A piece in Conn's fall Dance Club show. Photo by Duncan Spaulding.
Around here, one sees art every day, whether in the form of a meticulously detailed portrait of an apple, a flawlessly executed and choreographed dance performance or that blue twisty thing near Fanning. However, should the art of dance not jump out at you, so to speak, it can be pretty easy to start feeling really uncultured really fast. And around here, being uncultured is like wearing a Jersey Shore t-shirt in public: it says a lot of (mostly negative) things about you.
So, when I went to see Caught in the Mo(ve)ment, Conn’s Dance Club’s first major performance of the year, I didn’t know what to expect. Being a prospective English major, (sorry, Literatures in English) the only impulses to dance I ever have usually come from finding (and buying) superfluous hardcover reissues of books that I already own. What I mean to say is that my sedentary life, devoid of dance shows, ensured I held no negative or positive bias. I only expected impressive choreography, well-trained dancers and a dubstep remix of a popular radio hit to weave itself somewhere into the performance. I’m glad to say that all three of these initial expectations were readily met.
Either the turnout was far beyond what they planned for, or all the chairs were on the other side of the veil that cut the room in half; in any case, there weren’t enough seats. But that was hardly an issue, as I could see just fine from the floor. If anything, it gave a more intimate view of the dancers. While we waited for the performance to start, a few members of the Dance Club came out and, oddly enough, asked us to please return the programs at the conclusion of the show. It wasn’t too odd a request considering a sparkling donation hat was passed through the audience during intermission. Whether or not anything made it into that hat that night seems unimportant, because when the performances began, the dancers more than earned their keep. And thanks to the program I may or may not have filched, I can provide a brief description of some of the performances in Show A in order and by name.
Caught in the Mo(ve)ment, aside from having a really clever way of spelling itself, also makes some other clever decisions. For example, instead of putting the inevitable eccentricities that are, in my opinion, inherent with almost any form of physical performance at the middle or the end of the show, it gets the majority of them out of the way in the beginning.
“It’s not me,” choreographed by Jackie Smith, was more of a short film than a dance performance, although there was dancing involved, as well as a red balloon and some nice music. It was all well filmed and very carefully done, but it was also very abstract and slightly confusing.
The performance following it, “Last of a Dying Breed” by Alex Hsu ’12, was pretty much the exact opposite of the one prior to it. Hsu came out and proceeded to pop-and-lock harder than anyone I’ve ever seen, and I lived in Brooklyn for several years. “Last of a Dying Breed,” by Ludacris, blared in the background, and I’m happy to say only a quarter of the piece went by before I realized that every one of Hsu’s movements was representative of the lyrics being rapped. It was pretty damn impressive.
The next song was a dubstep (told you so) remix of La Roux’s “In for the Kill,” and for once, to me anyway, the accompanying glow sticks actually felt appropriate instead of obnoxious.
“Pockets” is best described as personal, at times painfully so. A very nervous (part of the performance, mind you) Ana Fiore ’12 came out and asked the audience some very strange questions, including, “How long are my legs?” and “Are any of you still listening?” It was disorienting at first, as she performed her dance three times, twice in total silence. Her own nervousness leaked into the audience each time when, during a particular portion of the performance, she nearly slipped out of her dress; in fact, a certain sense of deliberate vulnerability was omnipresent. It all came together somewhat wonderfully in the end, however, and she did in fact, answer each of the questions she asked.
“Title Me” was funny. Five dancers, all wearing bright red noses came out as solemnly as coffin bearers, before the performance turned sassy and hilarious. Their impromptu clown-make up was also pretty impressive. It ended with each of the dancers doing a sort of non-stop relay race that didn’t end until one of the dancers left the stage and told the light board operator to stop the performance. If dance has a fourth wall, it was broken that night.
“Dangle to Break” took the cake for me. It was the most outlandish performance of the night, and I mean the good kind of outlandish. Uptight, schoolmistress-type dancer? Check. Oppressed women dancers who become liberated during the performance? Check. Cryptic, uneven dialogue? Check.
My favorite moment of the night was during this piece, when the mistress-type dancer was pacing back and forth behind the shirtless dancers, saying, “I will not raise my voice,” at exponentially increasing levels of volume until, finally, she is screaming it at the top of her lungs. If dance is about conveying a message, I almost think I get it.
All in all I had a good time; a better time than I thought I would. The highly spirited closer, “Gertrude and the Paper Dolls,” put a much-needed spring into our step as we walked out. Some parts ran a little long at times, and there were some squirm-worthy moments, but I think that we only squirmed when the dancers wanted us to, which is good.
