Peter Dreimanis

ed to frame it one way or the other. What we see says more about what we’re looking for. With July Talk, as with most things, what have we missed? We need not ask what July Talk’s two writhing frontpeople’s relationship is to each other, but rather what their relationship is to us, their audience, and to the world, this tender, villainous, confounding world. These bodies welcome our gaze, they revel and recoil in it while they furiously push back, asking of us what they ask of each other: please see me for who I am. If we see July Talk as a woman and a man, in opposition to one another, what we are seeing is our own projections upon these bodies.

What goes on between these bodies, all of them, that kinetic, staticky, sticky space, is where the truth of July Talk takes shape. On stage, July Talk unfurls and explodes. The action pings from slo-motion commotion to back-bendy communion, fluid (as in bodily) and liquid (as in the dark goo phase of metamorphosis). Things get weird, occasionally grotesque, always enthralling. Each show offers moments of grace that reveal for a moment the inner workings of this unknowable universe. Hold onto those until the next time.