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Wild Child

Juliana F. May’s “Optimistic Voices,” which premiered last week at BAM Fisher, was pitched as an exploration of the “tangled contradictions of family, eroticism, and motherhood.” I may be the target audience. I’m certainly the right demographic: May and I are close in age and we both live in Brooklyn with small boys at home. The early 1980s era styling by Mariana Valencia and rec center carpet hit home. Throw in some Robin Byrd references? By all means. Set it all to pleasant folk song harmonies about daily routines and hidden desires? Sign me up! In theory, this show should have spoken to my soul. In reality, I liked the components of “Optimistic Voices” much better than I liked the whole.  

Performance

Juliana F. May: “Optimistic Voices”

Place

BAM Fisher, Brookly, NY, November 5, 2025

Words

Faye Arthurs

Juliana F. May's “Optimistic Voices.” Photograph by Nir Arieli

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But let’s take a moment to admire some of those components. The piece opened with the chanting of the suspiciously Freudian couplet: “Come home with me in the attic/there is variety you’ll see.” The lights came up slowly to reveal the cast dressed like they were somewhere in the first decade of Sesame Street’s existence. Gwendolyn Knapp wore rust-colored bellbottoms with her long blonde hair parted in the center. (Hair was key, every cast member had lots of it to toss around.) Justin Faircloth sported a bright purple turtleneck and a statement moustache. He looked a lot like Matthew Rhys in one of his goofier spy costumes on the period show The Americans. Wendell Gray II wore a velour track suit in an eggplant hue. 

Kidlike movements abounded. A good summary of “Optimistic Voices” would be: early Sesame Street episode in which the roles of the children were played by foul-mouthed adults. There is a lot of fun to be had with that concept, and the performers seemed to be having it. There were precarious piggyback drags. There was crawling, much of it sideways. Frequent butt scoots along that bright red, synthetic floor covering called to mind poopy pups. Most familiar to me were the pileups. Two or three people would frequently stack themselves on each other’s laps, sometimes facing each other, sometimes with extended legs. They struggled and tipped in these little piles in a sort of domination game—the kind that I have to referee several times a day at home. 

I also recognized when the dancers got stuck in spacey movement loops. Gray II started grooving his head and torso side to side and kept at it like he was in a trance at a techno rave—though that passage happened in silence. Faircloth started hopping in a circle in a bent over arabesque and had a hard time getting out of it. The cast often planted their feet and flung their arms side to side with terrific conviction and penetrating eye contact, as kids are wont to do.

Juliana F. May's “Optimistic Voices.” Photograph by Nir Arieli

The performers’ commitment was intense throughout. Faircloth, riveting, was the first to thoroughly exhaust himself, but they all were dripping with sweat and panting loudly by the midpoint. The charismatic Kayvon Pourazar executed a stilted, hunched monster walk like his life depended on it. I wondered what his choreographic prompt was. Burn as many calories as you can while impersonating a toddler going as Frankenstein for Halloween?  There was no intermission in this hourlong show, but May civilly built in a break for the hardworking group. They all toweled off and guzzled from their water bottles before the main singing set. 

Coming from the world of ballet, where one must camouflage even the hardest moves as effortless, I often find watching the opposite tactic cathartic. I recently took my children to see an American Ballet Theatre kiddie matinee featuring Act III of “Sleeping Beauty,” and I had hyped the Bluebird’s brisé volé diagonal as one of the hardest sequences in dance. Takumi Miyake was so good at it, however, that my older son shrugged and said, “that doesn’t look that hard for him.” Sheesh. Therefore, it was somewhat gratifying to see May’s cast absurdly throw themselves into their tasks. I also adore Monty Python, so I enjoyed May’s many silly walk motifs. My favorite was Anh Vo’s puffy prance. Vo pulled out their athletic pants and leaned way back—almost like they were a marching band drummer and the pants were their instrument.  

Juliana F. May's “Optimistic Voices.” Photograph by Nir Arieli

So much to like. So why didn’t “Optimistic Voices” resonate more with me? I think the lyrics of the folksy songs kept me at a distance, even though the harmonizing was pleasant. Needy queries were interspersed with nonsense imagery and smutty phrases (the profanity got random, annoying guffaws from the crowd). Some examples from the libretto: “Have I offended you?” “Do you think I’m really talented or just, like, mildly talented?”  “Melt inside my pussy Mr. General Manager.” “Sit back up and dance you fucking bitch.”  “Wild butterfly what do you know?” Lucy Kaminsky was the main speaker/singer, and I didn’t envy her having to sell some of these lines—which were either too on the nose (as when she threatened to take her shirt off and then did so) or abstruse (“rotary on the island shampoo bottle”). The textual material felt like it was trying too hard to shock without saying much.                        

Throughout, the dancers kept fidgeting by pushing their fists through their clothing. In this neurotic yet childlike manner, they were stretching out and distorting their tights, trunks, tops, pants, etc. I was so glad it wasn’t on me, for once, to shout: “stop ruining your shirt!” But it’s hard to turn that parental mode off, and I kept thinking it. Maybe I couldn’t get into May’s “Optimistic Voices” because it triggered too many of the nagging voices in my own head.  

Faye Arthurs


Faye Arthurs is a former ballet dancer with New York City Ballet. She chronicled her time as a professional dancer in her blog Thoughts from the Paint. She graduated summa cum laude with a B.A. in English from Fordham University. She lives in Brooklyn with her partner and their sons.

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