Clytemnestra, performed by the Martha Graham Dance Company, Skirball Center of Performing Arts
It didn’t matter that silence helped to puncture the chest of Clytemnestra as her son, Orestes, stabbed her in the heart. The lack of soundtrack amplified the dancers’ breathing. Waif-like Clytemnestra gasped for air. Percussion was maintained when the dancers smacked their thighs and stomped on the ground. The audience held its breath—shocked by the silence and the seamless intensity of emotion and movement on stage. Intermittent static: the soundtrack returned, stopped, returned again with an obnoxious presence that ruled out any notion that these pauses were intended. The technical malfunction provided an avenue for chatter as those on nervous trysts exited the venue, relieved to have a conversational prompt.
Writhing and contractions—those are the movements I imagine when I think of Martha Graham. Clytemnestra did not disappoint. The set was stark with blanched, abstract forms, like the melted debris you might find in a Dali painting. The costumes were flowing and “primitive”—adhering to the modern mode of “primitivism” when global, indigenous designs added exotic turbulence to Eurocentric standards of art. The props were sparse and awkward, including a weapon that looked too bulbous to be a threat. Characters effectively horrified the audience with contorted facial expressions at the culmination of rape, betrayal, and murder.
Watch a video of one of the rehearsals for the dance—this is the character Cassandra prophesying death and destruction:
(I discovered this video on The Clytemnestra Project website)
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