The San Francisco Ethnic Dance Festival wound up its 30th anniversary season Sunday afternoon, almost levitating on its success. This month, a fourth weekend of mainstage concerts was added to the schedule of events at the Palace of Fine Arts Theater; and they, like the earlier shows, were virtual sell-outs. The festival’s executive director, Julie Mushet, reports that the ancillary events (film screenings, workshops) were also well attended. The festival’s accomplishment, both financially and in terms of general visibility, is a tribute both to Mushet and her staff and to the Northern California multicultural community. Thirty-six companies danced in this year’s festival (many of them selected in open audition last winter), and whatever one might have thought of the execution by a specific group, every one that I saw (which was half of the bunch) gave the impression that this was a very big deal, as much privilege as recognition for work well done. That almost all entrants this year were accompanied by live musicians, many of them imported and many of them masterly, points the way to the project’s fourth decade. More, please.
Still, we must face a few facts. You can’t attend this festival as if you were an ethnographer. Whatever a dance may have looked like in a village square in Luzon, it will look different in a San Francisco theater with lighting from a source other than the sun. So, while authenticity matters, a purist mindset will drive you batty.
Second, this festival is not now and never will be a genuinely professional undertaking. Yes, there are troupes who have appeared and danced with a complete air of professionalism. But the palm really goes to the company director who can make a group of committed amateurs look like professionals. When that doesn’t happen, the Ethnic Dance Festival can be something of an ordeal. You sympathize with these folks who have labored long in their casual weekend hours. You can’t deny the effort and the immense good will on the part of all the performers, yet it would be critically dishonest to ignore or overlook companies that, in some way do not measure up. You would abrogate your critical responsibility with unmitigated praise and you would do more harm than good. The last thing that the SFEDF needs is apologists.
Halau O Keikiali’i. Photo by RJ Muna.
So, let me say that the program seen Saturday afternoon (June 28) did not add up to one of the more memorable festival experiences. True, I did make a few discoveries, the kind of pleasant surprises that keeps one returning annually. Fuego Nuevo Ballet Folklórico Mexicano is a first time visitor, but I’d suspect they’ll be back in a future season. Directed by José Luis Juarez, the group offered dances from Vera Cruz in the Son Jarocho style. The white suits and crinolines worn by the performers suggested a festival day, the music supplied by four guitarists and a sole harpist was captivating and the zapateado inscribed by both men and women in heels got the juices flowing.
Of note, too, was Hawaii-inspired Halau O Keikiali’i. No choreographer was listed in the program, but whoever devised the group dance, a pattern of short movement and vocal phrases building contrapuntally, is something of a genius. The costuming, which was fabricated from indigenous materials, grown and tinted by members of the San Francisco-based company, was eye-catching, and the sole (unnamed) singer-drummer was all you needed to evoke a world of wonders.
The sheer spunk exhibited by Alafia Dance Ensemble in the Haitian style was disarming, as were the women’s pirate costuming and the pelvic thrusts of the performers. An added attraction was a Vodou sequence performed by Group Petit La Croix, and famed Bay Area dancer-teacher Blanche Brown. The luxuriant costuming for the six dancers of the Indonesia-focused Gadung Kasturi made the mouth water and the live Gamelan orchestra conjured sublime percussion sounds. But I would have appreciated more flexibility in the poses and gestures of the masked performers in their parable of the forces of dark and light.
Gadung Kasturi. Photo by RJ Muna.
Of the others, Chhandam Youth Dance Company, a part of Pandit Chitresh Das’ growing empire and directed by his star dancer Charlotte Moraga, was seen in a group number and these young women communicated the rhythm complexities and dramatic spins of Kathak to varying degrees. Hiyas Philippine Folk Dance Company fashioned a narrative about crab fishermen but the traditional bamboo stick dance looked a bit sluggish. And one hoped for more of a cumulative buzz from the three flipping couples of ABADÁ-Capoeira Performance Troupe.
Sometimes, you need to remind yourself that San Francisco’s is an ethnic dance festival, and we must define ethnic, occasionally, as anything that derives from a particular people. The only two companies who performed to recorded, rather than live music were Yaoyong Dance and Collagewest Dance Theatre. These both turned out to be polished, synthetic, commercial entertainments, nightclub exotica for weary tourists. Yaoyong cavorted sinuously with red sashes and blue cloths to the sound of John Williams brass and heavenly choirs and you had to wonder if Hollywood was an undiscovered province of China. Collagewest devotes itself to the various movement styles of Turkey, but the line dancing in their number recalled one of those traveling Michael Flatley shows. Maybe, they can tour as Bosporus Dance. I could be wrong, but I find it hard to believe that traditional Anatolian dance looks as slick as these 24 performers make it appear. I’ll take the village festival any time.
