Human Co. is filled, as necessary, with thin, near-torso-less bodies. Graceful arabesques falling from the oval thumbprint of the head. One must imagine the curve of the ribs, the splay of the back; even, to some extent, the span of the shoulders. So much of the body has been given to the stage.
Humans are posable dolls inhabited by egos that resist posing. This is not the case with Human Co. Members of Human Co. are supple, adaptable. Their soft bodies are malleable muscle masses, able to be controlled by the relaxed mind of the actor. Emotional and physical contortions of the greatest degree are easy for bodies so limber.
The last of their productions I saw was a discursive musical on the invention of gynaecological stirrups. The bodies reminded me of dancing pliers, pliers within pliers.
Afterwards we all, actors and audience, went back to our day jobs. Note: it would be pleasing, if only for a short time, to be a professional audience; not to laugh and clap on cue, but to contain multitudes and simply observe phenomena on stage.
On my desk is the card of the co-artistic director of Human Co. It includes his cell number and email and a drawing of the human form.
Human Co. is headquartered in an apartment somewhere in Brooklyn – I couldn’t tell you where; the car ride was too long – inside a white brick building that looks gray at night. There are a few garbage cans out front.
