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Douglas Dunn’s Lazy Madge, an on-going, ever-changing “choreographic project” with nine dancers, has been happening all over Manhattan this spring, and at the Diplomat Hotel ballroom, on May 3, it started with a witty group strut across the small proscenium stage. Then in a complex sequence of exits and entrances, it spread, over the course of the next hour, through the entire ballroom. Lazy Madge has changed since last spring: new material has been introduced and new rules for ordering the material have been instituted. (I think the new rules are that there are practically no rules.) Last year’s version presented a banquet of simultaneous solos and duets composed of choreographed material; the spectator’s eye was invited to roam and to sample the goods. If one didn’t get satiated, one could always come back to see it again. Since the performers had some leeway in choosing when to start a “bit,” the bits might recur in a different order, but as dances they remained intact. Now new duet material can be broken up into half-duets, performed at large. An element of improvisation creeps into the bits themselves – not just the order in which they appear – since the dancer who finds him/herself selected as a duet partner, not knowing the corresponding movements, must choose how to respond. In the gigantic space at the Diplomat, the constantly shifting landscape of motion forced the spectator to choose a different way of focusing than in the smaller lofts where I’ve seen the piece before. One tended to be attracted to activity close at hand; one’s eye traveled involuntarily to a strong statement of exit or entrance. The dancing on the little stage, after the initial entrance, faded into backdrop material. This version of Lazy Madge emphasized partnership and the exploration of physical dependency. One could see the results of a year’s close work in the amiable interactions of the performers. Not only did the dancers have to pay careful attention to each other’s activities in order to avoid collision (since although the individual strands of material are strictly structured, the way they are knit together can’t be predicted), but the material itself was designed to provoke tests of balance and trust. A small woman dangled from someone’s elbow; Dunn suddenly jumped into David Woodberry’s innocently clasped hands; several times a neck or an ear was gently touched. In Lazy Madge, the pairing, carrying and holding is done without regard to sex roles, which often makes for charmingly unconventional visual combinations. And there is also that strange Dunn phenomenon of presenting familiar gesture or expressive movement stripped, of psychological meaning, since it occurs in a motor, rather than a social, situation. Overall, the look of the movements has a workman-like physical economy, an efficient use of body parts; movements are strung together without regard to an externally imposed sense of polish or harmony. As Dunn gives his dancers more freedom, the presence of his own designing intelligence necessarily diminishes in the dance. I love the Dunn dancing: the fresh, almost awkward look of the movements, the activity on the edge of balance; I miss the Dunn symmetries and structures.
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