Staged Rave: Batsheva Dance Company’s Anaphaza
Lori Ortiz
Ohad Naharin’s
1993 Anaphaza is a frenetically paced birthday party celebrating the ordinary
audience member. Naharin, choreographer, chose Anaphaza for the festival because
it is a festive dance. In rehearsal, as in Jewish custom after the death of a
loved one, mirrors are covered to avert the gaze from the distracting image of
the self. The choreographer’s Playbill bio reads only
“Nothing is
permanent.” The “show” is focused on us; it’s an experience
quite different from the liberating adulation of beautiful people moving in exhilarating
and otherworldly planes. This is not the sugarplum forest; it’s the jungle.
The dance
begins with a bang: some fireworks, and plumes of smoke or dust. The dust remains
present throughout, kicked up and brushed off by the dancers, in a sort of awakening.
The company dances in dark suits, short open jackets and the brimmed hats of
joyful young orthodox men. From a sitting position they take on various states
of undress. Shoes thrown high into the air create a glorious shower, falling
uniformly into the center. With its unique expressive rhythm, Anaphaza is like
a tribal dance—the tribe of Batsheva. A pair reaches into each other’s
orange grass skirts in an exploratory duet.
The movement
draws on African dance, pedestrian movements, modern and classic western techniques,
Israeli folk dance, and ‘90’s rave; it is smart, appealing and extreme.
Avi Yona-Bueno’s lighting is severe and confrontational. At one point the
stage lights shine right out into the audience. Anaphase is a cell division characterized
by polarization. In Anaphaza, the raw and the elegant, darkness and strong light,
are juxtaposed.
Instead of
intermission, the company calls audience members onstage and with them, somehow
creates compelling dance for the rest of us. The suited dancers weave fast-paced
antics around the prop-like folks in fancy summer dress, and a delegate is appointed
as birthday boy.
In a tremulous
fast forward solo, Chisato Ohno, organic and earthy, burns herself out. An alter-ego
spirit on the upstage landing shadows her movement. Even beached on the floor,
Ohno spreads her wings. Her suited partner lifts her up, with love, or compassion,
or the hope that it would give her the strength to go on, just as Prince Charming’s
kiss enlivened the Sleeping Beauty. But it’s too late.
A funereal procession
beats on plastic ten-gallon jugs.
Stefan Ferry plays
the star, demi-god, or autocrat in a gleaming sequined gown; he postures and
then convulses alternately in glory and then in mortal distress. He and a male
ensemble dancer check each other out, circling in an animalistic duet.
Five years
ago, this intuitively conceived dance caused political controversy in the Orthodox
Jewish community with its juxtaposition of the sacred and profane. It led to
Naharin’s resignation and the Company’s refusal to perform. In that
political landscape, where it stood as placard of censorship and artistic integrity,
its other virtues may have been obscured. Naharin told The Jewish Week that despite
the historical hubbub, “It is still good fun.” He hopes the ambivalence,
structure, and coherence of his performance can be appreciated at the Lincoln
Center Festival.
Amid the fun and
celebration, “The panic behind the laughter” is enacted in Batsheva’s
frenetic flailing. The dancers breathe heavily near the end. As promised in his
four-line opening monologue read in English and Hebrew, “fatigue and elegance
coexist” in this performance; a final procession in bright tutus celebrates
perseverance.
