Winifred Haun & Dancers in “Press on, regardless.” Photo: Matthew Gregory Hollis.
For those of us who thirst for live art to refresh our hearts and imaginations, immersive, quenching oases remain far in the distance—although perhaps this fall is not a mirage—but we continue on with sips from laptop-shaped canteens that occasionally pour small draughts of surprising refreshment. Winifred Haun & Dancers short film “Press on, regardless,” now streaming on demand, contains a few such moments, offered in a gentle spirit of encouragement and hope. Shot onstage, backstage and in the audience risers of Links Hall, the seven dancers of the company appear, masked, in scenes bathed in rose and purple hues designed by Jacob Snodgrass, dancing sometimes to silence, sometimes to solo piano or a rhythmic score by Michael Wall. The opening shot introduces the dancers one at a time in crossfades, shot through a backstage doorway in a sequence reminiscent of Irene Hsiao’s “A Score for Your Door.” The company members progress through the Links Hall green room in a repeated movement sequence captured from an angle and with image quality that looks a lot like, and might be security camera footage, as though we’re getting a candid peek backstage. This sequence returns twice more between other scenes as if to suggest, “Meanwhile, backstage, this continues.”
The full company dances together onstage—and it’s amazing how seven bodies now seem like a crowd—progressing across the floor, then appearing lined up along a back wall splashed in purple shadows as the frame narrows to a letterbox format. Some faster leaps and spins in the group sequences are lost due to choppy video quality, but invoking the viewer’s serenity prayer for virtual performance—the wisdom to know the difference between what the choreographer can and cannot change—pays off. The changes in camera angles between scenes, the length of scenes—short enough for home screen attention spans, long enough to let a moment breathe—create a rhythmic arc that draws the viewer in for the fifteen-minute performance.
The final scene begins with a duet; the dancers lay on the floor on their sides, with their feet touching the wall, seen from directly overhead, creating the illusion that they can defy gravity. This isn’t the first time this playful use of video has appeared in a dance show, but Haun & Dancers’ slow buildup from crouching tiptoe-walks up a partner’s back to spacewalk backflips keeps the technique fresh and delightful, and serves as a reminder that magic can still happen, even during a year in quarantine.
The end credits include a quote from Maya Angelou: “Hope and fear cannot occupy the same space. Invite one to stay.” A post-credit cookie filmed in the Links Hall-Constellation bar invites hope to pull up a stool and look to the day we can quench our thirst for dance and good company in person.
