Of all the arts, dance might be the one I most struggle to engage with. I’ve watched and tolerated various forms of ballroom and/or competitive dance and been unable to see the fine from the mediocre. I personally find it incredibly difficult to even pretend to engage in “social” dancing, finding the entire practice rather baffling. Not to say that I dislike it or have anything against it, mind! Just that my reaction to someone suggesting dancing at a party would be much the same as that someone’s reaction to me suggesting that we really try and nail down, once and for all, a definitive and satisfying family tree of the Noldor princes.
I don’t mind historical dance, period recreations of forms of the Renaissance, Baroque and Enlightenment, and I am myself fond of country dancing (“bushdancing” to give it its Australian title) as an activity. But as regards the former, I enjoy the exactness of detail and passion for the history as much as the actual dancing, and the latter brings me the same energised and breathless pleasure that playing a game of football in the park does….it’s more an activity of exuberance than anything resembling physical artistry.
Having grown up in a fairly orchestrally-minded household, I’ve also been exposed to ballet frequently from a young age, and engaged with it in the same generally accepting, if apathetic manner. I can appreciate that professional dancers of all genres are incredibly skilful and physically capable, and am glad there is a fair audience for them, even if I find it unlikely to be counted among them.
Well, until the other day, anyway (for ‘other day’, read ‘over two months ago’, because I am much better at starting blog posts than finishing them). Anyhow, back in….October, I believe, I went to the ballet, and enjoyed, hated and loved it far more than I was expecting.
Don’t worry, I swear this isn’t me turning into the bourgeoise….well, not more than I already do and have, anyway. No, what really struck me in this production was the story-telling, and how it alternately engaged and repulsed me. And, since this blog is partly an opportunity for me to process my own observations and feelings, I wanted to try and explain a little of what I felt and saw here. Both to understand why this particular ballet touched me, when so many have not – and to clarify a little further my own ideas and feelings about Story.
It seems appropriate to first introduce the ballet in question, or rather ballets, as there were two, set by two different choreographers to two different musics and scenarios – https://teatrwielki.pl/en/repertoire/calendar/2021-2022/exodusflights-harnasie/. And, while there were two ballets, my experience was very much divided into three parts – the first half of Exodus (hereafter called “Exodus”) and the second and third acts of the same ballet (“Deuteronomy” and “Downfall”, which I’ll refer to as a single unit from now on) each left very different impressions on me, while Flights-Harnasie, the second ballet, was a much more cogent unit to me. But we’ll return to all that later.
Firstly, technically, everything was (as far as I could tell) incredible. My wife, who has forgotten rather more about dance and choreography than I will ever know, concurred, which makes me feel good. Secondly, the music was….fine. I wasn’t always satisfied by orchestra or orchestration, but both more or less served their purpose.
Where I struggled and was (eventually) satisfied, was with the plot, the story. It may have been because the medium is one I am less familiar with. It might have been because the choreography was uniformly excellent in depicting what it sought – even if I was dissatisfied with some of it. And it might be because the three distinct sections all (to me) represented such different, distinct approaches to story-telling and how to craft a narrative or an experience. In any case, it all struck me very strongly, and left me with a strong desire to understand for my own sake why I reacted so viscerally, and with such a wide span of emotions, to each distinct section of the whole performance.
So, let’s break it down a little further. The first part of the first act, “Exodus” was highly exhilarating – there wasn’t necessarily a “story” in any discernible fashion, just action and movement – but highly evocative, stylised and striking action. My wife and I saw very few “common” factors in terms of what the imagery represented or evoked, but evocative it was. It was creative, blindingly skilful, and overwhelmingly expressive. To me, it was like some pagan animal ritual, a herd of creatures moving and reacting in their own alien dance, like and yet not wholly kin to human experience or thought.
But that was just what I saw and felt. My wife had a different (though equally vivid) reaction. Others likely would have too. And that was fine, there was nobody to tell us that our concept was “wrong”, that our feelings were mistaken. There was also no need to understand it in the same way, no intricate plot to follow or understand. It was abstract, but not abstract like ballroom dancing could be said to be so, it was evocative, creative, and highly…..believable. Simply, it was fully successful in leading me to its own Secondary World.
Then, we come to the second, larger part of Exodus, “Deuteronomy”. And this was everything the first act was not, to its own detriment and failing. Where “Exodus” invited imagination, “Deuteronomy” was clear and direct. Where the first was a single, indivisible primal image, the second was fragmented, modern, relevant and unfocused. “Exodus” invited us on a journey. “Deuteronomy” went out of its way to show the scarred cracks in the road.
The only element these two halves shared was a distinct lack of “story”….rather, “Deuteronomy” featured numerous vignettes. Domestic abuse. Discrimination. Gang violence. Sexual assault. All, obviously, leading to the end of the world or something.
All highly stylised and condemned, to be sure….and yet in service of nothing more than itself. “Look at this Bad Stuff”, the choreography said. “These things are Bad and people who do them are Bad.”
I hated it.
It is near-impossible for me to express how much I hated it, and on how many levels. It had all the self-importance and profundity it could muster, and yet still had absolutely nothing to say. It was, to my mind, the most cowardly act of artistic bravery possible, as if by presenting these scenes, all the predators and villains in the auditorium would realise the error of their ways, would be called to shame and guilt and repentance. “Did you know that social media is fake, and that it is bad to harm children?” asked “Deuteronomy”. It was utterly possessed of its own worth, that these were messages that would confront and startle the audience into being better.
My grasp of psychology is admittedly limited, but the overwhelming feeling I had after this act was that everyone in the audience was either too young to understand what was happening, and thus could only be frightened by it; or old enough that they should have already learned these messages years ago, and would be too set in their ways to be convinced otherwise by a half an hour of dancers dancing.
Or, if I can divide the older ones still further into their own categories, there were those too vapid and unimaginative to comprehend that this wasn’t, in fact, great and meaningful art, who need to be told that they are Feeling and Thinking without actually being disposed to either. Then there were those like me (perhaps fewer than I might have hoped, but perhaps not) who were not terribly convinced by it, were able to appreciate aspects of it, or were captivated by the emotionality of it but had little thought for it after. And, if I were to guess, I would assume that the predators, abusers and fiends in the audience may well have enjoyed it more than anyone else, which sounds crazy, but I will stand by it.
In short, the “Deuteronomy” portion was, to my mind, both pointless and awful. It carried the exact same moral weight as a Facebook meme, and with a shade more pretentiousness. It was a pointless exercise in point-scoring, a vain and shallow act calculated to be irreproachable. “You think that bad things are bad; well, so do we!” said “Deuteronomy”.
Am I being overly conservative morally, overly squeamish? I hope not….and, in defence of myself, I’d like to roll on to Act 2, to the second ballet.
Flights-Harnasie was, first and foremost, much more conventionally a story. A story simple enough, clearly presented enough that I could readily summarise it in a couple of paragraphs.
And yet, that’s not to say that just because it had a plot, it was any less profound or deliberative than the previous ballet. Envy, rejection, betrayal, fear of the Other, agency, and becoming one’s own antithesis were all presented, were all explored to some degree….some overtly, others less so. It wasn’t always moral or pretty or easy, but it was bloody good.
In short, “Deuteronomy” tried to Say Something. Flights was actually About things, and was far more effective, powerful and engaging in saying something along the way. Or, to put it in language that at least I understand:
….I cordially dislike allegory in all its manifestations, and always have done so since I grew old and wary enough to detect its presence. I much prefer history, true or feigned, with its varied applicability to the thought and experience of readers. I think that many confuse ‘applicability’ with ‘allegory’; but the one resides in the freedom of the reader, and the other in the purposed domination of the author.
– JRR Tolkien, Foreword to LOTR (2nd edition).
To be clear, I’m not here to make the same value judgement as Tolkien does in separating allegory from applicability (though I am broadly sympathetic toward it). Rather, I want to use his own definition to clarify what the difference was for me between “Deuteronomy” and Flights. Flights had no agenda, no overarching “point” – beyond the point that one took away from it. It offered opportunity to find a point, or indeed several points, but left that freedom to the viewer, where “Deuteronomy” pursued its own point to the detriment of actually creating anything, or inviting a viewer to truly engage with it.
To be fair, Tolkien is specifically talking about the art of fiction in this argument – and the sheer abstractness of something like the dance that opened the first ballet might remove it from being “fiction”. I’m not so sure, though. To my mind, fiction is simply organised and directed imagination, fiction is a constructed passage to a secondary world – the secondary world requires a “plot” to exactly the same degree that our own world does. Which is to say, not at all.
It also seems worth reiterating that Flights was not bereft of immorality or wickedness. However, such moments were always clearly in service of both the narrative and the themes, rather than being presented for their own sake as in “Deuteronomy”, where there was no context, no rhyme or reason beyond vapid condemnation. Flights may not have been as earnest in its condemnation of infidelity and rejection, but it was far more robust in its critique of both. If it did condemn, then it was through the reactions of characters within the narrative itself, and even when it did not, it offered ample space and inspiration for reflection and conversation long after the curtain was drawn. Again, to bang on about “Deuteronomy” just a little more, the conversation and reflection following that piece was something like, “Gee, discrimination is bad.” “Sure is.”
This is also not to say that a work of artistic fiction needs to inspire or provoke difficult conversations – again, “Exodus” assuredly did not, at least for me! I was content to enter into its sub-creation and to enjoy its own self-contained vision. However, *if* a work of art is created with the intent of provoking such moralistic reflection, then it seems to me as if it is necessary for it to do so in a rather more sophisticated manner. “Deuteronomy” was clearly preoccupied with its own message, to the point that it allowed that message dominance over every aspect of itself.
To be fair, it was neither an unimportant nor a false message. But the subservience of every element of the ballet to that message – including story and choreography – cheapened the message for me, because the ballet itself told me that it had no value beyond that message. And, strange to say, when I go to the ballet, it is because I think it has value – I am naturally delighted if it provokes additional reflection or discussion on wholly unrelated topics, but if the ballet is not committed to its own value, then how is it possible for me to be convinced of it either? Any work of fiction must present itself as being an Authority, a truth, in and of itself, to have a hope of being successful as a sub-created world, whether it be allegorical or applicable. The moment it entertains the notion that some other force be of higher value or worth (even a force integral to its own narrative or purpose) is the moment, to me, that it fails.
But this has run overly long once more, and I’m interested in exploring this topic a little more on its own sometime. To sum up, though, it was fascinating to me to see three such distinct performances, in a medium that I often have little regard for or understanding of, and to be so struck by each. To me, “Exodus” and Flights were both highly effective and truly excellent manifestations of sub-realities….through the breathtakingly evocative and primal imagery of the former, and the laser-focused story telling of the other. “Deuteronomy” was almost wholly intolerablere to be, smugly satisfied with its own shallow preaching – but I liked it as a contrast to the other two, for the simple reason that its failures highlighted what the others did far better.
To my mind, “Exodus” was a far more effective use of “unnarrative” story telling, allowing its abstract and interpretable imagery to speak for itself; while Flights explored issues and themes in a far less overt, far deeper and more thoughtful manner than “Deuteronomy” managed. Further, the bookended sequences that I really did enjoy and appreciate, contrasted with the middle section, confirmed a couple of things for me. Firstly, good story telling and the rules for good story telling remain constant no matter the medium – what is important is a vision, a commitment to realising that vision, and the technical ability to see it through. Again, it is something that I want to come back to, but I think a story that is determined to preach a message will fail more often than not, both as a story and as a message – when some external factor is allowed to be of greater importance than the sub-created world, then this subsidiary nature of the secondary world will in turn inform us on some level that it doesn’t really matter, rendering the entire exercise futile.
Secondly, maybe there is something to this whole dance thing after all.
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