Tension Remains after Nevertheless

By Sarah JG Chenoweth

ka-nei-see | collective and Cat Call Choir produced an adaptation of their 2018 success, Nevertheless, at Z Space last weekend. The show—expanded from its premiere to include new sections, additional performers, and a visual art exhibition in the lobby—was condemning but not cathartic. Certainly the aftermath of sexual assault is many-sided within a single person, and also diverges from one person to the next. Nevertheless characterized a few justifiable responses: a “fuck you” from the choir, a crisp plea for communal reflection from the art pieces, and a touch of misery from the dancing. 

The show pointed strong fingers mostly at verbal abuse and arrogant handsy-ness of (assumingly) men. At one point the choir went as far as telling a story about a group attack on a college student. At another, they sang, staring zombie-like at us, about bashing in a woman’s head. Throughout the show, the choir sometimes spoke as the oppressor, sometimes the oppressed, sometimes omniscient narrators. These singers’ delivery ranged from stoic to slapstick. Delightfully grotesque and unapologetically hammy in their warping of actual statements from actual people about tit size, ass grabbing, internalized misogyny, and other aggressions, they grounded the performance with real talk. It was hilarious because it lampooned the idiocy in what has become commonplace; it was awful because we were reminded of the idiocy that has become commonplace. The choir was pissed-off and despairing in the same breath. In both aesthetic and deed, it attractively nodded to the Greek chorus—a collective voice commenting on staged scenes, often representing the attitudes of the viewers. But here the cat callers expanded on the Greek form by participating in the action and dramatizing society’s most vile behavior. Using sweet harmonies, cheeky lyrics, flamboyant groping, and rhythmic gesture, the Cat Call Choir made a stinging mockery of the “locker room talk” that pervades our culture. 

While the choir chewed up the topic and spit it back out, the dancing left it floating in some somber cloud. Much of the dance was a sad soundtrack to the horrors described by the choir. The ensemble both supported and trashed one another. Dancers literally held each other up and then got in each other’s way. Mangled figures emerged from the onslaught. Chianese’s choreographic mastery shone with the quartet, “You Bitch.” Four dancers swam and shoved their way in and out of unison trios with an ever-changing opposing soloist. The timing and spacing of the transferred solo were surprising and savory, and in a way they echoed the timing and spacing of sexual assault: we never know who will be next. 

In the beginning of the piece the movement, as necessitated by the theme, felt more contained and writhing than some of Chianese’s past work. Various soloists seemed to dance inside of themselves, twisting and squeezing perpetrators’ badgering out of their bodies. As the piece progressed, the movement became more extended and explosive. Correspondingly, the dancers became equally more frayed and more powerful—the exhausted, “persisting” survivor. 

However, the movement was overall too virtuosic and sophisticated for the filth of the content. Aside from some befitting motifs (breast swipes and forced smiles), such gorgeous dancing disagreed with the subject matter. Only one or two moments stung with the discomfort of sexual violation. The most effective was when three dancers, facing upstage, legs spread wide, bent forward and clutched their crotches, one palm over the other. The gesture was simultaneously protective and scared and defiant…and fleeting. The majority of the movement had less impact. 

So, while funny, beautiful, and theatrically flavorful, Nevertheless did not relieve the deepest tensions left after brutal assaults. It did tap into a collective desire to shout, to pierce through apathy with in-your-face dialogue. It did hint at how these offenses diminish their recipients. But, two years into the Me Too movement, we are ready for higher stakes. Christine Blasey Ford bore all to a hostile Congress and national audience. Congresswoman Rashida Tlaib publicly called our abusive president a motherfucker the evening before she was sworn in. The now moment has adapted for more brazen action.

 

Sarah JG Chenoweth is a dancer, teacher, and writer based in Oakland, California.

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Related posts and writing:

How to Persist: Nevertheless with ka·nei·see | collective and Cat Call Choir (on diydancer.com)

One Good Quote: Nevertheless (March 2019)

Artist Profile: Tanya Chianese

Reflections from Nevertheless – Molly Rose-Williams (May 2018)

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