© Tony Dougherty 'Events' reviews Andrieux in reviews recent Cunningham reviews more Eric Taub reviews Discuss this review (Open for at least 6 months)

Also like Balanchine and generations of ballet choreographers before him, Cunningham is a classicist. Though his work might seem intimidatingly non-linear compared to most ballets, which are blessed with clear beginnings, middles and ends, it's nevertheless as firmly grounded in rules, and as dedicated to purity of form and the idea of the Ideal. It's just a different Ideal. Yes, Cunningham's rules can seem baffling, as in his celebrated use of chance techniques in determining what happens, and when, and even irritating, as in his also-celebrated credo that choreography, music and decor should all be developed independently of each other, especially when his musical collaborators (most notably the late John Cage) have a penchant for the loud and discordant.
 

An image of the first Cunningham Event at the Joyce
© Tony Dougherty

These independent elements combine into an aesthetic whole at the moment they first happen together onstage, or rather at the moment when they're apprehended by a viewer. Cunningham's works require from its audiences more effort than many in assimilating what's placed before them. His compositions seldom lead the eye; but they invite and reward observation. So if they might well be labelled "Some Assembly Required," this also means that we viewers become an integral part of the creative process, and the experience of watching a Cunningham work is as much looking inward as outward voyages of discovery of one's own aesthetic as much as Cunningham's. It's a measure of Cunningham's genius that he can produce works of stunning beauty using methods with which a less sure hand might produce only pedantry-in-motion; that simple steps simply combined can produce such engrossing, time-stopping power.

Nowhere does Cunningham's aesthetic of assemblage apply more strongly than in the works he calls 'Events'. For each, bits of choreography from various Cunningham dancers are combined more-or-less at random, with decor, lighting and music which also varies from evening to evening. Thus, like snowflakes, no two Events are alike, or even intended to be alike. The program I saw last Friday had its share of congested, frenetic moments, but the overall feeling I retained, as I often do with Cunningham, was of purity and calm, even in the midst of commotion. The curtain rose on Gabriel Orozco's witty assemblages of taxi-yellow automotive body parts (mostly haphazardly scattered doors), leaning against the bare-brick back of the Joyce's stage, or propped up by the wings. Rather than wearing the once de rigeur leotards and tights, the dozen or so dancers looked very chic in James Hall's variations on party clothes one might see at a hipster Christmas party in ever-so-cool Williamsburg, Brooklyn. We saw women in little black dresses, halters and navel-baring hip-huggers, see-through blouses and brassieres, all black with subtle touches of red. Likewise, the men were in various combination of black and red: black pants with red piping, or a loose red shirt shirt worn over a tight black t-shirt. The juxtaposition of the formal red-and-black motif with the casual downtown look fitted well with Cunningham's blend of structure and chance. I also enjoyed Josh Johnson's lighting with its occasional stunning pools of brightness and one striking slatted-panel effect contrasting with subtle, atmospheric graduations of intensity. It was unfortunate that George Lewis' and Ikue Mori's accompaniment brought to mind some of the more irritating and distracting scores which once made earplugs a standard (or at least wished-for) accessory for Cunningham concerts. (I must add that I've always loved the 1975 'Sounddance', a great example of Cunningham's dry wit set to a raucous and thundering score by David Tudor.) Like paired idols, one at either side of the Joyce's stage, they twiddled with their Powerbooks, producing rhythms and counter-rhythms (or punches and counter-punches) of various electronically sampled bits of noise. Perhaps they really weren't creaking bedsprings ad infinitum, but it sounded that way, at least until Lewis picked up his trombone for some minimalistic burblings which made me long for the bedsprings. Ah, well, to turn Balanchine's famous quote on its head, at Cunningham if you don't like the music you can just plug your ears and watch the dancing.
 

An image of the first Cunningham Event at the Joyce
© Tony Dougherty

And the dancing, and dancers, were marvelous. There was such a plentitude of choreographic invention on display, it's hard to single out a few moments, and people, for praise. Partly, this is from the Cunningham company's own perverseness: they don't show dancers' pictures in the program, theater or even their web site, so finding out who is whom is like getting admitted to a speakeasy you have to find someone who knows, and get them to tell you. Ditto for which choreographic bits are included in an Event. A learned Cunningham hand informed me that Andrea Weber and Cédric Andrieux danced a duet from 'Way Station,' in which Weber would repeatedly balance on her (barefoot) toes, and fall slowly and deliberately again and again into Andreiux's arms forward, backwards, to the side. It was as if they were discovering gravity for the first time. It was interesting to see how dancers might be communicating with each other in the absence of musical clues. While eye contact and delicate touches of the fingers all played a part, in many places the dancers would build rhythms, both complicated and simply, just from the pounding of their feet on the stage. Often one would start, setting the tempo, and others would join in to continue, especially in the fascinating exerpts from 'Tens with Shoes,' where a group of dancers materialized wearing white jazz shoes, making great use of the heels to stamp out powerful rhythms indeed. I was entranced by Koji Mizuta's big, stage-skimming solo (in fact, all the Cunnningham dancers leap and bound like gazelles), and Lisa Boudreau's sensuality (one doesn't usually think of Cunningham's work as sensual, but there's something about these dancers' matter-of-fact physicality which is very appealing on a level far removed from ballet dancers often turbo-charged exoticism). In fact, I enjoyed just about every move every dancer made. I only wish we didn't have to wait until next spring to see these works again as one of the dancers helped the cane-wielding Cunningham out of the wings (barely) for a nod at the adoring audience, I realized the need of seeing this company while it's still a work in progress, and not a tribute-laden museum.