Binge & Purge: Jessie Smith's Dead Bird Double Feature

(Dead Bird Double Feature plays tomorrow night at 33 S. Hanford St. Tix $18, doors at 7:30.)

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Photo by Tim Summers.
Jessie Smith doesn't fuck around. About two-thirds of the way through Thrashoholic, her endurance piece/spelunking expedition into the psychology of binge drinking, she gives up on interpreting her subject through dance and just pours herself five big shots of Maker's Mark, which she takes in short, painful succession. And lest you think she might be faking, despite breaking the wax seal of the bottle onstage, the smell of what she pukes up (at least the night we saw it, though that outcome seems pretty inevitable) will prove you wrong.

Smith is best known as one of the founding members of Implied Violence, but Dead Bird Double Feature (Dead Bird Movement is the name of her own company), a combo video installation and live performance, shows that Smith has gone a long way towards developing her own distinctive style and voice as a performer and choreographer.

The show opens with Left and Leaving, a video installation on several screens of work Smith did with noted local filmmaker Ben Kasulke, who's made a name for himself as a DP with an eye for how to capture a dancer's movement. Filmed in Berlin, Left and Leaving follows Smith performing in the burnt-out husks of a post-Cold War metropolis. It's a barren landscape of crumbling concrete and graffiti, utterly lacking in the stereotypical European charms (as is all of Berlin, really). In one rather funny sequence, Kasulke captures the perplexed responses of passengers on a rail platform as Smith wanders in, dressed like a slightly nutty homeless woman in a torn-up dress and begins performing in their midst.

But compared to Thrashoholic, Left and Leaving, with its hyper-saturated colors and subtle score, seems almost studious. Thrashoholic is performed in a space divided by a series of vertical fluorescent lights that create a dramatic, inhuman effect. The piece is a duet between Smith, performing a mash-up of more than 50 distinct pieces of choreography and drummer Jeffrey Mitchell.

Mitchell can launch into a jazzy vamp that switches to an industrial drum break at the drop of a dime. The piece lurches forward with each barrage, Smith starting with measured, languid movements before thrashing into harsh convulsions lasting only a few seconds or a minute before both stop, leaving a ringing silence (it's a loud piece), punctuated only by the heavy breathing of the two performers.

Thrashoholic's throughline is pretty simple: it's the process of binge drinking, getting raging-sloppy, and challenging yourself to see how long you can keep going, which dovetails with Smith's more formal exercise in building an endurance piece that pushes her to her limits. Following each movement, Smith faces off against Mitchell: at first, her expression is cocksure, daring him to bring out next onslaught; by the end, she almost seems to be begging for it to stop.

When Smith puts the piece on hold to actually take shots, she runs a big risk (beyond that of alcohol poisoning and liver damage), as the brutal shock value of the act threatens to overshadow the rest of the piece. But there's definitely more to Smith's choice than shock value. Whatever the narrative or theme of a piece is, on some level dance is always an exploration of the human body. Smith, like some other creative movement artists we've seen (Portland's tEEth, for instance), has come up with a innovative way to explore the body's internal processes. That's a dry and academic way to describe it, but in performance, it's a crucial and important distinction. There's a difference between Smith the dancer performing drunk and Smith interpreting drunkenness. It's hard to put into words, but it works, and it's one of the most unforgettable performances--for numerous reasons--that you'll ever see.

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