On the Boards’ What Is War Shows Us What Our Televisions Do Not
Two women in front of mural at Comfort Women Museum
Press Kit via On the Boards
What Is War, devised by Eiko Otake and Wen Hui, told a gut-wrenching story of the sufferings of women within war-torn nations, one which has been endured by generation after generation since before antiquity: that of brutality, sexualization, and objectification.
The piece took the stage at On The Boards on October 9. Unfortunately, Wen Hui, who had been meant to perform the duet with Eiko, stepped down due to an illness. With swift work, Eiko and the crew adapted the piece. They still wanted guests to be able to experience its timely message. During the show, interdisciplinary dancer and On The Boards Stage Technician Fumihiro Kikuchi stepped in as Eiko’s duet partner to fulfill the visual needs of the performance.
While Eiko performed the piece predominantly alone, Wen’s absence still proved to be a profound accompaniment. The negative spaces where Wen should have been were filled with tangible emptiness, video projections, and audio recordings, leaving the phantom impressions of the piece’s original duet nature.
Eiko Otake and Wen Hui together on stage
Zhou Huiyin via press kit
The opening movement captured those impressions beautifully. Eiko strolled down an ash-colored dirt path, feet disturbing and displacing the earthen dust and coating her skin. She moved slowly, step by pained step. Behind her, projected onto a stretch of screens, both Eiko and Wen walked toward each other and converged. In that moment of convergence, Wen’s absence truly took root in the mind and set a ghostly, grief-ridden tone to the piece. The quality of Eiko’s movements enhanced this tone, body contorting and hunching—loose clothing exposing thin, aged bones and a body resilient and full of delicate strength.
As the piece continued, projection mapping acted as overlay, immersion, and distortion. Footage of bombers and fleeing citizens interwove with Eiko’s despairing movements. Documentation of the Comfort Women Museum in Nanjing, a memorial to the women who were sexually enslaved in the second World War, provided knowledge and added weight to her performance, educating audiences on one of the many, often undiscussed horrors imposed upon women during the conflict.
Standing before the projection of a photographic mural of women on the outer wall of the museum, Eiko bared herself to the audience, removing the loose gown she’d been wearing to face the audience completely nude. She stared into the audience as though daring them to avert their gazes, challenging them to face her and the history she shared with complete vulnerability.
Midway through the performance, Eiko spun the secondary projection screen around to reveal a mirror. Designed by Corina Rockart and crafted by Rich Bresnahan, the mirror had a weathered vignette while the central part of it remained crisp and clear, effectively isolating the reflection of the performer from all other surroundings as though displaying the performer’s soul. In this unsettling mirror world, there was a moment where the projections on the opposite side of the stage flashed into view, and the faces of the comfort women warped into agonized, mangled things, driving home the sheer horror of the piece.
A large portion of the performance was experienced subconsciously. Eiko’s movements were slow and abstract in nature, and even when more explosive, the choreography was still contained. It highlighted the subtlety of grief through raw, panicked, and grotesque physicality. In the moments between, audiences were left to contemplate and fill the silences with thought and internal reflection over the presented topic.
Guests were asked again and again to think about and digest horrid acts of violence. In a story about the bombing of Nagasaki, a woman told Eiko that when the atom bomb fell, it was as though the bodies had no outlines. She asked Eiko to perform a body with no outlines, and it was accomplished magnificently. Footlights at the front of the stage cast shadows of Eiko and the set pieces against the back wall. The set pieces stood in sharp focus, but Eiko’s body was blurred, limbs vanishing beneath other light pools as she moved. It was a brilliant demonstration of lighting design by David A. Ferri, which proved to be a vital asset to the artistry of the show.
The design elements of the show held great influence over how it was received. The choreography was less technique and dynamic and more violently vulnerable performance art. The scenic elements and the projections upon them truly glued it all together. The mirror proved diverse in its uses. Not only did it seem to portray the soul of the dancer, but in one scene, Fumihiro and Eiko frantically covered every empty space on Eiko’s body with characters, muttering in a panicked way while they did so. When all was covered, Eiko lay on the ground, still, stiff, and unnatural, as though dead. Fumihiro pulled the mirror over her contracted, naked body and placed it before the audience, forcing them to stare at the distorted images of themselves spectating this symbolic moment of brutality.
Photo of Wen Hui by the mirror and Eiko Otake in the distance
Jingqui Guang via press kit
