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Monday, February 5, 2018

The Intense Now

-- By Tom Phillips 

Paris, May 1968
“In the Intense Now” is a pastiche of home movies, travelogues and documentaries, from 1968 and the time just before that climactic year. It includes snips and clips of revolutionary struggles in France, Czechoslovakia, China and Brazil, with a moody voice-over by a Brazilian film-maker, Joao Moreira Salles, who refrains from trying to pull it all together.  It is diffuse, digressive, and at least a half-hour too long, but I’m glad I saw it, because the heart of the film is a clash between two charismatic geniuses – “Danny the Red” Cohn-Bendit, leader of the student uprising that convulsed France in May 1968, and General Charles de Gaulle, President of the Republic, the great preserver of bourgeois order. The outcome is foreordained; the struggle is elemental, ecstatic, elegaic.

Thursday, January 11, 2018

President Oprah!

-- by Tom Phillips

I'm not an Oprah fan.  I didn't see her speech to the Golden Globes, just a clip of her tearful peroration.  She strikes me as a complex lady with a complicated life, who nonetheless is able to project a simple, powerful image through the media -- an image that speaks to the American value of self-reliance, and at the same time to the universal value of compassion, the virtue so conspicuously missing from today's White House. 

So: What other Democrat could beat Donald Trump at his own game?  Donald vs. Oprah! would be the ultimate talk show -- image vs. image, self-styled genius vs. self-made woman.  Brashness and bullshit vs. tears and guts.  Combover vs. hairstyle. 

And what's wrong with having a celebrity president?   Look at the present day -- a celebrity president tweets up a circus, entertaining the masses with imaginary battles against Black football players and a sinister Asian clown. Meanwhile a typical Republican administration goes about its business: taking from the poor to help the rich, giving business and the military free rein, handing out favors to wealthy donors. 

Under President Oprah!, the chief could entertain us with stirring speeches, celebrity feuds and friendships, must-read books and crash diets, while a typical Democratic administration could go about its business: taxing the rich to help the poor, reining in business and the military, and of course, handing out favors to wealthy donors. 

Don't get me wrong.  I voted for Bernie, I love Elizabeth Warren.  But in this age the President of the United States is willy-nilly the world's leading celebrity.  Why not go for someone with experience, and let Chuck and Nancy handle the politics?

Make sense?   

--  Copyright 2018 by Tom Phillips


Friday, December 15, 2017

Beyond Butoh

"Darkness Odyssey Part 2: I or Hallucination"
Kota Yamazaki/Fluid hug-hug
Baryshnikov Arts Center,  New York
December 14, 2017
--by Tom Phillips

Five dancers take part in Kota Yamazaki’s “Darkness Odyssey Part 2: I or Hallucination,” but for the most part each dances on his or her own, on a shiny floor, with a diaphanous rectangle of silver fabric hanging overhead.  The overall effect is of slow, liquid movement, but with fits and starts disrupting the surface calm.
Of the dancers Joanna Kotze commanded my attention most, stepping slowly like a long-legged wading bird, or like a child with autism, on tiptoes, whiffling her fingers under her chin and wrinkling her nose as if puzzling over an insoluble private riddle. At one point she spoke up to say she saw three power lines, or maybe it was four.

Raja Feather Kelly stood still with his mouth open for long periods. When he moved it was in long lines, opening into eccentric arabesques. Wearing a white shirt and blue pants, he rolled over with his back upright, so that his blue butt formed a dome over what looked like a featureless white face, and then began to talk animatedly with his hands. Later he lay down and said out loud that he smelled cigarette smoke, coming from next door. “Maybe it was hers?” he mused. This was the only mention of another person made by any character.  

Julian Barnett, wearing a black skirt over his pants and a diaphanous robe outside his shirt, pinched in on himself as if stuck in a contraction.  He stared and glared in stillness, then lurched around the space, moving spasmodically, as if he had something to say but couldn’t. 

Sunday, November 26, 2017

Croats and Poles, Poking Holes

Perforations Festival
La Mama Experimental Theatre, New York
November 25, 2017

-- By Tom Phillips
"Suddenly Everywhere"
In these woeful times for American culture, one looks with hope for something new from somewhere else. Enter the Perforations Festival, curated by Croatian director Zvonomir Dobrovic, just in time to give us a refreshing new look at Croatia and Eastern Europe, and a devastating look at ourselves.

Sunday, October 22, 2017

Monk on Monk

-- By Tom Phillips

As an artist Meredith Monk has never done just one thing at a time.  In “Dancing Voices,” which helped launch Lincoln Center’s White Light Festival this weekend, she attempts both a retrospective of her own career as composer-choreographer, and a transmission of her dharma to a new generation.    

“Dancing Voices” is divided into two parts.  Part One is a selection of her early experiments, from the Sixties to the early Nineties, performed with a chorus of young kids. Part Two is more recent, reflective works, with older children joining in. The first part was the most fun, and the most moving.

Sunday, September 24, 2017

The Body Speaks

-- By Tom Phillips

DownloadMidway through "Unwanted," a woman steps forward and begins to sing "Ave Maria," in a sweet, clear soprano -- then suddenly rips the name of Mary into a horrific shriek. It's a heart-stopping moment that encapsulates the theme of this piece: the trauma of women raped in war, and the horror they experience bearing the children of their tormentors.

"Unwanted" is the work of Dorothee Munyaneza, a pastor's daughter who was 12 during the genocidal civil war in Rwanda, in 1994. She escaped the war with her family, but years later went back to interview the women who were among its victims -- who carried the unwanted children, often the offspring of men who had murdered their fathers and brothers. These mothers instinctively nursed their babies, against the wishes of their relatives. One recounts a conversation with an aunt who advised her to kill the child before it opened its eyes. "Look," said her auntie, "your child resembles a hyena. How can you nurse a hyena?"  Munyaneza, writhing and recoiling, embodies the distraught mother as she kept the boy, nursed the hyena, hid her face from her own kin.  

Thursday, August 24, 2017

An American Eclipse

 -- By Tom Phillips

 August 21, 2017

I ran with the eclipse today across America, and what a day it was.

It just so happened that August 21 was the day I had a ticket to fly west and visit our daughters and grandchildren in Seattle  -- right along the path of the total eclipse, or just north of it.

 Alaska Airlines was 30 minutes delayed but our pilot assured us we'd get to Seattle on time. He was a retired Navy Captain, and this, he said, was his "afterlife" job.  Before takeoff he came back into the cabin to brief us on the E-clipse -- that's how he said it.  It would be following us, tailing us across the west and reaching its peak just as we landed.  Still, he warned us, don't look at the sun unless you have those special glasses.  A couple of passengers did have them, but I had neglected to get them.   This was gonna be frustrating.

 Still, I had a window seat on a clear day, and I got my first look ever along the northern border of the US -- narrated by the pilot, whose interest in geology and geography sparked a running account.  We crossed Lake Erie, meandered over Canada and then across the farmland of Wisconsin.  "The Cheesehead State!" cried our captain. 

How many people get enthusiastic when sighting Bismarck, North Dakota?  He did, and I did shortly after that as the flat Midwest farmland broke into a rutted surface, then into stark Black Hills with only patches of farmland, then into a lunar waste with no towns and barely a road.  Then suddenly out of the clouds ahead a whole landscape, blue heaped upon blue, of sheer uninhabitable gorges and peaks -- the Rocky Mountains. "We're goin' over the Continental Divide!" whooped the pilot.  And now the race was on.