“MOVE: A Tribute to Richard Carlyon” at the Grace Street Theater on Sept. 26 left me utterly baffled, yet awe-struck. The entire performance was mysterious and it seemed as though the rest of the audience knew something I didn’t.
To appreciate the weight of the performance, the audience must be very familiar with Carlyon’s work and personality. Without this familiarity you are left feeling mystified and entertained, but unable to truly understand.
The most exciting part of the evening was at the end of the performance when Felix Cruz did a solo interpretation, choreographed by Chris Burnside of Carlyon’s film “Red Again.” He moved about the propless stage in a red leotard, similarly to Carlyon painting a canvas red in the film. There was a sense of intense intimacy created by Cruz. Cruz grabbed the audience’s attention and connected with them using powerful emotion.
Throughout the night, all the dancer’s costumes and speaker’s outfits were simplistic, usually consisting of a black leotard or black shirt and pants. The stage was clear of any props besides occasional chairs and a music stand to read their lines. The overall feel of the performance was beautiful and minimalist. It described Carlyon’s art through movement.
The evening began with a film called “There Then Now,” repetitiously edited by Carlyon, the film consisted of two dancers performing the Shorty George. The film was then re-enacted by Laura Schandelmeier, who choreographed the solo, which was purposefully choppy and a surprising beginning to the performance.
The lighting during this segment was outstanding. At one point in the solo, Schandelmeier is spotlighted on a very dark stage. This again led to an intense feeling of intimacy I have never experienced at another performance. It was as though she was looking directly into the eyes of the audience, forcing them to understand.
Following Schandelmeier’s performance was what can only be described as flawless, well-choreographed chaos. Three people sat on chairs on the outskirts of the stage. As each one read short passages, many dancers began to move about the stage.
The dancers wore nothing but black leotards and the only sounds were speakers’ voices and dancers’ footsteps. The simplicity of this segment was intriguing; there was always just the right amount of movement on stage to symbolize Carlyon’s work, never anything too extravagant.
The performance ended with one of Carlyon’s films, “Flight Song,” which shows him ascending a creaky flight of stairs multiple times. The footage is repeated to make a song with the creaks. Directly after the film, the stage went black and the lights came on, signifying the end of the show and a delightfully confused, inspired and impressed audience.