YOSHIKO CHUMA WITH DAGHDHA DANCE COMPANY.

PREDICTABLY, PLEASINGLY UNPREDICTABLE YOSHIKO CHUMA WITH DAGHDHA DANCE COMPANY THE 92ND STREET Y DANCE PROJECT THE DUKE ON 42ND STREET NEW YORK, NEW YORK MARCH 21, 22, 24, 25, 2001

Yoshiko Chuma lives in New York, but she's best known for creating dances born of cultural exchange. Her overseas grants and commissions implicitly require it of her. Yet what's most striking about Chuma's choreography is not any detectable multi-ethnic flavor but the fact that one can scarcely recognize its origins. Last year's Reverse Psychology: Agenda I--Japan was a tortured and occasionally baffling work, involving ragtag dancers moving wildly in and out of a giant cube frame; only a few glints of Noh slowness gave any clue that the piece was intended as an exploration of postwar Japan. Chuma's stubborn abstruseness has alienated some critics, but it continues to inform her sense of theater and may be the only thing one can continue to expect from her.

As if to prove her unpredictability, Chuma became the resident artistic director of Ireland's Daghdha Dance Company last year. She and her five dancers premiered IN GEAR: Reverse Psychology, Agenda H in the U.S. during the 92nd Street Y's Harkness Dance Project. The familiar cube frame made another appearance, yet unlike in Agenda I, the dancers moved in supple, rhythmic phrases. There was strength behind their movements, and also softness, as if every step and turn of the shoulder carried an Irish lilt. (Treva Offutt was a consultant on a few step-dancing passages.) They were independent, yet aware of one another, so it was fascinating to watch their social interactions. One dancer crawled on all fours while another rested a foot on her back; another vaulted through the cube as the others slowly turned it over. Occasionally, they coupled, then disengaged, or gathered together within the cube. Metaphors for friendship, enemies, lovers? The piece began with a countdown of minutes and used clocks as occasional props, and was performed to Marc Ribot's melange of subterranean noises, jazz, and clock-ticking; nevertheless, it had a timeless and place-less quality. I could have watched it for hours.

May I Have This Dance?, on the other hand, lacked nuance and depth. The evening's opening piece was an exploration of how musicians relate and respond to their instruments. In this case, six bassists in red suits performed both James Sellars's minimalist music and Chuma's choreography, and neither very well. Their activities largely involved playing a bit off-key while raising their bows sharply in the air, spinning around the sheet music which lay at their feet, and frequently picking up and moving or even lifting above their heads their impressive, burnt-chestnut double basses. We have seen music physically illustrated before--and far more effectively--by non-dancers, like the violinist Nadja Salerno-Sonnenberg, in concert. Mostly, one spends a great deal of time worrying about the abuse being dealt those double basses, which, it is plausible to surmise, cost more than this entire production's budget.