Alan Kolc
Tom Teti and Anne Robinson in Arden Theatre Co.'s production of Sweeney Todd, 1993.
David Anthony Fox on Theater
Thirty years is quite an achievement, and I'm proud to be a small part of it. I arrived in Philly in 1990, and started at City Paper in '99. Still, that's a lot of theater.
Two early experiences when I was still a civilian stick in my mind: One was a production of Assassins, directed by Charlie Gilbert with a mostly young cast in a now-defunct space — a production that set a standard for edgy electricity that I've yet to see equaled. I also attended the Arden Theatre Co.'s first Sweeney Todd, when they were still at St. Stephen's; seeing this monumental work in such an intimate setting was a revelation.
Growth has been a hallmark of the last three decades of Philly theater. The Arden is stronger than ever, with its own two-stage space that allows more flexibility. The Wilma and Philadelphia Theatre Co. now also have elegant theaters designed to their specifications. But the greatest leap forward has been in the number of companies. Pig Iron and Theatre Exile were just starting out when I began at CP, and look at them now.
In my first seasons on the job, a number of Philly actors made an indelible impression on me. Grace Gonglewski, Greg Wood, Jilline Ringle, Frank X, Mary Martello, Tony Lawton, Jane Moore, Bill Zielinski, Hazel Bowers. Wonderful comics, like Jen Childs, Scott Greer and Pete Pryor. Tom McCarthy, Carla Belver and Ian Merrill Peakes. And the great thing is, almost all of them still grace our stages from time to time. (Jilline, you are deeply missed!)
It's been a terrific ride so far. Thirty more years? Why, yes, please!
Paul Kolnik
Former Pennsylvania Ballet principal dancer Alexei Borovik in Apollo, October 1996.
Deni Kasrel on Dance
My entry into dance began in the early '90s. Abstract expressionism permeated many local performances due to the influence of Group Motion and Zero Moving Dance Co.; Steve Krieckhaus was mining minimalism while Leah Stein was becoming one with the outdoors in eloquent, site-specific works. 'Twas heady stuff, and it drew me in.
Then a new stream bubbled up, the ironic histrionics, where performers such as Melanie Stewart, Paule Turner (aka Duchess) and Asimina Chremos probed their psyches with devilish humor. They helped open doors to dance for people who weren't aficionados. Still wider entry came by way of SCRAP Performance Group and Brian Sanders, both of whom presented enthralling spectacles in gritty urban settings. Headlong Dance Theater welcomed all comers with sly, quirky works that referenced pop culture, while Rennie Harris shook cultures up by bringing street dance to the concert stage.
Some of those folks have since hung up their dancing shoes, yet many remain active. And there are plenty more companies that have stood the test of time, including Pennsylvania Ballet, Philadanco, DanceFusion, Kariamu & Co., Anne-Marie Mulgrew and Dancers Company and Koresh Dance Co.
Of course, older generations begat new ones that take what they've learned and add their own personal panache: Kate Watson-Wallace, Nichole Canuso, Miro Dance Theatre, BalletX and Dance Theatre X have each etched distinctive marks in post-modern and contemporary genres, and more recently Jumatatu Poe, Gabrielle Revlock and Megan Mazarick are advancing on the scene.
While extreme irony has slacked off, dance-theater remains a popular motif with many post-moderns currently opting for intellect over emotion. What's wrong with showing a little heart, eh?
Intimate performances are becoming ever more prevalent, in studios like Mascher Space Co-op, and in these tough economic times we may expect such performance to proliferate even more.
Eastern Interior, Isaac Tin Wei Lin, part of the Art Museum's current exhibit "Here and Now."
Robin Rice on Visual Art
In Philly and elsewhere, the engagement with social and political issues gave birth to venues like the Painted Bride (founded long before my day, in 1969) and artists like Homer Jackson, both still uncompromisingly strong. But in the 1980s, activism generally segued into something more conceptual and phenomenological, often with lashings of irony. The restraint of Richard Torchia's cameras obscuras contrasted with the Virgil Marti's decorative obsessiveness but had something in common, as well.
Early promoters of crafts as fine art, Ruth and Rick Snyderman fled South Street's raucous touristy crowds for Old City in 1992. Art's center of gravity settled in the run-down, cheap neighborhood. Yet, in a little bit of history repeating, First Friday in Old City soon had its own Fellini-esque excess. Enterprises like the Clay Studio and F.A.N. Gallery have flourished in that bastion of predictable affluence, while shoestring and alternative budgets — think Crane Arts — are currently locating in Fishtown and NoLibs.
The pole star of the city's art constellation, the Philadelphia Museum of Art (PMA), lost its charismatic longtime leader, Anne d'Harnoncourt, in 2008. One of her posthumous projects, Cai Guo-Qiang's 2009 "Fallen Blossoms: Explosion Project" — a collaboration with the ever-innovative Fabric Workshop — was perhaps the most memorable art event in this young century.
We owe most of our reputation for great public art and our pleasure in strolling the city streets to three indefatigable women: Penny Bach of the Fairmount Park Art Association, which maintains many of our public works as it consistently adds more; Marsha Moss, independent curator of outdoor and public sculpture who has facilitated the placement of countless temporary exhibitions and permanent works in individual neighborhoods; and Jane Golden, who enabled young people to paint neighborhood murals and now orchestrates complex environments incorporating contributions from city residents of all walks.
Over the years, major venues have — sometimes grudgingly — acknowledged local artists. In the early 1990s, the PMA's "Contemporary Philadelphia Artists" and the Institute of Contemporary Art's "Artists Choose Artists" — both part of the Penn Foundation-funded Philadelphia Art Now program — were highlights, not repeated on the same scale (so far) but followed up with consistent gestures, including the PMA's current "Here and Now."
City Paper has been a consistent, committed advocate for art and artists. When I first thought about writing this piece, I fantasized it simply as a list of artists and institutions I've loved writing about.
But it's more than that. For nearly two decades (I came on board in 1988), City Paper and I were major players, probably second only to the Inquirer, drawing attention to significant artists, from Don Camp and Syd Carpenter to Daniel Cutrone and Ruth Borgenicht.
Still from Jon Foy's 2011 documentary Resurrect Dead: The Mystery of the Toynbee Tiles.
Sam Adams on Film
Perhaps I should have seen it coming. Shortly after I moved to Philadelphia in the summer of 1995, I remember seeing the Roxy Theater, whose days as a repertory house had just come to an end. Taped to the inside of the door was a newspaper article with the headline, "Now not playing at a theater near you."
The intervening years have seen seismic upheavals in the way we consume movies. The closing of TLA Video's last store marks the end of an era, not just for a local business, but for a major city that now lacks a major art-house video store. (If you're west of the Schuylkill, Lansdowne's Cinema 16:9 can ease your pain.) Film festivals have come and gone, split and reconstituted, while venerable institutions like International House and Scribe Video Center continue to fight the good fight.
Philadelphia's film scene has always been a difficult one to get a handle on, full of promising talents who don't always find the support they need; it's telling that Jon Foy, whose documentary Resurrect Dead: The Mystery of the Toynbee Tiles won big at Sundance, had his roots in the city's punk scene, a far more expansive and self-sustaining community. Then again, the fact that Foy was able to fund his movie by working as a West Philly housecleaner speaks volumes about the risk-taking enabled by the city's modest cost of living — an observation that holds for the movie's subject as well as its maker.
30 Years of Arts: The Covers | The Quotes
