What’s wrong with these people?
That’s not a question a sophisticated viewer of postmodern dance should be asking. But watching the first half of Juliana F. May, it crossed my mind. “Family Happiness” at Abron’s Arts Center Saturday.
Nearby are five dancers seated on the stage of the Center’s Playhouse Theater. Periodically, they’ll pull their pants down to their ankles, hop or crawl awkwardly, then pull them back up, but pull them down again. Sometimes they crawl between each other’s legs, or through holes between their legs or through clothes stretched between their ankles.
In between all this, there’s a synth fanfare worthy of a vintage video game, with driving drums and low burritos, and the occasional addition of unsettling high-pitched noises. (sound design Tatiana Tenenbaum.) The dancers also make mouth noises and tongue rolls. Sections of movement are repeated, but the impression of the performers going back and forth relentlessly but coolly dominates.
May’s previous work has tackled different kinds of trauma, including sexual violence, so I started to wonder about undressing — what happened to make them behave this way. Not so much that I wondered why the choreographers and cast would choose to stay in such a boring mode.
And I thought I saw something change in the face of Kavyon Pourazar, the only man in a cast full of dancers that I admired in other productions. Tess Doman and Molly Postel Just a moment, a flicker of abuse. It was almost a tease as the dance continued as before or almost as before. All the dancers then exited, giving us time to think about what we had just seen.
The question in my head is “Family Happiness” (Abrons and Chocolate Factory Theater) are you going to provoke? It wasn’t until after the show that I read May’s program notes, which “expose the independent aesthetics of postmodernism and its excruciating absurdity.” Maybe the point is to hide the hot content in a boring way. Criticize that approach by reproducing it.
The second part of the 45-minute work isn’t clear enough to avoid the problem, replacing the content with more attractive keys.Performer breaks into song — first Leslie Kaijet and Lucy Kaminskythen others, in unison, then counterpoint, in first stationary, then shifting formations.
The profane texts they sing are fragmented stream-of-consciousness poems, possibly drawn from dreams. It touches on topics such as sexual role-playing, sex beaches, and face-eating, but it also mixes memories, sensations, and fantasies, such as everyday anxiety and talking dogs. , they are erratic, amplified and complicated by the chorus.
What the group sings looks like someone’s subconscious mind. The self trying to survive with unconvincing claims like “I’m fine” or “I’m back on track.” That self may or may not belong to Mei. It’s not entirely clear how his two parts of “Family Happiness” speak to each other, but the contrast between the emotionally detached tasks and the dreams uttered by the group becomes apparent. I’m here. The words sung in the chorus don’t sound like happiness, but they do sound like family.
Juliana F. May
Until Saturday at the Abrons Arts Center. abronsartscenter.org.
