Mystics say that when you truly learn to meditate, to be with yourself while still in the world, that you can learn to speed up or slow down time as you wish and want.
Mystics also talk in paradoxes. So too, in nature, was the at times whimsical, at times poignant, at times just loud WIlliam Kentridge "opera", Refuse the Hour, which contemplated the themes of relativity, time and planetary physics in service of commenting on imperalism, self-expression and intelligebility of thought.
To be clear, this is not the kind of opera with tenori or soprani nor is it the kind of more "traditional" fare Kentridge himself has been directing at some of the world's most prestigious house (his Lulu will be revived this Fall at the Met). If anything, Refuse the Hour, is a pastiche more semanticallyoperatic only if one defines opera as Wagnerian gesamkunstverk. For it is not all musical or lyrical nor is there a through story propelled and developed by song or even song/dance. Rather, the piece feels more like a very visually stimulating, more musical Dream Play (ala Strindberg) where themes and ideas are nurtured and played with but story and character only exists in the minds of the audience memebers as they project their interpretation onto the aciton on stage.
Still, the mix of classical western song with traditional African dance, rythm and music; the marriage of eloquent oration by Kentridge himself juxtaposed by his (also own) quirky, almost quixotic machine installtions and playful films somehow succeeds. Yes, there are problems as any artistic piece or person will have; but it is in someway the so-called problems that provide its mystery, its objective correlative, its catalyzing of conversation.
As an older, white man, some audience members commented that it was strange and a bit ironic to have Kentridge's "character" serve as the narrating, guiding force commenting on segregation, racism and imperalism given the long patriarchal associations of the whiteman and the accoutrements of imperial imposition and all that it has spawned. As someone who feels rcially disenfrancised and expressly not obsessed with poltical correctness, I was not bothered by this dramtic chocie (or oversight). Perhaps he couldn't find another way to authetntically integrate himself into the tet; perhaps he intended to have his postional commentary create an ironic tension; perhaps he is an older white South-African male with certain life experiences who shouldn't have to apologize for his station in life--especially when he's devoted his career, in large part, to ameliorating racial divides.
To me, the melange of film, dance, music, acting and sculpture had moments of great magic and impact. Refuse the Hour proved that there can be rigor within free play; that a mixing of forms need no jettison cultivation of talent with studied technique. The interplay between classical singer, actress, African musicians and classically trained modern dancers suceeded because Kentridge used the dialogue between said artists and their contrasting modes of expression to explore, intellectually, the time-space disconnect, the metaphor of universal versus relative time.
As I'm overly sensitive to the politicization of any and everything in an age so afraid of erring on the side of political incorrectness, I am rarely moved by "socially conscious" art as it often strikes me as inauthentic, self-serving and vapid--that is, it is more about being hailed for doing good (in the most banal and abstract of senses) than actually doing good work. Nevertheless, I found myself quite moved by the "Give us Back our Own Sun" episode which melted the themes of standardized versus relative time and astrological relationship to the sun to offer an expressive metaphor about imperial conquest and taking away the basic human right not only to self-govern, but moreover, to yield control over one's time and thusly one's life. This moved me; it was fusion of the arts at its best. Other moments in the piece faltered, but the Sun episode transcended mere political commentary to offer something more universal, moving and thusly memorable.
One minor note that was striking to me---as someone keenly interested in teh relationship between physical movement and the gestalt of personal presence--I was palpalby impressed by Kentridge and his company's supreme physical "use". I say palpable because their physical carriage--even those who weren't dancing--was efficient, self-possessed and in service of the emotions and ideas they wished to convey. Unhindered by physical and therefore personal tensions of mind and body, the players could literally play on and not only keep my attentio and physicaly execute their tasks more expertly; more importantly, they were fully alive and communicative in gesture as well as overt form. It's interesting to note that their movement director--Wit de Luc--is a a Feldenkrais practitioner and a long time, close Kentrdige collaborator. de Luc was credited as having unified the various forms contained in the piece (dance, vocals, instrumetns, films, art) and his work is clear, felt and appreciated. To me, this merely underscores the import of any and all actors having a true, refined sense of themselves in their bodies before ever setting foot upon a stage. It not only benefits the actor, but it's a service and courtesy to the audeince who has come to the theater to be moved not to be distracted by self-conscious, uninhabited performers.
Along similar lines, Kentridge in particular displayed a generosity of spirit that one hears so exalted in the acting world but not often realized. The way he shared the stage so comfortably with so many different perofrmers and was genuinely comitted to only to the piece but to giving his collabroators credit for their contributions was obvious and noted. This spirit, while perhaps innate or a product of age and wisdom, seems to also speak to a sense of self that comes out of some deeper inner work. But than again, since such work is deep and inner, what observer can say for certain. Regardless, something along said lines was salient and as it is rare, it was appreciated.
Writers have often taught that strictly political writing--since politics inevitably changes in some ostensible fashion--has a limited shelf life. Politics might offer the backdrop, but the issues at stake need be more holistic and transcendent to ever be intelligible--let alone meaningful--to those in the future. A very postmodern way of achieving such longevity, seems to me, this melting of forms and mixing of both the ancient and the contemporary, the sacred and the profane to offer something (un)cannily (un)familiar. Something that offers us a glimpse at our former, archetypal selves while also projecting a shadow of what's to come. If in no other way--not in its use of music and text or classical forms--Refuse the Hour proved epic and full in a way that, especially when compared to the works often heralded today, is indeed oepratic.