Philly Fringe 2018: Trajal Harrell's 'Caen Amour'

More specifically, Caen Amour simultaneously stages and questions conventions of "hoochie-coochie dance." Hoochie-coochie is associated with exoticized movement, music, and costumes, from scantily clad performers to watered-down versions of belly dance to the tune many know as the “snake-charmer song.” Harrell’s title is inspired by the silly-yet-titillating names of hoochie-coochie shows of the past, which enjoyed tremendous popularity in the United States from the late 1890s until the 1980s.

There are some good reasons to consider the legacy of hoochie-coochie now. Internet pornography may have supplanted live performances like hoochie-coochie, which are neither burlesque nor striptease. However, 21st-century challenges to once-entrenched hierarchies of eurocentrism, race, gender, class, sexual orientation, and power invite investigation of the origins of othering. Hoochie-coochie dance is one of those origins. Equally important, Harrell argues that hoochie-coochie inspired modern dance.

Echoes of Graham

Caen Amour clearly grappled with these themes in its most powerful sections. For instance, the connection between modern dance and hoochie-coochie was easy to see in a repeated vignette with a dancer wearing a costume that appeared to be two identical skirts. One draped the dancer’s lower body, while the other covered his face, head, and upper body. As I watched, I thought of Martha Graham’s famous 1930 solo "Lamentation," which is performed by a dancer ensconced in a fabric tube.

The show often used costumes to raise expectations and stereotypes based on gender, race, ethnicity, and nation. A fully clothed dancer held a blazer before him like a lover or a dance partner as he performed mincing footwork and shoulder shimmies suggestive of exotic dance.

Another dancer draped a pair of pants over his shirt as if it were a vest. Later, a female dancer wore a blanket as a dress and carried a bundle on her head. In addition, skirts were worn on heads, scarves were fashioned into turbans, and fabric was draped into garments resembling niqabs and belly-dance costumes.

Through these uses of fabric, Caen Amour demonstrated that clothing has political and social power. This marks individuals and groups, correctly or incorrectly, and stratifies them.

Hoochie in the front, coochie in the back

I found myself wishing the piece had sustained its focus on examining and questioning how hoochie-coochie dance engaged with othering, appropriation, and exploitation even as it spread watered-down versions of cultural traditions and influenced other forms of expression.

At times, what was happening in the theater seemed unrelated to hoochie-coochie. For example, a performer planted in the audience sang “My Mother Gave Me a Penny” before welcoming the crowd, distributing the choreographer’s notes, and outlining some rules for the show.

She explained that the “hoochie” is in the front, while the “coochie” is in the back. In addition to watching what happened onstage, during certain sections the audience could move to the back of the set to see what the dancers were doing there.

Yet it appeared that Caen Amour had begun before this welcome: as the audience entered the space, Harrell danced what looked like an improvised solo — not in hoochie-coochie style or costume — to songs by Al Green, Sade, and Kate Bush. Indeed, it was hard to pinpoint when the performance began.

While it was interesting to watch dancers backstage during a show, seeing them change costumes or perform bits of movement did not enhance my understanding of or appreciation for hoochie-coochie.

Important development

Caen Amour would have been more effective if it had woven its loose strands into a more cohesive tapestry. Harrell explained that he cast mostly male dancers to perform as women in order to raise questions about the performance of gender and the relationship between hoochie-coochie and other art forms, but not enough time was spent on these compelling issues.

Despite the performance’s thoughtful deconstruction of relationships between dance, masculinity, and femininity, I was troubled that the only dancer to appear nude was female. Especially because this nudity occurred several times, it worked to reinforce rather than challenge gendered expectations of hoochie-coochie, sexuality, and power.

Nonetheless, Caen Amour is an entertaining, thought-provoking work of dance-theater with plenty to say, an immersive experience that takes on big, complex ideas while connecting past with present.

Other shows in this year’s Fringe lineup do this, such as the Bearded Ladies Cabaret’s Do You Want a Cookie?, as did Taylor Mac’s 2018 PIFA entry, A 24-Decade History of Popular Music. In this way, Caen Amour participates in and contributes to what looks to be an important, resonant development in 21st-century performance.