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Show What Will Become A Dance,,. By J. BAUMAN Chronicle Editorial Assistant A large high-ceilinged naked room on the third floor of the old gym about three weeks before the concert: con-cert: at the end of the long room are dull brown curtains drawn nearly near-ly all the way across the room; through the open space between them one can see chairs and props and a mirror in the adjacent room. The mirror reflects the choreographer choreogra-pher of the modern dance being rehearsed re-hearsed in the first room. The wooden floor is stained and scratched and scuffed in places, but is largely clean and polished a shining brown. At the side of the bare room is a scratched black piano; a stool sits in the middle of the floor; cupcakes (cupcakes?) adorn the stool. Four large light globes handing from the ceiling reflect re-flect glares from the floor, cast strange shadows from the stool and the cupcakes. A chick wearing black leotards and a floppy red sweater enters Or'' rl i i V- ? ' A V V - t . ;A I V . chewing red licorice; she picks off her shoes, plops out of her sweater, begins back-breaking exercises on four large black packing cases in the center of the floor. A male in red leotards enters, joins the seven chicks exercising. Frail choreographer choreogra-pher in red, to one of the exercisers: exer-cisers: "Now let's take it from the first again . . . this has to be more of a good thing . . . dum-dada-dum-dadaDUM do this kinda more I want to see you doing this." The guy warms up on two old wood bars along the side of the room red stockings flash past partly-opened windows, red against the black outside. "You touch Jane's wrist now listen to the beat on that note you do one two three notice your last attitude da-da- and one and three and five and six" Flute music chicks flat on floor hands on stomach; black legs bend upward, bend at knees, flatten boobs. The guy dances arcund the girl with the square-cut square-cut neckline. The music stops and there's the squeak and thud of the guy's feet he flicks a leg high in front of himself, whips to back, kicks forward again. The girls climb up on the big black boxes and the choreographer says "Start to be more of a person per-son on the boxes, see ..." A chick dancer: "Now wait a minute; are we supposed to be looking at Sylvia when she takes that thing away or on -the note?" The instructress says they are supposed to look at Sylvia when the "daaaa" plays, and the girls begin posturing on the boxes like mechanical creatures they move with slow jerks. Jan, warming warm-ing up on the floor, looks like a Buddhist monk praying. Feet squeak as the chicks pirouette, pirou-ette, jump oft the boxes, dance gracefully as a group. Guy, striking strik-ing a ballet pose the girls have just taken: "Where have I seen this before? Giggle." Three of the girls have kerchiefs on their heads; the others don't. Everyone takes a break and small-talks for a while; a few smoke. There's a blackboard at the side of the room, near a tape recorder; it reads "Orchesis Wed. at 6:00." The choreographer claps her hands, yells "Allright, let's get started!" It is 6:14 p.m. and darker dark-er outside now. The guy and the girls fidget on the boxes; jazzy music blares from the tape recorder. re-corder. Jan and the guy hop onto the floor and dance a duet. The recorder suddenly goes off: "The electrical wiring around here is too much!" grumbles a shrill-voiced shrill-voiced dancer. The music resumes and a strobe light begins flickering on the dancers. They are all on the floor now, swaying to the music; the guy lifts a chick, spinning; she hops down and prances away people dance saucily; the music fades, and half the lights go out. The strobe is fiercer now, the dancers danc-ers jerkily flickering from one position po-sition to another in the strobe's . flash. Instructress: "Something went wrong here . . . let's try it from the beginning." Guy: "I can't stand that thing flashing in my eyes!" "But Terry!" They begin dancing again; grinning grin-ning faces are stark white on black, flickering, flickering. "Mr. News Reporter!" say the choreographer, startling me. "Huhhhh?" "Could you help me? Just turn the lights on when the number goes 'dummmmmm!' in a few seconds NOW!!!" i "Try starting from here," says the instructress, arms raised at a 90 degree angle. "One two up down." Guy: "Deejasa da-da-dada! One two th puff- four ! " The music goes off; the choreographer chore-ographer grabs the dancers and shoves them into different positions, posi-tions, muttering "I want the formation for-mation to be more like this . . ." All the lights are on, and the group dances with no music. When the lights go out (("NOW, Mr. News Reporter, NOW!!") and the music comes on again, the strobe starts up too. The instructoress calls apparently ap-parently random numbers out as they dance; giant shadows of people peo-ple close to the strobe are flickered across the curtain and smaller, sharper shadows of people farther from the light flicker across them, merging, shifting. irtiim Bium ii , . . . - ...... -''fr-riiW n'ni'rrii-aitrirtr M i EiW.-rtntr rr i 1 Orchesis dancers practiced, for weeks prior Jc their recent concert tq get each movement down precisely and correctly. And so the rehearsals go, an hour a shot, three times a week, for eight weeks. This particular dance will last two minutes and thirty-eight thirty-eight seconds on stage. Jan says it's worth it. |