Performers enjoy a drink of water in Pina Bausch’s Água at BAM (photo by Julieta Cervantes)
ÁGUA
BAM Howard Gilman Opera House, Peter Jay Sharp Building
230 Lafayette Ave. between St. Felix St. & Ashland Pl.
March 3-19 www.bam.org www.pina-bausch.de/en
Dance-theater pioneer Pina Bausch would probably agree with Nobel Prize–winning Hungarian biochemist Dr. Albert Szent-Györgyi, who said “Water is life’s matter and matrix, mother and medium. There is no life without water.”
Water again takes center stage in the US premiere of Tanztheater Wuppertal Pina Bausch’s Brazil-inspired Água, which debuted in 2001 in Rio de Janeiro and has at last come to BAM, the company’s exclusive New York home since 1984. Água, which means “water,” is a nearly three-hour masterpiece (with a far too long intermission), combining music, comedy, storytelling, video, props, and, of course, sensational dance. Peter Pabst’s stark white stage features three large curved screens on which he projects footage of palm trees blowing in the wind, a team of drummers playing in the street, and adventures through the rainforest.
Men in everyday clothing and suits and women in gorgeous, colorful gowns — Marion Cito’s costumes are stunning — perform a series of vignettes to songs by a wide range of artists, including Mickey Hart, Tom Waits, the Tiger Lillies, PJ Harvey, Amon Tobin, Susana Baca, Caetano Veloso, David Byrne, Gilberto Gil, Bebel Gilberto, Nana Vasconcelos, and Antonio Carlos Jobim.
Tsai-Wei Tien is lifted off the ground and passed hand to hand by Dean Biosca, Oleg Stepanov, and Denis Klimuk, clad only in bathing suits and platform shoes, Christopher Tandy rows across the stage in a palm leaf, Tsai-Chin Yu asks several people in the first row where they are from and then uses a boot to predict the weather there, and a dancer in a lush red dress falls to the ground and reveals her long legs as men pass by, ignoring her. Performers break out into sudden solos that meld with the projected images that envelop them. The screens rise to reveal a surprise behind them. The women all have long hair that they use inventively as an object of sex and power.
Fire plays a continuing function, as dancers light cigarettes and candles and original Água cast member Julie Shanahan tries to set the place ablaze, explaining, “I wanted to do something really beautiful for you, but I don’t know how. . . . I wanted to go crazy. But it’s not possible.” The cast, which also features Emma Barrowman, Naomi Brito, Maria Giovanna Delle Donne, Taylor Drury, Letizia Galloni, Nayoung Kim, Reginald Lefebvre, Alexander López Guerra, Nicholas Losada, Jan Möllmer, Milan Nowoitnick Kampfer, Franko Schmidt, Ekaterina Shushakova, Julian Stierle, and Sara Valenti, attends a cocktail party, pulls out white couches to take a break, and uses hilariously patterned towels at a beach resort. They bounce off walls. They spray water at each other. They use microphones as if they’re comedians.
A handful of scenes feel extraneous, and Bausch’s highly gendered choreography can be perceived as out of date in 2023, though the company has its first trans dancer (Brito). But Água is still hugely entertaining.
Bausch, who died in June 2009 at the age of sixty-eight, displayed a passion for life and all that it offers in her work, from light to dark, creating a mélange that ranged from Café Müller and The Rite of Spring to Kontakthof and Bamboo Blues. Artistic director Boris Charmatz continues her legacy with this international tour of Água, which is, contrary to what Shanahan said, “something really beautiful.”
Richie Bravo (Michael Thomas) tries to hang on to his long-lost past in Ulrich Seidl’s Rimini
RIMINI (Ulrich Seidl, 2022)
Quad Cinema
34 West 13th St. between Fifth & Sixth Aves.
Opens Friday, March 17
212-255-224 quadcinema.com
Michael Thomas is unforgettable as washed-up Schlager singer Richie Bravo, an alcoholic haunted by his past, in Ulrich Seidl’s Rimini, opening March 17 at the Quad. In an early scene, he visits his brother, Ewald (Georg Friedrich), at their family home after the death of their mother and walks wistfully around the house, looking at old photos, gently brushing his hand over a piano, and playing Bata Illic’s “Schwarze Madonna” on the jukebox in the basement, dancing by himself and eventually singing along: “Every life has its woes / Happiness comes and goes / Black Madonna / Every day, every night / We will always be this happy / It’s not too late / Your future will be great / Black Madonna.”
Richie is a big, broad-shouldered man who moves with a swagger, slightly leaning to his right, his dirty blond hair in a ponytail, a wisp often falling over his face. After the funeral, he returns to his house in Rimini, Italy, a popular resort in the summer but it’s now winter, sparsely populated and covered in snow and mist. A large cutout of his younger self, when he was a star, hovers over his music room like a curse.
He is now relegated to performing in front of embarrassingly small groups of German-speaking tourists for peanuts, singing standards as well as new songs composed by Fritz Ostermayer and Herwig Zamernik. He can’t afford to hire a band, so he is accompanied by prerecorded music that is only one step removed from barroom karaoke. The dozen or two elderly fans who attend his shows adore him; he wanders through the audience, flirting with the women; following the shows, he sometimes sleeps with them for money, making more as a gigolo than as a musician. Seidl graphically depicts Richie having sex with them, particularly his ersatz girlfriend, Annie (Claudia Martini), whose dying mother (Rosa Schmidl) is in the next room. Richie is surrounded by approaching death; his father, Ekkehart (Hans-Michael Rehberg, who passed away shortly after filming), lives in a nursing home, barely able to move or speak.
Richie’s pathetic life is sent into turmoil when his daughter, Tessa (Tessa Göttlicher), suddenly shows up with her boyfriend, Moumen (Abd El Rahman), demanding the money Richie promised her and her mother when he left them eighteen years earlier, when Tessa was six. She is not asking for him to finally be a father to her; she just wants the cash and then to never see him again. But Richie is broke, and he doesn’t know how to show love and care anymore, so he is wracked with guilt, trying to find a way out of the miserable excuse of a life he has constructed for himself.
In addition to making fiction films, Seidl (the Paradise Trilogy, Dog Days) is an award-winning documentarian, and he, cinematographer Wolfgang Thaler, and art directors Andreas Donhauser and Renate Martin bring a realistic feel to the sad story, which Seidl wrote with longtime collaborator Veronika Franz. Rimini was written specifically for Thomas (Across the Mile,Randgänger), inspired by an event when, preparing to make the 2007 Import Export, Seidl watched as Thomas spontaneously sang “My Way” in a Ukraine restaurant. Resembling a bizarro, older Brad Pitt, Thomas gives a career performance as Richie, a train wreck of a human being who barely survives in the fragile bubble he has created for himself, buried in booze, cigarettes, and cheap sex to take away the pain of knowing what might have been, his ghostly eyes always somewhere else. He’s a bear of a man, wearing a faded fur coat as he stumbles past empty playgrounds and cabanas, passing by anonymous people dressed in black.
Göttlicher is terrific in her screen debut, channeling a young Claire Danes as Tessa tries to put together her own shattered life. And Rimini is a character to itself, its streets filled with emptiness and occasional random, unidentified figures. Seidl chose to film there not because it is Federico Fellini’s hometown but because his parents took the family to the seaside resort in the 1950s, although certain scenes have a Fellini-esque quality.
Seidl explores a different side of the story in his follow-up, Sparta, which was filmed at the same time as Rimini and focuses on Ewald, a work that has been mired in controversy surrounding allegations of on-set child exploitation that the director has denied. The two films have also been presented as the 205-minute Wicked Games: Rimini Sparta at festivals.
Amid an ever-growing global immigration crisis, Joe Murphy and Joe Robertson’s bold, breathtaking The Jungle makes a triumphant return to St. Ann’s Warehouse before heading to Washington, DC. It’s political theater of the highest order, avoiding preaching while immersing audiences in all-too-real and frightening situations.
In 2015, Murphy and Robertson visited the Calais Jungle, a makeshift refugee camp where thousands of men, women, and children temporarily lived, erected on a former landfill. Over their seven months at the site, they helped construct a geodesic dome where the people could gather as a community and present plays and poetry. The two writers document the story in The Jungle, which ran at St. Ann’s in 2018–19 but had to delay its encore engagement, scheduled for March 2020, because of the coronavirus pandemic. But it’s now back, and it’s as thrilling as it is heart-wrenching.
St. Ann’s has transformed itself into Zhangal, or the Jungle, with geographical markers, the Good Chance Dome (filled with photographs and artwork from camp residents), tents, graffiti, and a re-creation of Salar’s (Ben Turner) restaurant, which actually received a starred review from food critic AA Gill in the Sunday Times. The large central area features long communal tables and an interconnected series of raised platforms; the diverse cast of twenty-two (some of whom were migrants themselves) weave in and out of the audience, which is seated in sections designated by the countries the refugees escaped from. The framing premise is that we are all attending an emergency meeting “to talk about another proposed eviction of the Jungle.” The narrative then unfolds in flashback.
Beth (Liv Hill) and Safi (Ammar Haj Ahmad) try to help Okot (Rudolphe Mdlongwa) in immersive show at St. Ann’s (photo by Teddy Wolff)
“When does a place become a place?” asks the Aleppo-born Safi (Ammar Haj Ahmad), one of the leaders of the camp and the show’s narrator. “By November in the Jungle I could walk from Sudan through Palestine and Syria, pop into a Pakistani café on Oxford Street near Egypt, buy new shoes from the marketplace, Belgian cigarettes from an Iraqi cornershop, through Somalia, hot naan from the Kurdish baker, passing dentists, Eritrea, distribution points, Kuwait, hairdressers and legal centers, turn right onto François Hollande Street, turn left onto David Cameron’s Avenue, stop at the sauna, catch a play in the theater, service at the church, khutba in a mosque, before arriving at Salar’s restaurant in Afghanistan.” He then poignantly adds, “When does a place become home?”
The dome is named the Good Chance because the refugees believe they have a “good chance” of making it to the promised land, England, either via boat or truck, often arranged by Ali (Waleed Elgadi), a smuggler who charges exorbitant rates for his services. Several Caucasian British citizens work at the camp to help the migrants: Derek (Dominic Rowan), who almost always carries a clipboard with him, trying to organize things; Beth (Liv Hill), who pours her heart and soul into the camp; Paula (Julie Hesmondhalgh), who takes a more practical approach; and Sam (Jonathan Case), who is committed to build as many housing shelters as possible.
They treat the people of the Jungle with dignity, but there are limits to what they can accomplish. They also have the option at any time to go back to their homes, a choice not available to the migrants, who have left because of violence, extreme poverty, religious persecution, military juntas, and other reasons, seeking a better, safer life in the west.
Amal (Aisha Simone Baez) seeks a new life filled with hope and promise in The Jungle at St. Ann’s (photo by Teddy Wolff)
Among the key subplots are Okot’s (Rudolphe Mdlongwa) attempt to be smuggled into London; a deal between French journalist Henri (Max Geller) and Sam to exchange important information; the bitter Norullah’s (Twana Omer) racism; the plight of the adorable Amal (alternately Aisha Simone Baez or Annabelle Tural), a nine-year-old girl from Syria who has been separated from her family; and Salar’s refusal to let his restaurant be torn down when the French government announces that the southern half of the camp will be evicted. Boxer (Pearce Quigley) and Helene (Mylène Gomera) sing; Omar (Mohamed Sarrar) plays the drums; Amin (Habib Djemil) performs daring gymnastics; Maz (Fedrat Sadat) is desperate to get out. Amid all the horror and pain, the ragtag community still finds ways to celebrate life and their unique heritages through music, dance, food, and clothing.
“Great is the hope that makes man cross borders. Greater is the hope that keeps us alive,” Safi says.
Miriam Buether’s set, which extends into the garden outside St. Ann’s, also includes flags, a working kitchen, wall hangings, and other deft touches; there’s a ketchup bottle on every table, but don’t expect to get anything to eat. Catherine Kodicek’s costumes alternate between functional and traditional, highlighting the similarities and differences among the nations. The lighting by Jon Clark and sound by Paul Arditti further immerse the audience into the Jungle, especially at night when the characters use flashlights and whisper in the darkness. The music, ranging from celebratory to mysterious, is by John Pfumojena, with video by Tristan Shepherd and Duncan McLean of real-life news reports projected on several small monitors, instilling a chilling dose of reality.
The cast is extraordinary, embodying the fear that the refugees experience on a daily basis, never knowing what tomorrow might bring. Turner is bold and defiant as Salar, a man who has lost nearly everything but refuses to surrender his restaurant. Haj Ahmad is cool and calm as Safi, who is desperately trying to hold things together but knows it might be a lost cause. Hill excels as the emotionally involved Beth, who represents rescue workers who invest so much of themselves to save others. Omer is stalwart as Norullah, who is balancing that fine line between wanting to escape to England and doing the best one can in the meantime. And Baez is delightful as the little girl who can’t help but smile as chaos surrounds her.
Directors Stephen Daldry (Skylight,Billy Elliot) — who has won two Emmys, an Olivier, and three Tonys and has been nominated for three Oscars — and Justin Martin (Low Level Panic,Prima Facie), who previously collaborated on the 2021 pandemic film Together and are used to working with proscenium stages, do a marvelous job orchestrating the nonstop action, maintaining a furious pace as the injustice builds over nearly three hours (with one intermission). Murphy and Robertson’s dialogue is distinct and powerful, creating well-drawn characters who will touch your soul.
A program insert contains information about how to donate to Good Chance Theatre and the Brooklyn Community Foundation’s Immigrant Rights Fund as well as additional resources about immigration services. (The show is a coproduction of the National Theatre and the Young Vic with Good Chance.)
The artistic directors of Good Chance, Murphy and Robertson also turned the young girl in The Jungle into Little Amal, a twelve-foot-tall puppet that traveled around the world in The Walk, spreading her message about refugees: “Don’t forget about us.” It’s impossible to forget about Little Amal, just as it’s impossible to forget about The Jungle.
Arinzé Kene’s Misty is making its North American premiere at the Shed (photo by Maria Baranova / courtesy the Shed)
MISTY
The Griffin Theater at the Shed
The Bloomberg Building at Hudson Yards
545 West 30th St. at Eleventh Ave.
Tuesday – Sunday through April 2, $29-$88
646-455-3494 theshed.org
On opening night of Arinzé Kene’s thoroughly inventive and unpredictable Misty at the Shed, the fashionable crowd sipped wine and cocktails as photographers snapped pictures of attendees posing in front of large orange balloons and balls. The balloons and balls are key props in the show, which debuted at the Bush Theatre in London in March 2018 and moved to the prestigious West End that September. The play is a screed against gentrification, what Kene calls “virus invasion . . . modern day colonisation,” in addition to being a fascinating exploration of the creative process itself. Although it is set in London, its themes relate directly to New York City.
In the first scene, Arinzé, standing front and center at a mic, raps, “Here is the city that we live in, / Notice that the city that we live in is alive, / Analyse our city and you’ll find, that our city even has bodily features, / Our city’s organs function like any living creature, / Our city is a living creature, / A living breathing city creature broken into boroughs, / Mostly living creatures are broken into organs, / For the city creature each borough is an organ, / And if we’re saying that the boroughs be the organs now, / You might liken the borough that I live in to the bowel.” A few beats later he adds, “But all is well, / Cos blood cell to blood cell there’s nothing to fear.”
His character is a virus battling against the red and white blood cells, trying to survive in a city undergoing urban renewal, a Black artist getting lost in a world being reconstructed around privilege.
A fight on the night bus sends him on the run from the law, hiding and finding out who his friends are. The story is inspired by something that happened to his childhood friend Lucas; about halfway through the play, we hear a recording of Arinzé talking to Lucas, who promises to “keep honest.”
Balloons thwart Arinzé Kene throughout Misty (photo by Maria Baranova / courtesy the Shed)
Meanwhile, Arinzé is writing the play about the virus and blood cells, hitting various obstacles, including criticism from two of his closest friends, Raymond, a chef, and Donna, a schoolteacher, a married couple portrayed respectively by keyboardist Liam Godwin and drummer Nadine Lee, who perform on opposite ends of the stage, flanking Arinzé. Rajha Shakiry’s set features angled empty frames and cubes sinking underground and a long, rectangular translucent screen with silhouetted furniture behind it. Daniel Denton’s often psychedelic, abstract projections and shots of empty city streets appear on multiple surfaces.
Arinzé uses the structure of the play to comment on Black performance itself, and his narrator suffers a crisis of confidence when Donna and Raymond attack his work-in-progress, calling it a “ni–a play.” Donna thinks it is yet another show about a “generic angry young black man!” written for white people. “I looked around and most of the audience were . . . most of them don’t look like us,” Raymond points out. “They seemed to love it!” Donna adds. Raymond continues, “As soon we walked out Donna turned to me and said ‘Arinzé sold out and wrote a ni . . . an inner city play.’” Donna corrects him, “Nah that’s not what I said. I said ‘Arinzé sold out and wrote a ni–a play.’ You wrote a ni–a play so your work would get put on.” Raymond concludes with a sly note: “The two musicians were dope though.”
As the virus runs for his life and Arinzé gets feedback from his producers (existing audio clips from a pair of very famous speakers) and a little girl (either Ifeoluwa Adeniyi or Braxton Paul) — in addition to several hilarious appearances by the stage managers — Arinzé becomes swamped by orange balloons and rubber balls, surrounded and trapped by the blood cells attempting to destroy what they believe to be a dangerous contagion.
Imaginatively directed by Omar Elerian (Nassim,Islands) with artistic flair — there’s something new to see and hear in every scene, the names of which include “City Creature,” “Locked Out,” and “Jungle Shit” — Misty is a thrilling theatrical experience, loaded with surprises around every corner. Jackie Shemesh’s lighting is bold and provocative, while Elena Peña’s sound ranges from prerecorded messages to Arinzé, Shiloh Coke, and Adrian McLeod’s score, which jumps from subtle, soothing synths to propulsive thumping.
Drummer Nadine Lee also portrays Donna in Misty (photo by Maria Baranova / courtesy the Shed)
Kene (One Night in Miami,Get Up Stand Up!) is a sensational performer, whether rapping, delivering self-deprecating jokes, or fighting a giant orange ball. The play works best when he stays on his metaphorical journey and avoids delving into clichéd and overt sociopolitical rants, which pop up in the second act. (The play feels slightly too long and repetitive at two hours with intermission.)
He effectively argues, “When a virus shakes up a blood cell, the organ doesn’t cope well, the city creature goes pale, the body’s feveral, / Antivirals administered by hypodermic needle go on patrol, in search of us virus people, / As they police through the blood vessels, we scatter like roaches, we scuttle into the shadows like beetles, / They don’t want us roaming in the city creature, they don’t want us multiplying, they don’t want an upheaval.”
Kene is well aware of the jeopardy Black bodies face, and one of his final gestures onstage becomes a major statement, revealing the physical strength that is still not enough to protect him from constant threat that goes far beyond the night bus.
After the show, the crowd was treated to wine, popcorn, and crudités. I couldn’t help but think of the first monologue, when Arinzé declares, “The doors close, the night bus pulls away, so now there’s no getting off, / And if you’re wise enough! You’ll know not all of us! Aboard this bus! Are blood cells . . . / Nah, / One of us is virus. / Geh-geh.” And then, later, when one of the producers asks him, “Is it just me or does that feel a little excessive?”
The Place Promised in Our Early Days is part of Japan Society double feature celebrating Makato Shinkai
THE PLACE PROMISED IN OUR EARLY DAYS (Makoto Shinkai, 2004) / VOICES OF A DISTANT STAR (Makoto Shinkai, 2002)
Japan Society
333 East 47th St. at First Ave.
Friday, March 17, $15, 7:00 www.japansociety.org
Makoto Shinkai, who took the anime world by storm with his 2002 hit Voices of a Distant Star, a short film made completely on his home computer, followed that up with his first feature-length work, the magical and mystical The Place Promised in Our Early Days. Set in an alternate futuristic post-WWII world, The Place Promised centers on three friends, Hiroki, Takuya, and Sayuri, who make a vow to fly Hiroke and Takuya’s plane, Bela C’ielo, into the Tower, a monolithic structure rising into the sky that symbolizes the postwar division between the Union and US-Japanese forces. With war imminent, an older Takuya and Hiroki find themselves on opposing sides, with Sayuri lost in a coma dreamworld.
Although the plot — especially the science aspects — gets rather complex and confusing, The Place Promised is a beautiful-looking film, both tenderly sweet and harshly depressing, presenting a rather bleak forecast of the future. But stunning visual moments such as a setting sun with an illuminated halo that forms a shining star twinkling into an abandoned factory make it all worth it. Shinkai’s film was deservedly named Best Animated Film at the Mainichi Film Awards, where it topped the much more heralded Steamboy (Katsuhiro Otomo, 2004) and Howl’s Moving Castle (Hayao Miyazaki, 2004).
In celebration of the April 14 North American release of Shinkai’s latest film, Suzume, a coming-of-age story about a seventeen-year-old protagonist, Japan Society is screening The Place Promised in Our Early Days on March 17 at 7:00 in its monthly anime series. It will be preceded by Voices of a Distant Star, a devastatingly melancholic and hauntingly gorgeous twenty-five-minute exploration of loneliness as Mikako chases the evil Tarsians through the galaxies with the UN Space Army carrier Lysithea (named after a Greek mythological figure and a genus of red algae) while Noboru, her true love since they were fifteen, waits for her messages, which take longer and longer to reach him the farther out the battle takes her. Tenmon’s piano score is heartbreaking in one of the saddest and most poignant animes ever made.
Kateřina Olivová and Darina Alster evaluate potential students in Art Talent Show
ART TALENT SHOW (Adéla Komrzý & Tomáš Bojar, 2022)
Museum of the Moving Image
35th Ave. at 36th St., Astoria
Sunday, March 19, 5:30
Festival runs March 15-19
718-777-6888 movingimage.us
“I think the line between reality and art has been smudged here. . . . You don’t know what’s art and what’s real anymore,” a teacher says in Adéla Komrzý and Tomáš Bojar’s vastly entertaining Art Talent Show, making its New York premiere at the Museum of the Moving Image’s twelfth “First Look” festival, which highlights new, innovative international films. I could say the same thing about Art Talent Show itself, which develops such an intriguing narrative that you might have a hard time convincing yourself that it’s nonfiction; at least I did.
In 2019, Adéla Komrzý was commissioned by rector Tomáš Vaněk and the Academy of Arts (AVU) in Prague to make a documentary in celebration of the institution’s 220th anniversary. Komrzý teamed up with Tomáš Bojar, and they spent four days filming a diverse group of applicants going through the difficult selection process to capture one of the coveted spots, not only creating art but taking written tests and undergoing rigorous personal interviews. Six professors in three departments agreed to let the cameras follow them: Vladimír Kokolia and Eva Červená from Graphic Design, Kateřina Olivová and Darina Alster from New Media, and Marek Meduna and Petr Dub from Painting.
They ask such questions as “What do you think is the role of art in today’s society?” and “What is the worst thing you have done in your life?” and get a wide range of answers from the unnamed students, who sometimes go off on tangents or freely admit they have no idea. Some try to be completely honest, others struggle to assert their identity, and a few use the opportunity to respond as if giving a performance. We learn as much, if not more, about the teachers than we do about the students, especially one who goes off on her own tangent about her sexuality and another who seems to savor grilling the applicants a bit too much. Meanwhile, a pair of older women who work at the reception/security desk gossip about it all.
The hundred-minute film provides compelling insight into the next generation of artists, even via this small sample; many of them talk about how they are making art for themselves, rather than as part of something bigger or considering how their work could influence society and the world at large. Most of them appear to have no interest in art history, instead focusing solely on what they are doing, as if they exist in a vacuum. It also serves as a microcosm of what is happening outside art school, where kids and teenagers are obsessed with social media, trying to figure out who they are in full view of others.
Inspired by Claire Simon’s Le Concours, about an annual French student contest, Komrzý (Intensive Life Unit,Viva Video, Video Viva) and Bojar (Two Nill,Breaking News) avoid reality-show pizzazz, instead trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, choosing the fly-on-the-wall route; at times they set up their cameras in rooms and operate them remotely so their physical presence will not affect the discussions between teachers and students.
The professors reveal their own predilections, especially Olivová, who dresses in colorful childlike costumes and wears kitten ears, offering the students encouragement, whereas Kokolia puts them through a much more direct and almost accusatory investigation. In a promotional interview, Dub explains, “I also realized that the presence of the crew will make us all — both [teachers] and applicants — step out of our comfort zones. However, this is what the art is principally based on: constant searching and crossing borders, whether social or artistic ones. I am not a big fan of safe zones as they blunt our perception, relation to reality, and possibilities of art experiments which are necessary to prevent existential sterility.” Scenes in which the teachers evaluate the artwork and debate topics for the students to address should give pause to the thin-skinned applying to similar programs.
“I don’t know whether to write ‘definite pass’ or ‘definite fail,’” one teacher says about a specific test. Art Talent Show is a definite pass, acing its subject.
“First Look” runs March 15-19 at MoMI, comprising more than fifty shorts and features, with many filmmakers on hand for Q&As. The opening night presentation is Babak Jalali’s Fremont, starring Anaita Wali Zada and Jeremy Allen White, paired with Ruslan Redotov’s Away, two very different refugee tales. The closing night film is C. J. “Fiery” Obasi’s Mami Wata, centered around a powerful mermaid goddess in a West African community.
ESTROGENIUS FESTIVAL: BAN(NED) TOGETHER
The Kraine Theater, 85 East Fourth St.
UNDER St. Marks, 94 St. Marks Pl.
Arts on Site, 12 St. Marks Pl.
721 Decatur Street Community Garden, Bushwick
March 15 – April 2, sliding scale $20 www.estrogenius.nyc
Since 2000, the EstroGenius Festival has been celebrating “the artistry of femme, nonbinary, nonconforming, and trans womxn artists.” The 2023 edition, presented by FRIGID New York and Manhattan Theatre Source, launches March 15 with “Funny Women of a Certain Age,” an evening of comedy with Amanda Cohen, Jessie Baade, Laura Patton, and Carole Montgomery. The festival, curated by maura nguyễn donohue, Melissa Riker, and John C. Robinson, kicks into high gear March 18 through April 2 with nearly two dozen productions taking place at the Kraine Theater, UNDER St. Marks, Arts on Site, and the 721 Decatur Street Community Garden in Bushwick, from concerts and plays to discussions and burlesque.
On March 19 at 3:30, Joya Powell and Pele Bauch team up for the open dialogue “Who We Are | Ban(ned) Together,” getting to the heart of this year’s theme: “Ban(ned) Together,” a response to the overturning of Roe v. Wade and the violence being committed against trans and femme bodies.
Claire Ayoub heads down memory lane in her solo show The GynoKid. Marina Celander shares the family-friendly story The Tale of An-Noor, incorporating dance and puppets. In the duet Develop(ing) Together: BEAR, c/s movement projects investigates balance, exhaustion, and tolerance. Molly Kirschner’s BiPolar Brunch brings together four characters seeking connection. Alt-folkers Brokeneck Girls perform songs from The Murder Ballad Musical.
“An Evening with Peterson, Savarino & Wells” features Muriel “Murri-Lynette” Peterson’s Black Enough, Kim Savarino’s Blue Bardo, and Portia Wells’s Inside Flesh Mountain, Part II. Anabella Lenzu examines herself as a woman, a mother, and an immigrant in Solo Voce: The Night You Stopped Acting. Hip-hop takes center stage with Yvonne Chow’s #Unapologetically Asian and an excerpt from Janice Tomlinson’s PRN. There are also works by sj swilley, Emily Fury Daly, Vanessa Goodman, Donna Costello, Kayla Engeman, Leslie Goshko, Soul Dance Co., and Petra Zanki, among many others.
