Kelli Brown delivers an engagingly varied program with both directorial breadth and accessible choreography, generously sprinkled with moments of exceptional beauty and compositional effect. Three of the four works on the program fit within the genre of modern repertoire—dances that are dancerly, whose movements are closely linked to the music, and involved in a poetic/kinetic narrative. The last of these works, and the concert namesake New and Improved, seems to anchors all the works, presenting the clearest statement of what just might be on Brown’s mind—cultural critique from a woman’s pov.
In New and Improved, the cast of five women frantically drive their 4-wheeled kitchen stools pell-mell across some imaginary suburban landscape, stopping suddenly only to strike tableaux of 1950s pinup poses. The Bing Crosby songs propose a veneer of domestic tranquility, ironically soothing a subliminal Stepfordian dystopia. Added are audio tracks from radio and TV commercials of the 50s. The cleaning products advertised are those needed by every modern homemaker, to maintain a praiseworthy household.
These iconic assumptions regarding women’s roles in the 1950s create the emotional bottleneck of the piece, and the impetus for this kinetic unwinding. “It’s hard to be pinup-pretty and to keep the kitchen sparkling clean” goes the familiar rant.
With hope, and tongue in cheek, Brown proposes better living through medication. It is cigarettes--and their soothing narcosis, with one dangling from the perma-smiles of each of the dancers—that provides the relief for our cultural binarism. The ridiculousness of the solution somehow undermines the severity of the problem, but it’s all in good fun. Brown never takes things too seriously.
Duende, a quartet for four women, is the lyrical work on the program, technical and formally decorous. Based on Latin rhythms, with movement and costuming suggesting Latin ballroom dancing, the piece cycles through partnerships created among the four women, with nary a male, hip-swiveling, ballroom-lothario in sight. Compositionally, the piece works on its own: sensuous, well-crafted and straightforward. Brown’s characteristic irony and comedy takes a break.
Taken “in concert” with the other works on the program, Duende champions women’s sexual empowerment, a party-line approach to the problems located in feminist critique. Duende serves also to feature Brown’s considerable musicality, sculptural craft and her gentlest of an always-gentle touch.
The opening work, Sisters and Brothers, is the most narrative work on the program. It combines several poetic/kinetic episodes evoking the life of evangelical Aimee Semple McPherson and her congregations in early 1900s America. The cast of ten dancers engage in a lot of frenetic movement, running in circles, skipping, flopping over from the waste, shared weight, rolling on the floor, pushing and catching one another; movement easily recognized, by any good Christian, as the dance of spiritual revelation. In contrast to this, the solo figure of McPherson is revealed, sometimes alone, pondering the problems in promoting her anti-rationalism. “Sometimes to gain faith we must give up our logic,” as stated in the program notes.
In Sisters and Brothers, Brown’s choreography resembles works we’ve seen by Mark Morris; sharing a method of painting movement with broad strokes, building kinetically on the synergism of continuous movement. We are overwhelmed (or so the intent) when confronted with the repeating roil of bodies engaged in muscle release. (Typically, we understand dance as a product of muscle contraction, not release.) We witness, both as audience and, by implication, as a member of the McPherson congregation, an emotional and spiritual exhaustion. Thus, the piece offers an invitation: to destabilize the rational for the promise of spiritual gain. Stated in secular context, Brown suggests replacing the process of living with the experience of living—well-chosen themes for exposition in dance.
Amidst the three modernist works, the fourth work, SWF (single, white, female, as in personal ads) stands apart, heading straight for a postmodern mix of performative text, first person declamation, pedestrian movement and in your face (although mild) transgression. The piece is spare, raw, and presentational—far from the technique and musicality of the other works.
In SWE, the three women perform a round robin of verbal/movement invectives; one allowing us to sneer at the de-humanizing language of the personal ad, another extolling the sublime addiction/risk of falling in love. Before long, a token Everyman is moved onto stage, a cast member, yes, but a prop with which the women explore the proxemics of contemporary sexual relationships. Kudos to Janelle Wilson who mixes things up by bringing her performance experience in hip-hop and poetry slam to stage, and for her contribution of original poetry.
So, in program order, we see a woman who wields spiritual power, women who celebrate their sexual power (defined in the absence of men) and women brought the verge, both now and as it has been. The polemics borrowed from feminist critique ties the four works together beautifully. Brown is never heavy handed; instead, she makes her arguments with comic irony and a metaphoric wink of the eye. Brown moves ably across the spectrum of dance/music genres and performative modalities. There are many, noticeable, good decisions made by her discerning directorial eye, indeed, a concert of work linked temperamentally and thematically.
The talented “pick-up” cast of dancers Brown assembles rivals those of established dance companies around town, in particular, fine performances from Katie Ponozzo, Lesley Thompson, Echo Waldron, Amanda Watson, and Teresa Vaughan. Thanks to the dance program housed in the BSU Theater Department, for its production support and for nurturing, in some way or another, the talent of every member of the cast. The Dance program has, and continues, to develop and influence dance in our community.
