A lattice is defined as "a framework or structure of crossed wood or metal strips." It's not the most common shape seen in our everyday lives. In the city, we see it in the chain-link fences enclosing a park or a backyard. In the suburbs, it's the wooden grating that sits underneath your porch, or the gate your mom uses to protect her garden.
You may not need to see lattice at all in order to understand its significance. It's likely you've experienced lattice in a non-physical sense. It's an intersection of points and a disruption of boundaries. It can be formed by undoing an idea or concept for the sake of binding it with another.
In Chicago this past weekend, Red Bull Flying Bachbrought together two contrasting fields of dance—ballet and breaking—for an unprecedented dance performance. For the U.S. debut of the show, artistic director Vartan Bassil used the concept of lattice as a reference point for the group's visual accompaniment. It was a not-too-subtle way of symbolizing the improbable marriage that was taking place throughout the show.
Bassil's crew, The Flying Steps, are a German b-boy group founded in Berlin in 1993. When I spoke with Bassil, he explained that he has been breaking since the '80s, and was initially inspired by films like Breakin' and Beat Street. However, he also noted that his mother raised him on a healthy diet of classical music, taking him along to numerous classical concerts when he was a boy. Thus, the unlikely bond between Bach, breaking, and ballet was born. Accompanied by professional ballerina Anna Holmström, Bassil and the Flying Steps have put together a show that seeks to expand the boundaries of hip-hop, and to potentially elevate the form of breaking in order for it to earn the respect and recognition of more traditional forms like ballet.
"It's 'street'. It's not really art," said Bassil while explaining how critics will typically discuss and dismiss breaking. Indeed, media outlets are rarely able to even attach the proper names to elements of the form. Crazy Legs—a legend of the breaking scene who was in Chicago to view the show—explained to me how he's a "b-boy", not a "break-dancer," and what he does is "breaking", not "break-dancing." Terms like "break-dancer" and "break-dancing" were popularized by the media and eventually grew to take on a life of their own, he said. As such, the language to discuss the form still remains ambiguous or unknown to many.
In this sense, Flying Bach is also an attempt to steer the cultural conversation in the direction of those who are ignorant of breaking and would prefer to view the style in more familiar terms. By adding Holmström, the show juxtaposes classic and contemporary dance to examine their similarities while also remaining cognizant of their stark backgrounds. The show's narrative was reminiscent of something like Grease, wherein the rough-and-tumble boy falls in the love with the elegant, graceful girl. This relationship between Holmström's character and that played by Flying Steps member Nono was another point of intersection among many within the performance. It also served as the central and somewhat controversial locus of conflict.
Admittedly, certain relationships between Holmström's character and the various members of the all-male breaking crew were uncertain, but it is known that one of her trysts culminated in a jarring, cringe-worthy slap midway through the show. The violence was almost too well-performed. The air left the theater. A woman sitting behind me wondered aloud if Nono had actually hit Holmström. No one in the audience seemed to know how they were expected to react.
Undoubtedly, this is the moment where the idea of the lattice was most profound. The slap represented the difficulties that can arise when one culture tries to be understood in the context of another, especially in a particularly masculine culture like hip-hop. Friction, in some form or another, is often the result.
It's a worthwhile lesson. However, the manner in which the moment lingered for the remainder of the show was less than ideal. It never seemed like the girl and her assaulter properly reconciled with one another. Performatively, the tension was merely shrouded by a whirlwind of impressive head spins, flares, and hand stands.
Still, however, the dancing was well-received by the audience and often garnered both applause and joyous laughter from the audience. For the first half of the show, impish humor and furious, kinetic energy powered the performance. In the closing moments, this same spirit was re-captured.
While the show was focused on connecting two otherwise-disparate cultures, it was most successful when it stuck to the roguish, swaggering roots of hip-hop. Holmström's physical and spiritual contributions to the performance were substantial and can't simply be brushed aside as window dressing. After all, the allure of ballet was likely what brought certain crowd members into their seats. But if there was anything that the conflicting nature of Flying Bach taught us, it is that every form of expression is at its best when it's able to stay truest to itself.
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