The Boston Phoenix
September 28 - October 5, 2000

[Dance Reviews]

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Crutchwork

Bill Shannon needs more weight

by Marcia B. Siegel

Bill Shannon made a brief appearance in Boston during Dance Umbrella's 1997 International Festival of Wheelchair Dance, where he demonstrated his invented way of overcoming his hip disability by dancing on crutches. Last weekend Shannon was back to open Dance Umbrella's 2000-2001 season as the choreographer, star, and presumed director of something he called The Art of Weightlessness. The show misfired in so many ways, I could only think it must have been a work in progress.

More than 15 minutes after curtain time, the Copley Theatre went dark and after a pause a man appeared, slowly ignited a fistful of incense sticks, and wafted his way through the stage to his DJ's nest. He played some moody modern jazz. Shadowy figures in anoraks entered through the auditorium doors and crept up the steps to the stage. Still in the dark, they groped around with flashlights that splayed out aimlessly. One person with a suitcase and a water bottle propelled a skateboard using a pair of crutches like oars.

Forty minutes later the show came to a full stop. The audience, mystified, understood it to be over only when Shannon appeared and held out his arms for the applause. But this was just the cue for an encore in the form of another number, which also ended two or three times before the house lights went on and the performers came out to be introduced by Shannon for a question-and-answer session.

In between these sketchy beginnings and endings, the seeds of a variety entertainment were scattered and swept away before they sprouted. Shannon did two solo numbers that showcased his skills. Unable to depend fully on his legs, he uses specially designed crutches as extra limbs. He can transfer his weight among the four appendages so smoothly and rhythmically that he looks as if he were on a moving walkway. He swoops and moonwalks in space-covering circles. He'll jump up all of a sudden to freeze on the crutches or pedal his legs in the air. He can spin on them or use them to whiz even faster on a skateboard. The gliding technique he's developed resembles the kind of swing dancing that skateboarders do as they bop to the beat in their headphones along the streets of New York.

Shannon's companions in this show included DJ Richie D. Tempo, who spent most of the time crouched behind his equipment in the dark, engineering extra-loud jazz and rock accompaniments. Hip-hop dancers Fernando Barreto "Reveal" and Cornbread presented a tentative challenge dance, sussing each other out with spongy circling steps, then tossing slow-motion rolls and spins at each other and finally meeting softly and stepping around shoulder to shoulder. Tony Bonz, a slight guy in a headcloth, specialized in fast spins where he balanced on any part of his body that was attracted to the floor. Kym Murphy, the only female in the ensemble, tossed in balletic steps that bounced up into handstands. She and Shannon did a brief and inconclusive duet.

I think Shannon must have been trying to give the piece an artistic framework -- the plight of the homeless maybe, as indicated by the ghostly intruders at the beginning and his agonized departure through the auditorium after a scuffle with a dancer who snatched one of his crutches. There were other moments when he waxed "expressive," gesturing dramatically and sagging on his sticks. But these attempts at injecting pathos into the show felt extraneous.

Shannon seems torn between two kinds of theater: the concert dance presentation with a "serious" theme and the knockabout, impromptu staging of street-dance pyrotechnics. (Local hip-hop stars the Floorlords joined the show on Saturday night, emphasizing the informality of the occasion.) He performs a lot in New York's loft theaters, where things don't have to be overly professional, where a certain amount of raw ineptitude is even cultivated. But at the Copley, The Art of Weightlessness looked tentative and uncomfortable rather than improvisationally inspired or purposely naive. Perhaps the performers were intimidated by the theatrical setting and the responsibility of opening the season's most important dance series. But then, Dance Umbrella didn't position them to advantage either. Dance Umbrella brings us so many diverse and offbeat attractions -- too bad it hasn't come up with some imaginative alternatives to the standard theater set-up.



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