"I'm getting a little bit of ASMR," my husband leaned over to whisper to me about half an hour into last night's performance of Miguel Gutierrez and the Powerful People's And Lose the Name of Action, giving me a thumb's up. ASMR stands for "autonomous sensory meridian response," and is defined as "a recently described perceptual phenomenon characterized as a distinct, pleasurable tingling sensation in the head, scalp, back, or peripheral regions of the body in response to visual, auditory, olfactory, and/or cognitive stimuli." Although it's still the subject of some controversy in the scientific world—it's difficult to study, and not everyone experiences it—it seems like an ideal response to a show that makes its business the link between our physical selves and our perceptions, by way of neurology, philosophy, ghosts or "insubstantial bodies," and the experience of performing and watching dance itself.

  • Boru O'Brien O'Connell

Artists' statements are notoriously opaque, and while waiting for seating to begin I read Gutierrez's, whose work I've seen at several past TBAs, and have appreciated for its multimedia dynamism (film, monologue, and singing all appear prominently in his repertoire) and because he has a relieving knack for injecting small, perfect moments of humor into his work, often using it to clear the air after attaining dramatic climax. (Also, to thoroughly disclose: My tiny dancer brother-in-law sometimes collaborates with Gutierrez back in New York.) In the statement for this show, he discloses the fact that his father has suffered a number of neurological problems over the past half-decade, circumstances that led him to his interest in the body/mind connection, and how it's been studied.

How does one translate that into modern dance? Anyway you want, really—the medium pretty much demands liminality. But here's how Gutierrez chooses to proceed: an all-white set with projection screens that occasionally animate with a pacing professorial type who waxes philosophical; a cast that varies along lines of age, race, and body type; and neutral toned costuming that mutes to suggest Socratic philosophers and academia, as well as some light nudity.

  • Bylan Douglas

The action itself, without giving too much away, involves a séance; a wonderful, talkative scene that devolves into the cast chasing each other around the room yelling "Fuck you!"; a lot of beautifully controlled chaotic movement that suggests the organic/chaotic complications of cells and neurons (and probably drugs) interacting both functionally and disfunctionally; contrastingly deliberate, directed motions that recall both ballet instruction and physical therapy; and spectral muttering and screams. (And yes, a little bit of well-timed comedy.)

Performances wherein you're given a little bit of information, followed by vague, interpretive action, always result in an inner turmoil for me where I'm both trying to assign narrative and meaning and trying to stop myself from doing so too literally, but I will say that the solos were when I felt most tapped into what Gutierrez meant when he said that dance "constantly disappears and haunts."

I was starving when I showed up to the venue for the 6:30/suppertime show, and somewhat crestfallen at the utter lack of refreshments available for purchase—a mood further darkened upon the realization that the show was nearly 90 minutes long. It says something that I was surprised when it ended; it didn't feel like that much time could have possibly elapsed. I wasn't even hungry anymore.

There are two more shows this week for And Lose the Name of Action, on Friday and Saturday evening (details are here)