WEB EXCLUSIVE | Blind Date, the Morning After

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By Caro Thompson

The modern dance performances that I love the most flow directly off the stage and into my body. I don’t have to think about what’s happening; the communication of choreography and movement simply comes, making me feel new things, remember old ones and, sometimes, open my head and heart to new perspectives.

Blind Date is the latest work by MacArthur “Genius” Award recipient Bill T. Jones. The piece was performed by the Bill T. Jones/Arnie Zane Dance Company at the Flynn MainStage on January 15, and the energy stayed almost completely on the stage. At least it hardly reached me in the ways outlined above. But it was fascinating. It made me think – a lot. Jones’ work (his partner, Arnie Zane, died in 1988) often addresses complex issues, so I was prepared for that, looking forward to it.

While the audience began filling the theater, the show had already begun. Multiple video panels onstage ranging from small to gigantic projected pictures and text in English, Spanish, Turkish, and other languages; for example:

“Overcoming ignorance bred of superstitions and religions”;

“A fair, just, and productive society absolutely depends on religious tolerance”;

“Fourth generation warfare will be widely dispersed, non-linear, possibly to the point of having no defined battlefields or fronts, and the distinction between civilian and soldier will be blurred.”

Once the lights dimmed, a man in a suit lit a cigarette to Otis Redding’s song “Security,” saying to the audience, “I know what you’re thinking – that I’ve got to cut down,” which got a chuckle from the crowd. From there, the dance company, androgenous in blue jeans and white shirts, took more and more of the space with quick, sharp, linear movements. It wasn't until days afterward that I found a way to connect just those few minutes. Security is the theme. We all want to feel secure, but how? Religion, blind or compassionate, works for many, but in America and around the world, we know that religious intolerance creates strife. A mighty military serves some people's need to feel secure, yet it is an obvious danger in itself. Smoking cigarettes provides a shaky crutch – one that also can kill. And through it all, life goes on: the dancers in their own world, moving, always moving.

Other sections of choreography did draw me directly into the dancers. The first took place under the text, “A Discussion.” Two women entered the stage, walking. Others joined them, constantly re-forming into small groups. Suddenly, one person said “Me!” and stiffly fell toward the floor. Everyone rushed to catch their colleague, who immediately rose again to walk. This repeated request for attention, “Me,” was always met with the security of being caught. How reassuring! However, toward the end of this section, a dancer began to sing “The Star-Spangled Banner.” The pace of calling “Me!” quickened, and the group just barely made it in time to catch several individuals. It was so close, I caught my breath and in that moment a link was forged for me. Here was an icon of patriotism that I’ve sung myself countless times. Caught within my visceral reaction to the once-secure dancers now at risk of not being saved from a fall, I wondered: Does blind patriotism lead to false security?

Later, a man in a camouflage uniform asked “Is it safe here?” and “What do we do?” An answer came, “We can be soft but not weak.” And “I wish I didn’t care about feeling safe.” These were intertwined with a low-key jitterbug-like duet between the man in a suit and the uniformed man. The suit itself didn’t choreograph well. It bunched up and crinkled in ways that looked ungainly, like it didn’t fit well. Intentional? I don’t know. Partnerships between corporations and the military have raised eyebrows since America’s Civil War. Investigations into abuse of corporate contracts in Iraq have been in the news.

During a panel discussion after the performance, Jones stated that he respected people in the military but he thinks that men and women fighting in Iraq have been “duped.” He was talking directly to a Lieutenant Colonel on the panel who had told us that he’s lost seven friends during the current war. Jones has a lot of compassion; I’ve seen it in his work since the 1980s. He doesn’t believe in the war, but he welcomed a military man to the panel. He is interested in our vulnerability. He reaches beyond the stage, to connect with people in the communities in which his company performs. And he finds ways to express the complexities of tough issues: religion, sickness, race, mortality, and war, not just his own opinion.

I can still feel the impact of a very militaristic section of Blind Date. The rhythm was like a drumbeat. Over and over, one dancer flung him or herself, chest first, into the arms of another. It was not a loving or gentle act. As I think of those dancers, I can feel the slap on my chest, as if someone has just connected with me. It’s not a pleasant memory. But at the same time, in the moment when one person was held around the waist by another, there was intimacy. They held on. I can also feel that connection. Body to body contact creates intimacy whether you want it to or not, whether it’s an act of violence or love, war or peace. How do soldiers deal with that intimacy? I can’t begin to imagine. And I’d never thought about it before, until Bill T. Jones connected the dots with music and movement.

If I wanted to dig deeper, I would have to see Blind Date again. There was just too much to take in through one experience. This extraordinary choreographer-director-writer-dancer doesn’t bulldoze easy routes. He creates M. C. Escher-like angles to ponder. I didn’t get what I went for, but as a result of going, there is a whole new network of neural pathways in my brain, looking for personal connections to his creative and political ideas. I love it when art changes me, stretches me. Part of what I count on dance to do is to shift my own rutted thoughts and feelings into new patterns.

Here’s what the title means to me. Blind dates are approached with uncertainty and hope. Blind Date left me uncertain, with unanswered questions, yet also with the hope that more people will ask questions about how to really create the security we all desire.

Caro Thompson is an independent documentary filmmaker and television producer who studied with the Garth Fagan Dance Company and the Jose Limon Dance Company when she was much younger.

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