Art Under Attack

The Batsheva Dance Company returned to the BAM Opera House this week bringing their latest evening length work, “Momo.” This was the ninth Batsheva production that BAM has presented since 2002. New York City dance lovers packed the venue amid tight security and outdoor protestors to see this foremost contemporary dance company perform a masterpiece of haunting and reflective beauty. From the moment the dancers appear onstage in the shadows while the house lights are still up, the work and the dancers demand your attention. You know you are in the hands of genius. “Momo,” is the creation of house choreographer Ohad Naharin, who was Batsheva’s artistic director from 1990 to 2018 and the pioneer of the Gaga movement language and practice. Naharin works in a collaborative manner with the company dancers to generate choreographic material. For this work, he invited former Batsheva dancer Ariel Cohen to join in the creative process.

Performance

Batsheva Dance Company: “Momo” by Ohad Naharin

Place

Brooklyn Academy of Music, Brooklyn, NY, March 6, 2025

Words

Karen Greenspan

Bo Matthews with Batsheva Dance Company in “Momo” at BAM. Photograph by Richard Termine

“Momo” is set to a soundtrack designed by Naharin under his composer pseudonym, Maxim Waratt. The score, comprised of music from Landfall, Laurie Anderson’s 2018 album with the Kronos Quartet, as well as a composition for keyboard by Philip Glass and a soulful song by Venezuelan musician Arca, holds the composition of disparate tableaux in an integrated universe of its own intelligence. Without a discernible narrative, the piece unfolds like a reel of thoughts and impulses, dreamlike in nature. The enthralling 70-minute work could be experienced as a mirror-like reflection of your own mind.

One enters the theater with the empty stage in full view. The only element of set design is a long dark wall that stretches across most of the back of the stage, devised by Gadi Tzachor. While the house lights are still up, four shirtless male dancers in gray cargo trousers imperceptibly appear from behind the wall to slowly, silently walk the perimeter of the space. They walk in a relaxed posture with one hand resting on a hip as they maintain an open gaze trained outward on a diagonal. They adopt a variety of movement qualities throughout the work, but their constant presence and mostly unison movement provide a steady undercurrent that anchors the piece.

In counterpoint to this quartet, are seven other dancers wearing assorted garb—lingerie, sleeveless leotards, dance shorts, and a topless tutu—in pale cream and beige tones designed by Eri Nakamura. The seven enter the stage one by one with captivating, idiosyncratic solos pulled straight out of the Gaga treasure chest. The dance movements amaze with unexpected oddities, shimmies, and twitches─at the same time pushing to physical and technical extremes. The first to enter from this group of seven is Sean Howe. With acrobatic physicality and remarkable flexibility, he tumbles onto the scene exploding into high kicks and mischievous gestures like a crafty trickster. Londiwe Khoza follows with a series of dainty bourrées on her high-stretched bare feet wearing a piece of silky lingerie. She assumes a classic game-show hostess posture presenting a mystery prize. Then dropping to the floor, she rolls through a series of contractions and releases and scampers to her feet unleashing a generous leg extension. Bo Matthews, in a topless pale tutu with shaven pate and muscular build, evokes an internal struggle dancing a halting diagonal across the stage culminating with a twitch and a leap. The other dancers remain still as each one of the seven enters with a riveting, peculiar solo to the melancholic string composition. Avi Yona Bueno’s skillful lighting design casts this collection of eccentrics in a surreal glow. It appears as if they have lost their way and stumbled into a dream together.

Londiwe Khoza with Batsheva Dance Company in “Momo” at BAM. Photograph by Richard Termine

Continuing to insinuate itself through the action, the quartet explores connected formations leaning on and supporting each other like human architecture. In a sudden feat of horizontality, their lean bodies dive into a set of unison push-ups. Then, ascending with corkscrew turns, they join in a circle performing tiny side steps in a quasi-folk dance alternately bending forward to touch chins with each other in a strange kiss. Retreating upstage to the dark wall, they begin to climb its vertical surface using the barely visible hand and toeholds. At about halfway up the wall, they turn their bodies to face outward and remain seated in stillness on perches like four meditating buddhas.

Meanwhile, the drama playing out below is one for the history books! At a solitary ballet barre, Khoza luxuriates in her ballet moves to the doleful ostinato of Philip Glass’s “Metamorphosis Two.” In a vision of total surrender, she drapes her torso over the prop. Emerging into aerial poses, she finds beauty amid the sorrow-filled scene. Suddenly the other six dancers arrive onstage, each with their own ballet barre. The seven punch out a staccato series of barre exercises with maniacal energy as the quartet on the wall looks out unmoved. Devolving into chaos, the seven dancers stop, scream, and begin flipping their bodies over their barres. Then, one by one they bourrée over to one barre as the others are removed. The dancers huddle together around the single barre like scared little children running to their parents’ bed in the middle of the night for comfort. Glass’s melancholic chord progressions heighten the already poignant portrayal of vulnerability.

Throughout the work we become familiar with a motif—both visual and sonic. A deep vibration sounds, and the dancers stop mid-movement to stand still and raise their hand—like a check-in, a head count, or a “hello.” Regardless of one’s interpretation of the open gesture, the accompanying sound is foreboding. At first, this is sporadic, but eventually the frequency and sound intensity build into a total barrage.

Sean Howe with Batsheva Dance Company in “Momo” at BAM. Photograph by Richard Termine

“Momo” concludes with both sets of dancers coming forward in a single line stretching across the stage. To the reprise of the somber string quartet, the dancers slowly rotate like planets marking the passage of time as each one (in no particular order) launches into a final characteristic gesture—a tease, an appeal for attention, a call for help, a humble bow . . . And with that, the group of seven turns and retreats upstage to climb the wall traversing its length. They resemble figures from Matisse’s Dance. Then they disappear around the edge of the wall. The quartet below pulls off one more circle dance before marching off shouting, “Hey.”

The work premiered in Israel in 2022—almost a year before the attack on October 7, 2023, and the following 16 months of unbearable conflict. Indeed, “Momo” has a quality that speaks eloquently to present reality even though it was responding to another time. Making honest, reflective art in the face of existential threat, political madness, and civic upheaval is a courageous act and worthy of an audience.

Karen Greenspan

Karen Greenspan is a New York City-based dance journalist and frequent contributor to Natural History Magazine, Dance Tabs, Ballet Review, and Tricycle among other publications. She is also the author of Footfalls from the Land of Happiness: A Journey into the Dances of Bhutan, published in 2019.

comments

Mindy Aloff 三月 14, 2025

Lovely review, Karen. What about the title, though. Does “Momo” have any meaning at all?

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