LeeSaar's Grass and Jackals

Photo: Yi-chun Wu

LeeSaar's Grass and Jackals leads us on a brief journey from dark to light, guided by seven mysterious, ninja-like dancers. At seven members, the company—led by Lee Sher and Saar Harari, who don't perform— is larger than ever, and in its Joyce debut, it has chosen to go bigger in all respects, notably with set elements and lighting (by the noted designer Bambi). As the weight of these production pieces increases, the reliance on the dancers' interactions seems to proportionately diminish—more beauty for perhaps a bit less soul.

But the beauty is undeniably moving. The sinewy dancers slink, crouch, stand perfectly still, and confront us repeatedly with direct gazes. Their eyebrows are painted like Groucho Marx's, hair taut in ponytails, in a highly stylized yet minimal aesthetic. As practioners of gaga, made prevalent by Ohad Naharin, they succeed more than others who work in this style, keeping quirks and superfluous additions to a minimum. Their hips move freely, legs float in extensions, knees are ever bent and loose. They lean forward on splayed knees, or in splits, examining us. Quick rabbit punches and chuffs remind us of the Israeli Army stints the two choreographers underwent before moving to New York. A certain degree of this steeliness pervades the movement and underlying kinetic drama. The soundtrack is an eclectic melange of acoustic guitar, uptempo dance, shimmering ambient, and pop tune ("Princess Crocodile," incidentally the title of LeeSaar's upcoming work at BAC.)

Photo: Yi-chun Wu

The backdrop looks like an intricately textured cutaway cliff; it is lit with varied gemstone colors. The lighting can often capture only the dancers' faces, or it can expand to suffuse the whole enterprise with sunrise gold. After a false ending, in which the seven lie in two diagonal lines, contracting slightly and collapsing again, one dancer, now in a butter-hued unitard, wafts her arms and moves with such rich intent that she appears to be underwater. Filaments begin to drip onto the stage apron, morphing from a liquid to something else, like cobwebs caught in a breeze, forming a transparent curtain wall. It is so beautiful that even after the curtain falls, the audience sits tranfixed.

LeeSaar’s February, 12/12/08

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LeeSaar’s February, at PS 122

http://www.thirteen.org/sundayarts/blog/performance/leesaars-february/655/

It’s been a few years since LeeSaar, a small company begun by Lee Sher and Saar Harari of Israel that settled here, first made a splash in New York; they received a Guggenheim Fellowship this year, among several laurels. Their work hasn’t lost much of the uniqueness and power that might have been due to its novelty, as seen in a double bill (called February) at La Mama. One half is a short play written and performed by Sher, who is an engaging presence. The other half is a dance, One Day, choreographed by Sher and Harari (they also designed the sound and costumes) for Jye-Hwei Lin and Hsin-Yi Hsiang.

One of the most powerful aspects of past works by LeeSaar has been its intimacy. No doubt this was in part due to the confines of the small theaters I’ve seen them in (such as PS 122’s two spaces), where you could hear them breathing and practically feel the warmth from their bodies. But I wondered how it would translate to the cavern of La Mama’s Annex. With Joe Levasseur’s lighting, the choreography did just fine, often taking place in one zone or another, as defined by light and darkness. Levasseur showed a resourceful invention by placing a strip of aluminum foil where footlights would be in a larger house, and bouncing light off it to ligth the dancers from below.