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Diary of an Overbooked Theater-Festival Surfer: Week Three
Jack! Rose! Jack! Rose! And Eugene Onegin.
In slick, cream-colored knee-high boots (with chunky enough heels to make me wince for her knees), neon-pink feathers for eyelashes, and several pieces of creepy-crawly custom latex implying an exposed spine and lower rib cage, Tansini looks ready for the kind of club that opens at 4 a.m. in Ibiza. There’s a formula to Volcano ’s content but a real explosiveness to its form, which asks us to witness two bodies enduring for almost four hours — gliding and straining, sharing weight and rhythm, flickering like TV channels from Gene Kelly charm to posturing Jerome Robbins masculinity to animal desperation and exhaustion. It also zooms in and out — playing on the idea of both bird’s- and tortoise’s-eye views — to look at the ways in which Turkey has literally altered its own landscape in order to crush dissent: creating lakes by flooding towns; destroying and rebuilding cities to make them more uniform and receptive to surveillance technology; leveling needed agricultural areas to plant water-sucking, quick-growing pine trees to be used in government development projects; downgrading the status of the Euphrates River to a “stream” in certain places so that it can more easily be dammed, diverted, and built over.
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