Pavlov Must've Loved a Kickline

There’s a good chance I might be the most jaded sometimes-musical-theater- choreographer in the world. While most of my time is spent exploring the depths of experimental concert dance forms, I regularly take on conventional theater jobs where I spend a few months at a time eschewing ‘jazz hands’ —outside of Fosse, god of brilliant physical weirdness— and kicklines.

(Let's pause here for a moment to say that I love all types of theater and the gigs that I get, this is mostly me not understanding the mass appeal and cultural adoption of things like "sparkle fingers"...)

Earlier this fall I was offered a ticket to a Sondheim musical and somewhere in the midst of the second act the actors geared up for, yes, a kickline, and the gentleman sitting behind me responded with a loud gasp and an immediate burst of applause in advance; not a leg had extended before he was so moved. Instead of my usual dose of snark I tried to watch with an open mind. Nine adults stood shoulder to shoulder, put their arms around each other’s backs, and kicked their legs to ninety degrees. Sure, it was fairly in sync, but honestly it wasn’t a feat that required loads of athleticism or skill, and yet by the time they had finished sixteen kicks the majority of the audience was vigorously applauding the event. Perhaps they didn’t realize that they could all be taught to do the same in less than ten minutes. (Disclaimer: Maybe not with beautifully pointed feet and straight legs, but the mechanics would be be there...)

What on earth is it about a kickline that can cause such a Pavlovian response in audience members? Is it just an extreme form of unison dancing? And then going one step further, what is about unison dancing that audiences can’t get enough of? It seems the average human is quite excited by multiple performers doing the exact same thing at the same time. I'm thinking back to one of the contemporary dance concerts I saw this fall, in addition to the musical, and as I eavesdropped on my fellow audience members I heard many compliments and comments about ‘how together’ the group was. The dancers demonstrated impressive, almost atypical physicality, and yet the audience primarily noticed that they performed in sync with one another. 

Simultaneously the least and most important research to embark on, I felt the need to find the impetus behind movement performed in unison on the contemporary stage. In the military and in marching bands, two examples of groups that utilize perfect synchronization, movement is for function and display, the body a carrier for moving across space in proximity to other bodies. In many global and social forms dances are performed in sync as a cultural tradition, everyone dances to experience the sensation of movement and for the sake of community ritual, but here there is also room for personal expression through movement. Moving to performative venues, the Rockettes and professional dance teams utilize precision unison, and I feel that the point in these forms is an amount of shock value that intrigues audiences through excess. Where my search has turned cold is why audiences that purposefully attend concert dance and theater still find some excitement with unison movement when it is likely that there is so much more meaning and infinite individual movement possibility. Why do we stop at the hypothetical kickline among transformations, relationships, physicality, and deep thought? Despite a couple hours on the internet searching for answers I’ve run dry of proven information and am left with a handful of my own guesses.

all-important

Note: This opinion piece speaks frequently of art and entertainment; it’s important to note that I’m referencing each in regards to the performing arts, specifically dance and theatre, as those fields are what I know. Perhaps the content relates to visual art, music and writing, but I’m not familiar enough with the worlds of those genres to comfortably discuss.

I often worry that the reason I make art isn’t important enough, the art itself isn’t important enough. Yes, this is completely ridiculous and self-defeating, but as someone who enjoys not just making but observing and participating in the art of others I’m very aware of the distinction of what’s purpose-driven and what is just pretty. As an individual who choreographs, designs and directs for the purposes of both making art and making a paycheck, often taking on gigs that aren’t as meaningful as the work I’m driven to create, I’m hyper-aware of a subconscious pull to ground my work in purpose (i.e. even if I’m working on a basic musical with kids there is still an immense take away from the experience for the participants), and am very aware of the boundaries of and gap between art and entertainment. I think it is an honor and a privilege to be able to be an artist for several reasons - reasons that would triple the length of this blog entry - and therefore believe there’s a responsibility to use one’s artist status to communicate, share, improve the community.

The debate on and space between art and entertainment will likely exist forever, and while my own internal discussion continues infinitely, my art-self-awareness was heightened when I started grad school a few months ago and by much of my recent reading. To clarify, I think both art and entertainment serve a purpose in society. I questioned this opinion over the last few months while learning about the incredibly talented artists also in my MFA program, many addressing the issues running rampant in current society and making important social change through their work.  I deeply questioned this opinion in the last few weeks when an essay I read described work made for aesthetic and pleasure as projecting an image of “a better order”, consequently taking the pressure off society to change. This is a bold charge and quite honestly true of entertainment, but I think that’s why entertainment exists - as a foil to art.

Art is participatory, thought-provoking, a statement, however subtle or brash it is presented. It is an exploration, an experience, carefully crafted by the artist who needed to create it. We attend art to think and to be challenged; art is about the content being presented, whereas entertainment focuses on the presentation. Entertainment is an escape in its tendency to provide easy enjoyment, and shock and awe. I go to musicals to be impressed by their lavish design and their unrealistic but wholly enjoyable tendency to break out into song and dance, to the ballet to see athletes exhibit their technical prowess. I enjoy myself at such events, but I’m never overly moved or challenged as the content itself, outside of glamorous trimmings and brilliant individual performances, is often too familiar and simplified.  One perk: entertainment does have the potential to be a gateway to art. I know several individuals that started attending dance performances by way of the ballet and other spectacle-heavy types of dance (think So You Think You Can Dance-esque), that slowly but surely have started taking chances and venturing deeper into art territory. Perhaps these two aren’t simply stand alone foils, but the two extremes on a possible-to-traverse scale.

All that being said, I think the balance of consumption of art and entertainment is far from ideal. If the average individual made as regular an effort to see impactful performances, projects and movements as they did the latest blockbuster, the millionth tour of Wicked, the annual Nutcracker, I can only imagine how different society would be. I think most opt for entertainment because we are afraid of being challenged. We are conditioned with the notion that the degree of understanding equals success, most students go through school getting numbered grades, the highest ranking student getting a special title at graduation, and there are many other similar situations through one’s life. I can imagine such a conditioned society has a hard time in a setting where they’re being provoked to think at an often abstract stimulus, without ‘right’ and ‘wrong’.

As I approach the end of this blog post I am revisiting my first sentence: I often worry that the reason I make art isn’t important enough, the art itself isn’t important enough. (A quick justification - what artist doesn’t spend some of their time questioning the validity of their work?) While I deviated from this initial thought, what I’ve learned from the examination of art and entertainment is that my art is important because it takes place in space and time, at a moment that was once the present moment. What I’ve learned about my own work by reading, thinking and applying is that I consistently create work on the human experience, social interaction and behavior.  This isn’t a catch-all; it, too, is important to examine commentary, narrative and abstract glimpses from the world we live in.  A recent work about artificiality, performance and interaction, a duet enacting a complicated relationship between females and a secret, a piece exploring trust in a system and overthrowing authoritative power - all of these come from my world and ask an audience to see and perhaps formulate an opinion upon these presented situations. The art, mine and that of others, is important because I cared enough to present something I needed to say in the best way I could possibly find to say it.  Similarly, perhaps entertainment is important due to society’s need to escape… and one step further, perhaps my need to explore my world and present it as an artist and my simultaneous need to be an audience member (not just for art, but for entertainment) are what are butting heads and causing this conflict-ridden internal discussion.

rabbit hole cycles: new thoughts

It’s important to me that I continue to discover and clarify themes in this work. My current opinion of rabbit hole cycles is that it inspects a performer’s role in a new space and in changing environments, and the roles of the individuals in a group, in a quirky performative sense. The space(s)/worlds in the piece are far from real, and yet they are indicative of real life; a crowded street carnival or parade, the rehearsal space, a unpopulated outdoor space. The performers’ actions and impulses on stage are far from how people act in real life, and yet they’re representative of the human condition. The piece explores behavior in space, a closed experiment of sorts, while exploring artificiality in performance and day to day life. The dancers’ over the top faces and gestures are artificial moments usually confined to theatrical settings, but artificiality is similarly prevalent in the normal everyday life we experience. How often do respond “I’m ok” instead of speaking our minds when asked the question “how are you”?

More questions for the piece to explore: How do we act in a variety of new spaces, how do we act to each other, when do we perform, when are we the most artificial, how does being part of a group affect our actions, what happens when the dynamic of a group changes, is it possible to escape a cycle? References I’ve been exploring and utilizing throughout the process include the sound that I previously mentioned (Rabbit Rabbit’s Hush, Hush, Timber Timbre’s Run From Me), Dr. Seuss’ Star-bellied Sneetches, The Truman Show (yes, the 90s Jim Carrey movie), the work of M.C. Escher, Lewis Carroll and more.