It’s rare to find a documentary dance film that follows the process and methods of the films subject. In most cases, documentary dance films have a beginning, middle and end, a narrative arc that introduces and follows a subject or several subjects, and reaches an apex, most often the performance, and then a denouement that wraps up the film with a nice bow tie conclusion – a successful show, lessons learned and a new direction based on the intense experience documented in the film. Cunningham: Moving From Then to Now is that rare bird, a dance documentary that is more an experiential process that in many ways follows the mind of Cunningham as we follow his career.
The film is shot and presented in the theater in 3d. Of note, this isn’t the first documentary filmed in 3D. Pina, a tribute to the life and work of Pina Bausch is a predecessor in this regard (and there may be others).
For the film Cunningham, the 3D experience grants audience members a lot of choices of things to look at. Often, content is layered, not just on a flat screen, but in terms of depth. An archival video clip plays in one third of the screen while text, images or archival notes are layered at various levels of depth. Merce Cunningham, like his artistic influence and lover John Cage, explored chance as a mechanism for opening up options within a dance work.
The film brings in and includes chance throughout its run time of 93 minutes. Whether it is the visual and auditory juxtapositions in the early part of the film or the filming of dances, which include extensive crane and steadycam work, there is no “objective” view in the film. The camera work does not “document” dances. The camera records dances, from above, from beside through crane movements or aerial footage. Dancers perform works while recordings of Merce’s interviews play over the top, and sometimes while the music previously selected for the dance plays as a layer supporting the spoken word.
The cover of his book Changes: Notes on Choreography is the featured image for this article to highlight that the style of overlays, down to the fonts selected for text overlay come directly from Cunningham’s extensive notes, sketches and journals created during the choreographic process. In one way, the film is a time based iteration of the choreographer’s own notes.
On the inside flap of the book is written, “Cunningham approaches the dance in terms of its primary elements – space, time and movement – and the source from which they spring – SILENCE. He further opens his work to the possibilities inherent in each element through CHANCE.” The film does a good job of following this theme.
In terms of narrative or story, the film begins when Cunningham was living in a New York loft with a tiny living space and a spartan dance area working on his own choreography. Merce describes offering his first class, where only one student showed up. He taught the class anyway.
This is a bit dramatic in context of his larger history. The film skips over his years performing with the Martha Graham dance company, not to mention of his study of dance in his youth or college where he already garnered some success and recognition. This can be forgiven as it’s not truly a biopic. By that I mean it is as much about the living tradition of Cunningham works as they are performed today as it is a history and walk through the artist’s work. The dramatic touch can also be forgiven because setting out in any new and untested direction can be, and often is, and in his case was, brutally hard. Yet, at the same time, he was not bereft of friends in the world of art. Cage, his partner and composer was already well known, and their concerts together drew audiences of the curious, if not outright celebration.
It is important to note that director/filmmaker Alla Kovgan included love letters between Cunningham and John Cage and included dancer interviews that talked about the humanity of the work – how the dances often came from personal traits and skills of the dancers before him. Often, Cunningham’s work is described as wholly impersonal, visual, intellectual, “post modern,” but this too was eschewed by the choreographer in interviews. Responding to a reporter who asked about the postmodern components of the work Cunningham responded, “I call myself a dancer. That is enough.”
Some of Cunningham’s most well known works like Rainforest are filmed beautifully. (The following performance is beautifully danced, but lacks the nuance of the rendition in the dance documentary created through the intimacy and inclusion of the camera within the dance space).
It does move sequentially through his history, and it ends with the dissolution of the original core group of dancers as Merce began to work more on large group projects such as his piece Summerspace
and Second Hand.
What is striking by the end of the film is how Cunningham’s art is a living tradition. Performed beautifully by companies around the globe, the Cunningham Trust is doing exceptional work at maintaining the legacy. One gets the sense that the contemporary performances captured in film are but a beautiful moment in a trajectory that maintains Merce Cunningham’s impact and influence on the direction of dance, experimentation and choreography for generations to come.
For those passionate about dance and the explosion of ideas in the 1950’s and 60’s in the art world, this film is a must see. Try to see it now, in a theater, while you can see it in 3D. Pina is available on streaming media, and it’s gorgeous, but the opportunity to see such films in 3D to then compare to a more traditional format later is worthwhile. Get your tickets while Cunningham: From Then to Now is still in theaters.