Choreographers: Srimathy Mohan, Anthony Spaulding
Company: Silambam Phoenix, Convergence Ballet Company
Performers – Silambam Phoenix: Vaibu Mohan, Sahana Balaji, Ananya Kondapally, Ananya Kumar, Ananya Iyer, Sinchana Keshav, Saathvika Vegasina, Chinmayi Giddigam, Swetha Maneri, Ashwika Kaza, Nandini Ram, Srikanya Garuda, Shreya Kadiyala, Aditi Chandrasekar, Ridhi Chandrasekar, Divya Ram, Sriya Sriram
Performers – Convergence Ballet Company: Mariana Perez, Abigail Peterson, Brooke Merwin, Alexander Patrick, Julie Zukaitis, Emilies Tran, Samantha Grey
Srimathy Mohan’s transformative idea with Silambam Phoenix was to challenge her school of Bharatanatyam dance and reach new audiences by developing work that incorporated Western music and the English language. By “English language”, we are referring here to Shakespeare – specifically, Much Ado About Nothing. Not, “in the style of”, but the actual play itself (albeit edited), with its original characters and dialogue. And by Western music, we are hearing the traditional Indian mridangam, cymbals, violin and flute alternating with Chopin, Mozart, Bach and Camille Saint Saens, among others. This was not the first presentation of Shoonya Haasyam. Apparently, Mohan first started developing the program in 2016 but it has been revised since, and this collaboration with Convergence Ballet certainly must be the most complex version the company has attempted.
Classical ballet is a story-telling device, replete with characters and a certain level of acting in terms of broad pantomime, but generally everything is expressed through the sheer emotive power of movement. In terms of specific expressions, there are local choreographers who struggle just to get their dancers to smile. Srimathy Mohan treated her dancers’ representation of actual dialogue, with all of its nuances of emotion and meaning, almost like it was no big deal. Of course they could do it. Bharatanatyam has an actual vocabulary baked into the form. There are precise gestures and attitudes used to express certain emotions and actions and characters. It’s an integral part of the training and a cultural norm. Mohan noted that “we have very precise gestures to represent man, child, flag, anger, friendship, love, death, etc.”. Where a word or concept did not exist, the form was flexible enough to carefully derive an equivalent without compromising the tradition. Indeed, once this tradition is ingrained, that flexibility could be extended to individual performance. As one of the Silambam performers remarked, “Eight years of practice can only take you so far. At some point, your body takes over.”
You know how, when you are at a lecture or presentation that is being signed for the deaf, your gaze inevitably drifts from the lectern to the interpreter because, well, it’s just more interesting? Watching one of the Bharatanatyam dancers performing to voice-over English dialogue was like watching an ASL interpreter, except lovelier, and frankly, better – the physical vocabulary, however heavily accented, seemed somehow more universal.
For me, this was a profound insight, the ah-ha moment when the exotic veil draped over Bharatanatyam dance was lifted and I believed I could understand the message in the medium. If you told me, “this sequence means that baby Krishna is being naughty and his mother is worried”, I would just have to take your word for it. This, of course, is exactly where Westerners like myself become immediately, irretrievably, lost in understanding and fully appreciating classical Bharatanatyam. But seeing a Silambam Phoenix performer, playing a Shakespearian character, enact actual dialogue from a known play – I very quickly began to think that I understood the physical interpretation. Yes, I had the advantage of a soundtrack, but still, this was as close as I was going to get to the historical origins of this form and the experience of a villager in India, perhaps hundreds of years ago, watching a Bharatanatyam performer presenting a classic tale with which everyone was familiar. From the perspective of that traditional audience – steeped in the culture, I presume that they could practically read the dance. Our Western complaint about dance performance, “But what does it mean?” simply wouldn’t apply.
But language interpretation is just one element of presentation. My recollection of Bharatanatyam performance includes being amazed by the distinct expressions rapidly washing across the faces of the performers as they reacted minutely to elements of the story they were presenting. Silambam has paid considerable attention to these details, to the extent that Vaibu Mohan was an actual dramaturg for the production, coaching the performers on the text and developing their individual characters. As a result, we were witnessing real actors on stage, invested in the moment and staying in character whether they were the focus of attention or not. The level of commitment to this production was truly amazing.
I am sure that this collaboration was a huge challenge for choreographer Anthony Spaulding – not just wrapping his head around the wildly different dance styles, but trying to integrate his dancers into a program that had previously been performed and was largely set.
One surprising issue was when Spaulding stated in a talk-back session that counting was initially a big obstacle. The two forms not only have very different musicality but use equally different mechanisms to count time. This made immediate sense to me. I once had an accomplished percussionist try to explain complex Indian rhythms to me, a process that apparently required him to make odd vocalizations and repeatedly turn over the palms of his hands. It was so far from 1, 2, 3, 4 that I was never going to get it, but I did understand what Spaulding meant. It sounded like it was never formally resolved, and he expressed a real sense of relief that whatever they did somehow worked when they got together. I guess that whether you’re slapping your sole or twirling your tutu, a beat is a beat. From the perspective of the audience, it was totally, “what problem?”.
However, with the advantage of two viewings, I came to see just how complex this challenge was for Spaulding. Each of the Bharatanatyam dancers was a character and, whether active or not, helped carry the Shakespearian dialogue phrase for phrase. The ballet dancers, in this context, were more of an element, something “other”, added to the story but not essential to it. Rather than try to make his dancers blend in, it seems he chose to celebrate their “otherness” by opting for crisp, white tutus and classic ballet attire, accentuating the difference between them and the elaborate, colorful, silken costuming of the bejeweled Silambam performers, replete with ankle bells, associated with Bharatanatyam dance. The contrast was startling, but also delicious and delightful. I guess if you’re going to stand out – you might as well make a statement.
Let’s face it, the integration was never going to be as complete as it would have been had the piece been conceived collaboratively, but for now, that was not the point, nor was it what was most important from where I sat in the audience. This was a grand experiment, and at this stage, there were no mistakes – only exploration. It was already visually interesting, the rich Silambam colors offset by Convergence’s start white. Spaulding just had to somehow make sense of the movement, and in that pursuit, we were treated to any number of variations.
The Convergence dancers alternately arranged themselves on the periphery or entered a group dance, forming their own line or circle in the middle of the mele. We saw a brief pas de deux here and there, including a dramatic lift and carry performed by the male and female leads. The wedding scene in Act 5 was a real showcase. At one point the two companies separated into three groups – two Bhartanatyam and one ballet, and traded some challenge and response exhibition movements. This section had a satisfying clarity about it and effectively showcased the two styles.
This scene also included what I can only term the “ballerina toss”. The company ballerinas formed a circle around Alexander Patrick and alternately rushed at him, to be lifted and thrown into a flying leap. This all happened rapidly and nonstop – and the timing had to be perfect. For Patrick, it was a continual turn-toss, turn-toss, turn-toss. So – a “ballerina toss”. Seriously, what else would you call it? But for all its frantic energy, each of the female ballet dancers executed a perfect, graceful leap. It was something to behold. I don’t know where Spaulding came up with this idea, but I was blown away. And huge kudos for the flawless execution.
As impressive as some of this balletic movement was, for me the real moment came in the previous funeral scene. Here, two of the Convergence ballerinas entered the stage – no longer “other”, but as actual characters in the play, representing what I saw as attending angels at the funeral procession for the young heroine. In a brilliant move, Spaulding has them perform the Dying Swan in tandem. But forget the swan. This wasn’t that. Here were two angels, grieving over the loss of a young innocent and, finally, succumbing to their own sorrow as the funeral procession passed between them. It was a profound, heart-rending moment, the most emotional of the entire performance. Yes, I can see how this scene could be done differently, but I can’t imagine it ever being done better. The effect of the combination of the two forms, ballet and Bharatanatyam, was exponential. This was the promise of true collaboration – fulfilled and exceeded.
In her development of Shoonya Haasyam, Srimathy Mohan and her Silambam Phoenix organization managed to bring ancient Bharatanatyam dance into the present – to adapt it to another culture and language, all while keeping faithfully to the authenticity of the form – modifying it, but without compromise. Here was a Shakespearian play with actual characters and English dialogue. The inclusion of Western symphonic music and an unapologetic collaboration with ballet. The audacity of this endeavor was breathtaking, but the reward was the inclusion of a new audience and expanded interest for traditionalists.
For Jennifer Cafarella Betts, lending Convergence Ballet to this collaboration was absolutely consistent with the cultural authenticity and inclusion she has displayed in her own programming – specifically a production of The Nutcracker in which Silambam Phoenix, among others, made an appearance (which I happened to have seen). And Anthony Spaulding’s sensitivity, flexibility and artistic instincts in this reciprocal endeavor really did the company proud.
And so, two worlds collide. This was visionary work, not a simple “choreographed by” dance piece. There was a simmering intelligence thrumming just below the surface, a collection of talents dedicated to the creation of something new. We got to experience and enjoy the shockingly beautiful contrasts presented by two wildly different cultures and, at the same time, reflect on some profound similarities – the level of discipline, dedication and constant practice that each of these forms demands. Excellence was everywhere apparent in this display of refinement, precision and effortless grace.
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