The made-up movie feels like one of those sweeping international melodramas with lots of expansive cinematography. In the minds of its creators, it’s an epic-length narrative replete with multi-generational strands and leaps forward in time.
This body unfurls in slow motion, leaving ample space for labels, classifications, and archetypes to land upon her and vanish.
It’s about how we try to use stories to explain things that we otherwise can’t explain, and how sometimes even those stories don’t do the work for us. How do we keep doing the work after the story?
From nightclubs, to rehearsal studios, I found dynamic perspectives and delicious new forms in the many shows I was lucky enough to catch in NYC this year.
My dad called in a fright. He said, “My God, there’s a gun in one of these boxes!” And I said, “Yeah, I bought a gun once.” He said “Well, I want to throw it away.” I said, “That’s fine, you can throw it away.” So they buried it.