Published on 7/23/08
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As the reporter enters Williamsburg’s Collapsable Hole to interview members of Radiohole, he might wonder, based on the group’s past antics, what esoteric depravities await him. Will there be a fried-chicken-and-beer orgy in progress, interrupted by readings of French theory (Radiohole Is Still My Name)? Will fur-wearing performers lampoon Germanic myth to the apocalyptic strains of Godspeed You! Black Emperor (Wurst)? Will they at least offer free drinks, as they’ve done for audiences before? It comes as a shock to find not a party of drunken art punks, but an industrious trio of polite, bookish technophiles: Eric Dyer, Maggie Hoffman and Erin Douglass are tinkering with a live video feed from Vermont and various high-tech doodads for their Moby Dick nautical riff Fluke. “You want a tea?” the bald and courteous Dyer offers. Tea? Where’s the hooch, drugs and postmodern texts!?!
Perhaps Radiohole is mellowing as it eyes next year’s tenth anniversary. Since 1998’s Bender, in which the company unveiled a deranged blend of hallucinatory sound design, stylized performance and installation art, it has carved out a niche as the leading innovator in New York’s third wave of avant-garde theater. Since 2000, the directorless collective has run the Collapsable Hole—a cozy Brooklyn clubhouse with platform risers and oodles of high-tech sound and video equipment—with fellow travelers Collapsable Giraffe.
“People have a hard time getting their heads around Radiohole, since we don’t hang our hat on a single concept,” Dyer says, implicitly referring to gimmick-driven Off-Off groups such as Les Freres Corbusier. “If an idea’s a bottle, then we throw it against the wall just to watch it shatter. It’s hard to find one definitive thing about us.”
Still, Fluke is a familiar Radiohole mash-up of diverse texts and performance stunts, reflecting its creators’ quirks and obsessions. Dyer wryly recalls vomit-inducing trips on his dad’s fishing boat back in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, and a long-standing love of Herman Melville’s Moby Dick as starting points. Hoffman and Douglass note the research and factoids they amassed on the 19th-century American spiritualism that framed Melville’s dark, fatalistic world. Other influences pasted into the collage include a story by Edgar Allan Poe, a documentary by Robert Downey Sr. and the historical figure Tokyo Rose. But don’t expect a night of Name That Source. Sampled material in each show is so reconstituted and buried, it becomes part of a dizzying blur of media and fragments. Additionally, in Fluke, the actors will do a performative fuck-it-all and dance furiously to tunes by German metal band Rammstein.
“We set up a game where [the action] is tightly scored, but we have more going on than we can handle,” Dyer explains, meaning dancing, moving set pieces, operating light and sound equipment, and delivering lines. “It could mean potential chaos at any given moment. So we’re forced to improvise. Once we get a show on its feet, it loosens up a little bit.”
Dyer calls Fluke the group’s most demanding project, from a technical perspective. The sound design utilizes the brand-spanking-new Audiospotlight. Hoffman (clearly very much digging the toy) explains: “It directs audio to very specific locations, almost the way light works. We’ve been thinking about it like the kinds of devices fake mediums or psychics would use to cheat people, like during séances.” She adds that in Fluke’s workshop run last April at P.S. 122, the space’s acoustics thwarted the desired effects, so this remount will be a chance to fully realize the sound design.
Sonically intense and textually rich though Fluke will be, its visual aspects are equally important. Company member Scott Halvorsen Gillette, now residing in Vermont, will appear live in the show via iChat software on a TV monitor. As for its set, the troupe has constructed a fascinating magic-box playground: meticulously accessorized steel frames studded with ocean-themed toys, equipment and lights; curtains framing a projection screen; nautical ladders; and kids’ boats on rockers.
One recurring image in many Radiohole shows is a large photo of the moon. Hoffman offers a technical definition: “A radio hole is just the side of the moon from which you can’t get your radio waves to earth.” For Dyer, though, it suggests something odder. “Depending on how I’m feeling,” he says, “I think of a radio hole as all the sounds in the universe being heard at one time, gushing out of a black hole—or else going into it.”
Fluke is playing at the Collapsable Hole.