Dear & Yonder at the Red Vic (12/19/09)

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I sat down to watch Dear & Yonder, a documentary about female surfers by local filmmakers Tiffany Campbell and Andria Lessler. Yes, I did expect water. And ladies on surfboards. But my main exposure to surf films has been docs that hold up surfers as supermen; I wasn’t quite prepared for the transcendent experience that ensued.

Dear & Yonder’s intro is a takeoff on the opening segment of Riding Giants, a 2004 documentary on big wave riders. While Riding Giants’  whimsical overview of surf history features nary a woman, Dear & Yonder’s version playfully highlights influential female surfers. It seems to smile at the male-centric version of the surfing experience, and move on to its own purpose.  

What follows is a series of glimpses into the lives of female surfers and one group of skaters. Shot in beautiful 16mm and featuring a contemplative soundtrack, lots of slow motion surf shots, and a sense of humor, the film conveys the meditative, transformative aspects of surfing. Absent are the crowds. Competition is minimal.  There’s less the sense that the surfers are conquering nature than enjoying it.   

There’s a sweet piece on Davis family day at the beach, in which the parents taking turns surfing while the other watches their young son. There’s a fun story about a group of girls on a surf junket to Mexico. We meet Belinda Baggs, a longboarder who sews her own boardshorts out of recycled fabrics. Ashley Lloyd, a board shaper who uses environmentally friendly biofoam blanks. Liz Clark, a surfer attempting to sail solo around the world, in search of waves.  Young surf stars on tour. A group of girls shredding the pavement in Arizona. Though the skating segment felt a bit incongruous, there was something joyful about watching them.   

Wozzeck at YBCA: A Terrible Delight (01/30/10)

 Why, why, why did Ensemble Parallèle’s Wozzeck only run at YBCA for two evenings?  The production, with a reorchestrated score by John Rea, was a terrible delight. I left the theater a little stunned, wishing I could see it again. 

Of course, I’m a sucker for early 20th century opera: atonal, intensely psychological, dark. And Wozzeck is a prime example of such. The title character is a low-ranking soldier subject to paranoid delusions. At the mercy of his brutal captain and a psychotic doctor who performs inhumane experiment on him for pay, Wozzeck barely seems to make it through the scenes.

So troubled is Wozzeck that he can barely interact with his beloved, only hand money to her and flit off, all but ignoring their illegitimate child. Marie, said beloved, soon finds solace in the arms of a dashing drum major. Beaten down by society (society!), and goaded into a jealous rage by the doctor and captain, Wozzeck kills Marie. And it’s based on a true story. Aaand Berg served in the Austrian Army during WWI, so surely some painful real-life experiences underlie the opera. What’s not to love?

Ensemble Parallèle’s Wozzeck was engrossing.  The production was even and the pacing was smooth, allowing the great psychological force of the opera to emerge. Conductor Nicole Paiment directed the musicians beautifully; the lush, atonal score seemed to breathe with the singers. Versatile bass-baritone Bojan Knezevic portrayed Wozzeck with the right amount of desperation and restraint. Soprano Patricia Green put in a solid turn as Marie. And John Bischoff was especially memorable as the First Apprentice, though other singers turned in bright performances.