Last night, La Mama, officially, kicked off its 55th anniversary season with Croatian choreographer Bruno Isakovic’s Denuded. This is also the final program for the 5th Queer New York International Arts Festival which opened last week at Abrons Art Center with South African artist Mamela Nyamza (reviewed here). Tonight thru Sunday Denuded (Group) will be presented in the Downstairs Theater at La Mama. Friday night, I will moderate a post-performance talk back. Last night, however, Isakovic was performing the acclaimed solo version for one-time only during this season when it was quite queerly queered due to an (apparently) unintended interruption from an audience member.

Bruno started off the night by speaking with the audience, sharing that the work is not set in “any way that I can rely upon anything.” He noted that he had spent 48 hours in the theater, setting lights in preparation for the group version and that influenced how he was feeling, one of the strongest influences of how the work would progress. And, quite importantly, that how we felt. Or, as he clarified, how he felt that we were feeling. This last quip, delivered almost playfully, proved essential to how the evening unfolded. After disrobing, he stood downstage, center and gazed upon the audience. Seeing each of us, smiling or serene, somehow humble despite the unabashed nature of performing naked. He was warmly present and available to the nuances of the room, however once the lights dimmed to a single, overhead down pool the tone shifted to a mysterious and heightened one. Various parts of his anatomy disappeared while other parts were highlighted and the sound of his breathing filled out the space. As he contracted and released, expanding or retreating into and out of the light, he would shift from subject to object. I would fly from observing the running lines of veins across his shoulders to considering the nature of withering, altering quickly between anatomical and kinesthetic observations into metaphysical ruminations on the human condition. As he bent further and further backward, his chest rising into the light and his head falling away in surrender, I considered the idea of a soft underbelly despite his obviously firm physique. The apparent vulnerability of such an exposed shape could not be matched by the control and power required to arrive at it and sustain the breath. Later, as he bent forward the ripple of his stomach reminded me of yogic kriyas for detoxifying the organs, sublime physical action momentarily hinting at internal cleansing effort. He was expansive and voluminous, the work was both scientific and science fiction. The downlight had become a patterned, front light that would cut up  the body. He would dissipate and reform, losing and then re-assembling the self. I was transfixed.

And then, moments after a collective bit of fidgeting in the audience, heard distant, odd music playing. The spell broken, my first assumption was of a ringtone, and then of an odd, intentionally queer, interjection into the work meant to interrupt or point towards the artifice of observing art. But, then Bruno still in the shifting lights asked “Who is playing the music?” No answer and then, he demanded to bring up the lights. There was a general confusion, was this a genuine disruption or a planned intervention? Soon, it was clear that it was coming from critic Randy Gener. Bruno stated that he should have simply expressed his critical disrespect for the work by leaving rather than ruining the work for the rest of the audience by continuing to allow the music to play. Audience members called him out and told him to get out. Randy stated that it was healing music from a famous filipina singer. Bruno then gathered his clothes, told Randy he owed the entire audience a refund for their tickets, and walked off stage. Randy left, apologizing and the audience sat stunned and confused. Apparently, a real thing had happened. A really queer thing.

He has since apologized and urged audiences to attend the show on Facebook.

Perhaps, in a way, this was a realization of founder Zvonimir Dobrovic’s desire for theatrical experiences that would wake us up. I had clearly been awakened from a trance. It brought to mind thoughts about complacency, should I have said something, what is the sanctity of performance, how do we respect and protect artists while allowing for critical dissent, was I too cautious?

The following is from an email exchange with them:

Despite the inexplicable choices that led to Randy’s interruption, it did offer a new element to the feedback loop. One that I hope will somehow become useful to artist, audience and critic.