You know that smell when spring is coming? An earthy mustiness hangs over the city in March and April as the cold begins to crack and pops of green push through previously snow-covered soil. Seemingly endless winters do, eventually, end; nature keeps her promise year after year.
Nevertheless, the wait is excruciating. It certainly felt that way anticipating the arrival of Pina Bausch’s “The Rite of Spring,” at the Harris Theater.
Bausch — the German choreographer widely acknowledged as an originator of the neo-expressionist movement Tanztheater (or dance theater, as it’s known here) — died in 2009, before her company, Tanztheater Wuppertal, could perform in Chicago. That was scheduled to take place in May 2020 at the Harris and, well, you know the rest of that story.
It would be unjust to call this run of Bausch’s “Rite of Spring” a compromise, yet it has found its way to Chicago first, ahead of Tanztheater Wuppertal (which, fingers crossed, will eventually rebook). The engagement is part of a three-continent tour made possible by the Pina Bausch Foundation, Senegal’s École des Sables and Sadler’s Wells. An ad hoc company of dancers hailing from 14 African nations assembled to perform Bausch’s “Rite,” which premiered in winter 1975 and is presented here as the crisp air sets in and autumn leaves crunch underfoot.
Indeed, spring feels miles away. This “Rite of Spring” however, is danced atop hundreds of pounds of peat moss meticulously raked smooth by the stage crew during intermission (and quickly mussed up by a thrashing corps of 36 dancers). Coincidentally, the Harris Theater is also literally underground, with Pritzker Pavilion’s grassy knoll seven stories above.
The original “Rite of Spring” premiered in 1913 by Vaslav Nijinsky for the Ballet Russes. As legend has it, a near riot broke out in Paris as audiences revolted against Nijinsky’s foot-stomping, pronated ballet about a pagan ritual sacrifice set to Igor Stravinsky’s dissonant score. Accounts vary — some say the “riot” was a marketing stunt instigated by Ballet Russes insiders — but this anti-ballet remains an infamous flop, forced to close after just nine performances. Yet hordes of choreographers have created their own; the most famous (and best) of those is Pina Bausch’s, which maintains the Stravinsky score and Nijinsky’s plot — plus a whole lot of dirt.
The piece opens with a single dancer laying downstage on a bright red cloth. She nuzzles against it, her torso undulating and cheek resting against the lumpy ground. We find out later that this cloth is a red dress and will demarcate the sacrificial lamb selected by a jury of shirtless men. It’s one of a handful of quiet moments peppered throughout Stravinsky’s score; solo bassoon is soon joined by other reeds depicting the buzzes of spring flora and fauna waking up from their slumber until all hell breaks loose in the strings and brass sections.
Another woman runs through the peat moss, rubs her legs and lifts her ecru slip, covering her face with it. Then another, who performs a deep, turned-out plié and delicately strokes the soil with one hand. Others flit in, or walk, holding hands, as nymph-like sprites awakening from a fever dream. All 18 women wear the same barely-there dress — clean for a just few minutes until sweat and dirt cling to them.
Like Nijinsky’s “Rite,” Bausch’s choreography is a distorted kind of chaos. Spectacular unisons and a series of motifs (clasped palms between the legs, an elbow thrust into the side and a decidedly dancey passé retiré with arm overhead, to name a few) indicate that this is anything but random. But it is so near the edge of physicality that it feels wholly out of control.
A single dancer is plucked from the lot as the chosen one. At first, she ambivalently submits to her fate, standing lifeless as she’s stripped and redressed in the red sheath, the rest of the group flailing around her as the women, partnered off, leap to straddle the men’s shoulders with a glorious clap of thighs against the men’s cheeks. The unnamed lady in red awakens, as if just realizing she’s been duped, trampling through the dirt in self-flagellation until she collapses. By then, the whole group has calmed and watches, chests heaving, surrounding her in a semicircle as the lights go out.
The evening’s amuse-bouche is “common ground[s],” a duet by veteran performers (and veritable legends) Germaine Acogny and Malou Airaudo that opens the evening. The “what” of “common ground[s]” is less important than the “who.” Acogny, of Senegal, is largely considered the matriarch of African contemporary dance. And Airaudo, a French woman, was one of the earliest company dancers in Tanztheater Wuppertal.
The piece opens with the two women — each in their 70s, by the way — seated facing upstage in silhouette, a thin bamboo staff held between them. They softly touch each other: Airaudo places her cheek on Acogny’s belly or rests a hand delicately on the small of her back. More excitable moments from their decades on stage glimmer through in micro bursts of rhythm that bubble up in Fabrice Bouillon LaForest’s score.
The crux of “common ground[s]” is cultural exchange. In a way, that’s the point of the whole evening. Thirty-six dancers from 14 African nations perform a German choreographer’s dance about a Russian pagan ritual. And two women from two continents who speak the same language, dance together.
Beautiful, right? Sure, until you remember why Senegalese people speak French. One feels all that complexity here: the weight of history, nation, race, gender and colonization; our distinct differences and the shared experiences of dance, womanhood, power and powerlessness.
Acogny and Airaudo oscillate between English and French in a faint conversation tucked into “common ground[s].” Most of what they say is unknowable (unless you’re really close to the stage and speak French), but this part came through crystal clear:
“Hey, Malou,” Acogny says, “What are you doing here?”
“I’m thinking about Pina.”
Lauren Warnecke is a freelance critic.
Review: “The Rite of Spring / common ground[s]” (4 stars)
When: Through Oct. 28
Where: Harris Theater for Music and Dance, 205 E. Randolph St.
Running time: 2 hours including intermission
Tickets: $80-$140 at harristheaterchicago.org
