Whichever interpretation you choose, the dancers seem to grow stronger through suppression, bursting through the curtains that attempt to mask them in wild groups, arms flailing and torsos vibrating. One moment, their motions appear like expressions of protest, the next like bacchic celebrations—especially when they join arms in a line, shunt, and skip as their shoulders jolt up and down. Perhaps Shechter is saying that joy and partying are forms of resistance in themselves? It wouldn’t be a new theme for him: As he spelled out in lights in his seminal 2010 work “Political Mother,” “where there is pressure, there is folk dance.”
It’s not just the curtains that try to quell the dancers’ frenzy: At times, they attempt to self-regulate, sitting in meditative cross-legged poses, holding each other in moments of communal breathing, and marking classical ballet-inspired phrases in an effort find calmness and structure. Much like my own efforts at mindfulness, it’s all to no avail, as they repeatedly descend back into chaos.
It’s an organised chaos, however, and one that reveals Shechter’s genius for composition. What initially appear to be hectic phalanxes of individuals following their own impulses, are, upon closer inspection, complexly choreographed nuclei of highly-skilled dancers falling in and out of unison. Their loose, at times frantic limb-flinging and torso shaking seems erratic, but this illusion is shattered the moment the group snaps into a precise leg swipe or a sudden unison hand clap.
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