Emerging from the global pandemic, which brought isolation, fear and, most tragically, death to so many, has indeed given us...
At the end of Batsheva Dance Company’s “Last Work,” a man sits with his back to us and his legs spread, apparently masturbating. Then he rotates to face us and we see he is cleaning a machine gun. Meanwhile, club music pounds, a frenzied crowd runs in circles, lights flash, streamers fly. Ian Robinson drags out a microphone and starts lashing it to the floor with masking tape. Then he screams.
Collaborations can sometimes be risky business. But in the right hands—and feet—they can have wondrous results.
“The soul desires to dwell with the body because without the members of the body it can neither act nor...
Long before statistics and news, murder ballads were a staple of European folk songs and traveled here with immigrants. Dylan,...
Finding my seat at Ohad Naharin and Batsheva Dance Company’s “Decadance,” the performance has already begun. In his own private...
