
Here’s a review of the Shen Wei performance that I attended with Amanda Abrams last week. (Tone is formal, as the piece was submitted elsewhere for a general audience).
***
“Seeing” Stravinsky
You don’t have to drop acid to see sounds. To hear colors, well yes, maybe you’ll need hallucinogens for that, but Chinese choreographer Shen Wei, whose modern dance troupe performed Saturday night at the George Mason Center for the Arts, designs dance that lets us actually see the music accompanying it.
Some choreographers base their art on music, creating dance that moves to, with, against or around it. Others apply music after the fact, using a score that best depicts the general mood or tone of the movement. Then there are those that require no relationship at all between the dance and music. Shen Wei doesn’t really follow any of these approaches, employing instead a relatively novel, almost representational way of integrating music and dance. In “Rite of Spring” Shen’s dancers dance the music. And I don’t mean just dancing the rhythm. Shen’s choreography seems to actually portray both the contrapuntal and chordal complexities found in Stravinsky’s masterpiece. With this, he has achieved a sizeable feat; he has expressed musical structure visually. Windows Media Player screen skins try to do it; light shows at Phish concerts try to do it. But these are typically just ways of enhancing music. Shen creates a visual of what Stravinsky’s music looks like from a compositional perspective.
Like Stravinsky, Shen introduces a number of individually danced themes, both angular and serpentine. The phrasing is strikingly inventive. Throughout the piece, these themes develop and overlap, as solo dance morphs into group choreography, presenting the layers, harmonies, and dissonances that characterize Stravinsky’s composition. At one point, each company member executes a spiraling corkscrew movement, but at staggered intervals, painting a beautiful motion picture of the weaves that typify Stravinsky’s orchestration for high winds.
In another section, half the dancers ebb upstage left, while the other half flows downstage right, and then back against each other in the opposite direction and back again once more, not unlike a tide rolling in against a tide rolling out, and visually descriptive of the fluid collisions that permeate Stravinsky’s composition.
Representing musical qualities visually through dance is not new. As Stephanie Jordan notes of Balanchine’s choreography in Agon (also set to the music of Stravinsky): “the dance virtually begins to sound and music to move.” What’s different about Shen’s depiction of music is that it doesn’t necessarily represent the music that accompanies it during the depiction. The dancers didn’t perform the staggered corkscrew phrases at a point where the score interweaves winds swirling upward. The tidal ebb-and-flow movements that represent musical collision don’t occur at particularly collisional moments in the music. While Shen’s dance is in a sense representational, it is indirectly so.
Shen Wei’s “Folding,” can only be described as epic, but not for reasons normally associated with that characterization. Not a lot happens in the work, but it is this minimalist, spacious emptiness that lends the piece its grandeur. Few dancers fill the stage at any given time and Shen uses this to pull the space wide open. The vastness is reinforced — widened even — by the musical score. Bottom-heavy Tibetan Mahakala chants at high volume merge perfectly with the cavernous hall the dancers seem to occupy, the chanters’ tracheal chambers portraying through sound what the hall conveys through space. Unfortunately, the subsequent music of “holy minimalist” John Tavener oozes a bit much new-age spirituality, ironically detracting from the mystery created by the movement.
The surreal quality of “Folding” is its most obvious attribute. To create this other-world, Shen presents contemplative choreography. The dancers travel the stage like practitioners of walking meditation. (Had I been watching the piece on video, I might have assumed I’d hit the slow-motion button. At one point, I even wondered if this other-world was an underwater one, not an unthinkable possibility given the giant backdrop by Chinese painter Ba Da Shen Ren; the minimalist painting features several fish suspended in air. Or is that ocean?) Some of the surreal sequences effectuate illusions as well. One dancer, lying on his back, curls his uplifted feet sensuously up, over, and around each other, clearly mimicking the way central or East Asian dancers move their hands. Another dancer hunches over face-down, pulls her arms up behind her back, and points her fingers to the sky. The figure’s contortion make it difficult to know if she is bent over or bent backwards; because she’s wearing a sort of flesh-colored helmet, it’s not clear whether we’re looking at a face or the back of a head.
Shen Wei’s lighting is also illusory. Midway through the piece, we are treated to two different illuminations beamed at the same time. One focuses on the soloist, the other a chorus. The soloist is closely lit, while the chorus is presented more warmly, somewhat dimly, and in different hue. The effect recalls a flashback scenario for screen, despite the lack of video technology employed to create it.