On the night of February 24th, the stage in Wilder Main was set for a captivating performance. Sheets of turf were laid with comfy-looking pillows in front of the rows of chairs lining the perimeter of the room, as if UNUM were going to be some kind of cheerful picnic. Instead, the audience got an intense, fraught emotional journey.
UNUM is Conservatory student Arturo Orso’s innovative multimedia opus, a tour-de-force involving a team of dozens: composers from the TIMARA department, dancers, CINE 322 students, instrumentalists, the Now Chorale, and various directors. The performance accomplished an impressive amount in one hour. It comprised six movements, all working within one spare but dynamic set consisting of three folding panels covered in semi-opaque canvas and a cylinder hung with the same material.
Vibrant, changing colors — blue, purple, red, with the latter evoking the imagery of viscera — were projected onto the canvases. There were disturbing natural sounds rippling throughout the room. More serene aquatic sounds were eventually spliced in, creating an intoxicating contrast. Dancers Olive Raymond, Marta Abrams, and Ella Bezkorovainy then entered the fold in understated, elegant white costumes, lifting up the panels in their first interaction with the set.
The dancers first seemed to be experiencing some kind of reanimation. Their motions then began to resemble fighting as they pushed each other by the shoulders. Their expressive movements combined with their stoic expressions was unsettling, especially against the sinister ambience of the backdrop.
A lone drummer, Sasha Paris-Carter, entered the scene, surrounded by the three dancers each sitting still. The drum was covered by a tablecloth. Paris-Carter’s drumming gradually became more aggressive and erratic, eventually interspersed with screeches. The dancers circled around them, moving inward until they uncovered the drum, using the cloth to create a kind of shield before suspending Abrams in the sheet. They struggled against each other in rhythm as the drumming intensified until Paris-Carter was left alone, shrieking mournfully.
The tension was released as the stage emptied. The room filled with tranquil, melodic guitar and strings as Bezkorovainy entered. With some struggle, they began lifting the panels back up in an effort to rebuild after the grief of the previous movement. Raymond and then Abrams entered and did the same. The dancers stepped partially behind their respective panels, appearing to embrace their silhouettes. The ominous, atonal noise resumed as they twirled into view. Bezkorovainy and Abrams were bathed in warm light as they passed Raymond back and forth. The noise became distorted, then there was silence as the dancers rolled out a large, glossy black sheet, almost like rolling out a red carpet — did this have any significance?
Instrumentalists Fae Ordaz and Penina Biddle-Gottesman stepped into the fray, connected by the two parts of their shared instrument harnessed to their waists. This device — they called it “String Thing #2” — was composed of wood, cigar boxes, harpsichord strings, and guitar pegs. They began by plucking, then shifted to drones reminiscent of those of John Cage. Speaking of Cage, the entire production reminded me of Todd Haynes’s 2018 documentary on the Velvet Underground: the sound collaging, the chaotic visuals, the use of low drones, the potent and immersive atmosphere. This isn’t to say that UNUM is derivative — if anything, drawing this parallel gave it more dimension.
The dancers rose from the ground as if lifted by the noise, moving independently in different rhythms and adding to the dissonance created by the scraping of Biddle-Gottesman’s bow on the harpsichord strings. Then, they moved back towards each other erratically as Biddle-Gottesman and Ordaz remained steady, staring blankly. It was impossible to look away.
After Biddle-Gottesman and Ordaz exited, the dancers slowly piled onto each other, and a fourth dancer — Lindsey Chou — entered the scene. They pulled back and forth in sync, reminiscent of the empathizing rituals seen in Midsommar. They rose as the sounds of rushing water and mechanical clanking created tension. The aquatic sounds became digitally distorted as the dancers fell and crawled across the floor in search of an answer. Raymond pulled Abrams up by her head while Bezkorovainy moved independently. The sound — not atonal, but not quite melodic either — built until the water stilled. Raymond, Abrams, and Bezkorovainy stood in a triangle, swaying in place before the stage went dark. They ended the performance by twirling in sync — a touching final act of convergence.
Overall, UNUM was a remarkable experience. Though abstract, the storyline was emotionally potent — the dancers dispersed and reunited repeatedly, suggesting the chaos of interpersonal relationships. The densely textured sound design only added to this, evoking the intricate connection between human beings and the environment. I couldn’t have said it better than the online description of UNUM did: the performance embodied the “vibrating, layered nature of all things.”
thecounterpoint.org 