What has always stayed in my memory about Cloud Gate Dance Theatre’s (雲門舞集) Songs of the Wanderers (流浪者之歌) is the image of the monk, eyes closed, head slightly bent, hands clasped before him, standing motionless in meditation throughout the entire performance as an unending stream of golden rice drizzles from the sky on his head. In my mind, that single stream of rice was the source for all the rice that ends up on the stage. I was wrong.
Watching Cloud Gate at the National Theater on Friday night, I was struck by how central Songs of the Wanderers, which premiered 16 years ago this month, was to the development of founder Lin Hwai-min’s (林懷民) style. It marked a major shift away from the narrative works that predominated in his output from 1973 to 1988 and the move towards more abstract, meditative works after Lin restarted the troupe in 1991.
I had also forgotten how harsh the beginning of Songs of the Wanderers is, with the pilgrims appearing out of the darkness, half bent, clutching staffs made out of tree limbs, looking as dry and desiccated as if they had just crossed the Sahara. The sudden deluges of yellow grain that cover the entire stage, imbuing it with a golden yellow hue, trigger delightful splish-splashing moves as the dancers cavort through the grain, throwing up huge handfuls of rice that fly through the air like miniature exploding fireworks.
Photo COURTESY OF Cloud Gate Dance Theatre
Such is the spell that Lin weaves that after the company, Lin and Wang Jung-yu (王榮裕), who performed as the monk, take their bows, the entire audience stayed glued to the seats for several minutes as the raker Lin Hsin-fang (林心放) came back out to slowly create a giant spiral that fills almost the entire stage.
The company will perform Songs of the Wanderers at the Chiayi Performing Arts Center (嘉義縣表演藝術中心演藝廳) from Dec. 17 to Dec. 19. However, for anyone planning a trip to Europe next year, you might want to consider a visit to Dresden in June, when Cloud Gate will perform Songs of the Wanderers accompanied live by the Rustavi Choir.
Inspiration and imagery were sorely lacking in the Experimental Theater on Saturday night for the Young Stars, New Vision 2010 — Dance (2010新人新視野舞蹈—蛻變的肢體) show.
There was too much of a sameness to the four pieces, which perhaps is a reflection of the closeness of Taipei’s dance world, with the choreographers and dancers largely graduates of the same school (National Taipei University of the Arts, 國立臺北藝術大學) and dancing in a handful of small companies.
All four pieces were nice, but nice is not exactly a ringing endorsement for young choreographers trying to make a name
for themselves.
I was pleasantly surprised by Lee Guo-chi’s (李國治) A Drop of Water Under the Microscope (顯微鏡下的一滴海水), which was much more polished than the other works of his that I have seen.
Lin Yu-ju’s (林祐如) Amarcord was a quiet duet where a couple seem to remember why they were once together, but the dim lighting made me think that the audience was supposed to look through the clouds of memory. And I’m not sure what having the man come back out at the end, wearing three gently whirring fans on his back, was meant to convey.
Tien Hsaio-tzu’s (田孝慈) Road (路) was the least impressive of the four; I really couldn’t fathom either the inspiration or the rationale for the movements, or what the rabbit onlooker was supposed to represent.
Yeh Ming-hwa’s (葉名樺) Flake (脫落) was pretty and romantic, with petals falling everywhere, although a “costume malfunction” at the beginning with the container of petals under Lin Yu-ju’s red dress made it look as if she was literally “dumping” petals. I was assured this was a malfunction and not a commentary on the Taipei International Flora Exposition.
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