Bated Breath makes creative use of pandemic restrictions in a sidewalk promenade show
I haven’t been to the theatre since March. So I was excited to approach the corner of Christopher Street and 7th Ave to see my first live (non-virtual) show in Manhattan since the beginning of the pandemic, Voyeur: The Windows of Toulouse-Lautrec. Conceived and directed by Mara Lieberman and produced by the Bated Breath Theatre Company, this promenade show is a sibling to the site-specific production which ran at the bar Madame X under the title Unmaking Toulouse-Lautrec in pre-COVID times. I was worried how the intimacy of a dimly-lit cabaret, with dramatic acting and the theatrical magic of working with props would translate to the mostly outdoor “pandemic-friendly theatrical walking tour,” considering the hustle and bustle of New York City streets, the need to keep social distancing, and that the performers would be masked. I will just briefly say that Voyeur: The Windows of Toulouse-Lautrec exceeded my expectations and was successful because it embraced the circumstances of our challenging times.
I find that Greenwich Village is buzzing on a Friday night in October. Standing in front of the chalk-drawn “Bonjour” on the pavement, the starting place of the tour, I couldn’t stop turning my head in all directions. There are live music and dancing in Christopher Park behind me; dog-walkers, runners, and skate-boarders are taking advantage of the closed-off streets; and outdoor diners are enjoying the last warm days of the season. So when Voyeur began with three actors jumping out from the Duplex bar in front of our small audience of six, and three dancers in colorful and puffy skirts started emerging in the windows of the building, they looked organic in comparison to the hubbub of a busy street corner. Diners stop eating and pull their phones out and passersby are confused, suddenly finding themselves on the “stage” of the show. Suddenly, NYC’s Greenwich Village becomes Parisian Montmartre of the end of the nineteenth century and we are invited to time-travel to the giddy and tragic last years of the legendary French artist, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec.
The streets, windows, and doorways of the city serve as a backdrop for a series of dream-like vignettes inspired by Toulouse-Lautrec’s life. Accompanied by Maryia Vasileuskaya playing the violin and Chris Rehmann operating a music box hung on his neck, our procession makes its way through the streets to the melancholy Gnossienne №1 by Erik Satie. We see the artist’s father (Royston Scott) rehearsing what appears to be a eulogy in front of the mirror in a store window. We meet his mother (Megan Khaziran), an elegant lady atop a monumental skirt which is glowing from the inside and doubling as a screen for shadow puppet theatre. In another flashback scene, the young parents (Marin Orlosky and Ethan Pravetz) dance out their courtship along 8th Street, lit up by the empty picture frame they use as a prop. The swift and playful choreography (by Leila Mire and Kelsey Rondeau with Nate Carter) unfolds as we walk, making use of the architecture, and causing bystanders to turn their heads in perplexity and dogs to bark.
There are very few spoken words in Voyeur, and even those could be reduced further to heighten the hallucination-like atmosphere of the show. The artistic choice also has practical benefits: being able to hear masked actors through environmental noise while staying at a safe distance. (I must admit, there is something haunting in being unable to see the actors’ mouths as words are uttered.) Although interacting with the covered faces has become a new normal for me outside the theatre, encountering it in a performance context gave me chills because of how well it fits into the surreal world of Voyeur. Toulouse-Lautrec’s absentee father appears even more estranged, the beloved mother becomes even more unreachable (her six-foot skirt designed by Christopher Metzger certainly contributes to that effect, too). During a romantic dance of the young parents on 7th Street, the masks “spoiled” the idyllic picture, but not without a good reason. The artist’s parents were, after all, first cousins, and Toulouse-Lautrec’s genetic health issues are thought to be due to inbreeding.
There is also a “peep-show” number in Voyeur, which truly elevates the usage of masks from a safety measure to an artistic element by Bated Breath. In this scene, a young woman (Natasha Frater) performs a seductive dance inside the window of the storefront Chashama. But the only item of clothing she teases us with, and eventually strips with, is her facemask. This behind-glass scene is voyeuristic and funny, and yet also … pensive. As the showgirl addresses the audience through the window, in a long, seemingly heartfelt monologue, we can’t hear anything she says. This makes me think of the countless, often nameless dancers and prostitutes Toulouse-Lautrec depicted in his art, provocatively displayed and but also speechless, their stories untold.
Additionally, the facemask makes it easier for the puppeteers in the show to perform. Henry Toulouse-Lautrec is present in the production through a puppet designed by James Ortiz. The artist’s greyish face contains deeply cut lines and eyes narrowed by either pain, absinthe intoxication, or, perhaps, both. He drunkenly dances on a large pallet, climbs his mother’s skirt, or squirms on his deathbed without the puppeteer’s moving mouth drawing the attention away from him.
Voyeur effectively plays with scale, contrasting the intimacy of the puppet theatre with its spectacular opening, which uses the entire facade of a building, or with the vast emptiness of the mostly empty Judson Church (the action briefly moves inside for the finale). Bated Breath are able to create a majestic show while making sure every audience member feels safe: there is always an opportunity to keep social distancing, hand sanitizer is provided, and even cute branded masks are offered for sale upon check-in.
Safely hidden behind my mask, I can’t stop beaming with joy while chasing the show’s dancers down the street. I regularly forget to “pick up” my dropped jaw in astonishment of the beauty of sounds and sights surrounding me on the streets of Greenwich Village. Voyeur: The Windows of Toulouse-Lautrec, through its many thoughtful details, immerses me in a world where the past and the present, fantasy and reality, and tragedy and hope interlace in a beautiful, shimmering flow.
