RoseAnne Spradlin's Y at New York Live Arts. Photo by Maria Baranova.
No one walked out. Even better, everyone stayed rapt until the end. Probably the best, the piece received a second, effusive curtain call.
That’s in marked contrast to RoseAnne Spradlin’s X which was part of The Joyce Theater’s Quadrille in 2016. There, people left early or left grumpy. (I did neither and considered X’s searing imagery to be the most lasting from that festival.)
This difference in reception isn’t due to any alteration in Spradlin’s preoccupations. Those remain intense: repetition, rigor, and an urge to expose and to examine darker impulses.
Y, which received its world premiere at New York Live Arts, veils this strong, sometimes alienating ethos better than X. But make no mistake; it’s there — unyielding and scintillating in its honesty.
The piece commences with what seems to be . . .
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