Latest news with #Gigenis
Yahoo
26-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Opinion - What Trump will never understand about the Kennedy Center
As one of the foremost performing arts institutions in the country, the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts in Washington has long provided a voice to the country that is hard to distinguish ideologically. The Trump administration's hostile takeover aims to change that. In February, Trump fired the Kennedy Center's leadership and appointed himself chair. He wishes to end DEI and 'woke' programming and instead showcase classics. Many artists canceled. Others stayed, noting that art speaks for itself. Last week, the administration fired more senior officials there, and the ones who have stayed note they live in fear. Two instances, one involving an 'avant-garde' program and the other a traditional one, provide counterpoints to Trump's unpolished maneuvers at the Center. On the avant-garde, this month the Center presented the celebrated British-Bangladeshi choreographer-dancer Akram Khan's retelling of the classic Indian epic the Mahabharata in 70 minutes of spell-binding dance. Khan's choreography and music blend several classical Indian genres. The avant-garde lies in pushing the boundaries of the old to create something new. Like every other place on earth, the 'puritans' in India can often be heard complaining when their notion of the 'classical' changes. To the Kennedy Center audiences, Khan represents globalized arts. Like foreign-manufactured goods in a tariffs-obsessed Washington, that label might itself make people think that Khan's dance forms with non-white people are part of DEI. Khan's Mahabharata is called 'Gigenis.' The title comes from Greek mythology, meaning earth-born. Khan's genius: Indian classical dance is earth-bound, while in Western ballet feet take flight. In signaling Greek mythology and in re-presenting an Indian epic, we expect a drama of epic proportions. Khan's program notes explain the Mahabharata as a story about a 'family breaking up because they want power. I used that idea to revisit that old story of what power and greed can do to a family and what it can do to people.' We reflect on epics like we reflect on our families. After the passions, wars and killings, we are left wondering about our history. We look back at the Homeric myths the same way that we see Mahabharata. We see our heroics and frailties in these epics. Storytellers — be they filmmakers, novelists or choreographers — provide the contemporary meanings. They contain multitudes. Let's now turn to something traditional: opera. The Kennedy Center continually presents some of the most conservative performances of opera anywhere in the world, foremost in its stage and artistic directions. Characters in 'Macbeth' appear in vaguely Scottish costumes, Madama Butterfly wears a kimono and characters in 'Tosca' wear what we think they wore in 19th-century Rome. One would be hard put to find such performances anywhere in the opera strongholds of Berlin, Paris or New York Every now and then, the Kennedy Center breaks out of its shell to present new works, such as the current offering of an opera about Steve Jobs, or an earlier opera about drones in warfare, are examples. These are American stories, and the Kennedy Center is the appropriate place to premier them. Opera — like all art — in 21st century must create new meanings, sometimes through the insights of critical theory (there, I said it, even though libertarians such as myself recoil from it). In this vein, Edward Said, one of the founders of critical theory, notes in his essay about Verdi's 'Aida' that although this opera was written as an imperial project for the opening of the Suez Canal, knowing its politics need not deter us from enjoying the music. Edward Said himself paved the way. With the Jewish conductor Daniel Barenboim, he founded the Barenboim-Said Academy in Berlin after creating the Divan Orchestra, which brings together Israeli, Palestinian and Middle Eastern musicians. This is the Said who taught in the Middle East Studies department at Columbia University and has so rankled Trump's allegedly pro-Jewish sympathies. The Said-Barenboim academy finds new meanings in Wagner, Hitler's favorite composer, who was mostly banned in Israel for decades. The Robert Bosch Academy, where I am a fellow, is located opposite the Said-Barenboim Academy in Berlin. The fellows met with Barenboim himself a few years ago. I asked Barenboim how he found music in Wagner and other composers when his dear friend Said found politics. He looked at me intently and said, 'We disagreed on that sometimes. I always find the music.' Barenboim's statement could mean that he saw more than critical theory in music. Most of us would agree. We should also reflect on the fact that a Jewish conductor was eager to play Wagner, while his Palestinian critical theorist friend would hesitate. Art is almost always pluralistic and polysemic. Trump's ideas of 'non-woke' programming will be a failure, foremost because institutions like the Kennedy Center have always presented the traditional even when presenting the avant-garde. To go to the right of the traditional is the path toward cultural fascism. President Kennedy's legacy to our country is bedecked with quotes from him. One of them reads, 'And I look forward to an America which commands respect throughout the world not only for its strength but for its civilization as well. And I look forward to a world which will be safe not only for democracy and diversity but also for personal distinction.' Trump's performative spectacles, like his hostile takeover of the Kennedy Center, are almost always crude pronouncements of undemocratic strength. To have a poet or a singer sing his song, he would need to show some art or grace. With the subtlety of Attila the Hun, Trump is unlikely to deliver. J.P. Singh is Distinguished University Professor at Schar School of Policy and Government at George Mason University and Richard von Weizsäcker Fellow with the Robert Bosch Academy (Berlin). He is co-editor-in-chief of Global Perspectives. Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
The Hill
26-04-2025
- Entertainment
- The Hill
What Trump will never understand about the Kennedy Center
As one of the foremost performing arts institutions in the country, the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts in Washington has long provided a voice to the country that is hard to distinguish ideologically. The Trump administration's hostile takeover aims to change that. In February, Trump fired the Kennedy Center's leadership and appointed himself chair. He wishes to end DEI and 'woke' programming and instead showcase classics. Many artists canceled. Others stayed, noting that art speaks for itself. Last week, the administration fired more senior officials there, and the ones who have stayed note they live in fear. Two instances, one involving an 'avant-garde' program and the other a traditional one, provide counterpoints to Trump's unpolished maneuvers at the Center. On the avant-garde, this month the Center presented the celebrated British-Bangladeshi choreographer-dancer Akram Khan's retelling of the classic Indian epic the Mahabharata in 70 minutes of spell-binding dance. Khan's choreography and music blend several classical Indian genres. The avant-garde lies in pushing the boundaries of the old to create something new. Like every other place on earth, the 'puritans' in India can often be heard complaining when their notion of the 'classical' changes. To the Kennedy Center audiences, Khan represents globalized arts. Like foreign-manufactured goods in a tariffs-obsessed Washington, that label might itself make people think that Khan's dance forms with non-white people are part of DEI. Khan's Mahabharata is called 'Gigenis.' The title comes from Greek mythology, meaning earth-born. Khan's genius: Indian classical dance is earth-bound, while in Western ballet feet take flight. In signaling Greek mythology and in re-presenting an Indian epic, we expect a drama of epic proportions. Khan's program notes explain the Mahabharata as a story about a 'family breaking up because they want power. I used that idea to revisit that old story of what power and greed can do to a family and what it can do to people.' We reflect on epics like we reflect on our families. After the passions, wars and killings, we are left wondering about our history. We look back at the Homeric myths the same way that we see Mahabharata. We see our heroics and frailties in these epics. Storytellers — be they filmmakers, novelists or choreographers — provide the contemporary meanings. They contain multitudes. Let's now turn to something traditional: opera. The Kennedy Center continually presents some of the most conservative performances of opera anywhere in the world, foremost in its stage and artistic directions. Characters in 'Macbeth' appear in vaguely Scottish costumes, Madama Butterfly wears a kimono and characters in 'Tosca' wear what we think they wore in 19th-century Rome. One would be hard put to find such performances anywhere in the opera strongholds of Berlin, Paris or New York Every now and then, the Kennedy Center breaks out of its shell to present new works, such as the current offering of an opera about Steve Jobs, or an earlier opera about drones in warfare, are examples. These are American stories, and the Kennedy Center is the appropriate place to premier them. Opera — like all art — in 21st century must create new meanings, sometimes through the insights of critical theory (there, I said it, even though libertarians such as myself recoil from it). In this vein, Edward Said, one of the founders of critical theory, notes in his essay about Verdi's 'Aida' that although this opera was written as an imperial project for the opening of the Suez Canal, knowing its politics need not deter us from enjoying the music. Edward Said himself paved the way. With the Jewish conductor Daniel Barenboim, he founded the Barenboim-Said Academy in Berlin after creating the Divan Orchestra, which brings together Israeli, Palestinian and Middle Eastern musicians. This is the Said who taught in the Middle East Studies department at Columbia University and has so rankled Trump's allegedly pro-Jewish sympathies. The Said-Barenboim academy finds new meanings in Wagner, Hitler's favorite composer, who was mostly banned in Israel for decades. The Robert Bosch Academy, where I am a fellow, is located opposite the Said-Barenboim Academy in Berlin. The fellows met with Barenboim himself a few years ago. I asked Barenboim how he found music in Wagner and other composers when his dear friend Said found politics. He looked at me intently and said, 'We disagreed on that sometimes. I always find the music.' Barenboim's statement could mean that he saw more than critical theory in music. Most of us would agree. We should also reflect on the fact that a Jewish conductor was eager to play Wagner, while his Palestinian critical theorist friend would hesitate. Art is almost always pluralistic and polysemic. Trump's ideas of 'non-woke' programming will be a failure, foremost because institutions like the Kennedy Center have always presented the traditional even when presenting the avant-garde. To go to the right of the traditional is the path toward cultural fascism. President Kennedy's legacy to our country is bedecked with quotes from him. One of them reads, 'And I look forward to an America which commands respect throughout the world not only for its strength but for its civilization as well. And I look forward to a world which will be safe not only for democracy and diversity but also for personal distinction.' Trump's performative spectacles, like his hostile takeover of the Kennedy Center, are almost always crude pronouncements of undemocratic strength. To have a poet or a singer sing his song, he would need to show some art or grace. With the subtlety of Attila the Hun, Trump is unlikely to deliver.
New York Times
11-02-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
A Dark Tale for a Dark Time, Told Through Indian Classical Dance
A woman advances out of the darkness and begins to move her arms with violent force, as if slashing and stabbing an opponent we can't see. She reaches down, seemingly pulling out her victim's entrails and holding them over her face, which is contorted in a masklike grimace. This is the terrifying opening to the choreographer Akram Khan's 'Gigenis: The Generation of the Earth' (2024), coming to the Joyce Theater this week. The piece is a loosely inspired, pared-down version of the story of Gandhari from the Indian epic the Mahabharata. Gandhari, a queen, loses her sons in a brutal war brought on by their outsize ambitions. In 'Gigenis,' which Khan both directed and performs in, he plays one of the sons, killed by his brother. It is a story, Khan said, that hits close to home. 'I mean, the world is in a state of war,' he said in a phone interview from London, where he lives with his wife and three young children. 'We just don't know it, or we choose not to acknowledge it.' 'We try not to talk about it because it just ruins the day,' he added. 'Gigenis,' whose title refers to a tribe of giants in ancient Greek myth, is a dark work for a dark time. But it's also one that brings Khan, 50, back to a story he has engaged with since his earliest days as a performer. At just 13, he was cast in Peter Brook's nine-hour stage production of the Mahabharata. 'It changed my life and the way I saw the world,' said Khan, whose family is from Bangladesh. He has since made a handful of pieces, including 'Gnosis' (2009) and 'Until the Lions' (2016), that deal with themes from the Mahabharata. One of the lessons he said he took from Brook is an interest in universality. 'The loss of a child,' Khan said, 'no matter what culture you are from, you can at least identify with it.' The other is a desire to tap into storytelling and genuine expression, or as he said, 'not to act, but to be.' It was something he said he had found missing recently in contemporary dance, his arena since the late '90s. (He has also worked in ballet; his 2016 reimagining of 'Giselle' was a hit for the English National Ballet.) Recently, though, he said he felt drawn back to classical Indian dance, which he trained in as a child in London and in India. It is a tradition rich in stories. Though his early training was in the classical dance form Kathak, Khan said he long felt like an outsider in that world. 'When I was training in India, I always felt like a foreigner being from England, and I could see the way people looked at me,' he wrote in a recent email. 'It was quite demoralizing.' Since 2019, he and his close collaborator Mavin Khoo have led three residencies, in Britain, India and Sri Lanka, for Indian and South Asian dancers. This was new for Khan. 'I've not really committed myself to working with Indian dancers until recently,' he said. 'And I thought, well hang on, let me just have a look at my own classical form.' It was at a residency held in 2022 in Kumbakonam, in the southern state of Tamil Nadu, that he met the dancers he would cast in 'Gigenis.' Four of the seven, including Khoo, specialize in Bharatanatyam, perhaps the most commonly practiced classical form. The youngest, Sirikalyani Adkoli, 18, is an Odissi dancer, a student at Nrityagram, a training center near Bangalore, whose ensemble regularly visits New York. (Adkoli was only 15 at the time of the residency.) Venu is a second-generation practitioner of Kutiyattam, an ancient form of Sanskrit theater from Kerala. (In 2012, she performed a solo evening at the Asia Society in New York City.) 'I don't really identify as a dancer,' Venu said in a recent video call from Zurich, where she was visiting family. 'I've always thought of myself as an actor.' But Kutiyattam performances include movement, music (mainly drumming), singing and mime — as well as extremely vivid costumes and makeup. In 'Gigenis,' she, like the others, does without these. 'It creates an interesting kind of vulnerability,' she said. Venu, an intensely physical and dramatic artist, is the performer who opens the piece with that terrifying solo. 'In my mind,' she said, 'it represents the monstrosity of war, and how violence begets violence.' Inspired by the residency at Kumbakonam, Khan originally planned to present a festival of Indian dance. But as he and the others began a rehearsal period in Italy last year, he realized he wanted them to come together to tell a single story, each performer using his or her style of Indian dance. The dancers brought material, which Khan — credited as director, not choreographer — edited and wove together into an impressionistic narrative about a woman (a queen, a mother, a wife) looking back on her life. 'It was really instinctual,' Khan said, 'a process of trial and error, trial and error. As we went along, my idea of what I was looking for continually changed.' And though he had not planned to dance in it — he has pulled back from performing the punishing evening-length solos he was once known for — he found himself drawn into the action. At its center is Venu. As the protagonist, she conjures and observes the others, who enact scenes from her life. She mourns the death of her husband and crowns one of her sons (Khoo). The other son, played by Khan, is consumed by ambition. Their conflict leads to war, violence and more death. In adapting Gandhari's story from the Mahabharata, he drew from several sources, ancient and new. One may be surprising: the TV show 'Succession.' 'I'd say it's the closest one could get to the Mahabharata today, excluding the religious part of course,' he said. 'Fundamentally it's about human flaws and the human desire for power. It's always easy to hate each other.'
