On the Boards, February 2-5
Bringing his dance company to On the Boards this week for its Seattle debut, South African choreographer Boyzie Cekwana demonstrated that Africa – a continent Americans associate with rich traditional and popular art forms – is also fertile ground for contemporary dance.
In two very different works, Cekwana uses modern, ballet, and jazz movement along with indigenous music and vocal stylings to explore uniquely South African subject matter, creating provocative dances loaded with social tension and cultural discord.
The first piece, Rona (“us” in Sotho), exists in mythic rather than historic time. Three dancers, a woman and two men, covered in ghostly white make-up lie motionless on the dimly lit stage. Movement generates slowly from the captivating stillness as the sporadic pluck and rattle of live percussive music gives way low vocal hums.
The woman, lifting her bent legs upward like some enormous bird, arches back and forth in a pivoting motion while the men meander out of the darkness into gloomy squares of light. At one point one of the men wanders across the stage dangling a bowl of incense that completely clouds the atmosphere, and then sits in silence watching it go out. Before long the smooth-edged African singing is accompanied by Bach and the movement becomes more rapid and gestural with shoulders swept back and elbows extended outward. These European sounds provide drama, appearing to both liberate and bear down upon the dancers.
Rona is spare, contemplative and profoundly melancholy, with the dancers remaining isolated and preoccupied throughout. Cekwana calls it a “celebration of our spiritual history and identity, both past and present,” but the dance -- with its intensity and restrained energy -- it’s extremely controlled. But what human histories are not wrought with struggle and hardship?
By contrast, Ja’nee ("yes/no") is a psychological work, unbridled and volatile. There is also an undercurrent of sexual oppression and violence. We hear the raucous singing and stomping of men off stage who soon appear in wading boots and casual clothes, swinging menacing sticks in the air.
The combined shouting, singing, and rhythmic stomping exudes joy and camaraderie one moment, then anger and strife the next. At times the men would move in unison, and then the stage would erupt into a melee. Throughout much of the piece, the men would take turns declaiming loudly to no one in particular, a practice Cekwana described in a post-performance discussion as an announcement or boast of one’s history, ancestry, and achievement intended to intimidate enemies or impress women.
In the midst of this activity, the lone woman would enter the stage precariously, moving about on her tip-toes as if to avoid detection. For brief periods the men would retire to the sidelines and she would dance across the floor with determination, and then revert to wariness upon their return.
At the end of the piece she stands motionless and uncertain, surrounded by the seven much larger men. In a concurrent video projection we see an almost identical scene unfolding with the same dancers in black and white.
As Cekwana explains in interviews about his work, he is interested in societal taboos surrounding truth-telling in his native land. If these works have a profound effect upon us (and they do) it is because such attributes are endemic to our culture as well. Strangely, they are too seldom seen in our contemporary dance.
