San Diego Fringe: Put Your Face On and Train of Thought

Put Your Face On. Touted as a parade into the complex human psyche, Put Your Face On is The Great Borealis & Pisces Dance Project’s two-part modern dance expose of the dark emotions that bubble under the superficial veneer of social expectation.

With expressions as plastic as your average Stepford Wife, the performance begins with two women fluttering about the stage. They drop party favors, throw balloons, and dress themselves mechanically in similar outfits that mirror their movements.

A stark contrast to their pleasant grins and bright eyes, the complex movement is raw, at times impolite, and ultimately combative. The women move like matadors, then like toy dolls experiencing an electrical fritz. They taunt, fight, and eventually break down. Though violent, it’s quite beautiful.

Act two plays up the circus-like spectacle of objectification. Three dancers in animal masks watch a four titillate her voyeurs. Two more dancers, in nude bodysuits with cartoonishly adorned genitalia, join in.

The second half is full of levels. While one dances solo, others move in unison. Floor-work, reminiscent of yoga practice, and a cross-fit workout remind the audience of the rigid regimen that’s the flipside of beauty.

While each dancer gets his or her moment to shine, they are all — quite literally, thanks to clever choreography with beauty salon cloaks – consumed by their internal struggles for perfection.

Though it gets off to a slow start, the performance is what it sets out to be: thought-provoking.

Train of Thought. A three-part drama, from first-time playwright Anna Sarao, combines dance, dialogue, and spoken word poetry to unravel the truth behind personal loss.

Elaine (Melissa Adao) and Lina (Michelle Camaya) are estranged sisters worlds apart after tragedy strikes close to home. Elaine searches for Lina. Lina searches for peace. Each performs a close examination of her pain.

The cast of characters aboard a train includes an extrovert dancer, a shy art student, a chatty divorcee, and an Instagram-addicted young man. Each has a story of loss.

The expository dialogue is a bit unrealistic, even if helpful for understanding. Sarao also uses dance and poetry, which save the production from being weighed down by one-dimensional dialogue.

Two dance sequences beautifully translate Lina’s internal struggles. The first shows her caught between bamboo-wielding combatants keeping her from loved ones. When she breaks through, the visual catharsis is stunning.

After the emotional climax comes an in-your-face piece of spoken word poetry, “Resolution.” It laundry-lists the digital annoyances that disconnect us in what should be an age of endless connection.