The MGM Grand presents a “highly structured dance” in unpredictable and often unconventional locations. They create works outside of the institutional framework, with the freedom to dance anytime and anywhere. I like this punk rock, do-it-yourself mentality, but at the same time I don’t think a piece like Nut at the MGM Grand could be played at an established venue like The Kitchen, one of New York City’s leading institutions of contemporary dance. I’m wondering if it will be performed like this. I was further intrigued by the fact that this program is curated by choreographer Sarah Michelson. I didn’t know what to expect or what was expected of me as an audience member.
MGM (short for Modern Garage Movement) Grand currently includes Jamie Leary, Viva Bell, Piage Martin (Paige Martin’s MGM pseudonym), and R. MacNeil. Nat starts with Bell lying face down in the back corner. While Martin stood with his back to the audience, Leary walked across the stage, crouched low to the ground, limped and ended up on his butt. She gives a welcome speech in a raspy whisper (think Tony, Danny’s creepy imaginary friend in The Shining), talks about the history of MGM, and says that this type of introduction is not a good idea for a performance. He pointed out that it was typical. This statement, along with the wonderful stage set, raises my expectations. The felt fabric runway is made up of sharply angled geometric shapes vaguely reminiscent of Linda Benglis’s “Fallen Painting” series. Bold colors cascade down the back wall, onto the floor, and up the stairs to the seating area.
What follows is a long series of unfinished thoughts without content. Leary, Belle and Martin wear sparkly dresses with tight straps, billowing skirts and olive green socks. They run across the stage, moving their shoulders and hips back and forth. Adorned with large false eyelashes, the women all have blank, affected expressions. Their mannerisms remind us of the heroin-chic models of the 90s, ironically sexy and coy, wallowing in waves of indifference. It feels like the dance floor at an awkward party, with guests moving their bodies insincerely to look like they’re dancing, but in reality it’s more about seeing who’s around and who’s watching. I’m interested.
Arms flap around in manic, dizzying arrangements, bodies flip over each other. Leary awkwardly climbs onto Bell’s back to lower him to the ground. She then cradles Martin like a mother carrying an oversized monkey child on her back. Martin stands out as an eerie and mysterious presence throughout the evening, and is easily the most memorable of the group.
Megan Byrne’s lighting adds much-needed perspective to the performance. At one point, three triangular windows of light spread across the stage and carve shapes into the faces of three women passing down the catwalk, creating a chilling strobe-like effect. Unfortunately, the lighting efforts don’t make the nuts bend or show any focus or consistent structure. Even the Natscore concept of a “Motown female trio with a lead dancer and two backup dancers” is given little weight in the performance, save for the Motown songs remixed by R. McNeil. Instead, it feels like an improvisational exercise, an experiment without parameters, something that came together in two weeks.
After a lot of bumps and falls, a few more catwalks, a costume change for a costume change, and some synchronized bounces, Bell calls for a break and the audience stretches his legs and steps onto the stage to take in the water. I invite you to drink beer. , chips. After 15 minutes, everyone returned to their seats. The final act features Leary and Belle wearing black leotards decorated with felt shapes of different colors, ballet shoes, and temporal masks (paintings of the silhouette of Martin’s face). They look like characters from the children’s show The Big Comfy Couch, crawling and rolling, and their movements are similar to those in the first act, only slower.
I admire MGM’s goal of questioning the “produced dance aesthetic” and think its story of starting from a one-car garage in San Francisco and touring through informal venues is pretty interesting. I think so. I love the way they capture a unique, messy, esoteric DIY aesthetic, the feeling of free dancing in your underwear. But I couldn’t get past their self-righteous aura, their self-mythologized rock star pride that their performances were somehow breaking new ground or subverting the norm in the dance world. . To me, the backstories are as believable as their performances, but for MGM, they still have a lot to offer.
