the end.  These dancers had so much stamina as they were able to alternate between dancing and singing and continue this medieval music for the two hour performance.  There was also great acoustics, accentuating the melody and filling the theater with surround sound.

De Keersmaeker also wanted to go back to the raw material, concreteness, and the body.  There was something very natural about how the dancers leaped, ran across the stage or threw themselves on the floor.  She also mentions how important time and space are and describes her piece as an “a cappella composition not only with the voice, but also with movement”.  The dancers were definitely very aware of their surroundings and their voices and movements, although different, worked together in harmony.  Overall, I am satisfied with the way De Keersmaeker choreographed these seemingly random parts into a very insightful performance.

Black and white, I thought, except for the bright sneakers. “Cesena” by Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker was a rendition of the typical contrasts of life; between white and black, life and death, enlightenment and despair. The piece started with a dimly lit setting used to evoke effort in the squinting audience. As the steps repeated themselves and the vocals started sounding like chants, the performance started taking the form of a religious ritual. What struck as rather interesting was the use of a well-rehearsed rhythm to choreograph the rustling steps. The randomness of those very steps emphasized the idea of a flawless synchronization of timing among dancers.

What added to the confusion I felt towards the piece was the large white circles outlined by a chalky type of sand. This shape I assumed to be a sort of boundary, or perhaps an outline relevant to the whole performance, but as the performers stepped over the circle, the outline faded and wore away and dimmed against the black pavement. An idea that occurred was that perhaps the circle was a symbolic representation of life and how the struggles and calamities of an individual’s lifespan can cause it to wear and damage, but yet still exist and guide – as sometimes the dancers would go back to the outline of the circle and perform along its circumference. With such in mind, the performance became even more spiritual as the people stepped in and out of the boundary: falling, crawling, dragging, running, or plainly walking.

The irony to the circle of life, however, was given by such subtle repetition of crosses through the show. Performers would be lifted and carried around as crosses, they would walk and run with arms sprawled open in an embrace-like manner. The crosses were not the only religious givens in “Cesena”. The very antique chant-like vocalists aimed to highlight the rituals of Catholicism during the older Gregorian era. These hymns were a laudable performance of all dancers whose fluid movements were equaled by well synchronized harmonies.

As a main point, to which I was confused, De Keersmaeker looked to integrate religion in the aspects of life and death and tie the entire show together with a performance comparable to the dramatic events of life. Oftentimes, she would highlight movements with clear contrasts in meaning, from the running of a shunned performer, to the matching dance pieces by partners; De Keersmaeker aimed to make contrasts a major theme to her performance, perhaps to emphasis how life itself is a huge contrast, between good and bad, right and wrong, light and dark.

Keith Merlin Anne Ilagan (Blog B)