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Miracles from a Master

“Baby”
Choreographed, written and directed by Tere O’Connor
Dance Theater Workshop
New York, NY
April 1, 2006

by Susan Reiter

copyright© 2006 by Susan Reiter


Maybe it’s because I have missed Tere O’Connor’s last few pieces, but I was taken aback at how talkative his dancers are. In “Baby,” they chatter, chant, and deliver childlike sing-song phrases. Right at the start, sweet-faced, long-haired Matthew Rogers -- bare-chested and wearing a black miniskirt, cowboy hat and cowboy boots—tells us about his imaginary horse “Whatever” before cluing us in to his meandering thought processes. No sooner has he guided his whinnying and snorting (courtesy of sound effects) steed off stage, leaving an initial impression that we might be in for some kind of weird “Brokeback Mountain” parody than a quartet of shuffling, bespectacled pioneer women scoot around the stage, their homespun dresses evoking Agnes DeMille countryfolk. “Those dang horses,” they intone, taking us further into a cartoon version of western mythologies.

“Baby” leaves the wild west behind and settles into less wacky, more thought-provoking territory once movement, rather than verbal routines, become its focus, although no one is ever quiet for very long. From the considerable advance publicity O’Connor got before this DTW season, I know that he warns us from seeking anything resembling narrative – fractured, deconstructed or otherwise – in his work. Hints of character and momentary “stories” seem to erupt and then evaporate, but we make connections at our own risk. “Each thing doesn’t explain the thing before it,” he states in a “conversation” on the Movement Research website. But if the disparate elements, the sequence of actions fail to acquire a cumulative power or coalesce into something beyond an assemblage of quirky events, it’s hard to leave the theater with more than a collection of random sequences, ranging from childlike silliness to sudden rage.

At times, “Baby” seemed to be evoking the mindset and behavior patterns of childhood, as though we were spying on a kindergarten gang. They have their private games on which they focus intently before going on to the next thing. The five performers, who occasionally address each other by name during the piece, are a vivid, engaging group, with a tendency to regard the audience playfully, with a touch of slyness. They seem to acknowledge us, yet pursue their assigned tasks intently, as though secrets are being guarded. Their alliances shift subtly, with two sometimes played off against three, or one set apart from the others, pursuing his or her own course. For a while, Christopher Williams is in his own world, displaying amusing, if cryptic, animosity towards the thick cascading column of hot-pink fabric that hangs in a downstage corner, confronting it and spouting repeated curse words. His tense, guarded, rougher quality plays off well against Rogers’ easy charm. Among the women, Heather Olson is a marvel of unforced clarity, making every phrase of movement seem utterly logical and inevitable. She comes across as the demure, vulnerable innocent, while Erin Gerken is more knowing and sensual, and Hilary Clark sustains an air of luminous calm and earthy solidity.

The tone changes often, and unexpectedly. There is tenderness, but danger and destruction loom, as when Rogers and Olson brace themselves against the gauzy white panel of fabric that covers the back wall, and pull it off, panel by panel. The other three scream and wail in terror. With the stage already stripped bare at the sides, all that remains to counter the harshness is the laughably large pink bow that hangs upstage, taunting us. There is at least a touch of pink on each of the women’s dresses, echoing the two looming pieces of décor.

O’Connor’s spurts of movement may or may not have their own logic. They arrive in clunky, abrupt segments, accompanied by the varied (from shrill to soothing) portions of James Baker’s intermittent score. Some — manic sequence of repeated box steps, or an early part when the dancers advance and retreat by lunging from side to side — acquire a certain rhythmic power, but most play themselves out and then the dancers are on to something else. Now and then, a portion of the audience would find something amusing, either for its non-sequitur oddness or for the seriousness with which the dancers imbued the cryptic bits of dialogue and repeated phrases. It would seem O’Connor doesn’t intend to evoke any specific reaction or (god forbid) emotional connection. He offers us the playful yet insidious scenarios of “Baby” for what they are, not what they imply – events unfolding over time, overlapping and coexisting with their own inner logic.

Photos of Tere O'Connor's "Baby" by Julieta Cervantes.

Volume 4, No. 13
April 3, 2006

copyright ©2006 Susan Reiter
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©2006 DanceView