The room is large.
Strips of red silk hang from the ceiling, forming a canopy over an expanse of black linoleum strewn with rocks. A man stands at the back of the room, his hands tied behind his back, his body tense.
Suddenly, a rock shoots across the floor; the bound man staggers under its impact. Then comes another and another until the room is filled with the thud and clatter of falling rock, the terror of a man being stoned to death, his mouth wide open in a silent scream. As he succumbs to his fate, his tormentors emerge from the shadows, lay down their stones, and make their way across the rock-strewn floor. They move unsteadily, one following the other, as they step precariously on, over and around the rocks. Some come alone, others are supported, all seem burdened.
Tibetan Buddhist chanting fills the void of their silence. Slowly, their movements become lighter, more joyous. Soon they are twirling, hugging each other, running with carefree abandon through the debris. A pregnant woman emerges from the red silk drapes, walks with calm purpose through the melee, sits on a rock and raises her hands as if in supplication, gazing into the distance. The chanting fades to silence. For a moment all is still. Then a slight, spare man watching from the far end of the room, leans back in his chair, lights a cigarette, and announces: "This is the happiest moment of my life."
A millennial calling
Arriving at this moment has not been easy for choreographer Lin Hwai-min, founder and art director of the internationally acclaimed Cloud Gate Dance Theater. The journey began three years ago when he was asked by Taiwan's National Theater to create a performance for the new millennium. It triggered a personal crisis.
"I thought, `Oh my God, what am I going to do.'"
The answer came to him last spring while visiting Cambodia, helping repair the classic dance culture all but destroyed by Pol Pot's murderous regime. He sat down to breakfast one morning, turned on the TV and saw that the US was bombing Kosovo. Unconsciously, the seed of a millennium work was sown. It grew through subsequent European tours and blossomed as Burning the Pine Branches, a prayer for the new millennium.
On this day, in Cloud Gate's Kuando studio, where all of Lin's compositions are rehearsed, the work has come to fruition: the missing links have been filled, the structure completed, all the problems solved.
For Lin, this moment is more precious than a standing ovation at a premiere.
"The millennium is not going to be a rose garden as many people pretend," he says. "Look at Kosovo. That's exactly where the First World War started: the problems of this century are very similar to those at the end of the last century. I don't know who is right and who is wrong, but the scary thing is that the big powers can push the button at any time, and they have the ways and means to justify themselves. Maybe unconsciously they are creating a new Jerusalem for the next century -- right now, in Kosovo."
Hence the prayer. Based on Tibetan rituals, the work addresses the uncertainty of the future -- the dramas of humankind, joy and suffering, separation and togetherness, violent injustice and blessing, and the eternal quest for peace and happiness.
In one way or another these themes have preoccupied Lin for much of his life. Certainly, they surface in his dance works, renowned not just for their technical perfection, their melding of dance techniques and theatrical concepts from the East and the West -- Tai Chi, modern dance, ballet, meditation and Chinese Opera movement all play a part -- but for their social relevance.
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