Because of that premonition virus, I missed the 3D version of the show, and instead had to access this visually driven dance documentary via link. Admittedly on large and sharp home screen, but still in 2D.
It should be said right away that the undersigned is not a dance connoisseur. On the contrary, in fact. This fine cultural "modern" dance accompanied by experimental music is quite difficult to absorb. Can even awaken a sour-stomached, anti-cultural herb within me: "They just cater and make themselves." “Oh my goodness! Is this the kind of tram our tax money goes to !! ”
No, so far it is not possible. Still, I understand that I don't understand. Also realize that at the moment when I pay tribute to a black-and-white, Hungarian lullaby, some people sit in front of the TV box and think that I am talking a lot of goo.
Well, it is about taste, being able to know the language "spoken" on the canvas, or as in this case, on the dance floor. And to be addressed by it.
And that's where I come up short, even when it comes to visionary choreographer Merce Cunningham. I do not see his genius, quite honestly think that the choreography looks exactly as it usually does on a dance scene (the little one I have seen), but understands through all the voices that come to mind that he was one of the greatest.
Cunningham was active until his death and was part of the post-war creative melting pot in New York. He worked with greats such as composer John Cage (who was also his partner), artist Robert Rauschenberg (he with the goat you know, at the Moderna museet in Stockholm) and Andy Warhol.
An icon, simply.
An avant-garde who didn't like that term because it put him in a pocket. "I just create".
"I have nothing to say, and I say it."
The creative image solutions convince. Goes more on emotion than chronology, just as Cunningham himself would certainly like it. It appears here that he was against all conventions.
In the film's first reply, he also says that he is not interested in dance that relates to something else, which does not refer to anything but himself, it does not follow the music - it IS.
A greatness in its own right.
And here it has undeniable space. Partly through archival photos of the master's own sets and exercise films, and partly through new sets of his works, but in modern vintage. Some are monumentally powerful (even before my unschooled eyes) others more negligible.
Certainly more impressive in 3D.
When the old 3D gimmick went into its third breath (after the 1950s and 80s 3D worms) sometime around Avatar, we were met by various adventures that used their new digital muscles to poke our eyes with spears, bullets and other projectiles. But in the last decade, the technology (just as in previous times) has been sold out. Now it appears sporadically in dramas and here for the second time in a cinema-launched dance documentary. German Wim Wenders was early in Pina (2011), which had a similar arrangement (about choreographer Pina Bausch) but still the snap was more suggestive and intuitive.
This is a pure tribute that stays faithfully on Cunningham's side. The film's Russian author Alla Kovgan tells the usual biopic about adversity, that Cunningham was ahead of his time, that the contemporary did not understand him. Make the choreographer the icon he didn't want to see himself.
It is certainly interesting and rewarding for dance fans, for the initiate who wants to reflect in their own opinions, experiences and pictures of the dance guru, but for us others ... enjoy.
However, the hat of the distributor who chooses to put up this slim work in the midst of the ongoing cinema death; who trust that people ids walk on corona-strewn streets to look for a 3D canvas.
Because that's probably how this movie should be seen.