Review #1 from Writing on Dance

As part of the Van Lier Fellowship at DTW, i'm working as the artist services assistant - filing fiscal sponsorship, printing mailing lists, and also being the DTW liaison to a handful of workshops. Until now, they've all been pretty up-my-alley: fundraising, marketing, touring, developing a board, etc. When i learned that I was going to take the "writing on dance" class taught by Claudia LaRoco, i didn't really think twice about it. I'm a dance writer, after all.

This thought did little to calm me as i sweated through the first class realizing that OH! i still have many many unresolved issues in my mind with the role and purpouse of the critic and OH! i'm not sure that there should be dance reviews and OH! maybe my issue isn't with the reviews themselves, but the idea of performance...oh dear.

The class is really interesting thus far - Claudia's illucidations on what she views as her role as a critic (specifically her understanding of criticism as a distinct artistic entity that the writer uses to triangulate the piece and the audience) are quite helpful in my internal struggles. Which is to say, i'm still struggling, but i think it's worth it. I'm making the most of being in the class, anyway, and that includes getting to do the assignments - a review a week!

I'll be posting them on here (and at least in this first one, this blog is the intended audience) but would value any feedback etc that you feel so moved to give. Enjoy! Or Detest! Or Both! At Once!

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60 x 60 provides the economy package at Galapagos

I, the epic-dance maker, stand corrected.
Turns out that one minute is the perfect length for a dance.
Or rather, sixty dances.

On Tuesday Galapos Arts space presented Jeramy Zimmerman’s collaboration with “60 x60 Dance” – this year’s rendition of the larger ongoing multi-media multi-country “60 x 60” series. Composed by 60 individual composers and then choreographed by 60 individual choreographers, this unlikely format of 60-second performances is perfect for a city such as New York that’s overflowing with creators.

It’s like a wine tasting, only you’re sampling artists, and you get to relish both discovering new flavor and spitting it out if desired. Watching a program like this your brain begins to wrap around the enormity of New York’s dance scene, and you wish that a program like this was a more frequent occurrence.

Forget the dances - the format is key.
Pieces that you felt drawn to (for me, one specific piece where dancers took nearly the whole time to approach each other, then spewed water, fountianlike, into Galapagos’s pools) were great precisely because they followed the format – one minute of concise brilliance. Though many of them made you want to see more from the choreographer or dancers, the best pieces felt complete – choreographic petit fours – and didn’t leave you wanting more from that piece specifically.

Pieces that made you yawn or gag (highly-costumed women raising their legs oh-so high while being controlled by men – gaze theory, anyone?) only lasted a minute. Then, true to format, they were done, and you could breathe a sigh of relief, remembering other shows that wasted an hour of your life rather than just a minute.

Some pieces left you unsure right up to the end. Is there a point to this? Oh wait – there it is at 0:58. Other pieces left you unsure far past the ending. Did the choreographer know she was doing the same thing everyone does, or was she commenting on it? Is this one brilliant, or just too short to discover otherwise? In a show like this, ignorance was bliss.

As dance-audience regulars, this format of performance questioned our personal rules and economics of spectatorship. If the dance only lasts a minute, what do we expect to get from it? What does it need to do to be successful? If it’s only a minute, does it really matter if it fails?

While it certainly takes a skill and innovation to create a one-minute work that really shines, it’s also hard to make anything too horrible. Additionally, the revelry of how much of the work was produced – often times only one or two rehearsals, very much in a playful response to the music – shone through the show. It’s this that makes one-minute dances stand out to me as a great form, though by no means a new standard for how dances should be made. In an economy and city where artists slave for years to create a show seen by under a hundred people, this format seemed refreshingly egalitarian and viable: an hour or two of rehearsal for a minute of performance, done not in desperation or extreme amounts of effort, but with a smile and a shrug.

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Check out the 60 x 60 website here.

Review: Alastair Macaulay's "Consequences of Going to Tape"

As i posted below, a few days ago this article by Alastair Macaulay appeared in the New York Times. As it's one of my goals for this year to become more well read in terms of the dance world, i've switched my homepage over to the Times's page of dance reviews, and so was greeted by this one as i pulled myself out of bed. I read it, and had to read it again to make sure i wasn't misreading or misinterpreting it - one of those situations where you go "he said WHAT?!?!?!.......No.....that can't be right......oh. Well.......wow."

In the article, Macaulay discuses the decline of using live music at dance performances (he seems to be talking about ballets, Ailey, and other "uptown" performances, although he doesn't clarify those specifically, nor does he limit himself to a discussion of solely those companies). He points out that, specific to Ailey's last season (although, the reader wonders by the end of the article if he doesn't feel this way about all dance) that "there are moments when it’s almost as good to look at the singers as it is to watch the dancing" and later, "the musicians are the main event".

Now, don't get me wrong, I think Macaulay's heart is in the right place, and i understand and agree with the just of his arguments: there's a certain power and seduction of seeing a performance with live music, it allows for a different relationship between the dancer and the music, one that allows spontaneous and often exciting musicality on the part of the dancer, that, if the company uses taped music, it's often most effective (which i understood as easiest to watch) when it's used to achieve a nostalgic, artefactual, or kitsch effect, and that companies even such as Ailey, amidst our breathing it's last lifeless breath economy, are canceling shows and "turning to tape" (a phrase which perhaps further indicates the extent with which Macaulay is out of touch with modern technology, among other things). He even spends a paragraph or two illuminating how financially unfeasible it is for companies to support live music, based on a previous article by Joan Acocella. He writes:

"In 2005 the Graham company was able to give a two-week season with a live orchestra of 28 players, but the cost - Joan Acocella, reviewing in The New Yorker, reported at the time — was $184,000. The same month a Mark Morris season with six instrumentalists and eight singers cost, for four performances, $35,000. Ms. Acocella (also reviewing the excellent Nrityagram Dance Ensemble, which had three instrumentalists and a vocalist) remarked: “In these days of near-zero public funding for dance, one assumes that the companies more or less killed themselves to raise that money, and the result made all the difference in the world. Dance audiences, I believe, have now got used to taped music, and you can get used to it, the same way you can learn to eat Spam instead of ham, or breathe smog instead of air. Your life is just diminished, and you don’t realize it until you see concerts such as we saw last month.”

He also looks at the Miami City Ballet's predicament:

“Live music for programs this season would cost the company $480,000, and as of Dec. 4, 2008, $188,281.83 had been raised,” the release says. The company’s board, it says, determined that “the goal would not be met.” Such stories have occurred elsewhere; more will follow."

Reading this, my first reaction was a positive one to the article - glad that a reviewer was doing his part to look at an important and negative trend that's happening as a result of the dance economy, and also glad for a dance article that wasn't just about what the reviewer had seen and what they personally thought about it. Macaulay had laid out all the information, and as i followed the link to the second page, i was ready for his pointed yet poignant conclusion, perhaps with a suggestion about how the dance world could utilize this power of live music to gain enough money to afford it.

Oh, but that second page.

In the conclusion of the article, Macaulay makes a few statements that i find to be completely flatly inexcusable for someone who acts as the leading dance critic for the New York Times to be making. Macaulay goes on to lament the "turn to tape" (meaning use of non-live music) in the dance world (here meaning Ailey and other uptown, well funded, lyrical modern and ballet companies) or as he also deems it, "indifference to musicians", and expresses distress over choreographers choosing specific recordings of arias or symphonies that are not (he seems to think) the 'best' or 'most interesting' versions. He also expresses a fair amount of distress over companies not listing the music in their programs (which, for the record, irks me as well) admitting "I was much more interested in trying to identify that recording than I was in watching the choreography." But that's not the worst. Macaulay then closes the article with this which, because there's really no way for me to sum it up or make it worse than what he actually wrote, i'll just give to you here:

"I’d rather see smaller companies in smaller theaters, where dance still feels like music making...

A flamenco dancer at a Dance Critics Association conference once stated this rule: If you see flamenco to taped music, it’s not real flamenco. The rule should apply outside flamenco, too. When you’re hearing taped music, don’t be too sure you’re seeing real dance. As we enter dark financial days, this battle must be fought and fought again."

Really? This strikes me, as a choreographer, as...well...wrong. And i'm pretty sure that i'm one of the people in the position to point that out. Let's analyze this for a moment so we can pick out what's wrong with this statement:

1.) "I’d rather see smaller companies in smaller theaters, where dance still feels like music making" - While that may be true, and Mr. Macaulay is certainly entitled to his opinion, let me remind him that those dance companies may not have an interest in smaller theaters, or for that matter (hold on Alastair, this may come as an unwelcome shock to you) making dances that feel like music making. They may in fact be interested in making dances that feel like visual artwork, storytelling, abstraction or (are you ready for it?) dancemaking. Movement. Aesthetics of the moving body in time and space. That's why dance is a different art form from music. Because it's not music, and doesn't have the goal of being music. Now, tell me if i'm overreacting. Is it wrong that it alarms me that the lead NYT dance critic is upset when dance fails to "feel like music making"?

Don't get me wrong. I do understand that Macualay's argument is mainly for companies, such as the New York City Ballet and Alivn Ailey where the spectacle and presentation of the baroque aesthetics of the company seem to be in the forefront. I do understand that, for a company interested in such musically-driven work, that after the decision is made to give the music that large a role in the piece, one must then at least consider the implications of not delivering a quality of sound as important and immediate as the role of the music is professed to be. However. Dance. Is. Not. Music. Making. Dance. Is. Dance. Making. It doesn't matter the genre, the aria, or how much the dance longs for the power of live accompaniment. It is it's own art form. Let me say it again: Dance has no obligation to be or support music. Dance is dance.

2.) "The rule should apply outside flamenco, too." Maybe i'm wrong to imply this, but dance styles are different precisely because they each hold a set of different values, aesthetics, and rules, all of which can then be followed, evolved, or broken by each piece/choreographer/company. The role of line and upright carriage is what makes ballet not modern dance. Agreeing to the seduction of gravity rather than remaining upright against it is what makes contact improv a form. It follows then that the dance's relation to music might be different per genre. Yes, live music is vital to flamenco (although would it surprise me to find a company that argued otherwise? No. Would I agree with them? Maybe.), but it is not for a number of other dance forms. Even understanding that Macaulay is (although he doesn't clarify) speaking of Ailey and ballet, forms to which music is clearly vastly important, the implication that one genre's rule is again, coming from the NYT lead critic, is deeply troubling.

3.) "When you’re hearing taped music, don’t be too sure you’re seeing real dance." Really, Mr. Macaulay? Really? Because i'm pretty sure that i've seen some damn good dance that been to recorded music. Or no music, even. He's not talking about postmodern dance, clearly, but the fact that he doesn't find an analysis of why it matters to which forms necessary to his argument is troubling at best, and willfully ignorant at worst. Dance, believe it or not, is, as we've stated, it's own art form.

4.) His conclusion is perhaps the most troubling to me. "As we enter dark financial days, this battle must be fought and fought again." Rather than suggesting alternatives for fundraising, rather than thinking about how we could turn the deficit of music funds into a suportive relationship between these arts (for, while the music world is clearly in the same econmy we are, musicians are getting by famously compared to the dance world), Macualay suggests that we just keep on trucking. Don't pay the dancers what they're worth, or even at all. Don't pay for healthcare or insurance, don't work towards sustainability. Don't invest in new media or technologies that will take us into the future. Don't work on dancers not having to have "real jobs", but by all means, have live music. That's what's really important.

It is disappointing and frustrating that Alastair Macualay is the head dance critic for the New York Times. Moreover, it is unfair and unhelpful to the dance world, both the artists within it and the potential audiences without.

Mr. Macaulay, I declare war.

Review(ish): Bill T. Jones's "A Quarreling Pair" and the Circus of Quirk

When Lillie first told me she had an extra ticket for Bill T. Jones's "A Quarreling Pair" at BAM, i couldn't have been more excited. While i've considered myself a fan of his work for a long time, the only time i had seen him live was performing an excerpt of "Uncle Tom's Cabin" at Fall for Dance a few years ago. Aside from that, the youtube previews of his work, and the respective documentaries on "Still/Here" and "Uncle Tom's Cabin", I had no experience watching his work. While I've always held him in my mind as the type of choreographer that might be able to make the most of a hypermedia system, this was my first time seeing a full show. I was looking forward to this as a real treat - quite like i looked forward to Susan Marshall's show - with the nervously giddy expectation that i would enjoy what i was about to see rather than a question of what this new work was or how the creator was reinvisioning dance, as I do when i'm about to see someone i've never seen before.

So perhaps that built up anticipation was what led to my quite opposite experience. Maybe it was that i'm not familiar with the puppet play that it was based on. Or maybe i just was in the mood for more dancing, after taking former BTJAZ dancer Alex Beller's class that morning. The audience seemed to like it, jumping to their feet to give a standing ovation as Jones came out for the bow, but Lillie and i just sat there, shaking our heads, as the forest of standing applauders obscured our view of the stage.

Why was it so bad in my mind? You'll notice that i don't say i "hated it" - if i hated it it would imply (to me at least) that there was something that i had a gut-wrenching averse reaction to, something that made me angry or upset or uncomfortable. And i think that's why it was so bad for me - i didn't hate it, it was just boring, and (i feel) poorly done.

To start, the first third of the evening length piece seemed to be a criticism of itself, repeatedly pointing out how boring the piece was. At certain moments (for instance, a prolonged and repetitive shadow-puppet exchange between the two sisters) localized sounds would broadcast over different sections of the speakers of people talking, making it sound like it was coming from the audience. Some of the comments included "this is boring" or, in other sections, jeering for the performer to get off of the stage. While this, the first time it happened, was a little interesting, if only for the "trick" of it, it quickly got old. At first I thought Jones using these "crowd interactions" to create the atmosphere of a carnival/cabaret (to mimic the piece), and to create the performer-audience dynamic that is more common with black art - a vocalness of part of the audience in both praise and critique of the work. Okay. Point taken. But why was Jones pointing out that the piece was boring? If he was aware of it, why didn't he change it? It seemed to me, then, that he had to be directing out attention to the fact that we as an audience might find it boring, but that he as a choreographer wanted us to pay attention longer. However, the piece gave me no answer as to why.

The first "dancing" didn't happen for at least seven or eight minutes, and after that point continued to appear with such sparsity that it seemed more of an interlude to the theatrics and songs that were being performed around it. At first, i thought this was intentional to push the audience towards a feeling of "more dnace! give us more dancing! all we want is more dancing!", but that moment of "more dancing" never came. The piece's two "big dancey" sections contained more walking in slow triplet rhythms than any virtuosic or innovative movement and, in contrast to the Lar Lubovitch performance I saw at DTW on Friday which also made extensive use of slow walking triplet patterns, Jones's use of them literally did nothing but make me sleepy. Yes, yes, and yes, the dancers themselves were GORGEOUS, and it was clear that they had serious skill, presence, and moving power. But we never (aside from one movement - an incredible jumping back flip that rolled to the ground) got to see them really move. There was too much stuff in the way, and if you know me or the work i've been involved in for the past year or so - a champion of "more" and an anti-clarity crusader, you know that's saying something.

Maybe it wasn't the volume, as much as the content. Many of the sections were solely singing or theatrical gags, and, for me, nearly all of the gags fell very flat. Maybe it was seeing Susan Marshall's show in such proximity - both shows dealt with notions of illusion, gag, entertainment, performance, campy sexuality, etc, and both shows adopted a vaudevillian style. But where Marshall's show used the comedic elements of vaudeville choreographically, melding them with her gorgeous movement, Jone's seemed to lack both inventiveness and an ability to meld his gags with the piece as a larger whole. It even seemed that Jones was trying to adopt the trend of blatant quirk in downtown dance, and somehow ready it for an uptown audience by squeezing it into the guise of vaudeville. The most successful section by far for me was the male duet shown on the show's card - the pair of men in a mock baseball getup. It was gestural, quirky, hipsterish, and felt like it had absolutely nothing to do with the rest of the show.

To top it all of, the show was very formally narrative, but was unclear and hard to follow. And yet the audience seemed to love it. Which leaves me wondering, a) what was i missing? b) did the audience like it just because it's been deemed "good dance" c) is it possible for a choreographer to retain the fierceness that they had before they were deemed "good dance" after they've been accepted by the "mainstream" and, most shockingly to me, d) is it possible that i've really disliked Bill T. Jone's work all along, and thought that i've loved him because of the outlier few pieces that i've actually seen?

Looks like i have some homework...

Oh, and in case you were wondering, the video projection was both uninventive and low-qual.
i am not threatened by bad work, i am not threatened by bad work, i am not threatened by bad work...

Review(ish): Thoughts on Susan Marshall's "Sawdust Palace" @ DTW

Though we (me, laurel, cavin, and larissa) saw the show last saturday, it's taken me some time to gather my thoughts - there's so much to be said about that piece! Two main things, somewhat unrelated, come to mind as the most forward things in my mind that can be conveyed in writing about the show. Much of it can't be, as it was beautiful and evocative and sexy and very much ephemeral, so i won't go there.

So then, two things.
1.) Susan's program note and (again) the idea of explaining/apologizing work
2.) the gender roles and relations at play in the piece

1.) I thought that this piece and program note was a great example of a way that a choreographer can give context and much needed direction to a viewer without overwhelming, "explaining", or otherwise directing their viewing experience. One of my favorite things about Susan Marshall's work (or, the two pieces i've seen - Cloudless and Sawdust Palace) is it's ability to use props and equipment (harnesses for arial work especially) in a way that doesn't feel gimmicky or trick-oriented like so much arial work i've seen tends to do. Where many choreographers have the harness dictating what happens, and often not being vastly innovative in their use of it, Marshall makes the harness work for her movement - integrating it seamlessly into the greater movement of the piece, allowing the drama and richness of the piece's non-linear narrative elements blend into the idea of harness and flying themselves.

That being said, this piece was very vaudevillian - based on turn of the century spiegletents and composer Edward Elgar - and skillfully played that line that runs between "trick" "illusion" "image" "exploration" etc.

In the program notes, Marshall writes: "In making this work, i found myself immediately immersed in the question of "popular" dance versus "serious" work in much the same way that Elgar must have been in his own day. Questions such as "when is a trick just a trick and when is it something more?" came up all the time. In a way, "Sawdust Palace" is part period piece put through the mill of my own sensibility, and part "oh, hell, let's just embrace the cabaret-like form and let it all go!" Sometimes a dance is just a dance and a cigar is just a cigar. Although, in this evening a cigar is never just a cigar - and a cup of tea isn't just a cup of tea, either."

For me, having this in mind as I watched the piece was extremely helpful, as it successfully negated any impulse i had during the show to negate or devalue a certain scene or section because it was more on the gimmicky side or because it was genuinely based on the unfolding of a "trick". Knowing that Marshall and her dancers had brought these concerns to the table in the making of the piece let me allow it for what it was - sometimes a trick, sometimes an illusion, sometimes the magic of live movement in a theater setting. Moreover - it was an investigation of these things - it was an open question to me as an audience member. Is this just a trick? What about this? Is that bad if it is? Why? To me, this set apart the piece's humor, which - yes - felt simpler and tamer in many regards that much of the quirky "down town" humor, from much of the dance going on now that is almost entirely quirk. While those pieces often bite at me though i do enjoy them and find them humorous (which, maybe is a jab more at my own seriousness than any fault of the pieces themselves), my experience of this piece's humor felt different in that it was an investigation of entertainment and performance as much as it was entertainment and performance itself.
Onwards.

2.) Just coming off of my post on my own gender struggles in terms of making movement for my men, watching this show was vastly interesting. I love Marshall's partnering - a great mix of innovation, flow, full body physicality, and gesture filled with the utmost level of humanity. I also love (and found myself studying enviously) her ability to switch in an out of what seems to be an awareness of gender. Maybe a better way to put it is this: at some moments, the dancers interact in very specific, societally reinforced gender roles, and at other moments the dancers partner and interact as if they could detach gender and gender context from their moving bodies. For example, many of the sections that were a) more campy and/or b) sexy (and Susan Marshall knows sexy) prominently featured a heavily erotic male-female duet. However, there were also male-male sections and sections involving the whole company that seemed to not care about the genders and power interactions as much, if at all.
Let's just pause for a second.
How does she do this!?!?

I'm a firm believer that you can never divorce the societal context and implications from a body, especially on stage, but at moments Marshall could have fooled me. After thinking about it i've come up with a few different explanations of how she's able to polarize this divide.

a.) Because the camp/erotic/sex-laden duets were so drenched in their gender interactions - often poking fun at the seriousness and intensity of this attraction and dynamic, the interactions without that tilt seemed more like a breath of fresh air. Had the "drenched" duets have been more subtle, they might have brought out more of the politics or context of the other interactions.

b.) I noticed in writing this that the gender interactions that i found most prominent were the male-female camp/erotic duets, while the male-male duets had some erotic tones, they weren't as clearly sexually-marked bodies, and even became more body as physical matter than body as culturally inscribed organism in some of the sections (especially Body Music). Because much of the male-male movement seemed less culturally inscribed (due to a number of factors including the specific performers, costumes, etc), I was previously classifying this in my head as somehow negating or ignoring gender in these interactions, whereas it was very much adhered to in the other sections. As far as I can remember, there weren't any female-female duets. So this brings up the fact that maybe it's more about the idea that women's bodies are inescapably culturally inscribed (especially on stage), while the male body (especially on stage) has a history and ability of being able to divert the gaze and escape it's very body-ness. What Marshall trying to escape gender stereotypes in the male duets and enforce it in the female-male ones? Or was my gaze simply a product of the dominant societal (white male patriarchal sexual) gaze?

There was clearly sex in this piece - one of the heavily yet subtly sexiest pieces i've ever seen - and for sex there has to be body. Where there is body there is gender, and where there is gender there is culturally inscribed meaning...Marshall was clearly thinking about gender at some level too - the heavily "normative" sexual interactions of the f-m duets were camp enough in some way to prove to me as a viewer that it couldn't just be her unexamined internalization of m-f interaction. Power dynamics were clear as well - from the submission-laced tea for two (originally seen as a solo in cloudless) to the very use of harnesses.

So what does this all mean?
No idea, but i've been having a great time tumbling it around in my head, thinking about what i can learn from it in my own making and watching practices.

All in all, a heavily gorgeous show.
I hope that video footage becomes available soon!

Reconsidering the Role of the Critic - does dance need dance criticism?

*Before you read this, check out the link in the post below to read the original discussion from Doug Fox's blog, Great Dance, that this post refers to.*

"Joan Acocella had better check her 'sell by' date because her article entitled 'Mystery Theater: Downtown surrealists' in the Aug 8 & 15, 2005 issue has the distinct odor of irrelevance. Her musings on my work and on that of the others mentioned are so badly observed and so off track that I have to speak up. Through her lack of understanding and her inability to reach out and get information from artists, she joins a group of critics whom I will call 'the literalists.' These critics do not know how to read dances created outside the restricted confines of the narrative or musical frameworks from past centuries. What's more, they don't do the work of finding out what is actually going on in the minds of artists or what are the contexts in which these works are created. They have reduced dance criticism to an explanatory, superficial, retelling of events steering the documentation of contemporary dance into an impenetrable forest, dark and mistaken."

-- Tere O'Connor, Letter to the New Yorker, posted October 14 on the Dance Insider.

Does dance need dance criticism? Does audience need dance criticism?
What is the role of the critic? What rules and duties are critics bound by, if any? Do we need to reconsider their role, or is it none of our business what (and how) they write about our work? I'd like to offer some thoughts:

1. The previous debate about this shows that everyone has an opinion, and a strong one at that. What seems clear to me after reading doug's discussion is that most of the comments made that agreed with Jowitt and Acocella (in that they didn't want to hear what the piece was about, they wanted to see it on stage) also cited a 'disconnect' between what the choreographer may have been saying or presenting and the work itself. In his response, Matt goes as far as to point this at the dance-tech choreographers in particular, although it is clear that other posters are talking about other types of dance as well (Karen, for example, cites ballet). The main concern, it seems, (and this is a concern that's been raised against my ideas, hypermedia and otherwise, over and over and over again) is that any talk, explication, or discussion of process or intention is in effect apologizing for the work itself if it isn't strong enough to convey these things on stage.

Why are we doing this to ourselves? I can't be the only one who feels like there's a direct link between the lack of dance being "explained", the lack of dance being studied, the lack of dance being seen, and the lack of dance being funded, but at times it feels like it. Yes. If the work is shit, then no amount of explaining could ever hope to save it - to argue otherwise is illogical. But that's not what we're saying when we talk about the need for and interest in choreographers dissecting and presenting their ideas and processes. And yes even "explaining".

To me, this "explaining" (your term, not mine) that choreographers are doing isn't acting as an apologist for their work. If the work is bad, it's bad. I don't think there's a singe person making work who thinks 'well, i can't get the movement in this part to work out, i'll just explain so people will understand' and i likewise doubt that most choreographers would think that they would have better odds working in the realm of words to convey something rather than movement. Certianly people want to defend their work. It's human. But if it's bad for you as an audience member it's bad for you, and no amount of words will likely change that. For me, when a choreographer wants to talk about "the ideas behind the piece" or "the process of making this section" it's an opportunity to learn. Potentially the most valuable experience i can have as a choreographer, listening to another maker talk about their process is a chance for me to consider their craft, intentions, product (and, yes, any differences between the two) as well as my own. It is a chance to broaden my understanding of how i make what i make, taking it from that vague abstract ether of "the muse" and making it a building block of skill and craft that i can then improve upon. "I find this satisfying aesthetically because..." "this happens here to echo the first phrase..." "i think this didn't end up working because..." "They said that was about what? I TOTALLY didn't get that. Why didn't i get that?"
Oh. I've learned something.

So, to me, it seems insane to dismiss a these discussions of process, intention, or craft that come from the choreographer because it is coming from the only person in the world who can tell you these things. I don't mean to imply that there aren't other people that couldn't tell you how the piece was made (the dancers for example) or choreographers that don't have a wealth of wisdom to share, but it seems odd that people are so affronted by someone wanting to share their wisdom. "Show it on the stage, then" which makes sense to me, but then i'm reminded by these same people that (to quote Leigh from the discussion) our audiences aren't "schoolchildren to be taught. They're guests to be welcomed. It's about them, not about us and our process." Let's face it. Product and craft are two different things. You wouldn't expect an author to include an explanation of the craft of his writing style in his novel, just the writing itself as evidence of it. But why would anyone take up arms against the author talking about his style? Wouldn't some people find it interesting? Couldn't people learn something from it?

2. Clearly, I'm all for choreographers talking process and intention, and i'm refuting the assumption that all talk of dance is as an apologist of bad work. So let's move on to the next step (yep, it's a long post kiddies). If we assume that choreographers have (gasp) a right to talk about their craft and dances - let's even assume that there's a legitimate need for it in society for those who are interested in hearing it - then what is the role of the critic?

It seems the critic has a few simple choices:
a) only look at the dance (let's call this "critic as audience")
b) look at the dance with inside information from the choreographer (let's call this "critic as confidant") or
c) become a mouthpiece for the ideas and intentions of the choreographer ("critic as teacher")

Now, about two years ago, i think i would have argued the third, that it is (or at least, should be) the job of the critic to help the audience learn about the production in question by gaining as much information as possible and then determining what could be most helpful to the average theatergoer. While i still think that would certainly be great for me, and many others who would be interested in getting "inside info" before seeing work (and while i think it's worth pointing out that major companies get this type of treatment while small upcoming choreogrpahers - who the audience perhaps needs the most "help" with - get only a few sentences), i no longer would argue that it falls to the critic's job description, real or desired.

Here's why.
In reading the comments on Doug's post, i realized that i did agree, in part, to what his critics were saying. It does seem somehow important, as Jeniffer Dunning puts it, "to respond as an informed audience member". That way, the critic really is just responding to what they are seeing, just as the audience will be asked to do, and in this way they are actually responding to the work in the way that an audience member might. (I'll hold off on my claim that this is impossible and so doing this is just pretending for this post.) As Joan Acocella puts it

"There's actually a word for that approach; it's the intentional fallacy in criticism (that is, you judge [a work] on its intentions). . . . I see myself as a member of the audience, so whatever the artist's intentions are, many of them—maybe most of them—I won't be able to discern."

Fine. Like i said, a few years ago i would have fought it tooth and nail, but right now i'm saying fine. This seems to point to the role of the critic as more of a ginuea pig than anything else (trying to represent how a "blind" audience will feel upon seeing this work for the first time) or an entertainment signpost (go see mark morris! don't see so and so!) rather than an educator or informed scholar, but so be it. If nothing else, this role for the critic is inherently FAIR, as it affords the critic the same experience as the viewer as much as possible.

So then.
This original argument that i'm talking about was from 2006 - back when Tere O'Connor responded to a review of his work that he found unhelpful and irrelevant by publishing the letter he sent to the new yorker in response on a few major dance site (click here if you haven't read it already - i can't even begin to explain how much it makes me swell with pride and excitement for the future). Clearly this argument is still very much happening, and i hate to say it, but repeating. So let's move on.
If we're going to insist that the critic mimic the same experience as the audience, so be it, but that won't really matter because...

(and here's the real issue:)
We need to stop asking EVERYONE (audience, critic, other) to only see a dance once, and we need to stop asking them to see it "blind". We need to stop thinking of dance critics as authorities on the craft of dancemaking - if they are mimicking the audience experience and hiding the fact that they posses "insider knowledge" (say...an awareness of most of the dance world, access to many more performances than most viewers, an audience that listens to their critique etc...) - if they want to be critics of the experience of being entertained, so be it, but let us think of them as such. And since it is not the critic's job to talk about The Dance itself, then it is our time, as choreographers, as skilled makers and thinkers who have something valuable that we can teach those who are interested in learning, to start "reviewing" - documenting, writing about, artifacting, and critiquing - ourselves.

Rather than fight against the idea that (again, gasp) dancers should be able to talk about their work, let's push all the way back and give the traditionalists something to take issue with. Why should we settle for having ANYONE see the dance only once, uninformed, or otherwise blind? No. The time to change the system is here, and there are people that are willing to fight for it. Me for one.

As of this moment, i do not know who the dance is for. But i do know that the terms of it are changing. Who is changing them? Me as the choreographer. It's my JOB. So listen to the critic, who's job it is to tell you about the experience of being entertained or frustrated, and how this thing that they've just seen looks on first viewing. And listen to the choreographer, who knows the dance better than they know anything else in the world, with a stronger love and hate that they afford anything else in their life, with more thought than is given to any other matter. Then listen to everyone else, yourself included, and you'll have the start of an understanding of what you're going to see.

The Role of the Critic...the debate continues...

Rosie was kind enough to send me this last night - its from a while back (2006) - before i started reading Great Dance - but is definitely worth a peek. It's a question of sorts that Doug Fox poses about the role of the critic (here in terms of dance reviews, but really applicable to any medium) that a bunch of readers jumped in on, each with a different opinion. Read the full debate here. My two cents to follow.