dance on paper

Two thoughts came to mind when watching Saburo Teshigawara dance over a huge bed of broken glass last night:

1) Self-expression, no matter how passionate, does not guarantee artistry;
2) Set design, no matter how sharp (pun woefully intended), has the danger of being a total gimmick.

Both of these conclusions apply to Glass Tooth, being presented by his company Karas at Theatre National de Chaillot this weekend.

Teshigawara is known for his visually striking set designs, and that they are. The rectangular beds of glass were simple, aesthetically pleasing and stunning when lighted. The reflections projected onto the black proscenium created a wonderful, soft texture above, and the lighting formations on stage were as sharp and clear as the glass pieces themselves.

Before the performance begins, one ponders the implications of dancing on broken glass. “Omigosh! Will they cut their feet? What does it all mean? Treading the precarious path of life? Tackling one’s perceptions of fear? Pure, shameless suspense?” It turns out that all he wants to do is make friends with the material.

“It is important to accept the environment and its materials. One must use them, not as tools, but for their own qualities, in the same way costumes and lighting are used in dance. The relationship we create with objects is like a duet.”

Thus, there are no overarching themes or symbolism; we get to watch Teshigawara perform what looks like improvised upper body movement over the crunching shattering glass (wearing shoes of course). He and his Japanese dancers feign ecstasy when crouched near the glass, caressing and touching the glass shards as if they were a bunch of cute, fluffy anime characters. Kawai!!! Let’s be friends!

What impressed me, actually, was his actual choreography on marley. His strong, elastic dancers were formidable executing Teshigawara’s fluid and lightning-quick “Forsythe-esque” movement. This demonstrated his deft movement capabilities and just how decisive his choreography could be.

Unfortunately the rest was rather forgettable. The performance included what seemed like a psychadelic rave gone bad (pop-and-lock-like movement to atrocious, generic techno music), a could-be scene from the original Japanese film “The Grudge” (a scary, pale little Japanese face glaring at the audience), and to top it off, a terribly boring solo by Teshigawara to a Romantic string quartet (music uncredited in the program, by the way) in which he resembled a sort of Japanese Pierrot Lunaire who was all sad ‘n stuff. (the whole part about self-expression not guaranteeing artistry) By the end, my pop culture corrupted self couldn’t help but want to hear a certain Annie Lennox song…

Saburo Teshigawara is not without talent, nor are his fantastic dancers; if you ask me, he should focus on his dynamic choreography, and not let his notorious set designs get in the way.