Kidd Pivot: Why Does Dark Matter?
Because without it we wouldn’t have light. We wouldn’t have celestial, amber-hued bodies formulating new languages with one another’s limbs. In other words, we wouldn’t have the final section of Crystal Pite’s Dark Matters. (And thank goodness we have all the sections that came before.)
“What’s the verdict?” we are asked by a voice-over as the piece opens with a moving spotlight, guiding our eyes to the nooks and crannies of a decadent set while allowing us to catch glimpses of creepy black clad figures, or did we?
A man sits at a table. Work things are strewn about: pieces of wood, a ruler, scissors. A lamp hangs low and along with the sound score, helps define the intimacy of the scene: a loner working, creating, introducing body parts of what is to become a puppet.
A sweet dance ensues, a pas de deux between creator and plaything. The puppet, manipulated by the figures in black, climbs and manipulates. Our perception is suspended like the puppet itself. Our eyes move in and out of focus, at times forgetting that the puppet isn’t real. It is wonderful that this is how dance is introduced into the work.
As vignettes progress, the puppet becomes increasingly volatile and dangerous. It has a mind of its own, childish and with unselfconscious volatility and also regret.
This intimate and lonely world is torn apart; the set is itself a sort of puppet as it comes apart at the seams. The puppeteers walk the earth. They impose abuse on one another and manipulate our creator/loner into a sort of puppet half-life.
The second act begins with a solo, a figure in black against a white floor. The murky lighting feels a little dangerous, like driving at dusk, transitioning from day to night.
Photo by Dean Buscher
Five dancers in pedestrian clothes appear and begin a group dance, causally linking and detaching, affecting one another in close and far proximity. Movement is generated from unlikely body parts. Torsos are deeply investigated, contracted into doubled over-ness while legs and feet articulate into and out of the floor. The movement is both loose-limbed and specific. There is a repeated gesture of clasping the head. Hands grab limbs out of necessity, instigating subsequent movements. Duets and solos are laced with references, reminding us of that puppet duet and the specificity of articulating from strings attached to joints.
Near the end a male dancer performs a solo that has for the first time elements of audience awareness. He confronts us head-on as the voice-over returns, asking us about the verdict and telling us that The Book of Fate is closed to us. Earlier we saw the word Fake replace Fate and so the shadow of that layer is there too, like the negative of an image. The dark matters.
The final duet is sublime in its simplicity. It is the paring down of all that came before. It is two bodies, two souls really, communing. Our hero/puppet creator is back, guiding and allowing himself to be guided. Power gently shifts back and forth. It is mutual curiosity and discovery, this time without the childlike irresponsibility.
The final image is burned onto my retinal permanent collection of perfect moments.
Driving home the moon was exactly half. I’ll remember that the next time it’s full.
The moon did look unreal hanging in the sky outside of the Walker after seeing Dark Matters. It seemed like a parallel memory to the very first moments of the performance, when audience members were greeted by a moving spotlight sweeping over the stage, peering into the corners while a voice introduced the words we will continue to hear repeated throughout the performance…’the book of fate is closed.’
As Penny described the first half introduced the puppet maker, puppeteers and brought the puppet to life. I am clearly remembering the first steps of the puppet; it’s pet-like affection for its maker, with a Frankenstein similarity. The nuance and precision of the shadowed puppeteers transforms the puppet from a pet into being with weight and strength, developing through the pas de deux the puppet becomes strong and gains a dangerous authority. We are told ‘This is fate/fake’ however I never doubt the ability of the puppet as set crumbled and the puppet maker lies unmoving. As the set comes crashing down the shadow dressed puppeteers come into some kind of dark power, as Penny said they ‘walk the earth’.
This first half was completely captivating, there were times when I remember holding my breath, and times my breath escaped me because of the sheer beauty and intricacy of the puppet. You can imagine my surprise when in the talk back after the show, choreographer Crystal Pite admits to having no puppetry experience. She went on the explain how they made their own puppet and taught themselves how to puppeteer using the knowledge of the body, joints, weight, and movement patterns. The puppetry in the first half would stand strong next to the Bunraku* performances I saw while living in Japan, and had a likeness to traditional Japanese theater including moments of Noh* and Kabuki*.
In the post show discussion Pite discussed her interest in the concepts of deconstruction, shadow character, theatricality, the idea of being consumed, and embracing a state of not knowing. The second half of the performance took the audience to another world, a similar puppet world, where the humans, flesh, blood and bones seemed to be moved by invisible strings, manipulated by themselves, others, and an invisible force. The ensemble moved sometimes as an entity, sometimes in duets or solos echoing each other’s movements, all the while stalked by the shadow character. The shadow character moved behind and sometimes into and out of the ensemble, sometimes the black costume would blend in with the black scrim almost concealing the character. As the performance continued the puppet maker reappears, the puppet emerges from within the shadow character this time brought to life. Again they pas de deux, this time the maker and puppet move each other and allow themselves to be moved, simplicity, compassion, a sense of journey…The text has reappeared reminding us of the ‘final verdict’ and Whitacre’s* dissonant song accompanies the final duet in a matched tone as it completes its self with the puppet sewing into the heart of it’s maker.
*Bunraku, Noh, Kaubki: traditional Japanese Theater forms.
* ‘Sleep’ by composer Eric Whitacre, only piece of already existing music used in this show.
Comment by Taja Will — October 17, 2010 at 11:39 am
Star Tribune review:
http://www.startribune.com/entertainment/onstage/105057149.html?elr=KArksUUUoDEy3LGDiO7aiU
Comment by Jesse Leaneagh — October 18, 2010 at 11:37 am