kNoname's 'Grave's Tears' demands respect for authenticity, humanity

kNoname Artist / Roderick George's "The Graves Tears," performed at Williams College on Tuesday night, is a deeply moving, spiritual work. (Courtesy of kNoname Artist)

In this moment in time when the power structure wants to erase differences for homogeny, kNoname Artist reminds us that crushing authenticity, particularly that of the LGBTQ+ community, crushes humanity.

On Tuesday night at Williams College, Roderick George’s “The Grave’s Tears” evokes that truth by reeling viewers’ back to the AIDS crisis of the 1980s when thousands of healthy young men died from what was dubbed “the gay plague.” And many, including those in the highest elected office, didn’t seem to care.
 
What “The Grave’s Tears” tells us, in flesh and sweat, is what indifference costs.
 
This is a deeply spiritual work that carried its viewer across a timeline of the crisis. It opens with George entering from the shadows, an angelic figure with arm spread like outstretched wings. He is joined by the full cast of seven – all-men – in what can only be described as something close to George Balanchine’s “Serenade.” Dancer moved as one, wrists to their foreheads, arms extended as if shading their eyes from inspections glare and then sidestepping to the groves of a disco beat.
 
The vibe was joyous at first with a dance club scene with music by Diana Ross and Donna Summer – among others. Heads bopped, shoulders shifts and hips swayed to the thunder of the infectious beat. But then tragedy strikes – these strong vivacious men sink to the floor, stumble, stagger and struggle for support.
 
The work then breaks up into solos, duets and trio of anguish of souls seeking help and a way out of their pain. A voice over talks about mysterious lesions, fatigue or a cold that never goes away. It talks about hospital stays, fear of caregivers and undertakers. And then finally, a devastating of farewell that was heartbreakingly depicted by MJ Edwards and Zack Sommer. Edward’s effort to keep a partner alive is palpable, but futile and Sommer finally collapses on that stage that is covered in what appears like bits of dirt.
 
The symbology throughout was staggering. At one point, the dancers fall to the floor and their arms jut skyward like tombstones. There is a dark angel (another touch of Balanchine “Serenade”) that guides a dancer blindly to their death. George himself dances a solo in which he is tumbling about, seemly tossed by the relentless confusion and loss.

Ultimately, there is not good answer on how to handle our differences in who and how we love, or in how we express our gender. But one thing is certain, “The Grave’s Tears” insists we do better.