Without Stars/There We Have Been

Dark, beautiful and heartbreaking are just some of the words used to describe Haruki Murakami's novel, Norwegian Wood. Unlike his other works that are dreamlike and seemingly set in an alternate realm, immersed in magical realism, this particular novel has more widespread appeal because of its straight narrative.

A wistful tale of love and loss, of lost youth and maybe new beginnings, how could one resist?

All things considered, it's an accessible piece of literature, and the one most likely to be adapted to another medium. It's been made into a beautiful mess of a film by auteur Tran Anh Hung in 2010 and now it gets another incarnation through a twin bill production by independent British choreographer James Cousins.

Taking inspiration from the intense but tumultuous relationship of the characters in Norwegian Wood, the dance piece Without Stars tells the story of a man torn between two lovers---different as night and day. 

Complemented by the ingenious use of light and sound, the dancers bend, fold and get enveloped in each other's arms just as easily as they break free and get untangled. There's a push and pull dynamic that's apparent in the movements displayed and it's visually effective in capturing the inner struggle between the trio. Furthermore, it is able to convey that unshakable feeling of desperation and helplessness between its characters that can't be alleviated by companionship or love no matter how hard they try to hold on to each other. It doesn't really matter if you've read the book, it's three people caught in a love triangle, it's the simple. 

The follow up piece, There We Have Been  is a bit trickier though. It may be subject to numerous interpretation but contrary to the press release, it fits in nicely as a tailpiece, providing a conclusion to the rendering of the story. Of the two, it's a gimmicky showpiece but it's also felicitous in a way that elevates the art form and the way it can be perceived. 

In an amazing display of grace, strength and endurance, the relationship between Toru and Naoko is portrayed through a dance duet wherein the female dancer is held up by the male dancer in a variety of positions and poses, the former never once touching the floor. Some reviewers find it symbolic of the female's delicate disposition; of her dependence on her partner to keep her grounded while she is drawn away by an unseen force. It basically tracks the development of Naoko and Toru's relationship following Kizuki's untimely death and Naoko's subsequent battle with depression. 

This particular viewer, in the alternative, would like to think of this final piece as a representation of Toru's devotion to a girl long lost. A girl, who has spent her last few days on earth, desperately courting death, despite all the love willingly offered to her. 

There We Have Been not only captures the nature of their relationship but also its lasting impact on Toru as a person. In this segment, she hovers around and above him like a spectre. The memory of her weighs on him, recounting the times that he's tried to hold onto her even when her whole being appears to yearn for something else...or rather, someone else. And he carries this memory and his love for her like a burden, at least until he decides to let go and move on. This is, after all, Toru's story. And as much as Norwegian Wood may be considered a tragic tale of love, it's also about growing up and choosing to live on. 

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 Photo by David Foulkes available at www.theplace.org.uk

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Fuerza Bruta : Look Up

Since mid-February, almost every lifestyle column or event blog was abuzz and raving about Fuerzabruta, an interactive show that originated from Argentina and is currently being staged at a make-shift tent within the grounds of the Manila Hotel until March 26. Hailed as a one-of-a-kind theatrical experience, locals who caught the show were quick to throw words like "amazing, "trippy" and "mindblowing" to describe it, and so like any other curious, entertainment section-reading individual who bought into the hype, I decided to go and do a look-see last Tuesday not knowing that there was such a thing as a Girls' Night version (sigh*). 

Anyway, the show started promptly at 8p.m. but since I arrived thirty minutes early, I was able to down the first of two complimentary drinks that came with the arguably expensive ticket price. As for the actual show, people were led to a dark room where they were expected to move around under the watchful eye of stagehands as the performers moved from one side of the venue to the other. 

Going by the promotional material, audiences were encouraged to clap, cheer, shout and dance to this [supposedly] 360-degree spectacle that fused heart-thumping techno music with hyper-kinetic dancing, aerial stunts and psychedelic (dare I say psychotropic?) visuals. 

The show in itself was different from your usual sit-down theatrical event, it was gimmicky and avant garde, however, I highly doubt that there's a deeper meaning or message that was supposed to be imparted. From what I've seen, Fuerza Bruta appears to have been designed to break through the confines of language and culture by encouraging everybody to participate, celebrate and even get slightly wet under seizure-inducing strobe lights in a performance art extravaganza that more or less doubled as a rave party with a time-limit.

One of the highlights of the show was the part where people craned their necks to see female performers frolic and glide across a shallow hanging pool that slowly descended and hovered about a foot over our heads. They created ripples, formed silhouettes, and teased the audience through a tough yet thin layer of plastic that in turn showcased the diaphanous fabric that barely covered their figures. Now of all the acts presented, this one came quite close to achieving that dreamy, other-worldly atmosphere...that is until you start noticing all the oggling and "interactive" pawing that came about it.   

At the risk of sounding like an old fogey, I spent the whole hour in awe of the seemingly senseless and whimsical activities before me whilst trying to avoid eye contact with the performers who, from time to time, would roam around and induce people to dance in a frenzy and/or smash styropor boxes of tissue-confetti on some random guy's head. So between sidestepping soggy [toilet or Japanese?] paper and trying to figure out how all the sequences to this production fit in with the man on the treadmill, I couldn't help but feel duped. Had I read  Charles Isherwood's theater review, I would have thought twice about rushing off to see it.

Fuerza Bruta is the kind of show that requires an open-minded audience---in particular, the highly excitable and free-wheeling type that wouldn't mind staying up on a weeknight. It has a concept that would no doubt appeal to young, hip, party-goers who chase after fads or else, not-so-young, slightly inebriated individuals who chugged enough alcohol or gogo juice to dive into this short (55 minutes to be exact), not-so magical, mystery tour. 

Was it a unique, one of a kind experience? 

For sure. It assaulted my senses with brute force but as one act gave way to another, its overall impact drastically weakened with the passing of the hour. At the end of it all,  let's just say that I was more than happy to get home, hit the sack and have my own weird dream without having to be in a room full of strangers.

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Photos by Niña Palileo, amateur photographer/videographer. 
Images taken during the actual show held last 9 March 2012 at the Manila Hotel Tent.

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A Night at the Opera

They say that opera is an unknown, if not unappreciated, art form in the Philippines, so in an attempt to rectify this situation and introduce this classical medium to the public, the Cultural Center of the Philippines in cooperation with equally minded organizations such as the Opera Guild Foundation of the Philippines, Music Artes of Jay Glorioso and the Rustan’s Philippine Italian Association have decided to produce three operas that will be presented at the CCP main theater this year.

First up would be Guissepe Verdi's La Traviata as scheduled this March, followed by Giacomo Puccini's Madame Butterfly this coming June and finally Rossini's The Barber of Seville in July.

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To cut to the chase, I'm no art or theater afficcionado but I was willing to give this long-standing tradition a try---even if I had trouble finding someone to come with me that I ended up dragging bringing my mother along  and  was eventually accosted by the smell of expensive perfume and liniment (think BenGay and Tiger balm) wafting along our balcony seats just to see La Traviata as performed by artists from the Daejeon Opera Company.

I always wondered who came to these events, not realizing that aside from the usual suspects who were composed of patrons in old lace, long gowns, pearls and had coiffed hair, you also have family members who support young, aspiring artists who pursue a career in dance or music, not because it's a lucrative career but mainly for the sheer love of it. Seated to my right was the proud family of one of the chorale singers from the University of Santo Tomas and to my left were the friends of someone who I assume was part of the philharmonic orchestra that provided the musical accompaniment.

They played the national anthem, flashed a short synopsis of the first act; the curtain was drawn and we were off witnessing an ostentatious party held at Violeta's Paris salon.

I had a vague notion of what the story was about so even though it was sung in a foreign tongue by artists in frilly outfits amidst a soporific backdrop of billowing curtains, candelabras and a chandelier, I was prepared to sit through this tragic tale of a courtesan who gave up everything when she fell in love only to be needlessly rejected and humiliated by the man she loves.

So after three acts and about four intermissions, I can proudly say that I survived my very first opera without falling asleep, thanks in part to the offhand yet entertaining comments of a little boy who kept asking his father the following questions while the rest of us were waiting for the courtesan to die already---Is Violeta going to die? What is she going to die of? How come people are applauding her when she's dying? 

As for me, the question on my mind at the time was, "Is La Traviata the source material for Greta Garbo's Camille and is Baz Luhrmann's Moulin Rouge! a loose adaptation of it?"For surely, not all courtesans end up dying of consumption nor do all spurned lovers end up throwing a wad of money at at the said courtesan insisting, "I owe you nothing" in public.

Turns out I was wrong on both counts as a quick search on wikipedia revealed the above two productions as mere adaptations of an Alexandre Dumas novel called The Lady of the Camellias.  Apparently it was first turned into a stage play in 1852 and was later put to music by Verdi, then  made into a film by George Cukor in 1936 and finally became an inspiration for the 2001 musical that starred Nicole Kidman as the ailing courtesan who fell in love with a penniless writer. I guess what I'm getting at is that a good story really does stand the test of time and while people might not immediately take to the opera, it should at least be conceded that these type of productions do tell familiar tales covering universal subjects that would appeal to anyone... if only given a chance.

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