As Cultured As A Croissanwich

About a month ago I spent the night at my friend Stacey's vacation home.  In between getting into head-on collisions with boxes of chairs and rescuing mini-frogs, we watched So You Think You Can Dance. 

During one of the more stirring performances, I remarked it never before occurred to me that one could tell a story through dance.  (Or maybe I knew, but the thought just sounded so pretentious that I never gave it any credence.) 

So Stacey said, "Hey, if you like dancing that tells stories, I can get us tickets to see Marta Carrasco." 

"What's that?" I asked. 

Stacey explained she was in fact a who, not a what, and that she leads a Spanish dance troupe.  They do really artistic pieces.  And I said it sounded cool.  So I went to the Goodman Theatre last night, expecting to see Flamenco dancers. 

My first hint that my perceptions might be wrong was when three different people warned us against sitting in the front two rows because it was "the splash zone."

I do not recall any splash zones during the Latin performances on So You Think You Can Dance.

I asked Stacey if this was going to turn in to a Gallagher-type show with sledgehammers and watermelons and splash tarps.  She laughed and said no.

Oh, pre-show Stacey, how little we both knew.

The set was fascinating - on the wall to the back there were dozens of antique white garments hung on ropes at various angles, including one straight jacket.  There were staircases leading to a platform towards the back of the stage and lots of little doors.  Four old, crooked bookcases were spotlighted at the front of the stage and they were filled with a variety of creepy things, like inflated latex hands and sparkly shoes and Kewpie doll heads. 

The lights in the theatre went down and the show started.  To really get the feel for the performance I saw, I'll list all the action sequentially.

• The bookcases slowly part and a woman slides onto the stage with a rolly chair and a rolly desk. 
• We watch her smoke an entire cigarette.  No dancing, just smoking.
• Other people in vintage outfits crawl onto stage, except on lady who's toting an IV pole.  When IV lady squeezes the bag of saline, it makes the sound of laughter.  None of them dance. 
• The soundtrack is some French song that gets louder and faster and includes the sounds of puppies yelping.  As the music gets louder, the smoking lady begins to twirl in her rolly chair and her rolly desk.  Someone gets slapped but no one dances.
• A man comes out in a tutu and a scrunched up baby mask.  Someone slaps him and then there's a whole bunch of shouting in Spanish.  (Did I mention this was part of the Latin Festival at the Goodman?)  A woman comes out with her head in a grandfather clock and sways back and forth.
• Still no actual dancing other than swaying.
• More puppy yelping, though.
• Two shirtless guys come out with some woman in a ball gown.  They put lipstick all over their faces and then take turns rubbing the lipstick on her face.  She gets thrown back and forth between the two of them.  A different girl comes out in horn rim glasses and is outfitted in an I-work-in-an-ad-agency-in-1962 kind of dress.  She begins shouting in Spanish.  (Seriously?  If I wanted to hear people shouting in Spanish, I could have stayed home.)
• A different woman comes out in a ball gown and a gas mask and she drops rubber babies out of her dress as she slowly walks by.  The tutu baby-man picks the babies up and slaps them.
• Two more women come on stage - one smears red lipstick all over her chin and the other takes bites out of a raw potato and then spits it out.
• Still no dancing.
• A giant vertical Velcro mattress is wheeled out and placed in a vertical position in the center of the stage.  A woman in Velcro pajamas throws herself at it for a while.  I think Tutu Baby Man comes out again.  There's more shouting and then at the front of the stage, two guys in pajama bottoms come out, yank a woman's shirt down, and then begin slapping her on her naked bits. 
• Have I mentioned the no-dancing part yet?
• AND WHY WAS I NOT WARNED ABOUT NUDITY?
• Then the lead dancer comes out wearing a big shirt-dress.  She strips from the waist up and then makes out with a statue for quite a while.  Then the whole stage is covered with a huge piece of dry cleaner's film and she (and her naked self) writhe against it for quite a long, naked while.
• She almost dances but is likely too busy being naked and trying not to suffocate.
• Then the whole ensemble comes out with giant plates of watermelon (!!) and they spit chunks of it into the air and at the audience.  They pour water all over themselves and swim around on the wet, watermelon-y floor.
• And then it is over.
• With no dancing whatsoever.

The audience went batshit-crazy and they gave an extra-long standing ovation.

As soon as everyone finally finished applauding, I turned to Stacey and said, "You realize this is exactly why my side keeps cutting funding to the arts.  And by the way?  I totally called the watermelon."

* * *

The thing is, I still enjoyed the show.  I have no fucking clue what any of it meant, and yet it was a positive experience; I had the privilege of glimpsing into an artist's mind.  And yeah, what I saw was disturbing and dark, but that's not without value.  Today, I feel like my world is a tiny bit bigger for having seen this show.

I still could have done with more dancing and less naked, though.

* * *

UPDATE:  Stacey responded to this on MySpace, so I've cut and pasted her comment here.  The whole evening will make more sense if you guys read the context.

Okay, a little bit in my defense....

I worked at Goodman for seven years and the biennial Latino Theatre Festival was always one of the coolest things we did. Marta Carrasco and her company have been a part of this festival and their performances were always a highlight for me. When I found out that the piece she was performing this year was essentially five of her best pieces that she is about to retire, I thought it would be the perfect evening, since I had seen three of them and been quite moved.

What I didn't know was that instead of just doing the pieces in their entirety, the company effectively cut them up into little bits and mixed them around, and in the process, um, lost all continuity, most of the power, and ALL OF THE DANCING. And none of the pieces I had ever seen had included nudity. Or watermelon.

Had I known this, not only would I never have taken Jen, I wouldn't have gone myself.

Sigh.

The really sad part is that when the pieces are in their original format, they are some of the most extraordinary and moving things I have ever seen in a theater.

I give huge extra credit points to Jen for not:

1. Leaving the moment the first N-I-P-P-L-E made its Goodman Theatre debut.

2. Asking me to translate the incomprehensible Spanish. (which I'm told is mostly nonsense recipe directions)

3. Slapping me like I was wearing a baby head mask the moment the show was over.

Hopefully our next cultural field trip will be less naked, and more rewarding!

I'm going to ask her if she wants to see The House Bunny with me next week.

Comments

[Carrie]

um... yeah, I've got nothing.

[gamma]

Sounds like some of the dreams I have when I take a decongestant!!

[blackbird]

Is it okay if I feel cultured by virtue of just reading this?

[LindaS.]

Sounds like absolute torture for anyone watching.

And you guys PAID for that?

Oy.

[Kerry]

The same thing happened to me a few years back. My sister dragged me to a performance of one of her friends and for 2 hours I was treated to lots of writhing and amorphous blobs from which people in multi-colored leotards sprung out. There was no dancing, but the finale involved many veiled people carrying candles walking across the stage and standing on chairs. I am certain when I am on my deathbed, just as I am about to expire, God will come down to me and say "Wait Kerry, I am hooking you up with an extra 6 hours: 2 for that horrible dance show your sister dragged you to, 2 for your ex-boyfriend's film festival you attended to be supportive, and 2 hours for "Home Fries"

[Erika]

Was the show not supposed to be a comedy because I think watching people sway back and forth whilst ensconced in clocks and spit watermelon and raw potato at audience members...well, I think that could be a real funny time.

If it's supposed to be Serious Art, though, I fail to see how it could be anything other than an allegory about a brawl between displaced Irish immigrants during the potato famine and a local antique dealer that took place in a famer's market.

[Dutchess of Kickball]

What amazing blog fodder!

[Kellee]

Oh, and did I mention political correctness SUCKS BALLS???

Oh, I did?

Well, never hurts repeating!

You may all resume your worship of Jen :)

[jacqui]

OMG Jen, it sounds like you stumbled into a real live performance of "The Aristocrats" only waaaaaay more tame.

[Kellee]

Now this is exactly the opposite of what happened to me when I saw "Spamalot!" a few months ago. When they launched into "You Won't Succeed on Broadway" I think I was literally the only one laughing. At least at first. Of course, those of you who have seen the show know the chorus - "You won't succeed on Broadway because you haven't got a Jew". I was almost literally rolling on the floor laughing, and all of a sudden it dawned on me that hardly anyone else was. Towards the end more folks were but it was not near the volume of that for other numbers. Political Correctness SUCKS BALLS!

Have a wonderful weekend!!!!!

[Liz C]

I'm so uncultured -- I'm way too left-brained for that kind of stuff. If I can't make some kind of story out of it, I get panicky. I'm hopeless.

I would'a probably dug the nudity, tho. But I'm like that.
:)

[Shirley]

Sounds a lot like the shows I had to watch for a dance appreciation class I took in college. I'm glad I'm not the only one who has had the experience of being in an audience where everyone appreciated and totally got the performance and yet I felt as though I was in the twilight zone.

[Karina in T.O]

Holy. Shiznitz. The look on your face, must have been priceless!

I would have thought Cirque would be too nekked for you! So this, I guess taught you a valuable lesson about performance art, didn't it?? And besides, if you live in any metropolitan city, you'll get your share of performance art just walking around downtown!

Seriously, I don't care to look into the artists mind man, its all weird and shit in there. Unless its some exhibition at the MOMA or the Art Gallery of Ontario (here in T.O) and its featuring works by Monet or Rubens, you know, the classics.

Contemporary art confuses the shite out of me. I mean a toilet in the middle of an exhitition hall does not a piece of artwork make. And the classic red square on canvas? C'mon, really? At least those huge baloon animals Jeff Koons does are funny!

Check it out! http://www.metmuseum.org/special/koons_roof/view_1.asp?item=0&view=l

[Val & Parker]

Holy Crap. That kind of performance calls for a giant loud fart smack in the middle - just to mix things up a bit.
http://www.firstclasstohell.com

[marisa]

Geez-that sounds f'd up... not something I would like to see....

[Twenty Four At Heart]

I'm trying to come up w/something witty here, but ... I can't think of one thing to say. How unlike me!

[Molly]

Yikes. A very dark and distrubing place indeed, this artist's mind!

[MojitoMama]

Yikes!

[thecoconutdiaries]

It sounds like Cirque de Soleil on crack.