‘Conference of the Birds' aims high, but struggles in flight
Context is aided by projection designer David Bengali and calligraphic artist Pouya Jahan's eye-popping visuals panning across three screens; most vivid are the feathery white shapes that coalesce and dissolve, a galaxy of stars becoming birds streaking across the sky. The multilevel set of platforms and scaffolds allows the dancers to animate the stage in many directions at once, perching one moment, falling into waiting arms another. The episodic musical score (by Shaw Pong Liu, Sandy Singh, and Shaho Andalibi) is a kind of rambling, kaleidoscopic sound collage that reinforces the international embrace, reflecting an array of musical sources and influences.
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But while ambitious and heartfelt, 'Conference of the Birds' is ultimately too fractured and busy, a lot of running without going anywhere and it seldom settles enough to let us really appreciate details and small moments, to process what we're seeing. Who are these characters, and what exactly might be going on? (The dim lighting throughout doesn't help.) Though the printed program expansively delineates the story and the seven valleys through which the characters trek (the Valley of Insight into Mystery, the Valley of Bewilderment, etc.) it's not a cohesive narrative arc that viewers can easily follow in the dance, and when we lose that thread, the work becomes murky. The journey feels wearing, too slow-moving, too much of the same. There is precious little momentum or rhythmic drive.
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The work's most literal section deals with immigration and degradation. A line of dancers form a wall over which one brave soul tries repeatedly to climb. Another confronts a line of marchers, none of whom respond to her wordless pleas. A circle forms, trapping someone inside. A couple is unceremoniously pulled apart, like a parent separated from a child.
Gradually, one by one, dancers begin removing bits of clothing before falling lifelessly to the floor. One retches grotesquely for far too long. We get it. But as the dancers rouse, they gradually find connection and commonality with one another. Seated across the stage, legs entwined, they bow and stretch, arms reaching forward and back, up in supplication, into the chest in reverence.
By the end, they are birds again, flocking calmly, breathing into suspensions as if to hold the air. And the final vignette packs a punch. The nine dancers come together as one, their multiple outstretched arms gracefully flowing together as the wings of a single powerful bird.
ANIKAYA DANCE THEATER
At Arrow Street Arts, Saturday (through March 9)
Karen Campbell can be reached at
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Boston Globe
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- Boston Globe
Hats off to Moonbox's stirring ‘Crowns'
Kaedon Gray and Janelle Grace in "Crowns." Chelcy Garrett The narrative is slender — and, truth be told, sometimes disappears altogether. But the story being told is rich and deep, extending back to Africa, to the Middle Passage, to 2½ centuries of slavery in America, and to the vital, sustaining role of song through it all. Advertisement Mother Shaw (Mildred E. Walker), one of the congregants at the church where 'Crowns' takes place, traces the historical roots of flamboyant hats, saying: 'Church was the only place slaves were allowed to congregate. And after slavery there were 'Whites Only' signs everywhere. So if you had something you wanted to show off and be in style, you'd wear it to church.' Advertisement Mildred E. Walker and Mirrorajah in "Crowns." Chelcy Garrett At the center of 'Crowns' is a young woman named Yolanda, played by Mirrorajah. Originally from Brooklyn, Yolanda has been sent down South to live with her grandmother after her brother was killed. Yolanda's hat of choice is a ballcap, worn backward or to the side. At first, she rolls her eyes and sneers 'Head rags' as the assembled church congregants speak about the transformative power of hats and of gospel song — and then proceed to demonstrate that power. They speak, too, of how gospel song can be an accessory to flirtation, or a prod to remembrance, or glue for a family. Making that case, along with Mother Shaw, are Mabel (Cortlandt Barrett), Jeanette (Janelle Grace), Velma (Lovely Hoffman), Wanda (Cheryl D. Singleton), and a character identified only as Man (Kaedon Gray). Costume designer E Rosser should also be considered one of the stars of this 'Crowns,' having attired the seven-member cast in a spectacular array of broad-brimmed hats and outfits that are bursting with color. Key contributions come also from conductor David Freeman Coleman, on the keyboard, and Brandon Mayes, on drums. 'Crowns' features two dozen musical numbers, most of them traditional gospel songs, but extending to jazz, blues, and hip-hop, including 'In the Morning,' 'When the Saints Go Marching In,' 'Mary, Don't You Weep,' 'Marching to Zion,' 'Take Me to the Water,' 'I'm Gonna Roll On,' 'Ain't Gonna Let Nobody Turn Me Around,' and, of course, 'I Got a Crown.' 'Crowns' is the sixth Advertisement Within that space, a line from 'His Eye Is on the Sparrow' is particularly resonant: 'I sing because I'm happy/ I sing because I'm free.' CROWNS Play by Regina Taylor. Adapted from the book by Michael Cunningham and Craig Marberry. Directed by Regine Vital. Music directed by David Coleman. Associate directed by Davron Monroe. Presented by Moonbox Productions. At Arrow Street Arts, Cambridge. Through May 4. Tickets $55. At Don Aucoin can be reached at
Boston Globe
04-03-2025
- Boston Globe
‘Conference of the Birds' aims high, but struggles in flight
Context is aided by projection designer David Bengali and calligraphic artist Pouya Jahan's eye-popping visuals panning across three screens; most vivid are the feathery white shapes that coalesce and dissolve, a galaxy of stars becoming birds streaking across the sky. The multilevel set of platforms and scaffolds allows the dancers to animate the stage in many directions at once, perching one moment, falling into waiting arms another. The episodic musical score (by Shaw Pong Liu, Sandy Singh, and Shaho Andalibi) is a kind of rambling, kaleidoscopic sound collage that reinforces the international embrace, reflecting an array of musical sources and influences. Advertisement But while ambitious and heartfelt, 'Conference of the Birds' is ultimately too fractured and busy, a lot of running without going anywhere and it seldom settles enough to let us really appreciate details and small moments, to process what we're seeing. Who are these characters, and what exactly might be going on? (The dim lighting throughout doesn't help.) Though the printed program expansively delineates the story and the seven valleys through which the characters trek (the Valley of Insight into Mystery, the Valley of Bewilderment, etc.) it's not a cohesive narrative arc that viewers can easily follow in the dance, and when we lose that thread, the work becomes murky. The journey feels wearing, too slow-moving, too much of the same. There is precious little momentum or rhythmic drive. Advertisement The work's most literal section deals with immigration and degradation. A line of dancers form a wall over which one brave soul tries repeatedly to climb. Another confronts a line of marchers, none of whom respond to her wordless pleas. A circle forms, trapping someone inside. A couple is unceremoniously pulled apart, like a parent separated from a child. Gradually, one by one, dancers begin removing bits of clothing before falling lifelessly to the floor. One retches grotesquely for far too long. We get it. But as the dancers rouse, they gradually find connection and commonality with one another. Seated across the stage, legs entwined, they bow and stretch, arms reaching forward and back, up in supplication, into the chest in reverence. By the end, they are birds again, flocking calmly, breathing into suspensions as if to hold the air. And the final vignette packs a punch. The nine dancers come together as one, their multiple outstretched arms gracefully flowing together as the wings of a single powerful bird. ANIKAYA DANCE THEATER At Arrow Street Arts, Saturday (through March 9) Karen Campbell can be reached at
New York Times
27-10-2024
- New York Times
Review: ‘We Live in Cairo' Falls Short of Being Revolutionary
Building a new world is just as difficult, maybe even more so, as tearing down an old one. Just ask the Arab Spring revolutionaries of 'We Live in Cairo,' whose solidarity fractures after they get what they were fighting for. The brothers Daniel and Patrick Lazour's show, which opened on Sunday at New York Theater Workshop, is divided into a before and after, with intermission sitting neatly in the middle: The leadup to the violent protests of January and February 2011, which prompted the resignation of the autocratic Egyptian president Hosni Mubarak, followed by the buildup of bitterness and strife. But while passions supposedly run high, the temperature of this new musical — which at best and at worst feels like 'Rent' on the barricades — almost never rises above tepid. Like Mark Cohen, the aspiring filmmaker in 'Rent,' Layla (Nadina Hassan), a photographer, takes on the responsibility of documenting the action, in this case the resistance of a handful of young Cairenes fighting government oppression. Layla meets them through her boyfriend, Amir (Ali Louis Bourzgui, the lead in the recent revival of 'The Who's Tommy'). The group's firebrand, Fadwa (Rotana Tarabzouni), who comes from an activist family, landed in jail for criticizing Mubarak on Facebook. Its levelheaded pillar is Amir's brother, Hany (Michael Khalid Karadsheh), who wants to attend law school in New York, and its party-loving jester is Fadwa's wealthy cousin, Karim (John El-Jor), an artist who spray-paints caricatures of the country's leaders. Those murals connect to some of the brightest elements of Taibi Magar's production — the physical ones. Tilly Grimes's set, with carpets in red tones and a place for the band at the back of the stage, has a lived-in quality that suggests the warmth of the friends' relationship as well as the feeling of relative safety that prevails at their hangout. David Bengali's video design does the heavy lifting when the outside world intrudes, and includes illustrations by the Egyptian artist Ganzeer that represent Karim's work alongside projected news images, some of them appropriately brutal. (Raphael Mishler designed the papier-mâché head of Mubarak that Karim wears when we meet him.) Unfortunately, design alone does not a musical make, and piddly details like book and score must be taken into account. There is no questioning the Lazours' passion for the project, which has been in the works for a decade and premiered at American Repertory Theater, in Massachusetts, in 2019 — the album 'Flap My Wings (Songs from We Live in Cairo)' was recorded remotely with various singers the following year. But the characters are never convincingly defined, except for Fadwa, who also benefits from Tarabzouni's fiery performance. What goes through Layla's head, for example? At first she tells Amir that she's 'just not political,' then she comes around — why? — and starts documenting the history they are making. That Layla is in an interfaith relationship with Amir, a Coptic Christian, is mentioned but not explored, which feels like a missed opportunity. The same is true of the character of Hassan (Drew Elhamalawy), a newcomer to the group, torn by his desire for change, his loyalty to the Muslim Brotherhood and his friendship with Karim (who pines for a more intimate connection). How the personal and the political, the ideals and compromises collide is a thorny subject because it reveals people's often contradictory, less than noble impulses. Which is why 'We Live in Cairo' is the rare musical that gets better after intermission; Act II is when the Lazours finally allow their characters to be uncomfortable, imperfect and complicated. Take Amir, for example. After spending much of Act I trying to write a great song, he finally strums the result, 'Tahrir Is Now,' at the protests — and spends Act II struggling to come up with a worthy follow-up. Amir seems more driven by his music than by either a stable life or politics, which puts him at odds with his brother, Layla and Fadwa. That solipsism makes him flawed, thus interesting, but the show does not allow him to be anything other than a sensitive heartthrob. This fuzziness is mirrored in the score, which sounds like 1990s soft rock filtered through agit-pop (at one point I was reminded of the classic protest song 'The People United Will Never Be Defeated,' which was among the chants picked up by the real-life Egyptian protesters) and an earnest musical-theater sensibility, with Hassan's Layla as the designated belter. This all works better when it comes to the lyrics — I certainly won't forget Karim rhyming 'Dior' and 'war' in the number 'The Benevolent Regime of King Farouk II' — than to the music. The compositions, with Middle Eastern-infused orchestrations by Daniel Lazour and Michael Starobin, certainly have a polished sheen, like the production as a whole. But is that really what we need from a story about revolution and its morning after?
