STAGE
Sly Verb | Tues.-Sun., Feb. 15-20
Maurice Merleau-Ponty was a phenomenologist. For him, the emphasis of experience was on sense perception. Rather than Descartes' "I think, therefore I am," think instead of "I have a body, therefore through it I am able to exist in relation to others."
How does this influence dance? For Christopher House, choreographer of Toronto Dance Theatre's Sly Verb-partly inspired by Merleau-Ponty-movement invention begins with interiority. His ravishing cast of 12 dancing "selves," often nude or in states of undress, expresses sensuality and wonder in solo material capturing a deep presence and physical intelligence, animalistic and visceral. Duets rooted in touching the skin or intimate weight exchanges seem dangerous, as the dancers genuinely question sensation and awareness of the world around them. Other vocabulary hovers in the crowd-pleasing hybrid "contemporary dance" idiom the Joyce is known for-athletic and buoyant and a little jazzy, but balanced by balletic precision and casual semaphore. Scott Eunson's transformative metal sculptures, starkly lit by Steve Lucas, are alive and unpredictable and permute like vast membranes.
With possible correspondences to choreographers William Forsythe, Sascha Waltz and Elizabeth Streb, Sly Verb seems to traverse an arc beyond the Cartesian/phenomenologist divide into the eight senses of Buddhist thought: first the five mundane senses, then the mind that organizes data. That mind projects meaning on what is organized, and the fundamental state of consciousness beyond "me" and "you."
Joyce Theater, 175 8th Ave. (19th St.), 212-242-0800; Tues.-Fri. 8, Sat. 2 & 8, Sun. 2 & 7:30, $38.
-Chris Dohse
Yaneura (Attic) | Thurs.-Sat., Feb. 10-12
Prime real estate forces New Yorkers to pay exorbitant prices for closet-sized apartments, but the Japanese phenomenon of hikikomori finds people purposefully seeking out small spaces. As such, the entire production of Yanuera is performed in a four-meter-wide set, in Japanese with English subtitles. Initially the language barrier is daunting, but through dramatic content and passionate actors, the message is intuitive.
Playwright and director Yoji Sakate and his theater company Rinko-gun begin their U.S. tour in New York. Loosely translated as "withdrawn," hikikomori isn't a new illness. Common among teens but present in all ages, it would be gross understatement to label it a severe form of dissociative behavior. Over time, ordinary individuals become hermits, voluntarily confining themselves to small rooms for months or years on end, largely due to agoraphobia. Some victims emerge, forced by friends and family; others unfortunately never leave, but for their self-intended funeral.
Informing his audience through strange, captivating scenes, Sakate begins with a tone mocking capitalist-driven societies, as a group congregates around an attic for sale. The attic salesman is careful to distinguish authentic rooms from copies, explaining construction of rooms begins after the anonymous parent company receives the wire transfer.
But Sakate quickly returns to specific tales. In one scene, a boy chats in his friend's room, prodding her.
"Maybe there's nothing special about being a shut-in," he says.
"Am I a shut-in?" she asks. "How can you be so sure of that-just because I don't go to school?"
"You confine yourself in here like this, but the truth is, you're waiting for someone to invite you to come out," he says. "And that someone is me."
Not far into the play, a mock news scene recaps the scenario. The anchorperson speaks, holding an attic model: "This afternoon, April 19, 2023, an attic kit was found in the ground. Recently, there have been many dead bodies found in neglected attics. It's been said that in the 20th century, westerners laughed at us, saying, 'The Japanese people live in rabbit hutches,' and then in the early part of this century, the joke was, 'The Japanese live in coffins.' These people, whose skeletons have been found, were literally using attics as their coffins? Next, the news."
The Japan Society, 333 E. 47th St. (betw. 1st & 2nd Aves.), 212-752-3015; $35, 7:30.
-Andrea Toochin
Deep Dish Cabaret
Sat., feb. 12
With the motto "We smoke crack so you don't have to," it's little surprise that Deep Dish Cabaret has become an underground sensation of performance art. Inspired by a drug-induced vision, Steve Kosloff created a two-and-a-half- hour show of "unbridled chaos" that mixes stand-up, singing, dancing, magic tricks, physical feats and more.
The show features a rotating circus of performers such as Ivan the Russian Guy, who berates the audience with songs about "asshole macho American males." The Ghost of Dale Earnhardt discusses what it's like up in heaven. Tickets are available via info@ghentmag.com.
Junno's, 64 Downing St. (betw. Bedford & Varick Sts.); 212-627-7995; 10:30, $10.
-Christopher Stoudt
The Controversy of Valladolid
Through Sun., March 13
In a dark Spanish monastery in 1550, a family of frightened Native Americans is hauled in front of a jury of the Vatican's foremost clerics. The subject of debate: Do Indians and Africans have souls? Buñuel screenwriter Jean-Claude Carrière tackles the Catholic Church's momentous verdict-and its devastating consequences-in his play, newly translated into English, which starts previews at the Public Theater on Tuesday. Leave it to the French to make a theological debate riveting.
The Public Theater, 425 Lafayette St. (betw. E. 4th St. & Astor Pl.), 212-539-8500; Tues.-Fri. 8, Sat. 2 & 8, Sun. 2 & 7, $50.
-Anna-Kaisa Walker
Hurlyburly | Through Sat., March 19
Too long. Too repetitive. I was nonplussed by this revival of Hurlyburly, which I guess must make me as depraved as the characters in David Rabe's tragic play about entitled, hedonistic druggies in the 80s. There's Eddie, for one, a role Ethan Hawke embodies with existential ennui. Neither charming nor forgivable, Hawke's Eddie is a Hollywood casting director who's repulsed by his own role in life. In Eddie's case, the idea of playing out his destiny leads to a sad, self-fulfilling prophecy. As his business partner Mickey, Josh Hamilton slinks around undermining Eddie's every move, all the time insisting that he's right, as he often is.
More than depravity, there's violence or the threat of it lurking everywhere, for example when Eddie, reading the newspaper, expresses his fear of the neutron bomb or when his psycho best friend Phil needs a synopsis of the tv killer he should play. Whether or not Bobby Cannavale's Phil has any range of emotion matters little, because the emotions he tends toward makes for an alarming and often brutal presence.
Also in the style of 70s pulp fiction, Wallace Shawn's Artie is an aging, predictable Hollywood type who picks up a teenage girl, Donna (Halley Wegryn Gross), with the idea that his friends can have their way with her. Playing the sleazeball par excellence, Shawn is a natural.
Clearly, David Rabe is making an effort at consciousness-raising here, particularly about drug abuse, but also about sexism and misogyny. Unfortunately, Parker Posey's fashion photographer Darlene is one-dimensional and false, a dilemma the other actors avert, but not because the other characters are any better scripted.
In fact, ongoing life for these folks is in the playwright's words, "rapateta, rapateta, blah-blah-blah." It was, indeed, when it originally played on Broadway in 1984, and it still is today. Having assembled a formidable cast, Scott Elliott mines the drama for all of the dirty "scratch your ass" acting that it's really all about.
The New Group at the Acorn Theatre, 410 W. 42nd St. (betw. 9th & Dyer Aves.), 212-279-4200; Mon.-Sat. at 8, Sat. at 2, $60.
-Isa Goldberg
Courting Mae West | Weds., Feb. 9
In 1927, platinum blond, bawdy songstress, actress and producer Mae West was the Anna Nicole Smith of her time (except for the lack-of-talent thing-on the part of Smith, that is). On charges of lewdness, she and 54 cast mates of the Broadway show, Sex, were held overnight at the building of the old Jefferson Courthouse. By today's standards, West was tame-a sly, upward pucker mouthing lascivious bon mots, a big hourglass figure-yet she actually spent 10 days at the Women's Workhouse on Welfare Island, now better known Roosevelt Island.
Author/playwright Linda Ann Loschiavo hasn't been able to let the American justice system live down their over-awed sense of censorship. So she's written Courting Mae West: A Comedy About Sex, Censorship and Secrets, whose staged reading at CUNY will be preceded by an introductory discussion about censorship and the Broadway stage during 1926 to1929.
Mostly, though, tonight is about the soundtrack-the music of Nicki Jaine. Along with working through a tremulous rendition of "Bye Bye Blackbird,"Jaine makes music that's languid, torturous and slow with a simmering reptilian sexuality.
The Graduate Center, the City University of New York, 365 5th Ave. (betw. 34th & 35th Sts.), 212-817-7000; 8, $15.
-A.D. Amorosi
Self-Taught Artists | Through Sat., March 26
Piled on a trash heap, destined for destruction, the 400 meticulous watercolors of Josef Karl Rädler (1844-1917) were saved by a nurse, who recognized the work's value as art of the insane.
Celebrating its 65th anniversary, Galerie St. Etienne briefly examines the history of European and American self-taught artists ranging from the early 1800s to the late 20th century. "Self-taught" is the latest catchall to replace earlier unspecific terms such as "naive," "primitive," "Art Brut" and "outsider."
From Grandma Moses (1860-1961) with her popular scenes of rural life, to Henry Darger's (1892-1973) strange, often disturbing illustrations of his Vivian Girls at war, the exhibit allows a quick study of this varied and unruly category.
Unlike insider art, where the artist's lives remain, for the most part, private, the personal lives and mental health of the self-taught are appreciable components. On display are visionaries like Minnie Evans (1892-1987), whose swirling patterns and mystic symbols were inspired, she claimed, by an inner divine voice. There are examples of the mentally ill, whose doctors suggest the patients are trying to heal their mental turmoil by creating ordered systems in their artwork.
Then there are the itinerant painters, who but for economic misfortune might have progressed through the ordinary channels to insider status. These artists' lives are particularly sad and difficult, even in the face of success. The show features the Polish artist Nikifor (1893-1968). Born with a speech defect, the bastard son of an impoverished laundress created beautifully rendered townscapes. Or John Kane (1860-1934), who taught himself to paint late in life after a series of tragedies left him destitute. The show features several examples of his work, including an amusing painting of Kane's stern old wife staring over his shoulder as he earnestly paints at the easel.
Otto Kallir, the gallery's originator, immigrated to New York from Austria in 1939, escaping certain death at the hands of the Nazis. A promoter of European modernists, Kallir was also an enthusiastic supporter of self-taught artists, and his granddaughter and business partner carry on the tradition.
Though the gallery and its presentation are plain, the show's statement, rich with insight and historical detail, brings the story of this art, with its dynamic, often difficult relationship to the elites of modernism into play. Against all odds, and often in total obscurity, these artists were driven to create, to express the power of the individual.
Galerie St. Etienne, 24 W. 57th St. (betw. 5th & 6th Aves.), 212-245-6734; Tues.-Sat., 11-5, free.
-Julia Morton
Kim Keever | Through Sat., Feb. 19
In a place untouched by the hands of man, a distant volcano begins to erupt. Thick red lava oozes down its side, slowly seeping toward the flat green earth. Up in the sky, yellow dust clouds gather, slowly effacing an alien sunset.
No, this is not the opening of a sci-fi novel, but in Kim Keever's world, the flying saucers don't seem far off. Each landscape the artist invents seems both familiar and foreign, like a dream of a primordial past or a post-apocalyptic future.
Keever constructs lunar landscapes in a 100-gallon fish tank and brings them to life with various pigments and colored lights. The resulting images, captured with a large-format camera, are imbued with a remote and uninhabitable grandeur that references the early photography of the American West. Imagine Ansel Adams marching across Mars on horseback, his bag packed with a few sheets of first-rate acid.
Take a close look at these large-scale prints, however, and something strange and unexpected happens. Tiny bubbles form on desolate rocky surfaces, thin black marks emerge and a gathering fog appears in the forefront to expose the glass surface of the tank. By deliberately revealing the artifice of his constructions, Keever reveals the illusory nature of these worlds as they appear to us-like semi-conscious dreams glimpsed through half-open eyes.
Feigen Contemporary, 535 W. 20th St. (betw. 10th & 11th Aves.), 212-929-0500; Tues.-Sat., 11, free.
-Laurel Angrist
Philippe Aini
Through Fri., March 4
Fashion and art collide head-on in French artist Philippe Aini's display of paintings, sculpture and 10 wearable-fashion installations. Fusing sexual fantasy with macabre religious imagery, Aini's work varies in style from childlike to ferocious. Using women's fashions to explore figurative representation, Aini's "Prete-art-portee" collection mixes found objects with traditional materials. Garish and provocative, even the most avant-garde among you will be fashionably challenged.
Gramercy 32 Fine Arts Gallery, 32 Gramercy Park S., Suite 15D (betw. 3rd & Lexington Aves.), 212-780-0932; Tues.-Sun., 10-6, free.
-Julia Morton
Jason Fox
Through Sat., Feb. 19
Extraterrestrial rockers and John 3:16 afros are a riot-when they're the product of a twenty-something, Williamsburg loft-dweller. But how about when they're painted by a 41-year-old introvert? Jason Fox's intentionally erratic brushstrokes, Van Gogh-like markings and washed-out neutrals have always ensured his work is absent of ironic detachment, and as time goes by, it only gets more bizarre (i.e., interesting). Oh, you'll laugh all right-but only because you're so awed and uncomfortable.
Feature Inc., 530 W. 25th St. (betw. 10th & 11th Aves.), 212-675-7772; Tues.-Sat. 11-6, free.
-Sean Manning
Meschac Gaba: Tresses | Through Sun., March 27
Until now, Meschac Gaba, a native of Benin, was best known for "Museum of Contemporary African Art," an exhibit meant to challenge the traditional ways Western countries display African art. Unconventional to say the least, the exhibit comprised a group of room scenes displayed within the walls of each host museum. Exemplifying the notion that art is boundless and at times indefinable, the show was meant to influence Western countries that often confine art to museums or galleries.
Gaba dreamed up "Tresses," his first solo exhibition in the U.S., during his time living in New York. The idea was a response to the wonder he felt in the presence of the overpowering architecture that is the New York skyline. But the inspiration also followed his choice topics, as he devised a plan to use hair to weave the notions of public space, globalism and commercialism. "When I lived in New York, I felt very small among the enormous skyscraper buildings. I envisioned the buildings on top of my head, which brought me to the idea of making a series of wigs," said Gaba. "I have always looked at these wigs like a house that can be carried on the head, which is as fashionable as the architecture."
Situated on top of mannequins, the collection of 18 sculptures includes the Chrysler Building and the Empire State Building as well as models of conference centers and banks in Africa. The stark contrast of dark hair on white mannequins brings out the depth achieved through weaving techniques and different-colored braids. But like the towering skyscrapers themselves, some of the pieces in "Tresses" look too much alike.
The Studio Museum in Harlem, 144 W. 125th St. (betw. Lenox Ave. & Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Blvd.), 212-864-4500; Weds.-Fri., 12-6, Sat. 10-6, Sun. 12-6, $7, $3 st./s.c.
-Andrea Toochin
Sleep Spaces | Through Sun., March 13
"Sometimes at the moment of sleep strange figures are born and disappear," wrote the French Surrealist poet Robert Desnos in 1926. d.u.m.b.o.'s current show takes its title and concept from Desnos' poem, offering up eight emerging artists who put their own spin on reality.
Starting with Emily Lutzker's The Thing on the Wall, an installation of plastic piping draped with white fabric worms that look like the ones Jack Nance barfed up in Eraserhead, many of the works feature phantasmagorical creatures. Aleksey Vaynshteyn's tiny plexiglass cubes house polymer clay figurines made up of nipples, tongues and intestines, while in a cabinet, miniature black snakes and four-legged beasts copulate and fight. Kristine Robinson's mask-like sculptures, made from items like plastic sharks and basketballs, are meant to evoke disillusionment with the grandiosity of Pop Art.
Other pieces range from whimsical and disquieting to boring. Satoru Eguchi has sculpted giant shoes, rising from a sea of scraps of his own clothing, and actually slept inside them, according to associate gallery director Aaron Slodounik. Miyoung Song's Floating Point features a bed inside a white tent, where viewers are encouraged to lie down and watch a vertigo-inducing video of the city skyline at night while listening to eerie dripping sounds via headphones. In-Hee Lee's fish-scale-covered shoes and Clare Churchouse's fragile architectural wall constructions, meanwhile, don't seem to fit with the tone of the rest of the works.
The standout piece is Lutzker's Be Nice to the Bunny, which features a four-minute video of a chubby white rabbit darting around a hotel room amid huge mutant Ikea-like lamps. Lutzker claims her presentations "illuminate the space between grand dreams and pathetic realities."
The exhibition itself has seen its share of disappointments: Sunghan Cho's aquarium shaped like a bed was supposed to contain live fish until the glue holding it together turned out to be toxic. Never mind-the show's odd juxtapositions and unreal beings manage to evoke the strange figures of Desnos' dreams.
d.u.m.b.o. arts center, 30 Washington St. (betw. Plymouth & Water Sts.), Dumbo, 718-694-0831; Thurs.-Mon., 10-6; free.
-Anna-Kaisa Walker