Behind the Scenes with Chunky Move
“Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.” —The Wizard of Oz
With Love, a Bloody Nose
by Austin Buchholtz
If the audience sits on both sides of the curtain as they do in Chunky Moves’ Two Faced Bastard, then how could I write a fully-baked blog? Half would be revealed to me (and those I sit with) and half would be revealed to our hidden fellow audience members. So, with my tongue planted between my lips, I aim for 200% of the 50% I can uncover.
Most of the performance, we see and hear action on our side and only hear action on the other side. To someone content with life as it’s given, there is no inner conflict. On my side in the beginning there is only Stephanie Lake, a long-limbed blond dancer dressed in a tunic and moving like a robot on the fritz, while behind the curtain I can hear an interview being conducted. Clearly, I picked the best side, right?
Chunky Move and Austin smile for the camera.
But to someone who tends to think the grass is always greener on the other side, there is the frustration of being left out. Such tension creates an added edge to an already edgy piece, confounding dance conventions as when actor Brian Lipson appears on our side to interview the dancers, microphone in hand, with questions such as “Why do you do this?” or “Do people see you as a dancer or as a human being?” which they in turn thoughtfully consider and answer as best they can—while attempting to dance in synch with the rest of the group. Again at this point, I happen to be on the side where I can see the main spectacle, at least I hope so.
You would think the tension peaks mid-show when Brian finishes a loud, angry tirade by shouting at the sound and lighting tech guys to stop the music and put up the lights. He then invites the audience to consider switching sides. I hear the rustling of grass-is-greener folks. Dancers politely pull aside the vertically slatted curtains for those of us who do pass over to the other side. I step through the floor lighting, around the table and chair props, and between the dancers in my quest for balance, for participation, for perspective. My earnest curiosity is met with a full stadium of eyes, some focused on me, with zero intention to budge. I pause to consider my options. Going back now would seem a bit silly. Then one of them reveals an empty seat next to him and I soon feel relieved in my regained anonymity.
But in the second half, after the curtain is again shuttered closed, the converted YWCA basketball court goes dark, and Brian continues his clattering speech in front of us, I hear laughter from the other side. Clearly I picked the boring side, right? Then a battalion of monsters with suits of cardboard, styrofoam, and plastic bags burst through the curtain and attack each other with full abandon until every last shred of their costumes are in pieces at their feet. But it doesn't end there. Dancers Stephanie Lake and Lee Serle continue with the heartfelt violence of siblings hitting each other with debris, pausing only to consider how best to wallop the other with one last shot.
Is the grass really greener on the other side?
After things quiet down, a last remaining monster with the appearance of a human-sized diaper pops through to my side of the stage and quietly, hilariously antagonizes an irritable man by fiddling with squeaky pieces of styrofoam and burrowing itself into caves of boxes. After a little while, he demands the monster “take it off!” We find that it is dancer Michelle Heaven, now demure and yet somehow a survivor of the fray.
By now, the curtain slats are fully parallel with our vision, allowing a full view of the opposing audience. Slowly, the group begins to dance again in synch and somehow ends up sitting in a row of chairs facing Stephanie Lake as she perform the solo I saw at the very start.
In the following Q&A, Artistic Director Gideon Obarzanek and a few of the dancers attempt answers to the lingering koans we initiates voice as questions. In this piece, he wanted to play with our notions of masking and revealing, teasing and indulgence, perception and reality. Most interesting to him is when performers “step over to the other side” from being merely human. What does it mean to be a dancer on the stage?
Actor Brian Lipson improvises his interview questions, so the dancers really do have to think about their answers. Not easy, we find out, but they are much more used to it now.
What the audience does at half-time is endlessly fascinating to Gideon who describes a show when even after lights went down and the dance started back up, two couples from opposing sides decided at the same time to walk right through the action and find their new seats in the dark.
The battle scene, we find out, is part ode to a group of friends who battle each other in box costumes, seen online at www.boxwars.net, and in part revealing that which is masked or alluded to on stage. When asked how the violence felt, dancer Vincent Crowley regains his juvenile spirit: “I love to fight.” Gideon notes that the violence “ignites something in the air that’s more than appreciation.”
I ask Stephanie if, after the show is over, there is any overt decompression among the dancers after such physical flaring of tempers. She says yes, “it’s cuddles as soon as we get off stage...a pat and a high-five telling each other ‘that was a great fight!’” She then reveals that earlier in the day during the matinee battle, she accidentally kneed dancer Antony Hamilton in the nose, causing him to bleed and he had to leave the stage. In fact, while he performed this evening, he had to take it easy and not perform his solo.
In Two Faced Bastard we find the audience becomes part of the dance, dancers become the audience, the stage is behind the stage, masks are behind truths, and the sky is falling up. In other words, pay close attention to that man behind the curtain.
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Austin Buchholtz is a graphic designer, writer, and certified instructor of ballroom and latin dance. Austin was White Bird's Director of Audience Services from August 2001 to December 2003.
