In the 1998 film Shakespeare in Love, Geoffrey Rush does a lovely turn as a befuddled theater owner who commissioned William Shakespeare to write a comedy but instead finds himself with The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet. Lingo Dance Theater’s new evening length segment of the triptych A Glimmer of Hope or Skin or Light at ACT Theater has very little in common with Shakespeare in Love.But as I watched Glimmer on April 23rd, I couldn’t help but repeat the punch line to the movies’running joke.Throughout the film, whenever he’s asked a question, Geoffrey rush answers: “it’s a mystery.”And that, by and large, was my reaction to Glimmer.
Lingo Dance Theater Artistic Director KT Niehoff provides very little guidance to help us decode her puzzle.In the program she writes that she’s interested in presenting work outside the traditional setting of the proscenium stage.She also wants to push the audience/artist relationship.On both of those fronts Niehoff’s Glimmer succeeds.What’s less clear is what Niehoff and her performers want the audience members to take away from this nontraditional new relationship.
The ACT Theater portion of Glimmer is actually the third leg of a large project.In March, Niehoff’s dancers launched a series of one-on-one commissioned solos that were presented to recipients all over Seattle.Later in the month, Niehoff installed her dancers in Seattle Art Museum galleries.They functioned as live, kinesthetic sculptures museum-goers encountered as they made their way through SAM.At ACT, Niehoff has created a large ensemble work for the Bullitt Cabaret.The Bullitt is a large space with a balcony that encircles the room’s periphery.Although there’s a stage on one wall, it’s occupied by the band Ivory in Ice World, not dancers.While the band plays a score written by Jabon (Scott Colburn), the dancers roam through the rest of the space, sometimes spotlit on portable floors scattered around the carpet.Other times they writhe on the stairs to the balcony, or push their way through the spectators.
The performance begins the moment the ushers throw open the doors.Audience members are greeted by one of eight “Showgirls”, who strut their stuff on sparkly silver stiletto heels.Once inside the Bullitt, we find a handful of high tables and chairs, but it’s clear we’re meant to stand and walk around, not sit passively.A Showgirl who calls herself Lola saunters from table to table, inviting folks to get a drink at a makeshift bar upstairs.She’s fetching in iridescent blue facepaint and false eyelashes, her dark hair crowned with a blue tulle pouffe.
If Lola and the other Showgirls are enticing, their charm is counteracted by the four members of The Coven.Bianca Cabrera, Ricki Mason, Michael Rioux and Aaron Swartzman are clad in off- white, their faces blotched with macabre dark makeup.The lights dim when the Coven enters the room.Unlike the Showgirls, the Coven dancers don’t interact with the audience.Instead, they confront each other in a series of aggressive, sometimes violent duets.
For almost 90 minutes, the “action” shifts continually.The audience, with their drinks, coats and purses in hand, traipse around the space to get a better view.Not that it really matters if you miss part of what transpires, as Glimmer doesn’t have a clear narrative arc.The Coven members confront one another, in pairs, then a powerful quartet in the center of the space.Early in the performance, Ricki Mason and Aaron Swartzman meet on one of the temporary dance floors.Mason goes completely limp, and Swartzman manipulates her body:he flips her over, yanking her by the arms and legs, spins her, smashes her to the floor.At first she is silent, then Mason starts to cry out. “Yes, yes, more, more.”Perhaps this is rough sex?Clearly it is meant to disturb.And it does.More than physical violence, this is an interaction devoid of emotional or spiritual connection.Later, Mason shares a duet with Bianca Cabrera.Here, some tenderness is mixed into the confrontation.The two dancers twine their bodies around one another. They undress each other and take on their partner’s clothing.This may be love, or an illustration of how we take on our lover’s traits.The exchange of identities is eerie; moving, and yet difficult to watch.
There are moments of luminous beauty in Glimmer.At one point, the Showgirls, who’ve ascended to the balcony, shower sweet voices down onto the main floor as they sing along with the band, now fronted by Lingo’s KT Niehoff in a new role as vampire rock diva.Andthe costumes, conceived by Ricki Mason and Niehoff and executed by Alex Martin and Joanne Witzkowski, are amazing. Lead Showgirl Kelly Sullivan is a vision in her elaborate white headdress.It’s stunning, and dramatic.
The Bullitt Cabaret section culminates Lingo Dance Theater’s A Glimmer of Hope or Skin or Light.The project was funded by ACT Theater’s news works initiative, the Central Heating Lab.In a February interview, Niehoff said that while she conceived the Glimmer sections as three parts of a whole, audiences didn’t need to see all three to appreciate them individually as stand alone performances.Nevertheless, perhaps the cabaret performance would have made more sense if I’d seen the other sections.The nagging question remains.What, aside from pushing the artist/audience boundaries, was Niehoff trying to accomplish with this piece?Niehoff says each of her artistic projects builds on the one that went before it.With Glimmer she and her Lingo company members have continued to push their art to venues beyond the traditional platforms.Is Lingo’s ultimate artistic goal to examine the means of delivery rather than the content of the message?I’ve pondered that question, and I’m afraid that I must echo Geoffrey Rush:it’s still a mystery.
