Archives for 2004

“What a bore it is, waking up in the morning always the same
person. I wish I were unflinching and emphatic, and had big,
bushy eyebrows and a Message for the Age. I wish I were a deep Thinker, or a great Ventriloquist.

“I should like to be refined and melancholy, the victim of a
hopeless passion; to love in the old, stilted way, with
impossible Adoration and Despair under the pale-faced Moon.

“I wish I could get up; I wish I were the world’s greatest
Violinist. I wish I had lots of silver, and first Editions, and
green ivory.”

Logan Pearsall Smith, Trivia (courtesy of James T. Keating)

I have a cold. The worst cold in history. If I can’t rent an iron lung before bedtime, I’ll just have to shoot myself. Otherwise, I’ll try to blog in the morning. If you wrote me today and haven’t heard back, that’s why.

Later.

Old Hag’s redesign is, like, wow. Hop over and say hello! (Bundt cake optional.)

I saw Sideways this weekend, a perfectly marvelous movie. I’ll write about it in detail later, but for the moment lazily point you to my capsule notice in the TT-OGIC TOP FIVE.

Do not pass GO. Do not collect $200. Grab ten bucks and sprint to your friendly neighborhood cinema.

That is all.

If you’ve dropped in for the first time after having seen the www.terryteachout.com URL mentioned in today’s New York Times Book Review, welcome to “About Last Night,” a 24/5 blog (today’s posting is a special exception) hosted by artsjournal.com on which Terry Teachout writes about the arts in New York City and elsewhere, assisted by the pseudonymous Our Girl in Chicago, who writes from…Chicago.

(In case you’re wondering, this blog has two URLs, the one you’re seeing at the top of your screen right now and the easier-to-remember www.terryteachout.com. Either one will bring you here.)

All our postings from the past seven days are visible in reverse chronological order on this page. Terry’s start with “TT,” Our Girl’s with “OGIC.” In addition, the entire contents of this site are archived chronologically and can be accessed by clicking “ALN Archives” at the top of the right-hand column.

You can read more about us, and about “About Last Night,” by going to the right-hand column and clicking in the appropriate places. You’ll also find various other toothsome features there, including our regularly updated Top Five list of things to see, hear, read and otherwise do, links to Terry’s most recent newspaper and magazine articles, and “Sites to See,” a list of links to other blogs and Web sites with art-related content. If you’re curious about the arty part of the blogosphere, you’ve come to the right site: “Sites to See” will point you in all sorts of interesting directions, and all roads lead back to “About Last Night.”

As if all that weren’t enough, you can write to us by clicking either one of the “Write Us” buttons. We read our mail, and answer it, too, so long as you’re minimally polite. (Be patient, though. We get a lot of it.)

The only other thing you need to know is that “About Last Night” is about all the arts, high, medium, and low: film, drama, painting, dance, fiction, TV, music of all kinds, whatever. Our interests are wide-ranging, and we think there are plenty of other people like us out there in cyberspace, plus still more who long to wander off their beaten paths but aren’t sure which way to turn.

If you’re one of the above, we’re glad you came. Enjoy. Peruse. Tell all your friends about www.terryteachout.com. And come back tomorrow.

I wrapped up my foliage-related travels this afternoon so that I could hear Wesla Whitfield at Danny’s Skylight Room tonight. I just got back. Wow! I’ll be writing about her opening night in next Sunday’s “Second City” column, so I don’t want to steal my own thunder, but if you’re loose on Saturday or Sunday, go hear her. Nobody–but nobody–sings standards better.

For more information on Wesla, go here.

For more information on Danny’s, go here.

If you can’t go and want to hear what you’re missing, buy this CD.

See you Monday.

Picking up where I left off:

For a dance about hell set to music from hell, Dante Variations is impressively chipper. A considerable portion of the piece is frankly comic: one solo dancer gamely performs with her hands tied behind her back, one with shackles on his ankles, another trailing something from one foot (or perhaps suffering a hot foot). These sections veer toward cuteness, however; they rely a milligram too heavily on props and conceits for their charm. The darker sections of the dance make a stronger impression. Especially wonderful are the pyramidal tableaux in which the dancers freeze at curtain-up and curtain-down, like figures in a lurid frieze; and the fantastical Boschian creatures, built out of dancers, that lumber and menace throughout. Intensifying the whole thing is the jaw-dropping lighting by Jennifer Tipton. Sometimes she bathes the back of the stage in darkness that a dancer can all but disappear into, eerily remaining just faintly discernible; at other points she lights the stage in such a way that the dancers cast giant shadow monsters–no bunnies here–on the back wall. These effects are nothing less than fantastic, and go a long way toward making the piece so deliciously like nightmares.

And then Promethean Fire. Ah, hell. How am I going to write about this dance without sounding like a publicist? Here goes nothing.

In an interesting bit of sequencing, Taylor followed his dance about hell with a dance that is widely believed to be about 9/11. I first saw Promethean Fire in New York City last March, so I knew what I was in for Sunday night. And I didn’t know. This dance is so powerfully beautiful, I can’t imagine ever being truly ready for it, even if I’m lucky enough to see it a dozen times. It does seem to be about the attacks. But the dance is also more universal and more abstract than that; what it mostly represents is the complex of emotional responses those events provoked. Or, to put it still more generally, the kinds of emotional responses they provoked. I doubt that Taylor set out to choreograph on 9/11; rather, he seems to have written a dance that unavoidably reflected the psychic ground he inhabited in the months following the attacks.

What was that psychic ground? Suffering and shock are in the dance, and consolation, love, renewal. I honestly don’t know how to describe its content any more specifically. It was beautiful and thrilling to watch. I alternated between trying to read it–knowing as I did that it had been pegged as Taylor’s 9/11 dance, and being as I am the type that looks for the story in everything–and being saved from thought altogether by the over-the-top beauty of the thing. A couple of times during those brain-dead spells, I thought of a flower opening. Something inexplicably but inarguably, factually gorgeous.

But Terry, I think I’ve been skirting your question:

But it happens that you saw a Taylor dance, Promethean Fire, which is widely thought to make oblique but nonetheless intelligible reference to the events of 9/11. Did you see such allusions in Promethean Fire? And if so, how did they affect your response to it? Inquiring co-bloggers want to know.

Well, when you put it that way…yes. I saw fire, falling, and collapse in the dance. Just in glimpses, but there all the same. And on paper, you know, that sounds as though it could be such a terrible idea. But you feel the same way I do about the dance. So–to bat the ball back to you again–why does it work? I have a notion about this, beyond the simple fact of Taylor being a genius. But I kind of want to hear what you think.

I returned to Manhattan, picked up today’s Wall Street Journal, and what did I see? Me, writing about the Roundabout Theatre Company’s revival of Reginald Rose’s Twelve Angry Men and the New Group’s production of Michael Murphy’s Sin (A Cardinal Deposed).

I liked Twelve Angry Men in spite of myself:

For those unfamiliar with the plot (there must be a few of you out there), “Twelve Angry Men” tells how a New York jury decides the fate of a minority-group teenager accused of stabbing his father to death. At first the vote is eleven to one in favor of conviction, but the lone dissenter, played here by Boyd Gaines (“Contact”) and in the film by Henry Fonda, is determined to convert his furious colleagues, one at a time. Each of the jurors, who are identified only by numbers, is presented as an ethnic or cultural stereotype–an unintentionally absurd touch, seeing as how the script, in earnest ’50s style, seeks to persuade us that the defendant is a helpless victim of circumstances