It’s a Man’s World as Choreographers Define the Gender

Confused about the new masculinity? Get in line. Some 15 choreographers in two Southland venues showcased male expression over the weekend and only occasionally agreed about who or what a man might be.

For “Men of Distinction” in the Keck Theater at Occidental College on Friday, senior dancers sat back and reminisced in pieces high in concept but generally limited in dance action. “Countdown,” Rudy Perez’s classic, nearly stationary postmodern solo from 1964, provided an obvious benchmark for this kind of work, and it was great to see Perez perform it again and be reminded of how potent the simplest movement statements can be.

Simplicity was seldom a priority, however, in the largely celebratory “MEN: Dancing” program at the John Anson Ford Amphitheatre on Saturday. Here everyone needed to keep moving and, especially, to demonstrate prowess in the hard-sell, hand-me-dowm amalgam of ballet and gymnastics that passed for contemporary concert dance style. Unfortunately, the emphasis on mindless personal display often evoked a “look-Ma,-I’m-dancin’ ” kiddie recital, with too many of the participants all pumped up with no place to go.

Robert Gilliam’s “Precious Jewels,” for instance, fielded an angel in red trunks, a drag queen in red feathers, a stage full of umbrellas and balloons and floating soap bubbles, plus a phalanx of fashion models showing off the latest men’s leisure wear and permutations of surliness. When the actual dancing began, however, it turned out to be nothing more than an aggressive, strenuous, quasi-competitive contortion duet for Jimmy Laramore and Jeremy Tatum. Child’s play in men’s bodies--just like the three Benedictine hunks stripping out of ecclesiastical robes in Reggie Brown’s body-worshiping “Reformation by Grace.”

Monodramas such as Perez’s whimsical “Facsimile” and Jeff Slayton’s brooding “Solo Still” confirmed the Oxy performance as a vehicle for intent if rambling self-scrutiny. Style shows such as Carlos Jones’ charming if overlong “At Miller’s Post” and the slick Claude Thompson/Keny Long octet “Killer Joe” established the amphitheater event as a vehicle for commercial group showpieces. However, there were major exceptions and overlaps.

Both Don Bondi at the Keck (“One Who Listens”) and Ken Morris at the Ford (“LifeLine”) danced in fringed leggings to flute music, each intent on depicting primal connections--a sense of being metaphysically in touch. And Bondi’s theater piece “The Interview” dramatized one of the nastier burdens of male experience: training other men for battle and watching them die.

Only one piece at the Ford attempted anything that unsparing: Jamal Story’s solo “Catharsis,” a volcanic revelation of black consciousness, brilliantly realized in text and motion. And only John Malashock at the Keck seemed wholly focused on the arguably unfashionable but deeply thrilling notion that a choreographer’s primary duty is to invent movement.

Not long ago, Malashock was the curly-haired blond heartthrob of the Twyla Tharp company, just as equipped to get by on his looks and technique as anyone in “MEN: Dancing.” But in his fluid, emotion-driven solo “Blue Streak” and the quirky character-dance duet “Swallow in a Word Cage” with his wife, Nina, imaginative new dance languages emerged from the most commonplace materials. Too bad the “MEN: Dancing” wannabes couldn’t show up to watch him work.

To their credit, Frit and Frat Fuller sought the same transformation in a three-part suite at the Ford for their KIN Dance Company. But their shapeless new opening sequence, “In the Dark,” looked unfinished compared to earlier sections: the neo-Expresssionist theater piece “The Grind” and the sharply observed “Subway” interlude, all featuring the tireless Kenji Yamaguchi.

You could argue that the lament for lost youth in Marvin LB Tunney’s soulful “Calling All Angels” duet with Carles A. Zacharie at the Ford would have seemed more at home on the nostalgic Oxy “Men of Distinction” program, just as Richard Korngute’s superbly athletic “For You” solo at the Keck would surely have earned dog yelps galore from the ultra-demonstrative “MEN: Dancing” audience in Hollywood.

You might even argue that the spectacle of postmodern icon Jeff Slayton wearing purple satin pajamas and floridly emoting to a vintage Judy Garland hit in Casey C. Carney’s “Man That Got Away” solo at the Keck managed to parody--in advance--all the glamorous self-infatuation, empty display and adoration of pop culture of the amphitheater performance.