Best Intentions, Weak Promises

The best part of “Our Best Intentions,” Einat Amir’s experimental work, was the anticipation of engaging as both an audience member and an actor. Staged as part of Performa 13, by the Israeli arts non-profit organization Artis, “Our Best Intentions” utilized 20 participants to conduct an intimate performance. Gathering on a chilly November evening, members of the group that I took part in were invited to create an “introspective experience of therapy” to contrast with the “dramatic devices of performance.” Unfortunately, the dramatic, therapeutic and experiential claims of the piece failed to materialize, and I left the space feeling that the event’s intentions had been far from realized. As each version was unique to the particular participants and moderators, I cannot claim to speak for the piece as a whole, but while intriguing in premise, this iteration failed to provoke as promised.

The 20 participants assembled in the foyer were asked to store all of their personal belongings and don plain black vests, with suggested roles and emotions—such as “LOVER,” “PRIDE” and “DOUBT”—denoted in bold white type across the back. The group was then ushered into the large gallery space before being divided into four sections. They were then asked to take their respective places in one quadrant of the room, each of which was furnished as a domestic space—living room, bedroom, dining room and study—in a configuration in which participants, sitting on various chairs, tables or beds, faced the other three “rooms.”

The lights dimmed, and a moderator approached each group. It turned out that each would perform their own therapeutic session, and then watch the others in turn. As part of the first experiment, a spotlight shone on us and the nerves associated with being on stage were exciting. But what followed felt like being led through a series of warm ups, a tedious prelude to a main act that never took place. A few members of my group were asked to make sounds and actions based on the vests they had chosen. This was the only time these words were acknowledged during the performance. The next group was directed to improvise a series of movements and sentences, without reference to their vests, which didn’t look like any more fun to do than to watch. This could in part be attributed to a poor use of space—the furnishings made it difficult for people to move around freely—and the distance between the groups made for a disconnected viewing experience.

A single moment hinted at the piece’s potential, when one participant was asked to take on the role of his estranged father, and to play both roles in a confrontation between father and son. For the rest of the hour, though, participants remained listless, cramped and struggled to hear one another. Each moderator tended to focus on only one or two members of each group, leaving most “performers” watching others sitting out. Whether due to a lack of communication between artists and moderators, or between moderators and participants, something was lost in translation. Ainat’s premise was intriguing, but promised more than what was inspired or delivered. For the most part, participants entered and left as strangers—even to the artist orchestrating the event never appeared.

Claire Sabel is a writer based in New York.