ta

Rhythm and Timing

of Movement in Performance
Drama, Dance and Ceremony

Janet Goodridge
Rhythm and Timing of Movement
in Performance
of related interest

The Social Symbolism of Grief and Mourning

Roger Grainger
ISBN 185302 480 5

Bulgarian Folk Customs

Mercia MacDermott
ISBN 185302 485 6 hb
ISBN 185302 486 4 pb
 Rhythm and Timing
of Movement in Performance
Drama, Dance and Ceremony

Janet Goodridge

&)
Jessica Kingsley Publishers
London and Philadelphia
All rights reserved. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or
transmitted save with written permission of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended),
or under the terms of any licence permitting limited copying issued by the
Copyright Licensing Agency, 33-34 Alfred Place, London WCI1E 7DP. Any person
who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to
prosecution and civil claims for damages.

The right of Janet Goodridge to be identified as author of this work has been
asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

First published in the United Kingdom in 1999 by

Jessica Kingsley Publishers Ltd
116 Pentonville Road
London N1 9JB, England
and
325 Chestnut Street
Philadelphia, PA 19106, USA.

www jkp.com

Copyright © 1999 Janet Goodridge

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

A CIP catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

Goodridge, Janet
Rhythm and timing of movement in performance : drama, dance and ceremony
1.Movement, Aesthetics of 2.Rhythm 3.Tempo (Music)
4. Theater 5.Dance
LTitle
792.8

ISBN 1-85302-548-8

Printed and Bound in Great Britain by

Athenaeum Press, Gateshead, Tyne and Wear
 Contents

List of Figures
Acknowledgements

Introduction 13

PART I: IDEAS AND THEORIES 21

I Rhythm in Human Movement 23

2 Patterns in Time: Metricity, Flow, Timing
and Other Aspects of Rhythm in Performance 40
3 Time Elements and Performance Conventions 65
4 Contributions to the Study of Rhythm from Observers:
Movement Notation and Anthropology 87
5 Contributions to the Study of Rhythm in the Theatre 110
6 Time and Rhythm in Human Movement:
Rudolf Laban’s Contribution 126

PART I]: LOOKING AND SEEING 137

7 Description and Classification of Time Elements

in Performance Events: A Synthesis of Approaches 139
8 Suggestions for Training in the Observation
of Rhythm and Timing 174
9 An Application in Learning and Teaching: Rhythm
and Timing in an Approach to T’ai Chi (Tai Ji) 199
 PART III: PERFORMANCE EVENTS — TIME ELEMENTS,
RHYTHM AND TIMING IN ACTION 215

10 Easter in Arizona and Mexico: An Experience of

Yaqui Ceremonies 217

11 Papua New Guinea: Rhythm and Timing in Traditional

Maring Life 240
12 For Queen and Country — A British Event:
Trooping the Colour 259
Conclusion 269
References 276
Subject Index 291
Name Index 302

List of Figures
Ll Energy in action 24
1.2 Work rhythms 25
1.3 Rhythm of sea and shore 27
14 Body rhythm: the heart 28
L5 Everyday timing in the past 31
1.6 Developing synchronicity 33
17 A sense of entrainment and balance 35
1.8 At first sight 36
19 Rhythmic interaction 37
2.1 The exciting possibilities of rhythmic intricacy 40
2.2 Keeping time 41
2.3 Visual rhythm: horizontal lines of flowing energy 43
2.4 Working together 44
2.5 A moment in comedy 47
2.6 Tradition and traces of ceremony in dance 50
2.7 Japanese actors in a scene 52
2.8 The reduced acting area intensifies the action 54
2.9 ‘Rhythm has an energising, infectious quality in dance’ 57
2.10 | Movement-rhythm in period style 58
2.11 A ceremonial Chinese procession 59
2.12 A Shakers’ service 61
3.1 Time imagined as a double-headed serpent 66
3.2 A view of time and the cosmos 67
3.3 An ancient oriental calendar-clock 71
3.4 The annual cycle of the Umeda 75
35 Time and Fortune 77
3.6 Spatial rhythm of travelling performance 78
37 Abbots Bromley Horn Dance, Staffordshire 80
3.8 Spectators contribute to performance rhythm 84
4l Visual rhythm: a pattern 87
4.2 Dance steps 88
43 Dancers weave in and out 89
4A An example of a dance 90
45 A drawing by choreographer Dana Reitz 91
46 Dancers with instruments 93
47 An example of Millicent Hodson’s work 94
48 From Japan 95
49 An example of Labanotation 96
7 Body and space 140
7.2 A unique world of timing and rhythm 141
73 A length of fabric adds to the rhythm of the dance 142
74 Body positions 143
15 Holding on 145
7.6 Spatial rhythm 147
77 Development of action 148
78 Use of rhythm evident in a back view 149
79 Environment 164
7.10 Auditorium, circus ring, stage and orchestra pit 165
TAL Plan of an Elizabethan playhouse 166
7.12 Promenade performance staging 167
7.13 Changing levels 168
7.14 Vertical rhythm 171
7.15 Movement-rhythm and timing summary 172
8.1 Observing the rhythm of writing 175
8.2 As if hewn from stone 176
8.3 From hand to hand 177
8.4 Outline traces 178
8.5 Visual rhythm: an emblematic pattern 180
8.6 Street carnival rhythm 184
8.7 Observed in nature 185
8.8 The skirt swirls 186
8.9 Atandom selection of words 194
9.1 Flowing lines of rhythm 204
9.2 Earth 208
93 Water 210
10.1 Map of the area 219
10.2 The church on the plaza at Old Pascua 220
10.3 Schematic plan of a Yaqui plaza 229
11 Papua New Guinea 241
11.2 A group of Maring men 246
113 A group of visitors 248
12.1 Plan of the area 260
12.2 The wide expanse of Horse Guards Parade 261
12.3 Pike drill 262
 Acknowledgements

Thanks are due to the following people: Father David Steindl-Rast for permission
to reprint lines from a poem (Chapter3); Ann Hutchinson Guest (Director) and
Jane Dulieu (Associate Director) The Language of Dance Centre, London — for
access to archives and permission to include notation from the collection; staff of
Museum of Mankind Library, London — for access to material (Chapter 4); David
Vaughan (Curator, Cunningham Archives) ~— for access to archives; Charles
Woodford — for access to Doris Humphrey material; staff of New York Public
Library Dance Collections — for access to material (Chapter 5); the late Rudolf
Laban and Lisa Ullmann (former Director, Laban Centre) — for learning
Opportunities as student and later as Senior Lecturer at the Laban Centre, and for
access to Laban archives and permission to include material (Chapter 6); Julia
Franks (therapist and former Rave events promoter) — for an interview and
comments on a draft of the rave dance section; Linda Shanson — for comments on
an early draft of Kathak dance observations; Edie and the late Victor Turner — for
discussion and hospitality during a research study visit (Chapter 8); Gerda Geddes
— for her teaching, discussion and comments on a draft of the chapter; staff and
class members at Henderson Court and Kingsgate Community Centre, London —
for their co-operation and class participation; Chungliang Al Huang
(President/Founder Living Tao Foundation) — for his teaching, permission to
include two examples of his calligraphy from the Living Tao Foundation
calligraphy set, quotations from Huang (1982, 1987) and for reading a draft of
the chapter; Shirley Freriks for comments on a draft of the chapter, William
Bascom, for discussion of environmental matters, and all other Tai Ji friends
(Chapter 9); Joann Kealiinohomuku (Director, Cross Cultural Dance Resources
(CCDR), Flagstaff) — for access to CCDR archives, for her introduction to the
Yaqui Easter and for research journeys, and for comments on a draft of the chapter;
Lisa Otey and Kathleen Williamson — for hospitality during study visits; Alison
Grady — for information about the Roman Catholic church; staff of the University
of Arizona Museum Library Collections, Tucson — for access to archives (Chapter
10); Allison Jablonko — for her willingness to allow access to film and research
material, and for hospitality during a research visit and for comments on a draft of
the chapter; Michael O’Hanlon — for discussion and comments during research
and on a draft of the chapter (Chapter 11); David Horn (Curator, Guards’
10 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Museum) — for interviews, access to archives, comments on a draft of the chapter

and for permission to use photographs and other material (Chapter 12); Martha
Davis — for two interviews and study material (Conclusion).
As work on writing this book proceeded, several other people read chapters
and made suggestions. My thanks to David Blewitt, Mary Firth, Rosemary
Howard, Ruth Serner, Phyllis Taylor and in the USA to Pat Brooks and Nancy
Zendora. 1 am very grateful to Jenny Pearson and to James Roose-Evans for
encouragement and for comments on final drafts of the text. Special thanks to
Wendy Robertson and staff at Type-it-Right.
Permission to use photographs and other illustrative copyright material was
received from Studio 3 Arts, photograph p.54; The Royal Academy of Dancing,
notation p.89; Millicent Hodson, illustration p.94; Dana Reitz, drawing p.91;
Berg Publishers, chart p.75; Siobhan Davies Dance Company, photograph p.149;
Judith Greenbaum, drawings p.35, 36, 178; Roy Rappaport, photographs p.241,
246, 248; Kumari Liyanage (Sri Lanka High Commission, London) Sinhalese
script p.175; Victoria and Albert Museum, prints p.31, 52, 59, 84, 165, 204.
Thanks are also due to Kiki Gale (Director) East London Dance (ELD) for
permission to use photographs from the ELD collection.
In addition, the author has received permission to include quotations in the
text as follows: excerpt from ‘The March Past’ from Collected Poems by Philip
Larkin. Copyright © 1988, 1989 by the Estate of Philip Larkin. Reprinted by
permission of Farrar, Straus and Giroux Inc. and of Faber and Faber Ltd; extract
from Slowness by Milan Kundera, translation copyright Linda Asher,
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.; quotation from On Acting by Laurence Olivier,
Weidenfeld and Nicolson, The Orion Publishing Group; lines from Yaqui Deer
Songs/Maso Bwikam:A Native American Poetry by Latry Evers and Felipe S. Molin.
Copyright © 1987 by The Arizona Board of Regents. Reprinted by permission of
the University of Arizona Press; extract from the book The Seven Spiritual Laws of
Success. Copyright © 1994 Deepak Chopra. Reprinted by permission of
Amber-Allen Publishing, Inc. P.O. Box 6657, San Rafael, CA 944903. All rights
reserved; quotation from Words and Music by Ira Gershwin/George Gershwin.
Copyright © 1926 Warner Music Corp. (renewed). All rights reserved.
Reproduced by permission of IMP Ltd.; lines from ‘The Second Coming’ by W.B.
Yeats: reprinted with the permission of A.P. Watt Ltd. on behalf of Michael Yeats
and of Scribner, a Division of Simon & Schuster, from The Collected Works of WB.
Yeats, Volume 1: The Poems, Revised and edited by Richard J. Finneran. Copyright
© 1924 by Macmillan Publishing Company, renewed 1952 by Bertha Georgie
Yeats; illustrative diagram “Takada drumming’ by Lazekpo and Pantaleoni,
African Music (1972) 4/4. Reproduced by permission of Andrew Tracey, Editor;
Diagram of Santa Clara Pueblo from Music and Dance of the Tewa Pueblos by
 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS / 11

Getrtude Kurath. Copyright © 1970. Reproduced by permission of the Museum

of New Mexico Press.
The material in some chapters was originally explored in ‘Rhythm and timing
in human movement with reference to performance events: drama, dance and
ceremony’ (1988) Ph.D. dissertation, Department of Anthropology, University
College, London. I record a debt of gratitude to the late John Blacking whose
comments and enthusiasm as chief examiner and subsequently were most
supportive, and to other inspirational teachers and friends, too numerous to
mention individually, to whom I owe much.
 Introduction

-Rhythm will, I believe, soon be proved to be the ultimate building block in not
only personality but also communication and health ... the rhythm of a
people may yet prove to be the most binding of all forces that hold human
beings together. (Hall 1983, pp.170, 224)
An essential dimension of our work lies in the rhythms of our interactions.
(Knox 1992, p.2)
Everyone has rhythm in him until it is blocked. (Brook 1993, p.18)
I think theatre has a lot to do with putting the audience in contact with the
gods, whatever that means. That’s where theatre comes from. (Lepage in
Delgado and Heritage (eds) 1996, p.143)
Theatre, drama, dance, ceremony, ritual — although distinct, these are related
performance genres which involve related modes of action. I have found that
studying them as such, aided by an anthropological approach, enriches the
perception of each. This is my basis for sharing some ideas about the use and
observation of time and rhythm in human movement in performance events.
Ideas about time elements have captivated and intrigued me during thirty years
of on-going study in the arts, education and anthropology, and in work as a
movement practitioner. The application of these ideas in the practical situation of
theatre-rehearsal, studio class or anthropological field-work has not only been
enlivening, but frequently also a rescue resource. For instance, I have applied them
as a teacher in dance class planning, or when employed as movement director in
developing a sequence or scene. When faced with challenges such as these, or as
an anthropologist observing and trying to analyse the structure of a ceremony, I
have drawn from an understanding of time elements in movement. This is just one
strategy found to unlock the seeming mystery of ‘what makes it work’; which is
not to deny the existence and usefulness of others, developed from considering
different approaches to movement, which can also enrich practitioners’ work.
A performance event, be it a performed work of drama, a dance, a ceremony or
ritual, is a totality in which participants use a combination of energy, space and

13
14 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

dynamics with time elements, in particular environments. These elements do not

exist in isolation or as separate entities. A performer's use of space with all aspects
of movement creates the impression, and establishes or changes the mood of
audience or congregation. However, when trying to improve work practice it is
possible to observe and concentrate on elements separately, to good and useful
effect. I have found too that appreciation ofa performance as a whole can be
heightened by focusing on the time elements. Their significance in a particular
context may be considered, rather than seen simply as decorative features in a
performance. I hope this book will stimulate an interest in all these matters.
The viewpoint here adopted is primarily that of a spectator rather than a
performer. But as examples demonstrate, it has been enhanced by my own and
others’ experience of teaching, performing, choreographing, directing and
observing performance. The examples are introduced to illustrate the use of
rhythm and timing in different contexts, and from different viewpoints, in order
to bring life to ideas and theories.
Imagination is required when reading about movement. There are some
photographs and a limited miscellany of other visual clues, but these can only
provide hints along the way — even the exciting immediacy ofa photograph can
only represent a moment within an on-going flow of events.
Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them
Printing their proud hoofs i’ the receiving earth;
For ‘tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings,
Carry them here and there; jumping o’er times,
Turning the accomplishment of many years
Into an hour-glass. (Shakespeare, King Henry V)

Why a book on time and rhythm in performance events? I have found that, despite
the richness of the subject and the importance frequently ascribed to the
phenomena of rhythm and timing in the arts, the topic as a whole has been
neglected. Critics make tantalising references in relation to theatre performance,
tantalising because the subject has not been thoroughly pursued. Take for
example this comment from critic Veronica Harwell:
Noh is the hardest of Japanese performance forms to crack — Japanese friends
mostly find them slow to the point of hypnosis. That's not unapt, because the
unreal time and permanent slight tension induce a meditative state. There are
echoes of the trances of shamanism here behind the cool Buddhism. The slightest
denouement — for famous example, a spiderwoman ejecting a sudden web — jolts.
(The Guardian, 13 July 1994)

Or a remark on comedy: ‘The two men agreed that timing was all important in a
performance’ (Victor Lewis-Smith, reviewing Ken Dodd’s interview with Jeremy
Isaacs, Evening Standard, 14 March 1995). In contexts as diverse as the rock and
 INTRODUCTION / 15

rave youth dance of popular culture, or the various forms of meditation and
Chinese-derived movement practice, the incidence and effect of rhythm and the
importance of timing are not contested. There have been some serious studies in
various academic disciplines such as by the eminent anthropologist Edmund Hall
(1983) and see Davis (1982), but the challenge of addressing and clarifying the
subject has still not been fully taken up in performance studies. In fact, not since
the American dance writer John Martin (1939) observed when commenting on
the ‘vexed subject’ of rhythm: ‘Indeed as soon as rhythm is mentioned, we are
likely to find ourselves enveloped in as dense a fog of mysticism and vagueness as
that which beclouds the subject of form itself. In this book I seek to begin to
address this lack, to clear the fog and to provide a compilation of ideas on the
subject taken from a number of sources. I bring together existing scattered
information, refer to pioneering work on various aspects of the subject and
include some original unpublished research material.
As a broad generalisation, I have found in teaching movement that there are
usually a few class participants whose sense of rhythm (as it is frequently
described) may appear dormant, but that the majority do respond to and enjoy
emphasis on the development of time elements in movement work. It appeals
equally to young and old alike. Furthermore, although I am not a therapist, 1 am
convinced that there is considerable healing potential in the sensitive, informed
use of movement rhythm. Indeed, the work of movement therapists attests to this.
For example, Siegel and Blau (1978) write about respiratory patterns in relation to
movement rhythm - ‘breathing together’; Fraenkel (1983) and Schmais (1985)
have looked at synchrony among other aspects of rhythm as curative factors in
movement therapy. When they discuss communication and empathy in therapy,
Cox and Theilgaard ascribe importance to ‘the domain of rhythm’ and state: ‘We
have now reached the border of another landscape ... it has something to do with
rhythm and beat, which make their presence felt in both theatre and therapy’
(1994, p.136). An experienced practitioner, Cynthia Knox, writing about
movement maintains ‘awareness of our own rhythms, our movement style, our
repertoire and range is crucial’. She suggests further that one of the reasons some
therapists are more successful than others may well be that ‘they have a wider
range of rhythmic modulation ... they are aware of timing, attuned to the need for
constraint and relaxation’ (1992, p.172).
There are many instances where the use of particular time elements in
movement benefits those suffering from forms of physical or mental impairment.
From time immemorial, mothers have known that a rocking rhythm soothes
babies or disturbed children, and I well remember Veronica Sherborne’s use of
this in her movement work with people of all ages who had learning difficulties
(see References (films) 1982). More recently, in the field of autism, Donna
Williams, who has written autobiographically on the subject, has found that she
 16 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

uses rhythmically based movement, such as a repetitive rocking motion, in her

attempts to get the left and right hemispheres of the brain to function in an
integrated way, and to induce calm in herself when feeling stressed. Williams
suggests that others can help autistic people by using the time element of pace
more sensitively, by moving, speaking and using the contact of touch, more
slowly (Williams 1996, pp.124—125, 205).
The most memorable learning can frequently be found in recognising one’s
mistakes. As an inexperienced young teacher I once inadvertently misused a
repetitive movement pattern (albeit reinforced by a drum) which after some
considerable duration caused one student to sink to the ground feeling disturbed.
This was an experience I have never forgotten and one which certainly alerted me
to the power and potential effect of rhythm At that time I was ignorant of
evidence about the suggested influence of rhythm, such as in trance states, in
Tsongan girls’ initiation rites for instance with ‘fast rhythmic drumming at basic
brain wave frequencies [and] energetic dancing which causes a flow of adrenalin
and a drop in blood sugar content’ — Southern Mozambique, Africa (Johnston
1974, pp.60-61).
Rhythm and timing of human movement, from the conception of the fetus to
the final stillness of death, are universal in human physical experience. This is
often instinctive, unconscious, as for example in the timing of the pulse, breath,
peristalsis or the functional action of limbs. These processes are taken for granted
almost, unless we suffer impairment or injury. Whether instinctive or planned and
consciously used, there is much to investigate about time elements and the
significance of their use in different societies, cultures and contexts.
Speech, sound and music are frequently used to generate, determine or
accompany rhythm in movement, especially in dance, as in the drum use above.
Many of the principles, formulations and ideas about rhythm and time in music
overlap with those about time elements in movement.’ However, my intention in
this book is to focus principally on the use of time elements in bodily movement
and other visual aspects of the performance environment, whether or not some
form of sound is also present.
What does it mean to speak with the body? In Portuguese, one says that the
skilled sambista is able, and obliged to ‘dizer no pé’— speak with the feet ... in the
Rio carnival: there is eloquence in the white shoes, in the silver high heels
scraping the asphalt ... [in the shanty-towns] the base feet stamping down ona

1 Indeed music has been influential in my own interest in the subject, which as a child was stimulated
not only by the clear patterns and ‘nature rhythms’ of Revived Greek dance, but also by my mother’s
‘music and movement’ teaching at the piano. As invaluable training in rhythm, I am particularly
grateful for extensive practical experience of early polyphonic choral music, at both school and
university. Interest in jazz and African, Indian and South American music were important
later
influences.
 INTRODUCTION / 17

concrete floor. The dance [samba] is a complex dialogue ... the feet keep up a
rapid patter, while the hips beat out a heavy staccato and the shoulders roll a slow
drawl ... a story of racial contact, conflict and resistance. (Browning 1991, p.1)

This book is written for anyone who is interested in movement, in communication

through movement. Fields of work to which it may be applied include the
expressive arts, teaching, directing, performing, arts’ therapies, inter-personal
communication and anthropology. It is designed to provide support for drama,
dance and movement practitioners who want to take their work and their
thinking about it further. I hope the contents may be useful as a springboard to
develop movement imagination and creativity, to broaden ideas of what it is
possible to experience through the medium of movement, to include in movement
practice, and to notice in performance. Teachers or those who work with people in
other ways may wish to introduce or pay more attention to movement in sessions.
Thinking about rhythm and timing and a full range of time elements could be a
useful start.
No book can replace the experience of courses and practical work, and this is
certainly not intended as a ‘tips for teachers’ manual, but it is designed to
encourage interested readers to think further about time elements in performance
context. Part | may perhaps be useful as an introductory reader on the subject: it
directs attention to a range of ideas and theories about rhythm, timing and time
elements in performance, with quotations and examples from many sources. The
chapters in Part II indicate ways in which we may apply ideas and theories in
performance observation and practice; factors and elements of movement rhythm
and timing are described and classified. Suggestions are made for the
development of skills in movement observation, with particular examples from
Twyla Tharp’s choreography, Indian Kathak dance and rock and rave events. One
chapter focuses on an application of ideas about rhythm and timing in a personal
experience and sharing of Tai Ji movement practice. In Part III, contrasting
approaches and descriptions of rhythm and timing in action are presented: in
Yaqui Indian Easter ceremonies, in traditional Maring life (Papua New Guinea)
and in a well-known British event — Trooping the Colour.
A cross-cultural, interdisciplinary perspective, and an attempt to consider the
arts in the context of society as a whole, are evident in some chapters. [ think this
approach developed initially from an interest in classical Greek drama, medieval
drama, early European pageants, masques and other integrated arts’ performance
forms. Aided by the study of anthropology with its non-ethnocentric viewpoint,
the approach has been further developed through knowledge of societies where it
is not customary to separate or define the arts in the western European manner. All
this has led me to consider my own specialisms in a new way and to experience
expanding horizons.
18 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

However, some disclaimers are necessary here. Since the topic covers such a
wide field of study, certain limitations in the contents are acknowledged. My
examination of contributions to studies by other writers is selective, and much has
been omitted. Moreover, although I make some reference to aspects of the use of
time elements in the history of drama and dance, I do not adopt a historical
perspective overall. The space-time concepts of physics are not discussed. Many
contexts have the potential for examination of time elements in performance. This
volume provides only a sampling.
Terms used in the field of study perhaps need a few wards of explanation.
Anthropology: broadly stands for studying peoples of the world. Social
anthropology. the comparative study of different societies; how human society is
structured and how it functions; social, economic, political and ritual
organisation. Ethnography: the essential part of anthropology which provides
direct information about a society with the collection of data through
observation, direct enquiry (and with varying degrees of participation in the life
of the people concerned). The approach is investigative and descriptive rather
than critical or judgmental. Cultural anthropology: includes the study of material
culture and evidence of ‘artistic expression’ with other aspects of anthropology.
Theatre anthropology. inter-cultural research into techniques of performers, and
performance principles and traditions (Eugenio Barba is in the vanguard of this
research). Anthropology of performance. a somewhat broader field of study than
theatre anthropology, more closely linked with social and cultural anthropology.
Performance: in daily usage to ‘perform’ means to carry out, to do something, to
execute an action or a task. Social scientist Goffman applies the term ina restricted
sense to everyday behaviour, but defines ‘performance’ in conventional theatre
terms as ‘that arrangement which transforms an individual into a stage performer,
the latter, in turn, being an object that can be looked at for engaging behaviour, by
persons in the audience role’ (1974, p.2). We may perhaps consider the concept of
performance more simply as some form of enactment, or we may describe it
broadly as a public communication process, an intentional interaction in a
designated location. As Goffman suggests, it requires one or more persons in the
role of performer and an audience; but there are different kinds of
performer—audience relationships, purposes and expectations world-wide —
whether in theatre, ceremony or ritual. Performers or executants of any event
bring particular focus and energy to the task, and the presence and participation
of the audience or congregation affects the whole. Through the performers’
powers of expression and with other aspects of presentation such as music or
visual effects, the aims are to evoke intensification of experience and perhaps to
alter moods or attitudes among the spectators. Or more succinctly, ftom Bauman’s
definition, performance is ‘a heightened mode of communication framed in a
special way’ (1992, p.41).
 INTRODUCTION / 19

Performance events: this umbrella term is used to include not only conventional
western drama and dance but also festivals, ceremonies, rituals, masquerades,
carnivals, processions and other public spectacles. (Visual artists also use
‘performance’ to describe their ‘live art’ events.) Drama, dance: there are problems
in applying and using these terms cross-culturally, since they do not necessarily
translate into the experience or languages of all societies. Many do not have
separate words for ‘the arts’. However, in this book I hope contextual usage of the
terms will be self-explanatory.
Ceremony, ritual: these are terms which invariably shade into one another in
usage. Apart from its use in referring to repetitive, everyday habits, ‘ritual’ is
usually understood as prescribed formal behaviour, frequently associated with a
mythic past or with a specifically religious or spiritual meaning. For instance,
ritual may be enacted to communicate with a spirit world or directed ‘to secure the
blessing of some mystical power’ (Wilson 1957, p.9). Other anthropologists
eliminate the religious element in their definitions of ritual but conclude with
Leach that ‘it serves to communicate information about a culture’s most cherished
values’ (Leach 1954, pp.25—38). In the enactment of one event ‘ceremony’ might
be the formal, prescribed order, the outward form of procedure, while ‘ritual’
might constitute the central core of meaning. Turner, stressing an important
function of ritual, believes ‘Ceremony indicates, ritual transforms’ (1982, p.80).
This transformation can be of many kinds — for example it may concern
movement from one season to another, or from one stage in an individual's life
cycleto the next. Or, as Roose-Evans emphasises, ritual essentially involves a
process which effects a change (1994, p.10).
The ceremony or ritual event consists of a planned orchestration of symbolic
action with restricted, specific objectives and social functions. Certain aspects of
the process are like that of theatre performance, including a particular location,
the presence of specialists, the need for preparation, separation of the activity
from everyday life and time, and specific use of conventions, language, gesture and
so on. In the context of a ritual, presence at the event involves full sharing,
participation and concentrated attention — bearing witness. A strong degree of
audience involvement validates and reinforces a sense of community. Enactment
may be considered essential for a group’s collective identity or survival, and
thought of as causally effective, whether or not any results actually occur.
Roose-Evans and others urge us to think seriously about the human need for ritual
and to consider how we might set about regenerating ritual forms and devising
ceremonies, as indeed some people are doing today (Roose-Evans 1994). Time
elements are a key factor here, which I hope will become clear as the study
proceeds.
However we may choose to define or explain them, the activities of theatre,
drama, dance, ceremony and ritual are related and not always separate, which is
20 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

seen especially in the work of some performers and theatre traditions. For
instance, American modern dance doyen Martha Graham's dancing was close to
ritual, and ceremony is certainly evident in Japanese traditional theatre.
Apart from an apparent human need for all these activities, perhaps, as
commonly thought, they also share roots in the distant past. I prefer to avoid an
evolutionary perspective, but it is generally thought that early Greek tragedy has
inherited something of the seriousness and structure of ancient rites, as Graham
discovered.
Despite these academic and solemn thoughts, it has occurred to me that
rhythm and timing in performance may seem a frivolous topic for these frequently
troubled and disturbing times.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world. (Yeats, ‘The Second Coming’)

Yeats’ words sometimes appear all too relevant today. But if we feel as if the forces
of division and disintegration are rife, perhaps rhythm may be summoned to our
aid to nourish integration with its enlivening presence and unifying potential.
 PART I

Ideas and Theories

 1

Rhythm in Human Movement

Rhythm is that which asserts, it is the form of movement, it is vital.

(Francois Delsarte, in Shawn 1954, p.55)

‘Fascinating rhythm, You've got me on the gol!’ In his lyrics Ira Gershwin
complains of a ‘darn persistent’ rhythm that ‘pit-a-pats’ through the brain. It is a
common experience: a reaction to a tune which has a captivating sequence of
beats ‘and varied accents. Rhythm here consists in an arrangement of beats and
accents, with tempo, into a pattern.
To identify and have a mutual understanding of what is meant by ‘rhythm’ in
music and words is relatively straightforward. But the concern of this study is how
to recognise and identify rhythm in human movement — a different, more
complex affair. Whether in everyday life or in the context of drama, dance,
ceremony, ritual, performance or movement session, we may readily agree with
Delsarte that it is vital, but how may the bodily use of time elements that create
rhythm be described?
When we are working to develop skills in the observation of rhythm, and
awareness of the possibilities of its use, a helpful beginning is to identify what is
meant by the term and to note how it is used. However, this can be confusing,
since in the performance context we meet a diversity of perception, opinion and
understanding of rhythm on the part of both performers and spectators. ‘Sense’ of
rhythm varies with each individual: performers differ in the way they assimilate or
learn the rhythm and time content of a work, and spectators’ perceptions are
influenced by past experience, which may also have included practical
performance experience.
In everyday life, what do we see when we look at people moving? Let us take
an example: I was sitting in a London café recently, with a view of three busy
pavements. Looking out for use of time elements and for the location of rhythm in
the body, in the time it took to write the description, I noted: a skipping child with
swinging plaits, pulled along by a striding woman; a group of four dawdling
window shoppers with uneven, casually placed steps; a couple walking and

23
 24 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

talking, gesticulating emphatically; another couple, arms linked, walking

smoothly in step with each other, with marked continuity of flow — size and pace
of steps matching; people’s heads moving up or down, as landmarks were located
or maps consulted; some sharply turning side to side with eye-focus changing as
people crossed the street, one man’s head involuntarily moving up and down in
time as he plodded along. There were many variations in arm swings, or in the
way arms were sometimes kept still, usually when anchored through carrying
bags, briefcases and other objects, or in pockets.
All this movement must have been mostly instinctive and without conscious
intent. We take for granted many primary influences on our movement — such as
the force of gravity, for instance. Perhaps I did see consciously adopted rhythm
when, finally, a young woman, apparently in a hurry, walked quickly by with a
strong, repetitive, driving beat, and with matching arm swings which assisted her
forward motion.

Figure 1.1 Energy in action: varied patterns, randomicity and some shared timing from NewVic dancers
as they improvise in a street environment.
Source: Hugo Glendinning
 RHYTHM IN HUMAN MOVEMENT / 25

ee
rm NE Ae

Figure 1.2 Work rhythms.

Source: Georg Agricola, De Re Metallica (1557)

[ have described simple patterns of movement. To return to the Gershwin song, as

in music, from both the performer's and the viewer's standpoint, rhythm in human
movement may indeed essentially be described as consisting of the arrangement
of components into a sequential pattern or series of patterns. A sense of this is
communicated bodily to a baby carried on its mother’s back when she dances — as
is customary in some places. Physically produced patterns of rhythm are evident
in everyday actions, in repetitive working actions, such as sawing or hammering —
actions which a rhythmic motion can help to energise and which are sometimes
transferred into folk dance context, and further ‘rhythmicised’.'
Such patterns are derived from a performer's intention and from the use of
energy — nervous and muscular power — and from varied ways of handling energy

1 This is vividly illustrated in composer Giorgio Battistelli’s Experimentum Mundi. Derived from the
repetitive action-rhythms of various artisans and crafts workers’ occupations, the piece has been
described as a scenic concerto. In the 1995 UK International Festival of contemporary music.
(Almeida Theatre, London) the performance consisted of Italian workers demonstrating their trades
in a co-ordinated ensemble, complete with the necessary tools and materials: stone mason, pasta
maker, coopers, carpenters, pavers, masons, smiths, knife-grinders, and show makers (with additional
percussion and spoken text from Diderot's Encyclopédie ou Dictionnaire Ratsonné des Sctences, des Arts et des
Métiers (1751-1776).
26 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

in space through time duration. An experienced performer knows how to activate

the potential range of energy output we all possess. Whether male or female, both
draw on inner animus (vigorous) and anima (delicate) energies for performance
presence and according to performance need. For the Balinese performer these
contrasting energies are known as keras and manis, in India they are tandava and
lasya. Indeed there are many terms used for various aspects of energy in
performance cross-culturally. Again in Bali, for instance, there is not only
recognition of the energy use acquired through long training — cesta kara, but also
of another form of energy — the performer's less predictable, inspirational power
during performance, known as taksu (Barba and Savarese 1991, pp.74—94). In
ritual, or in some traditional forms of performance the energy may be seen as
divinely inspired, or related to spiritual powers. In an account of the various
Mexican Concheros dance groups for example, anthropologist Susanna Rostas
tells us that the pre-Columbian deities (with whom the Mexica — an
‘Indianity’-promoting group — wish to commune during the dance) are conceived
as different forms of energy, and that some dancers talk about the dance in terms
of energies (1998, pp.98-9).
In my example, energy and rhythm were evident in the patterning of accents
and changing tensions in people’s bodily movement, in muscular action, in
repetition; in gestures and in transference of weight in steps of various kinds. This
weight transference led to other rhythmi¢ movement, such as the swing of arms as
people walked and the swinging plaits of the child. Rhythm was also evident in
the interplay of tempi, dynamics, pauses and duration.
Returning to usage of the term, when people say ‘rhythm’ they may be
referring to the use of any one of its constituent elements such as beat, accents or
tempo. Or they may be sharing my frequent use of it as an umbrella term which
encompasses all those elements, and more. Alternatively, a rhythm may describe
one particular pattern of movement.

Physiological, biophysical or ‘natural’ features of rhythm

Some physiological features of rhythm can be observed easily with the naked eye;
others, referred to as innate or inner rhythms, are less accessible or readily
discernible. These require the use of technological equipment for their
observation. For instance, it was easy for me to see the outward bodily action of
the child on the pavement, transferring her weight from one foot to the other. I
could recognise the characteristic ‘dotted’ skipping pattern which is reliant on our
two-legged body structure’, Id or — — — — tight, right, left, left.
 RHYTHM IN HUMAN MOVEMENT / 27

Figure 1.3 Rhythm of sea and shore.

Source: Margaret Lapping

But I could not observe her pulse rate, breathing pattern or the movements of her
internal organs which were occurring instinctively and involuntarily.”
All human rhythms are roated in co-ordinated physiological processes. We are
affected too, by the rhythms of the natural environment. These include seasonal,
lunar and circadian rhythms of the day/night cycle which relate to the cyclical

2 Although we may not be able to observe ‘inner’ rhythms in other people, perhaps we can visualise or
develop a sense of some of our own. This may sometimes be evident in theatre performance. For
instance, in a programme of solo works in celebration of his fiftieth birthday, Mikhail Baryshnikov
premiered a piece, inspired and accompanied by sounds derived from the rhythm of his own heart
beats — with the aid of M.I.T. technology. And dance artist Deborah Hay has been exploring her sense
of inner rhythms in a deeper way for many years. ‘I dance by directing my consciousness to the
movement of every cell in my body simultaneously so that I can feel all parts of me from the inside...’
(Hay 1977-1978, p.21). Thus some performance artists develop and use particular inner awareness,
perhaps better described as imagination — since ‘a single cell in the body is doing about six trillion
things per second’ (Chopra 1996, p.7). A complexity of rhythms inhabits us ~ and renders external
everyday and most performance rhythms extremely simple in comparison.
28 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

HAA AIA
ol Meet tt
200 -

. | Hi 4
KA
Hg

_—_——_—}+—
mr

50--

Figure 1.4 Body rhythm — the heart: electrocardiograph readings showing arrhythmia — atrial
Jibrillation — and pressure recording below showing varying pressure.

nature of ecological processes too, all dominated by our primary energy source,
the sun.’ And as Chopra writes:
Your body is not separate from the body of the universe, because at quantum
mechanical levels there are no well-defined edges. You are like a wiggle, a wave, a
fluctuation, a convolution, a whirlpool, a localized disturbance in the larger
quantum field. The larger quantum field — the universe — is your extended body.
(1996, p.69)
Ideas about environmental rhythms may seem far removed from rhythm in
movement performance, but our inner biological clocks are ‘in sync’ with them
through the process of ‘exosomatic timing’ — that is, the phasing of an inner
bodily activity with outer events (Hall 1983, p.18). We take staying in phase for
granted — it is out of our conscious control. We are likely to notice it only when the
biorhythms which regulate body functions are disturbed or disoriented — to
which anyone who has suffered from the effects of jet lag will testify. Gay Gaer
Luce’s Body Time: The Natural Rhythms of the Body (1972) and Martha Davis’ (ed.)

3 Astrologer Margaret Lapping writes: ‘We are each born into three rhythms of light and dark which
stay with us from the moment we are born until the day we die. The most obvious of these is the
change from night to day. Then there is the cycle of the Moon, from the dark of the new Moon to the
brightness of the Full Moon; a cycle which we experience through the lunar month of twenty-eight
days. Finally there is the summer/winter change. After the summer solstice, the sun gradually loses
strength, and, as the days grow shorter, the growing darkness brings us eventually to the longest
night at the winter solstice. There is one night in the year when these three rhythms coincide and we
touch the deepest darkness of the year. This is at midnight on the night of the New Moon that falls
before the winter solstice. The actual date will vary each year, for instance in 1996 the date is 10th
December; in 1997 it is 30th November. (The summer-winter cycle only applies at high latitudes. In
tropical climes the rhythm is different.)’ (1997, unpublished manuscript).
 RHYTHM IN HUMAN MOVEMENT / 29

Interaction Rhythms (1985) are informative introductions to the subject. Davis

presents a range of approaches. Luce in particular stresses the need for awareness
and understanding of our own ‘rhythmic structure’ and for ‘feeling our rhythmic
nature’ (Luce 1973, p.10). She writes, ‘Invisible rhythms underlie most of what
we assume to be constant in ourselves and the world about us. Life is in continual
flux and the change is not chaotic’ (Luce 1973, p.16).
In physiological studies ‘rhythm’, ‘cycle’ and ‘periodicity’ in particular are
investigated in studies of breathing, pulse rate, brain waves, neuromuscular
co-ordination, muscular exertion and menstruation. Physiological processes have
been observed and measured in various contexts in relation to health, bodily skill,
efficiency, ageing and perception, and in everyday behaviour, communication and
interaction. This results in quantitative analysis, based on various kinds of
measurement and frequently making use of time-lapse filming in order to
undertake detailed observation and analysis. In one such study, Condon (1978)
established that each of six different brain wave frequencies is linked to specific
aspects of self-synchrony, In the performance arts context, an example of a
quantitative, physiological approach to rhythm may be found in some studies of
dance technique (Ryman and Rannie 1978). However, as already mentioned, our
internal rhythms are generally less noticeable, except during strenuous exertion,
or unless things go wrong. Changes in rhythmic patterns of movement occur in
illness — most evident in illnesses such as Parkinson’s disease, or in the after effects
of a stroke.
Research from the University of Minnesota provides a striking example of an
aspect of the significance of biological rhythms. Director of the University of
Minnesota Medical School’s Chronobiology research, Franz Halberg, studied
circadian rhythms in relation to internal bodily functions. He suggested in the
early 1980s that biological rhythms should be used more fully in medical
diagnosis (reported in The Observer, 20 September, 1981). These include rhythms
of brain impulses (on average, several per second), heart beats (about one per
second), the sleep-wake cycle, the menstrual cycle, pregnancy patterns, body
temperature fluctuations, blood cell counts, adrenal gland activity, enzyme levels
and hormonal function. For example, Halberg suggested that abnormal rhythms
in certain hormone levels can be a clear indicator that the patient is a potential
breast cancer victim years before the disease develops.
There has been criticism of the standard medical belief that there is a constant
‘normal’ temperature, blood pressure and heart rate. These vary in a predictable
way over the 24-hour cycle, and the effectiveness of drugs can vary enormously
depending on the time of day they are taken, as shown in Halberg’s findings. In
the same report, William Hrusbesky, Assistant Professor of Medicine at the
University of Minnesota Medical School, remarked: ‘We want to change
substantially the practice of medicine. It would mean reorganising hospital
30 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

schedules and bringing patients in at unusual hours, But doing and timing are
such complementary elements that we cannot afford to go on ignoring them.’
Gunther Hildebrandt of the Institute for Ergophysiology at the University of
Marburg has stated: ‘It has been found that the rhythmics of the human organism
function utterly harmonically — that is, the frequencies of pulse, breathing, blood,
circulation etc., as well as their combined activities. We can observe that these
thythms are strictly co-ordinated.’ Haase points out that interrupting these
rhythms actually causes illness — ‘particularly in cancer cases we observe a total
irregularity of all rhythms ... rhythmic chaos’ (quoted in Berendt 1988, p.1 19).
When she was considering biophysical processes in relation to dance,
anthropologist Kealiinohomoku explained how dance or dance-like behaviour
appears to excite neurotransmitters in the brain:
Neurotransmitters release peptides that affect performers’ emotions, precipitate a
variety of physiological changes, and create innumerable side-effects through a
complex of interactions. A feedback loop goes from perception to behaviour to
chemical responses to emotions, back to reinforced or transformed behaviour and
enhanced apperceptions. (1981, p.1).

This idea differs from the linear, central brain-controlled behaviour which
formerly was thought to control our ‘biological’ or ‘internal’ clocks and resulting
physical movement.

Cultural and social factors

One problem of relating physiological or biophysical research to human
movement expression is that of distinguishing between biological rhythms and
the influence of social or cultural conditioning factors. Despite her emphasis on
the significance of ‘natural’ features, Luce stressed that our sense of time is
culturally conditioned. When explaining social behaviour, anthropologists have
generally placed their emphasis on cultural and societal influences, certainly in
Britain. In the USA too, Birdwhistell maintained: ‘While body motion behaviour
is based in the physiological structure, the communicative aspects of this
behaviour are patterned by social and cultural experience’ (Birdwhistell 1970,
p.173). More directly in relation to biological rhythms and experience of time,
British anthropologist Blacking suggested that although they may influence
feelings and even performance, ‘they do not necessarily determine experience of
time’ (1977a, p.16).
In relation to ritual, some anthropologists (pre-eminently, Turner) have found
that they could not isolate the use of symbols in ritual from biophysical or
psycho-biological processes. Turner, who in this context also included reference
to rhythm, asserted that ritual movement ‘draws on biological, climatic and
ecological rhythms, as well as social rhythms’ (Turner 1982, p.81). Indeed, the
 RHYTHM IN HUMAN MOVEMENT / 31

biological constant underlies all human enactment and life patterns, including all
the variations in social or cultural systems that occur cross-culturally. Ways in
which societies differ in their use of rhythm and time serve to highlight its
significance. Along with all the other variations between peoples, not only are
there distinct cultural differences in this usage, but rhythm affects human
interaction in various ways (for instance, see Condon 1982). Anthropologist
Edward Hall, the pre-eminent authority in this field, contrasts what he calls the
American-European attitude to the use of time with a range of other attitudes. For
example, in a broad generalisation, he contrasts what he has observed as the
characteristically slower tempo of normal transactions among the American
Indians in the western part of the USA, with whom he lived for a number of years,
to the faster ‘whites’ and ‘blacks’. He writes: ‘The power of the rhythmic message
within the group is as strong as anything I know. It is one of the basic components
in the process of identification, a hidden force that, like graviry, holds groups
together’ (Hall 1983, p.184—185).
In performance events, cultural diversity in rhythm is evident in a number of
performance features — in the style of performing, use of preferred tempi, style of
dance: steps and patterns, and use of gesture in acting. We can be in danger of

Figure 1.5 Everyday timing in the past: strolling pausing as an orchestra plays, dnd the rhythm of
stylised greetings. A Perspective of the Grand Walk in Vauxhall Gardens (1765).
Source: Courtesy of Victoria and Albert Museum
32 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

making oversimplified stereotypical generalisations if we carry this idea too far.

However, as an example, a ‘Japanese’ style of performance and performing in
Ninagawa’s production of A Midsummer Night's Dream was unmistakable, and the
use made of rhythm and timing was certainly a contributory factor (Mermaid
Theatre, London 1996).
This performance style combined recognisable elements from traditional
Japanese theatre (Kabuki, Noh) with an everyday, Japanese ‘folk’ style of
movement and behaviour. The former was seen in Titania's performance — in her
sweeping gestures, distinctive head movements and use of accented performance
attack. The ‘folk’ style was seen in the performances of Bottom and his crew of
‘rustics’ (also known as ‘the mechanicals’). For instance, they adopted patterns of
bustling steps and the rhythms of everyday actions from Japanese kitchens and
rural life. These styles were combined with the overall energy, distinctive technical
mastery, visual effects, use of orchestral music and experimental theatre
techniques — a mix of styles and theatrical ingredients for which Ninagawa is
famous. There was effective use of time elements, reminiscent of experimental
theatre techniques, seen, for instance, in an extended, exaggerated slow motion
sequence of studied shock and amazement when the mechanicals reacted to
Bottom’s appearance as an ass. Thus this production provided an example of
overall directional style and stylistic use of rhythm and time elements. Seeing this
variety and individuality coming through perhaps helps to overcome the mistake
of making one-dimensional stereotypical observations.
Social influences on our use of rhythm may include the stratum of society from
which the individual comes, the family group, and any distinctive group to which
the individual might belong — like a teenage gang. Bottom’s crew had clearly
adopted a group style of movement behaviour and shared rhythm. In a play, the
changing situations which occur throughout its course affect a character’s
rhythm. Other influences to consider are: location (for instance, urban or rural),
historical period, age of the character, intention and mood changes within the
role, as well as an actor's individual personality and personal idiosyncrasies. With
some actors, these last personal rhythm characteristics may be clearly evident in
every role undertaken. As Hall says, ‘Rhythmic patterns may turn out to be one of
the most important personality traits that differentiates one individual from the
next’ (1983, p.180). Other actors may be more successful in relinquishing their
own patterns and in adopting a new movement-rhythm personality for each role.

Inter-personal communication
The patterns of rhythm which provoked the most audience laughter during
Ninagawa’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream production occurred during the
interaction and inter-personal exchanges of the rustics. There has been a
considerable amount of research into inter-personal communication, both verbal
 RHYTHM IN HUMAN MOVEMENT / 33

Figure 1.6 Developing synchronicity. This is sometimes encouraged through hearing a shared beat or by
moving with physical contact. Here it is evident with use of eyes and with reliance on a leader who is
carefully focusing on the way abead. Dance workshop session, East London Dance.
Source: Phil Polglaze

and non-verbal, with the use of micro-analysis of movement in filmed segments —

much of which concerns aspects of biophysical rhythm. This is not the place for a
full survey, but some examples are needed since communication is a key feature in
performance events. These references make a useful contribution to our quest for
identifiable characteristics of rhythm in human movement.
] have already referred briefly to a physical sense of rhythm between mother
and baby, the most obvious, basic inter-personal communication rhythm there is,
both before and after birth. As one important contribution to studies of this
subject I cite the work of Judith Kestenberg (1977). For instance, she noted early
preferred ‘tension-flow’ rhythm in babies, of gratification, frustration, excitation,
34 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

relaxation, random activity and play. Kestenberg made use of, and expanded
Laban-derived procedure and terminology. The time elements she noted were
frequency of repetition, degree of intensity, rate of increase of flow characteristics
(‘free’ or ‘bound’). Kestenberg usefully differentiates between the rhythms of
‘tension flow’ and ‘shape flow’. Fluctuation in tension flow arises from muscular
action, and ‘The rhythm of shape flow consists of alternation between growing
and shrinking of body shape’ (1977, pp.86-90). A related study of mother and
baby from Beatrice Beebe demonstrated that rhythmic variations in a mother’s
arm movements influence the level of engagement with her baby (Beebe 1982).
Interactional synchrony was first described in 1966 by Condon and Ogston,
who originally suggested that it is established by sound cues. Stern and others
have suggested it occurs when people perceive and relate to a shared underlying
pulse (Stern 1973). Through intensive film analysis, Condon discovered ways in
which human behaviour ‘is ordered and rhythmical, at many levels, and with
respect to both speech and body motion and to personal and interactional
behaviour’. (1968, p.2). Kendon and Ferber studied how people greet one
another. They referred to rhythm, synchrony, duration and timing of gaze.
Synchronizing one’s movements with another but yet not meeting the other's
eyes or in some other way signalling a request for contact in an explicit fashion is
commonly followed by explicit contact between P and the person whose
movements P picks up ... By simply picking up the rhythm of another person’s
movements one can establish a connection with him. (Kendon and Ferber 1971,
p.122).

When I asked an engineer who is concerned with environmental matters how he

would define rhythm, he immediately replied ‘It’s vibration! I see it as energetic
vibration.’ Indeed, vibration or oscillation is the fundamental idea of rhythm in
the whole physical world. ‘Just feel the vibes, man!’ Neuroscientists are familiar
with the fact that neural circuits tend to oscillate rhythmically. It has now been
shown that ‘these oscillations are not restricted to the cerebral context but occur at
various levels in the nervous system’ (Capra 1996, pp.284—285). Byers found that
the interpersonal and speech/movement synchrony is a product of biological
oscillators which impose temporal order on communication behaviour, in
temporal units of 10 c/sec. and 5 c/sec. His ultimate goal was to discern ‘the
underlying grammar of the rhythmic interplay and to relate this directly to
interpersonal relatedness’ (1972, p.90). He considered that movement was
organised on a biological basis although culturally patterned. Byers’ results
support Lashley’s 1951 prediction that the neurophysiological problem of how
the brain manages serial ordering would be resolved by the discovery of
underlying ordering rhythms.
 RHYTHM IN HUMAN MOVEMENT / 35

Chapple measured frequency and duration of actions in interaction and

emphasised the importance of biological rhythm in his early human
communication research:
Consider the enormous range of biological rhythms in the human body, fast and
slow, transmuted and integrated by the complex interdependence of the somatic,
autonomic, and endocrine nervous systems. The resultants of this synthesis of
movement and sound act directly on us, spatially and temporally differentiating
our interactional patterns. (1982, p.50).

Chapple described how the rhythms which consist of ‘biological (relaxation)

oscillators’ synchronise at varying levels of complexity (a hierarchical
organisation of biological oscillators) from RNA and DNA metabolism and cell
division to the cycles directly observable in the whole organism. Chapple and
Condon’s film presentation of their findings at a research conference
demonstrated self and interactional synchrony occurring in fractions of a second
(reported in Davis (1982)).

Figure 1.7 A sense of entrainment and balance. Regular, synchronised patterns of rhythm may develop
from people standing and softly swaying, slowly moving with gradual shifts of weight — until others
enter perhaps to join in or with a change of plan.
Source: Judith Greenbaum
36 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Figure 1.8 At first sight a lively, uneven, irregular rhythm of hands and lines of action. But most hands
seem to be moving towards a common centre and with a shared upward impetus: perhaps a growing sense
of synchrony is implied.
Source: Judith Greenbaum

An influential pioneer in the field, Birdwhistell, coined the term ‘kinesics’ for ‘the
science of body behavioural communication’ (see Birdwhistell 1952, 1970). His
interest was in the multi-channel, cross-referencing patterns of interpersonal
communication, and he stressed its complexity. The time elements he included for
observation were mainly tempo and use of a recognisable, sometimes shared,
‘beat’.
Drawing on evidence from these pioneers and others, we become more aware
of the tendency towards synchrony in compatible human relationships and in
nature — such as are seen in flocks of birds, or schools of fish. Some descriptions of
synchrony refer to it as ‘entrainment’ or ‘mutual phase locking’. Following
evidence from science, Berendt’s definition of entrainment (or sharing a rhythm)
is to ‘vibrate in harmony’ (1988, p.117). Thus here we may be reminded of my
engineer friend’s definition of rhythm as vibration. An extreme example of
synchrony in ritual may be found in the trance-worship of some Pentecostal
religious sects, where observers have remarked upon the shared, synchronised
breathing of participants (Kane 1974; La Barre 1969).
 RHYTHM IN HUMAN MOVEMENT / 37

A tendency towards synchrony which develops in the performance context

may be particularly noticeable when a comedian ‘warms up’ an audience. If it is
achieved successfully this grows into a shared tempo and sense of timing in the
delivery and response to jokes. It can be seen, too, in both speech and movement,
in a successful double act. In a tribute programme for the actor Ronnie Barker,
Ronnie Corbett, his long-standing partner in The Two Ronnies BBC TV comedy
series, remarked that he considered a key reason for the great success of their

Figure 1.9 Rhythmic interaction: traditional English dance in processional form travels through the
streets, calling at houses, clubs, pubs en route — from 9 am on Easter Saturday. In iron-clad clogs, the
Britannia Coconut dancers of Bacup, Lancashire perform two dances alternately. They are accompanied
by a silver band and a man with a whip — the ‘Whipper In’ — to whip winter away and make room for
the dance. Garlands are used in one dance; in the other, with an intricate pattern of steps and leaps the
men knock the wooden cotton-bobbin ‘nuts’ which are attached to hands, waist and thighs.
Source: Doc Rowe
 38 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

acting partnership was their shared timing (Ronnie Barker:A Life in Comedy, BBC
TV, 1 January 1996). (See Chapter 2 for further reference to performance timing.)
Productive company rehearsals are the result ofa shared, driving forward tempo,
according to James Levine, conductor and artistic director of the Metropolitan
Opera, New York: ‘They have to have a kind of interactive, forward stride —
otherwise they don’t function’ (interview, Naked Classics: The Boss, Channel 4 TV,
19 January 1997). Members of a dance ensemble may well experience a form of
entrainment when they work together to ‘pick up’ a unison movement from the
choreographer. It occurs in a movement class when students have really ‘tuned in’
and are working together, perhaps from the basis ofa shared beat. This kind of
work generates group energy and can provide a powerful experience of group
synchrony. George Leonard found examples of entrainment in the relation
between preachers and congregations, and in harmonious husband and wife
relationships — as well as in those of mother and child of the kind described by
Kestenberg and Beebe (Leonard 1981).
During preparations for a revival of Arnold Wesker’s army-based Chips with
Everything (Royal National Theatre, 1997) actors who had experienced military
training, and some of the others who had been rehearsing, remarked to
interviewing journalists on the satisfaction they felt in the correct performance of
synchronised, precisely timed drill. McNeil describes his experience of this in a
study of the topic: ‘conscious only of keeping in step so as to make the next move
correctly and in time somehow felt good ... a strange sense of personal
enlargement ... becoming bigger than life, thanks to participation in collective
ritual’. McNeil labels this process ‘muscular bonding’ and suggests that it involves
‘a characteristic altering of consciousness that sets in as the rhythm of muscular
movement takes hold’ (1995, pp.2—-8). We can see this ‘human penchant for
moving together in time’ in parades, demonstrations, exercise classes. It is well
known that such action overcomes fatigue, and, more ominously, well-drilled
troops are more efficient in battle. The spectacle of massed Nazi salutes in
documentary films of the 1930s still retains a terrifying power.
Canetti refers to this phenomenon in his ground-breaking study and
categorisation of crowds. He suggests that shared rhythmic action was important
in primeval times and that survival was achieved through group unity, seen at its
most powerful when members are ‘performing in exactly the same way and with
the same purpose’, a dense, egalitarian consensus. Within this scenario the ‘com-
munal excitement’ of a rhythmic or throbbing crowd’ develops, which Canetti sees
exemplified in the Maori haka, originally a war dance (1962, pp.30-34).‘

4 During an otherwise shared event, lack of synchrony may be significant. For instance, anthropologist
Monica Wilson noted ‘little common movement, each [person] dances alone as if fighting a single
combat’ in her vivid account of the dancing, wailing and drumming during East African Nyakyasa
burial rites’ (1957, p.23).
 RHYTHM IN HUMAN MOVEMENT / 39

In relation to the performer-audience connection, Jean-Marie Pradier remarks:

‘perceiving the movement of others induces a response in our own body — ina
religious ceremony, political demonstration or performance’ (Pradier 1989, in
Barba and Savarese 1991, p.215). Giving or sharing a performance is an exercise
in inter-personal communication. Actors communicate with fellow actors on
stage, with the audience; dancers interact with others in a dance ensemble. The
leader of a ceremony communicates with the participants. The use of movement-
rhythm and timing, perceived as the interlinked set of features and inseparable
components described, is evident and significant in all these processes of
communication, on stage or off, and whether with gods, spirits, fellow humans —
or indeed, with animals.
In conclusion, we can see that in performance, or in a performance event, there
are in process a number of influences and different features in the bodily use of
time elements that create rhythm, or ‘a rhythm’. These include the visible,
physiological patterns which we can observe with our eyes, the less discernible
biophysical features, the performers’ inner rhythms, the influence of natural
environmental rhythms, and other rhythms of the historical era and environment;
cultural conditioning, social influences and personal characteristics as well as
those of a performer's or director’s adopted styles. The total pattern emerges as a
correlation of parts, a complicated, many-layered mesh of relations between
components. It emerges not only from each individual performer's use of rhythm,
but also from the rhythms of interaction and of group activity. A complex web
indeed.
 2

Patterns in Time
Metricity, Flow, Timing and Other Aspects
of Rhythm in Performance

Figure 2.1 The exciting possibilities of rhythmic intricacy which are sometimes beyond a performer's
control: Naomi Lapezon rehearsing Robert Cohan’s Sky.
Source: Douglas Jeffery

A performance is a flow, which has a rising and falling curve. To reach a

moment of deep meaning, we need a chain of moments which start on a
simple, natural level, lead us towards intensity, then carry us away again.
(Brook 1993, p.83)

Performances gather their energies almost as if time and rhythm were

concrete, pliable things. (Schechner 1985, p.11)

40
 PATTERNS IN TIME / 41
Metricity, flow and structure
Dictionary definitions of rhythm generally emphasise metre or metricity. A metric
pattern is primarily one in which there is a discernible regular pulse or beat
underpinning the structure and which can be measured and counted. As Alice's
ambiguous statement informed the Mad Hatter, ‘I know I have to beat time when I
learn music’; and we know this means she had to keep to a regular, even pattern. If
movement is described as ‘rhythmic’, ‘rhythmicised’ or ‘rhythmical’ this usually
implies actions which are clearly metrically based, ‘in time’, or perhaps performed
with ‘a swing’. For example, anthropologist Monica Wilson describes the
dance-movement of women during East African Nyakyusa burial rites who were
‘swinging their hips in a kind of rhythmical walk’ (1957, p.24). On the other
hand, ‘rhythmicality’ is sometimes used in contexts further removed from
metricity, for example: ‘The dance begins slowly, concerned with that incredible
concentration of physical rhythmicality that Cunningham’s dancers possess’
(Clarke 1987).

WR

|
adh x
ao ‘4

“
Bs

Figure 2.2 Keeping time: East and West, expertly crafted clocks (and watches) are familiar symbols of
status and achievement. A famous Chinese astronomical water-clock tower, 11.3m high (37ft), designed
by Su Sung, completed in 1094. Inside and outside views show a clock-driven bronze armillary for
observation of the stars on the top floor and a celestial globe which rotated daily on the first floor. On
the ground floor — a water wheel escapement which drove all the wheels in the tower. Figures with bells
appeared from doors in the five-storied pagoda at the front of the edifice, to sound the times of day.
Source: Ancient Chinese woodcut
 42 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

The basis of metricity is a form of clock time on which we have come to rely more
and more and may wear on the person as a constant reminder — mechanical,
electrical, digital, electronic, computerised — an increasingly artificial time
environment. In one sense, clocks. have to do with lack of freedom, but they bring
freedom, too — keeping appointments at agreed, sychronised times liberates other
time. Clocks are not a new phenomenon - ticking and chiming, they have
dominated from clock towers in Europe since the fourteenth century in most
cities, even marking every quarter of an hour. Night watchmen called the hours.
Before this there were elaborate time-reckoning methods used by astronomers as
well as water-clocks, sand-clocks, sundials. Etymologically, ‘metre’ is from the
Greek metra— uterus. It is interesting to note that this etymological root conveys
something much more natural about measurement — the female inner clock. In
Sanskrit too, matri = mother, matra = measure (Berendt 1988, pp.99—-101).'
There are different concepts of rhythm in different countries and performance
traditions; a study of ideas and practice in one single country can provide a full
research topic. An anthropology of time and rhythm seminar in the Folklore and
Ethnomusicology departments at Indiana University, Bloomington (Spring
1981) scheduled 24 sessions on African dimensions of time alone! A full
examination of cross-cultural differences cannot be undertaken here, but it can at
least be noted that a definition of rhythm which emphasises metre is not
necessarily appropriate in non-western contexts. Moreover, it is too limiting in
relation to performance arts in contemporary forms, or where improvisation is
included, in which non-metricity may well be the basis of action. Even though
metric patterning may occur, it may not be a prime organising factor. For instance,
choreographer Merce Cunningham’s dance-time structure is based on duration,
on setting actions, body rhythms and phrases in given lengths of time. We learn
this, and that for him rhythm is principally lodged in physical action rather than in
metrically based pattern when he exclaims: ‘What is rhythm? You're going to say
that rhythm is simply giving metric beat? Rhythm is what anybody does in terms
of physical action, it's what anybody does in time’ (1980, p.10). See also p.121.
Among various definitions of performance energy in Bali, one includes the
term baya (wind); in Japan it is defined as ki-haz (spirit, breath) (Barba and Savarese
1991, p.81). Definitions such as these help us to understand the process, the way
in which a flow of energy animates the performer's actions. In the last chapter
there was reference to the play or fluctuation of energy as a basis of rhythm, and
some definitions emphasise that ‘flow’ is its essential characteristic. The word
‘rhythm’ is derived from the Greek ‘rhuthos' cf. rheo to flow: ‘Rhythm literally
means “a particular way of flowing” (Barba and Savarese 1991, p.211).

I Without clocks, the natural processes of the body, human needs, activities and environment govern
the passage of time.
 PATTERNS IN TIME / 43

Movement rhythm in performance then, may also be described as a patterned

energy-flow of action, marked in the body by varied stress and directional
change; also marked by changes in level of intensity, speed and duration
(including duration of both action and stillness). Csikszentmihalyi has drawn
attention to the phenomenon of what he calls ‘flow’ in human events, and his
reading of the term may also be applied in performance. He describes as flow the
‘holistic sensation’ which is present when we act with total involvement. This
sensation is characterised by ‘a unified flowing from one moment to the next’
(1975, pp.35—36). At a primary level, the flow or flux of matter through a living
organism is the rhythmic basis of its life.
As Schechner’s comment at the beginning of this chapter implies, in a

Figure 2.3 Visual rhythm: hortzontal lines of flowing energy.

Source: Liane Payne

performance this rhythmically patterned flow of action has an accumulative effect

as the event proceeds. Elements of rhythm and time are used to generate varying
levels of performance intensity — performers’ energies are gathered, used and
shaped to provide and promote the flow of action.
On one hand, it could be asserted that, taken in its broadest sense, rhythm is
the general flow of action; on the other, that it confines and specifically shapes the
flow. Turning briefly to the Greek classics, Plato (c.340 BC) who held that the
conscious ‘feeling’ for rhythm (and harmony) distinguished man from animal,
emphasised this shaping function of rhythm when he defined rhythm as an
ordering of movement (kineseos taxis) distinct from the ‘non-rhythm’ of kinetic
chaos or kinetic continuum (Laws 665A). It seems too that Plato was alert to the
44 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

effects of rhythm. An example which he gave was that the order of rhythm of
lullabies ‘dominates fright and calms mental sense’ (Laws, Book 11).
Aristoxenus (c.370 B.C.) made a useful distinction when he identified the
difference (referred to in Chapter 1) between ‘rhythm’ in general and ‘a rhythm’
which stands alone, with a recognisable ‘before’ and ‘after’. He also emphasised
the significance of moments of cessation in the endless flow: alternation of
movement and rest as central in the ordering of rhythm. Indeed, alternation is an
essential feature of rhythm, as we move between fast/slow tempi for instance, and
ever-changing degrees of tension and relaxation.
If rhythm can be thought of as inherent in the flow of action and also as
confining, shaping, organising the flux, we are concerned here with both process
and product. That is, with both the moment-by-moment interplay of elements
derived from rhythm and timing factors, and also with individual rhythms and
with the way they build into the total form of the play, dance, ceremony or ritual.
(The same build-up occurs in a movement class — in its time-frame and
environment.) Two structural levels may be identified here. Time elements and
rhythm in the micro-structure may be observed in the performers’ use of gestures,
motifs, phrases; in the macro-structure from the durational level of phrases
through to a complete work, and also in the wider context, for example in a series
of performances, festivals (or movement classes).

Timing
Timing: ‘the act of determining or regulating the order of occurrence of an action
or event, to achieve desired results’ (Oxford Advanced Learner's Dictionary of Current

Figure 2.4 Working together: concentration while sharing the timing of a jump during a
dance workshop, East London Dance.
Source: Phil Polglaze
 PATTERNS IN TIME / 45

English 1986); ‘the regulation of the speed with which something is performed so
as to produce the most effective results’ (Webster's New Twentieth Century Dictionary
1979).
Thus in relation to rhythm in performance, ‘timing’ essentially refers to those
aspects of rhythm (in the general sense) which relate to the placement of an action
or an event in time duration, to ‘moments when’ in the performance span, and to
aspects of tempo. The contextual significance of incidents, actions, stillness and
pausing, can to a greater or lesser extent be underlined by timing, sometimes
referred to as ‘rhythm’. A former attempt by the writer to direct drama teachers’
attention to the topic: ‘[We must consider] the rhythm of preparation, action and
recovery, of attention, intention, decision, of anticipation and the event, of
meeting and parting’ (1970, p.21).
In David Hare’s Amy's View (1997), young actor Toby seems to be referring to
timing when he visited the experienced Esme in her dressing room after a
matinée, and asks what she thinks of his performance in a shared scene. He
comments: ‘I think I’m beginning to get the hang of that last scene. The rhythm.
You always bang on about rhythm. And I thought this afternoon ... well, actually
the rhythm wasn’t too bad.’ However, although ‘rhythm’ and ‘timing’ may share
the same time elements and refer to the same performance features, | have more
recently found it useful to think about timing separately for the purposes of study
and practical work. | am not alone in this — Hutchinson Guest deals with timing as
a separate topic in Dance Notation (1984, pp.20—2 1) and James Kennedy describes
Ashton’s view of Fonteyn as ‘a dancer whose sense of rhythm and timing it was his
delight to educate’ (The Guardian, 24 August 1988).
Agnes, as ‘a stickler on points of manners’ in Albee’s A Delicate Balance, refers to
timing as one of the graces essential in her mission to maintain, or ‘hold’ the
family. Indeed, timing is usually well understood in an everyday, social sense or
context. Skill in its use brings success, not only in social relations and etiquette,
but also in diplomacy, negotiation, chemistry, cooking, military discipline, and in
surmounting obstacles; as well as in animal training, athletics and games of all
kinds. In a simple game: the child’s ‘grandmother's footsteps’ requires a sharp
sense of timing from all concerned. We are safe to approach and try to reach
Grandmother with stealthy steps while her back is turned, but must_freeze when
she suddenly wheels round. If she spots any movement, she will commandingly
condemn us as ‘out’ and having lost the chance to replace her.
Asense of timing is present in all skilled performance — in contexts as far apart
as an operating theatre or a game. Golfer Jack Nicklaus has commented:
Feeling the weight of the clubhead against the tension of the shaft helps me to
swing rhythmically. As the back swing progresses I like to feel that clubhead’s
weight pulling my hands and arms back up. Starting down I like to feel the
weight of the clubhead lagging back — resisting, as my thrusting legs and hips
 46 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

pull my arms and hands down. When I can ‘wait’ for these feelings, | am giving
myself enough elapsed time to make all the various moves in rhythmical
sequence. (quoted in Lowe 1977, p.177)

Or a fine example from photography — opera and theatre director Peter Sellars,
writing of Guy Gravett’s opera production photographs in his obituary:
In life, as in photography, he saw beyond surfaces, saw into people and their
motivations, was alert to relationships, and was alive to the necessity of change,
the presence of the new ... it shows so powerfully in his work — timing was
everything and his skill carried not just the split second it took to press the
shutter, but the deeper question of what was the moment before, and what might
be to come. (Opera, August 1996, p.902)

The ‘split-second’ timing referred to here reminds me of the hero's action in tales
of initiation, who, as Eliade tells us, may have to pass between two millstones in
constant motion or between rocks that can clash together at any moment (1991,
p.83). Steven Paxton, master of dance improvisation, explains a similar,
extra-rapid reaction in the timing of the practised improviser: “This quickness is
faster than habitual movement/thought and is based on acceptance of the
imminent forces, letting the body respond to the reality it senses and trusting it to
deal with the situation intuitively’ (quoted in Steinman 1986, p.98).
For a performer, movement director or teacher, paying attention to timing may
include choosing the moment, regulating the rate, ascertaining the time taken, or
the number of times an action occurs — or should occur. By such means the detail
of an event registers effectively with an audience — or in a movement session, with
a class.
Timing in the use of pauses may be particularly expressive. When dance critic
Edward Denby was writing about some frightening episodes in a dramatic section
ofa dance work, he referred to their effect: ‘the episodes become frightening
because their exact timing projects them so forcefully. Note for instance the
scaring effect of the waits between where nothing at all happens’ (1965, p.102).
One may observe a number of features in relation to timing: the moment when
entrances and exits of performers occur, when a performance — or any aspect ofa
performance — begins or ends, or is interrupted; and how the sequences and events
are ordered and arranged. Preparation, anticipation and aftermath as well as
moments within the event itself are part of the overall timing of the event. There
are references to the subject cross-culturally; for example, Foerstel studied group
interaction when she lived with the Manus (Admiralty Islands, Pacific Ocean) and
noticed what happened when individuals who had a ‘poor sense of timing’ were
in a leadership position:
Most of the Manus seemed to be sensitive to the timing of events; they knew
when an event should occur and how long it should last. Due to the type of
 PATTERNS IN TIME / 47

intensity which characterized the Manus’ life, they can tolerate only certain units
of time, and then seem to drop into complete exhaustion. A dull individual, witha
poor sense of timing, usually created friction ... [in] a position of leadership ... a
drift situation ... different aspects of the event he is leading begin slowing down,
until nothing seems to be functioning properly ... relaxation that leads to
disruption eventually builds up tension, and a new leader springs up who
stimulates the proup into new activity. (1977, p.11)

Thus, timing may be significant in establishing leadership in performance events

and in the actual process of leading by anticipating (even fractionally) the action.
Systems of cueing in performances of all kinds and in a wide range of contexts can
be considered as part of timing.
The subject may be studied in terms of the overall balance and cohesion of the
durational structure, or in terms of the effective use of change and contrast in
tempi within it. Matters concerning performers’ ensemble, their work together in
dancing, enacting, reacting one with another — all relate to use of timing; and as
noted in the last chapter, to synchronicity or entrainment.

Figure 2.5 A moment in comedy: movement when words fail. At the end of his tether — an unexpected
sudden, strong action, exaggerated beyond everyday decorum. The power of rhythmic attack ts glimpsed
in this shot of Richard McCabe as Ford in The Merry Wives of Windsor (Royal National Theatre,
Director Terry Hands, 1995).
Source: Douglas Jeffery
 48 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

In theatre work, an entrance is deemed to be well timed if it occurs on cue, that is,
at the planned moment of action or dialogue. Also, as noted in relation to
synchrony in Chapter 1, successful comedy and appropriate audience response
are determined chiefly by use of timing. American comedian Jack Benny was well
known for his impeccable exploitation of this. He could wait, without moving, for
as long as 30 seconds before delivering a further line — to an inevitable roar of
audience laughter and applause (Make ‘Em Laugh!, BBC Radio, 23 September
1997). John Gielgud has referred to the significance of timing in comedy, such as
in George Robey’s and Charlie Chaplin's performances. For instance, Robey
‘paused as he surveyed the audience and had them roaring with laughter before he
uttered a word — these geniuses and their successors can use the pause and
illuminate a silence with an individual magic beyond words’ (The Daily Telegraph,
24 January 1981). Thus, audience applause can be manipulated by timing. For
example, Anne Salmond describes climactic moments of a popular Maori orator’s
speech. Salmond asserts that he captured his audience through the timing of his
gestures, when he turned and changed direction, as well as through the tempo of
his walking with use of acceleration (1974, p.56). To take a banal, commonplace
example, we know that advertising companies make use of timing to induce
response to TV commercials. In any context, the build-up of rhythm to a climax is
structured through use of timing.
In relation to synchrony: ‘good’ timing occurs when people unconsciously or
intentionally synchronise their action or stop together, or take turns to move ina
complementary manner. Spontaneity, surprises and interruptions can be well
timed, too, for apt, comic or other effect.
In ceremony, effective timing occurs when everything happens according to
plan; when, for instance, as described in Chapter 12, the Queen arrives at the
appointed place on Horse Guards Parade during the Trooping the Colour
ceremony. Until 1986 the Queen was on horseback and arrived, bringing her
horse to a halt precisely as Big Ben struck eleven o'clock. (Now she follows the
same time-schedule in a horse drawn carriage.)
Timing can of course be ‘bad’ as well as ‘good’. We do not know if the criticism
was appropriate or what the performer's intention may have been, but Irving
Wardle, for instance, criticised a Spike Milligan show for that reason: ‘[an item
about] Japanese zip-fasteners, allowing up to four suicides a day, and a
teeth-brushing version of ‘The Flight of the Bumble Bee’ which would have
convulsed the house if they had been less perfunctory and better timed’ (The

2 The performer's sense of timing is not necessarily related to a sense of clock-time. For instance,
although comedian Jimmy Tarbuck’s timing was considered ‘brilliant’, apparently he had no idea of
how long he'd been on stage during his act— ‘time itself meant nothing to him’. And we learn from the
wife of that superb master of timing, Tommy Cooper, that her husband was always late (comments
from Heroes of Comedy, a Channel 4 TV compilation).
 PATTERNS IN TIME / 49

Times, 4 December 1982). Bad timing would be evident in classical ballet for
example if the ballet hero and heroine ‘muff the lift and the dancer finds herself
flat on the floor. A personal example of bad timing in performance context took
place many years ago when (enthusiastically attending a drama course) I was
acting the part ofa nun. When | left the stage on the way to execution, the words
‘Into Thy hands I commend my spirit’ were spoken after the sound of the
executionet’s axe had resounded through the auditorium! Perhaps interesting as a
ghostly or surrealistic effect, but this was not the director's intention here. Thus
bad timing may occur through inaccuracy or through lack of developed sense of
timing or sensitivity to a situation. An ‘untimely’ remark or action is one that is
mis-timed, usually ahead of when it should be. An untimely death frequently
refers to that ofa young person — which we consider has happened all too soon.

Other aspects of timing and rhythm in performance: the role of rhythm

in drama, dance and ceremony
Various kinds of performance events, performance genres and styles may be
distinguished partly through their differing use of time elements and rhythm.
There is a conspicuous example of this in traditional Noh drama in Japanese
theatre. The movement in Noh is accompanied by instruments in such precision as
to match the action and gestures throughout. Each of three drums in the ensemble
has a repertoire of approximately 200 patterns which are played in a specific order
determined by the genre (see Malm 1960).
Differences in the use of time elements and rhythm may reveal how genres
occasionally mix in one event. For instance, towards the end of the contemporary
play Yasmina Reza’s Art in the 1996 London production, there was a sequence
concerned with re-hanging a painting. The painting had been the centre of
controversy in the play. The two characters who had been mainly concerned with
this were demonstrating and sealing the new found renewal of their friendship
through the action of re-hanging the painting. The tempo and timing altered: a
marked change of mood — something different was happening. This was the first
and only time in the play that the actors moved in unison. The two actors
synchronised their movements as they walked gravely towards the painting, lifted
it, and adopted a slow walk towards the wall. A mood of solemnity prevailed, a
marked contrast to all that had gone before. Together they hung the picture.
Together they stepped back with timed steps in unison, to view the result. A
symmetrical use of gestures and movement in the space also contributed to the
effect — which was surely that ofa ceremony. Or we might term ita ritual, since the
sequence was charged with significance and meaning. It symbolised the burying
ofa quarrel, at least for the time being.
For both performer and spectator, rhythm (to include timing) contributes to
the intensification of experience contained in the performance event, be it dance,
50 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Figure 2.6 Tradition and traces of ceremony in dance. Where paths meet and cross, spectators have
gathered in a town centre in Yorkshire to watch the Handsworth traditional longsword dancers. A basic
step retains the beat (marked by a musician's tapping toe) while the dancers’ tracks and varied patterns of
held swords generate a sequential design of spatial rhythm.
Source: Doc Rowe

drama, ceremony — or mixed genres. Incidentally, rhythm works in this way in

games too. Appropriate, that is to say culturally and contextually correct, use of
rhythm and timing may be said to bring power to the event. Misuse is likely to
weaken focus and concentration and to reduce impact. As Dean has pointed out in
relation to drama, ‘two special features are common to all rhythms — vitality and
power of attraction’ (1966, p.234). These features are particularly evident in
dance rhythms, not Jeast in Spanish Flamenco, where performance is heightened
by characteristic acceleration at times, and the sense ofa dancer's conflict — with
the rhythm of inner demons, perhaps: ‘Cortes talks much as he dances — faster and
faster. His fingers leap, his arms spin as he describes Flamenco as “a fight. A fight
against oneself. It’s erotic, angry, yet spiritual and mystical” (Joanna Coles’
interview, The Guardian, 22 March 1996). A performer’s use of and sensitivity to
rhythm are crucial in the production of effective, highly charged, strongly
registering work in drama or dance.
In drama, elements of rhythm and timing {obviously together with other
aspects of dynamics and performers’ use of space) distinguish character, generate
mood, and convey inter-relationships. With reference to the characters in a play
 PATTERNS IN TIME / 51

and their expression of moods and feelings, Plato reminds us how actors utilise
rhythm to convey the emotional life of the characters they are playing: ‘Rhythm is
[generated from] an emotion released in ordered movements’ (from Timon).
The concept of characterisation through rhythm is of course far from being a
new idea in drama (or in drama-based dance). Again.in ancient Greece, Aristotle
writes about it: ‘Rhythm alone, without harmony, is the means of the dancer's
imitations; for even he, by the rhythms of his attitudes, may represent men’s
character as well as what they do and suffer’ (De Poetica). As Irmgard Bartenieff
emphasised, we form judgements about character and mood by association with
the rhythm of the body tensions they reflect (Bartenieff and Lewis 1980). And
Byers refers to time elements in relation to animal characterisation:
Ifa stage actor wants to ‘imitate’ a crow, an elephant or a terrier, he cannot look
very much like these animals but he can get applause from his audience if he
actually reproduces the temporal characteristics of the movements of the animal
he is imitating. (1972, p.42)

Rhythm is used to create the excitement of anticipation or suspense in drama,

both before an event and at times during it, and also to create the theatrical effect
of surprise. When I asked a theatre practitioner if she could remember an example
of this, she immediately referred to a sequence in a Japanese Kabuki play when the
male actor was performing as Spider Woman:
He was moving terribly slowly — creepy crawly — and you were beginning to
wonder if he was going anywhere. It was totally against our western culture's idea
of pace of movement. A pause, and then — ZAP from his finger ends, and out shot
these envenomed ribbons of poison — right out into the air — and they moved
FAST as he waited, poised for further action — this made it theatrical after the
slow beginning, which had been a kind of fluid, meditative process. (personal
communication, Stuart 1995)

With notable exceptions, it has to be said that we are more likely to see full,
expressive use of movement rhythm in drama from companies outside England. A
conspicuous feature of traditional Japanese theatre is the inclusion of what we
might term ‘dance-movement’, as witnessed in the Spider Woman's behaviour.
The blend of what in the west we might recognise as ‘dance’ and ‘drama’ in the
sequence, again demonstrates the limitations of using these terms cross-culturally.
The example reminds us of the enormous variety that there is in the use of rhythm
and timing and their constituent time elements, in performance throughout the
world. Not only is movement rhythm included in Japanese theatre, it is an
expressively significant component in the event. Moreover it is imbued with a
particular concentration which is promoted by use of time elements.
I think this concentration partly stems from the use of a reduced scale or
condensation of action in some aspects of Japanese performance which is
 52 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

interesting in relation to use of rhythm. For instance, there is a tradition that a

dancer's movements must be restricted to the spatial area of one tatami floor mat
(size: 1.91 x 0.95 metres).’ Perhaps this relates to the Japanese myth of the origin
of dance, first performed on the top ofa drum to tempt the sun goddess out ofa
cave. Concentration of movement has greater impact. The concept is illustrated in
the Izumo shrine ceremonial Kagura dances. One priest, followed by a single
maiden, dances on one mat (see Gunji 1970). An extreme form: in the dance type
Kamigata-mai the ideal is to dance without actually moving. The purpose is to
show intense strength or power.

Figure 2.7 Japanese actors in a scene. A man threatens a woman in front of a verandah; an artist's
portrayal which displays the presence of rhythm and timing during interaction, enhanced here by an
intensity and directed energy in the gestures.
Source: Kuniaki, Courtesy of the Victoria and Albert Museum.

3 This is the size of mats in Kyoto. Sizes vary tegionally: in Tokyo 1.76 x 0.88m, in Nagoya
1.82 x
0.9m. A Japanese friend told me that when learning the Tea Ceremony, as an assistant
serving guests
she was instructed not to stray beyond the limits of the tatami mat spread in front of them,
and to
traverse it fully with a precise and identically placed eight steps.
 PATTERNS IN TIME / 53

In the examples of traditional Japanese performance styles I have seen, I have

found that every part of each single movement is imbued with a degree of
significance which is generally totally unknown in the west. An overall subtlety in
the use of energy in rhythm, in timing and in the use of time elements may be
observed, which is seldom seen in western theatre. Techniques of performance are
relevant here. There are a number of concepts about these elements in Japanese
theatre training. For example, Okisa in Japanese performance means amplitude or
breadth of expression. But this is not achieved with obvious large movements in
the western manner. It is achieved by techniques such as making a preparatory
movement in an opposite direction to the main gesture, and producing a slight
pause before it. Jo-ba-kyu is another concept which contributes to the rhythm ofa
traditional Japanese performance. It describes three stages of an action phrase.
Broadly, jo refers to energy held in check at the beginning, ha to a form of release
or breaking free, and kyu to the ending, a powerful, sudden stop. This may be
identified as an intense form of what musicians might call ‘rubato’ timing when
some energy is held back between one movement or pose and the next (see also
Gunji 1970, pp.71-73). Moreover, Zeami refers to retention of energy and
specific sense of timing at endings:
He [the actor] must be careful not to lose his intensity even down to the deepest
recesses of his heart at such times as the moment after the end of his dance, song,
dialogue, gesture, etc. The feeling of concentrated intensity in the depths of the
actor's heart is sensed by the audience and thus the silent pauses are made
interesting. (quoted in Nakamura 1971, p.51)

As the Spider Woman actor’s movement demonstrated, single gestures can contain
a wealth of meaning or importance. The pauses before and after his ‘zap’ were
perhaps examples of mie in Kabuki acting: the high point of the art. This is the still
movement which occurs at a climax: ‘when the actor must impose himself upon
his audience with the maximum power of his resources’ (Kramer 1978, p.25).
Although this demonstrates an economical use of gesture, there is elaboration in
traditional Japanese performance movement rhythm too. Mood changes can be
marked by use of intricate rhythmic patterning. The placement of accents in the
rhythmic pattern is often detailed. Carl Wolz, who has made a considerable study
of the genre, comments: ‘it is considered uninteresting to dance on the beat. An
aesthetic judgment is made of a performer on the manner in which he times and
weaves a dance phrase in and around the rhythm of the accompaniment’ (1977,
p.57). In general, features of rhythm, timing and time elements in movement,
accompanied and emphasised by sound, help to generate the concentration,
intensity, timeless calm and power inherent in traditional Japanese theatre
performance.
54 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Figure 2.8 The reduced acting area intensifies the action in the actors’ bodies, with strong projection and
focus both down and outward; accents in hands and faces. The timing here shared between experienced
performers — without eye contact — contrasts with the young practitioners’ demonstration of synchronicity
in Fig. 1.6. The simultaneity of the actions and symmetric spatial rhythm of the grouping contrasts with
the unresolved discord and disturbance of the situation. A tense moment captured from 2 performance
piece, Through the Net, produced by Studio 3 Arts with writer Julie Garton. Jonathan Zito was
stabbed to death by Christopher Clunts, a diagnosed schizophrenic, at Finsbury Park underground
station December 1992. This piece was a dramatic exploration of the tragic event and of the Ritchie
Report. 11 provided a focus for health authorities’ training to provoke inter-agency discussion on mental
health issues.
Source: Simon Ashmore Fish

To return to western theatre, there is a further point to make in relation to reduced

scale in performance, when the actor’s general movement around the stage is
limited. Frances de la Tour, as Stephanie Abrahams in the London production of
Kempinski’s Duet for One (1980), spent almost the entire play in a wheelchair.
 PATTERNS IN TIME / 55

However, the detail and variety of her use of rhythm and the full range of timing
elements which she employed were striking. For instance, contrasting tempi,
moments of stillness, varied and emphatic use of head turns, hand action-patterns,
sharply and variously angled arm gestures were clearly evident. All this and more
in her use of rhythm certainly helped to draw and hold audience attention — and it
contributed to the judged success of the performance. A more recent example was
Dame Maggie Smith's acclaimed London stage performance as the unfortunate
vicar’s wife in Bennett's Bed Among the Lentils (1996). Although she did move
around the stage a little, the actor’s face was the most mobile and expressive part
of her body. The free, non-metric rhythm and phrasing in the small movements of
her facial features were an object lesson in an actor's use of what Laban termed
‘shadow movements’. The humour, pathos — and ultimately tragedy — of the piece
seemed to be etched by the detailed play of rhythm across those ravaged features.
An actor's use of movement rhythm and its potential is even evident at the end
of a performance. Olivier directs attention to its importance in an established
western actor's acknowledgement of applause in a traditional manner:
Eyes take in the gallery, hold for a moment.
Eyes take in the upper circle, hold for another moment.
Eyes to the dress circle, longer hold, more money here.
Eyes to the stalls, even longer.
Then to the left and to the right, for the boxes. Treat the boxes as if there was
Royalty seated in them.
Then slowly let the head come completely down, chin almost on chest. Play the
modesty ...
Wait for a moment, then play the modesty, again. Arms outstretched to the
company on either side ...
Wait for another beat and then move forward.
Hand on heart, then final bow ...
By this time they should be‘on their feet. If not you've got something wrong.
(1986, pp.94-95).
The text is of course the basis from which the movement rhythm and timing in
drama context is derived. We can see this clearly exemplified in the plays of
Samuel Beckett, for whom not only was the passing of time a frequent theme, but
also who gives actors clear indications of the use of the movement-rhythm and
timing he requires as an integral part of the text. In his short plays there is a link
with the idea of intensity brought about by reduction, together with the precise
rhythmic patterning demonstrated in the reference to traditional Japanese theatre.
As Alvarez remarks of the moving mouth of one character (which is all we see of
her) in Not I: ‘It is the theatrical equivalent to one of Francis Bacon’s appalled
images: a whole world of anguish squeezed into the tight white circle of a mouth
gabbling violently on the fine edge of hysteria, as if to pause would be to expose
 56 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

itself to pressures which would tear it apart’ (1974, p.134). The text of Beckett's
35 seconds long Breath includes precise reference to timing and to ‘strictly
synchronised light and breath [sounds}’. In his longer plays Beckett makes full use
of varied duration, timing changes, accent patterns, interruption and the
protracted delays for which he is famous. He exhibits total awareness of the way
use of rhythm can help produce mood changes, as from farce to pathos. The text
of Not I is interspersed with dots to indicate duration of pauses or stillness.
Michael Davie reported that Beckett told actor Billie Whitelaw during a rehearsal
that she had paused for two dots instead of three (Davie 1976). Stressing the
importance of timing in Beckett's plays Ms. Whitelaw, speaking of her rehearsal
work for Rock-a-bye stated: ‘I’m beating time the whole time. Also, even if at first
the script is not fully understood I know that if] get the rhythm and music of it
right it works’ (Whitelaw 1982). Thus, particular use of rhythm may characterise
the work of a writer: ‘every writer has his own rhythm, as distinctive as his
handwriting’ (Frye 1957, p.268).°
Thinking chiefly about text, philosopher Susanne Langer recognised the
central significance of rhythm in drama: ‘Rhythm is the commanding form of the
play ... itis precisely the rhythm of dramatic action that makes drama a “poetry of
the theatre” and not an imitation (in the usual, not the Aristotelian sense) or
make-believe of practical life’ (1953, pp.355—356). Contrasts in rhythm bring a
play to life. For instance in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night some contrasts stem from:
Orsino’s dreamy gloom, Viola’s bright presence, and Sir Toby’s mocking,
rumbustious challenge to the established order — represented by the sober
restraint of Malvolio at his first appearance. And as Russian director Vakhtangov
stated: ‘To perceive the rhythm of a drama is to find the key to its presentation’
(1947, pp.121-122).°
It is a commonly held view that rhythm is the basis of dance, and in west
European theatre performance it is certainly in dance that the most conscious,
intentional, planned and detailed use of bodily rhythm may be found.
Choreographer Agnes de Mille comments:
The true [dance] artist will develop a sense of rhythm complex and subtle, not just
the mechanical reflex to a downbeat, but a sense of shape and dynamism in
musical phrase and dynamism in gesture, and an inner pulse that lies beneath all
these and that is the true life beat. The last is essential; without it all the rest is
useless. The artist deliberately plays on all these dynamics, swinging between

4 See George (1980) on aspects of rhythm in scripted drama.

5 Exaggerated rhythmicised movement in drama is sometimes seen in expressionist-style productions,
in experimental work, or may be used for comic effect — as we have seen in examples of Dennis
Potter's plays for television when apparently serious business men are moved to burst into a song and
dance routine.
 PATTERNS IN TIME / 57

them, on-beat, off-beat, between-beat, delaying, dragging, precipitating,

syncopating. (1962, p.82)

In dance, rhythm is usually heightened and exerts power as a motivating force

which generates action and form. The rhythm of any musical accompaniment may
well be an influential or determining factor. An obvious example of this is in
classical ballet, for instance in the choreography designed for traditional versions
of Swan Lake, with music by Tchaikovsky.
Rhythm has an energising, infectious quality in dance, for spectators as well as
for performers. ‘It’s not the difficulty of a dance that makes the audience happy,
it’s rhythm’ says American dance critic Edward Denby (1960, p.22). This has
been exemplified in the work of many artists — the arresting, contrasting work of

Figure 2.9 ‘Rhythm has an energising infectious quality in dance’: Lynn Seymour in Asbton’s Four
Brahms Waltzes in the manner of Isadora Duncan. The dancer ts in firm contact with the earth,
Isadora-style, while retaining forward impetus and a sense of upward aspiration. A feeling of flinging
exuberance and full use of personal space is temporarily restrained as her arms enfold — energy in the
hands — ready to open wide to the sky. The dancer’s hair swings back in rhythmic abandon while the
mood and sense of rhythmic flow is fully expressed in her face.
Source: Douglas Jeffery
58 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

American choreographers Paul Taylor and Trisha Brown springs to mind, and is
now an element in the popularity of contemporary American choreographer
Mark Morris. Known for his choice of music (from Purcell, Vivaldi and Handel to
Brahms and Lou Harrison) he not only responds to the inspiring rhythms of the
music, but also brings out a full rhythmic range in the movement of his dancers.
For instance, in L’Allegro, il Penseroso ed il Moderato, their steps and gestures seem to
spring out of the music as the spatial rhythms of interweaving groups and lines
joyously fill the densely populated stage with deceptive ease, or create patterns of
‘divinest melancholy’. Perhaps influenced by early experience of performing in a
Balkan folk ensemble, Morris adapts folk dance step patterns in his choreography
and with dancers’ individuality strongly present, a sense of community rhythm is
generated. This elicits an empathetic response in the audience as the rhythm is
shared and enjoyed by all. Through rhythm, energy is channelled and shaped to
create dance presence: ‘The actor or dancer is she who knows how to carve time
concretely: she carves time in rhythm, dilating or contracting her actions’ (Barba
and Savarese 1991, p.211). In performance, perhaps as in sport, the rhythmic
flow of action takes over, and a state of being out of everyday or clock time may

From above
aormnivards.

Figure 2.10 Movement-rhythm in period style: timing action at the wrists — ‘First Representation of the
Arms showing the Movement of the Wrists’ - Dancing Master Pierre Rameau’s guidance for the minuet
dancer.
Source: From The Dancing Master (1725)
 PATTERNS IN TIME / 59

be achieved. (Also see further reference to flow and sense of ‘timelessness’ in the
next chapter.)
As mentioned in the last chapter, the use of time and rhythm contribute to
what I referred to as a distinctive signature or style in performance work. In dance
this may be evident to a greater or lesser extent in a choreographer’s work, in the
individuality ofa dancer’s performance, or in a specific dance style or technique.
For instance, a number of western contemporary dance techniques can be
distinguished by their contrasting uses of rhythm and timing: for example, the use
of muscular ‘contract-release’ rhythm in Graham-based work, or the distinctive
use of breath rhythm in Humphrey-based work (further described in Chapter 5).
Again as suggested in the last chapter, rhythm may reaffirm cultural style in
national performance usage, and it can indicate social or historical milieu. We see
this readily displayed in the ‘folk’ or ‘historical’ dances of any nation.
In ceremony, time elements, rhythm and timing-are particularly significant
components of the whole event. They obviously determine what has been
referred to as its macro-structure in time. This includes duration of the event and
of its various phases, order and pattern of the phases. We can turn to
anthropologists in order to gain some insight into the use of rhythm and time

Figure 2.11 A ceremonial Chinese procession in Canton, c.1900.

Source: Courtesy of Victoria and Albert Museum
60 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

elements in ceremony. For instance, Chapple and Coon were known in the early
1940s for their suggestion that ceremonial events are structured by natural and
biological rhythms. Others, such as Reyman, followed up this work several
decades later. In his observation of south-western Pueblo ceremonies, Reyman
noted a relation between the time elements of duration, repetition and tempo. For
instance, one repetitive performance he saw increased and decreased in tempo
until the last two rounds when it became noticeably more upbeat and intense
(1978, p.83). Leach identified ‘slow, measured behaviour’ with the important
first stage in a ritual, a formality which goes with ‘sacred time’, further discussed
in the next chapter (1961, p.136).
Use of timing is seen clearly in Britain, on formal secular ceremonial occasions,
particularly those which involve royalty or political leaders. For instance, the rate
of the Queen’s progress along a line of presentees is carefully controlled, and
surely both sacred and secular ceremony depends fundamentally upon temporal
elements. Some further examples: Gell has demonstrated the significance of
duration in ceremony in his study of the Umeda (New Guinea) annual cycle
(1992). Verger in his study of trance states in Yoruba (Africa) Orisha writes ‘The
musical speed of the rhythms are appeals and praises to the God but have also ... a
powerful and at times almost irresistible effect on the mind and spirit of initiated
worshippers’ (1963, p.14).
Hughes, writing of the nature of rhythm in healing ceremonies, states it is not
regarded as a purely auxiliary element ‘but one essential to the ceremony, one
which could not be dispensed with’. Furthermore, he found that tempo was a
patticularly significant factor (1948, pp.118, 173). A Macumba priestess in Brazil
comments that rhythm and timing is even more important than the meaning of
the words in religious ceremonies: ‘Our gods respond to rhythm above all else.
When the rhythm changes, their behaviour shifts accordingly’ (quoted in Branley
1977, p.47).
In some cultures, certain rhythms may be associated with particular deities, as
Charles Gore observed in Ogun deity shrine rituals of Benin City, Nigeria. For
instance, at an initiation into Ogun ‘two initiates were instructed to dance to the
rhythms of the deity at the beginning and end of every day ... in order, in the
words of the Ohen [priest] “to catch the steps”. The purpose here was to provide
practice in the ritual conventions of the possession dance which create ‘a special
relationship with the deity’. Oguname (water) was represented by ‘fluid and slow
movement’, Oguneron (fire) by ‘heated and more erratic movements’. Gore
explains further that the Ohen’s ability to perform is of fundamental importance:
‘It is during the Ohen’s performance of the dances that the deity assets itself and
this is assessed by the onlookers. They will evaluate these skills critically’ (1998,
pp.7 6-77).
 PATTERNS IN TIME / 61

Figure 2.12 A Shakers’ service, out of doors, c.1845. From an illustration of the time in Lossing (1848).
Artist unknown.

The use of time elements has long been recognised as significant in religious
practices, in some of the more outwardly expressive Christian church services, and
in various forms of meditation, both eastern and western. In Jewish Hasidic
worship, movement rhythm is used to induce concentration and greater devotion:
‘They insist that bodily movement and gesticulation during prayer arouses one’s
emotions and maintains one’s state of concentration throughout the period of
worship’ (Riddle 1907, pp.218-219).
Many examples could be added. Instead, here is one extended example which
provides a striking instance of movement and dance rhythm and timing within
ceremony — essential features in the meetings of the ‘United Society of Believers
in Christ’s Second Appearing’, a Christian millennial movement, better known as
‘the Shakers’.© The patterns and gestures of the dances which the Shakers

6 The sect was founded in the eighteenth century in Manchester, England, then emigrated to New
England from whence the movernent expanded to the American West. It declined in popularity after
the mid-nineteenth century, but a very small community related to the sect still exists in the USA. It
was a religious movement which incorporated a new, rigorous way of life and, as Andrews, the
foremost authority on the subject, states, it represented ‘a form of protest against the world’s wrongs
and a search for a more perfect form of social organisation’ (1963, p.v). The Shakers are now
especially renowned for their fine design and craftmanship seen in furniture and other household
items.
62 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

performed during their meetings developed from their religious ideas, and as
symbolic representation of their beliefs.
Observers’ descriptions of meetings bear witness to the fact that rhythm and
timing were key features. As David Benedict (1824) recounts, there was effective
build-up of tempo and use of rapid steps to express and generate fervour ‘as if
overwhelmed with ecstasy and joy.’ For instance, in a meeting which Benedict
attended, about 50 men and women ‘moved with a quick step around the hall’.
This ‘figure’ or pattern of movement represented ‘marching the heavenly road’. In
one of their dance-songs we find reference to the joyous ‘flow’ of their sense of
union:
We love to dance, we love to sing,
We love to taste the living spring,
We love to feel our union flow,
While round, and round, and round we go! (Millennial Pratses 1813)

Recurrent features of rhythm included: use of repetition; unison, synchronised

movement such as occurred in stepping to the beat; jumping and turning; the
vibratory, shaking action which gave the Shakers their name; and movements
reminiscent of the whirling dancing Dervishes. Individual patterns of rhythm also
featured in the meetings, as well as the use of metric patterns and a shared pulse
which would have usually been taken from the beat of any accompanying songs.
William Plumer observed repetitive jumping up and down ‘about four inches’
offthe ground and he gives us an example of whirling — two women whirling ‘for
the space of fifteen minutes ... nearly as fast as the rim ofa spinning wheel in
quick motion’. He continues with one of many descriptions of the characteristic
shaking movement which in this case occurred after an ‘impressive’ talk by an
elder: ‘The motion proceeded from the head to the hands, and the whole body,
with such power as if limb would rend from limb. The house trembled as if there
were an earthquake’ (1782, pp.305-306).
Unison action would have matched the particular rhythmic pattern of the
songs and there were times when the ‘spirit seized all members’ together (Haskett
1828, pp.189-191). But it is interesting to note that individuality was also
stressed. ‘In the best part of their worship every one acts for himself and almost
every one different from the other’ (Rathbun 1782, pp.7—8). All the movement —
whether unison or individual — with personal patterns of rhythm — was performed
‘as the spirit moved’. This, which apparently brought about an amazing degree of
rhythmic variety, especially in the early days of the movement, is clear in an
extract from The Testimony of Christ’s Second Coming (1810, p.xxv). After sitting
quietly in silent meditation, members would be taken ‘with a mighty trembling,
under which they would express the indignation of God against all sin.. Singing
and shouting...and walking the floor, under the influence of spiritual signs,
shoving each other about — or swiftly passing and repassing each other, like
 PATTERNS IN TIME / 63

clouds agitated by a mighty wind’ (quoted in Andrews 1963, p.6). That there
could be a wide variety of individual movement rhythm in Shaker meetings is
evident from the Rathbun’s account. While some people were singing, speaking
or making other sounds,
others will be drumming on the floor with their feet, as though a pair of
drum-sticks were beating a ruff on a drum-head; others will be agonizing, as
though in great pain; others will be jumping up and down; others fluttering over
somebody and talking to them; others will be shooing and hissing evil spirits out
of the house, till the different tunes, groaning, jumping, dancing, drumming,
laughing, talking and fluttering, shooing and hissing, makes a perfect bedlam;
this they call the worship of God. (1782, p.12)

Phases of movement such as this in meetings were not brief interludes — lasting
‘about an hour’ according to Plumer (1782).
The inclusion of both the metricity of ‘measured dance’ and free movement
rhythm in the meetings is interesting: ‘At length, what was a measured dance
becomes a wild, discordant frenzy...whirling round and round’ (Greeley 1838).
One may conjecture that this would have contributed to the enjoyment and power
of the proceedings, and invigorated participants, enabling them to extend their
meetings for a considerable time.
Celebration of their life together was evident in the Shakers’ gatherings,
during which periods of dance were often followed by what we might call ‘group
hugs’.-As Plumer writes, this was a time when, with men and women in separate
groups (given their beliefs about the need for separation of the sexes), they
‘embraced and saluted each other’. An example of an accumulative group rhythm,
this built into two, three and four people coming together ‘until a dozen men were
in that position, embracing and saluting’ (1782, pp.305-306).
The form of the Shakers’ meetings varied over time and the movement
apparently became more organised as it progressed. For instance, as a later
development Andrews provides references to ‘straight rows’ of dancers and to a
‘square order shuffle’ which was again increased to performance in ‘the skipping
manner’. Ring dances were inaugurated around 1822 and patterned marching
processions took place and were enjoyed both indoors and outside through the
countryside (Andrews 1963, pp.141, 142). Andrews describes one ring dance in
particular which was performed in concentric circles. These circles symbolised the
various manifestations of Christ’s teaching through time — from the inner circle
which represented Christ’s own era, progressing through to the outermost circle
which represented the millennial movement — the true message of the spirit and
 64 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

manifestation of the prophetic word of God — embodied in the Shakers

themselves.’
In this chapter various relatively isolated examples have been included to
illustrate a series of ideas about rhythm and timing, ranging from the discussion of
metricity, flow and timing to other suggestions concerning rhythm in drama,
dance and ceremony. However, my final example from the Shakers draws
attention to a full context for movement rhythm and timing. Elements of
movement do not exist in isolation, and although I am encouraging some
dissection of performance in this book, rhythm and timing elements are best
considered in the context of a whole, set within performance frame and
conventions — which is the subject of the next chapter.

7 Indeed, in all the movement they performed, the Shakers believed they were led by the power of the
spirit of God, and that movement was a totally acceptable form of worship. In later years, perhaps as a
response to criticism, they made references to precedents for this in the Bible (Andrews 1963, p.140).
They believed that dance was a God-given gift both to dancers and to the church and that ‘the faculty
of dancing, as well as that of singing, was undoubtedly created for the honor and glory of the Creator’
(Wells and Green 1823, pp.84-85).
 3

Time Elements
and Performance Conventions

A public celebration is a rope bridge of knotted symbols strung across an

abyss. We make our crossings hoping the chasm will echo our festive sounds
for a moment, as the bridge begins to sway from the rhythms of our dance.
(Grimes 1982, p.282)

A calendar expresses the rhythm of the collective activities, while at the same
time its function is to ensure their regularity. (Durkheim 1915, p.10)
One striking aspect of performance is its polyrhythmic nature. That is, in a
performance event we can distinguish different time patterns occurring both
sequentially and simultaneously, and inter-relating in various ways. These time
patterns, which contribute to the overall rhythm of the event, include not only
patterns of the performance or ceremony itself, but also the patterns of
preparation, backstage activity, audience or congregation arrival and departure.
Included too is any post-performance activity such as time taken by the director to
give company notes, stage crew striking the set — or altar boy snuffing out the
candles.
The polyrhythmic structure and time boundaries of performance are
influenced by performance conventions. Mutually understood by performers and
audience in any given context, these conventions become established over time
and are peculiar to a particular culture or society. Whether we are thinking of the
Sudanese Nuer, whose ‘daily timepiece is the cattle clock, the round of pastoral
tasks’ (Evans-Pritchard 1940, p.101) or the city business executive with a 9 to 5
job, performance conventions are to some extent influenced by everyday life and
affected by customary patterns of work and leisure.
Thus from the comforting recurrence of English village church festivals to
large-scale annual ceremonies in all parts of the world, performance time is set
within the larger time-frame of the life of the people concerned. It also relates to
perception and sense of time; how we think of the processes that occur in time;

65
 66 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

how we perceive our lives in terms of seasons or rituals and celebrations; how we
decide when events should occur. In the west, we are encouraged from childhood
to remember birthdays, and, as Canetti points out, there seems to be ‘an
irresistible attraction in the idea of linking one’s name with a regularly recurring
date’. He goes on to write of time’s significance in the life of people and rulers,
essential in any form of political organisation, fundamental in the order:
The regulation of time is the primary attribute of all government...The prestige
of the Chinese legendary rulers derives in great part from the effective regulation
of time which is ascribed to them ... Kings embodied the whole period of their
reign ... They were time. (1962, pp.397-399)

Rhythm is the essence of time, in the sense that intervals of time define the
sequence of events. “Time is a relation between events, with respect to which they
are distinguished as simultaneous or successive, and as becoming, enduring or
passing away, as changing or permanent’ (Munro 1970, p.106).
In order to consider some aspects of time in relation to performance events and
the performance time-frame, let us imagine we have arrived in a country hitherto
unknown to us. Our intention is to attend a performance event. How may some
knowledge of time elements in relation to performance frame conventions aid us?

Figure 3.1 Time imagined as a double-headed serpent: ancient Mexican symbol of time. Other visual
representations of time or life's journey are found elsewhere, such as in the form of 4 tree, sptral or
labyrinth.
Source: Liane Payne
 TIME ELEMENTS AND PERFORMANCE CONVENTIONS / 67

Figure 3.2 A view of time and the cosmos — the rhythm of the turning heavenly spheres, planets: Atlas
holding up the world.
Source: German woodcut (1559).

Time: sacred/ profane, subjective sense/ objective measurement,

performance/everyday
It would be useful to know what the nature of the event is likely to be. Should we
prepare for a solemn occasion or are we to expect a casual, everyday atmosphere?
Anthropologists make a useful distinction between different experiences of time
as ‘sacred’ or ‘profane’ which might help here. If the event we are hoping to attend
is a ceremony or ritual, perhaps it will involve us in experience of ‘sacred’ time.
‘Profane’ everyday time is perceived as going forward, and sacred, ‘mythic’ or
ritual time which may relate to a society's mythic past, is perceived as going back.
This time is recovered and re-lived during rituals and festivals. In initiation rituals,
young boys may re-enact birth in the form of entry into manhood, during which
they gain knowledge about the origins of their society. Throughout this ritual
process they will be shut away from profane, everyday time (Leach 1961). ‘Sacred’
time implies more than the ritual content or theme of the event; it describes an
experience of time which is qualitatively different from that of daily life, and may
 68 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

relate beyond the everyday world to the whole cosmos. Among the Algonquin
and Sioux American Indians, for example, a link between seasonal rituals and the
cosmos is evident in the structure of their sacred lodges. As Eliade comments,
these represent the universe — symbolising the year as a journey round the world,
through the four cardinal directions as signified by the four doors and windows
(1959, pp.73—74).
Knowledge of the distinction between ‘sacred’ and ‘profane’ time may even
determine something as mundane as what to wear when we attend an event. For
instance, when I attended the Yaqui Easter ceremonies (described in Chapter 10) I
found I was experiencing for the most part ‘sacred’ time and learnt to make an
appropriate choice of clothing in relation to the ceremonies of the day. On the
Good Friday not only was bright coloured clothing to be avoided, but also the
wearing of jewellery or a hat during the Stations of the Cross procession, when
traditionally the Yaqui women are bare-headed and wear their long hair
unbraided. For the ‘Gloria’ celebrations on the next day, it was recommended that
best clothes and bright colours be worn, but I considered the day was still partially
in ‘sacred’ time. I felt we moved into ‘profane’ time when evil had been ritually
defeated and the performers had re-joined their families after their arduous days
of ceremonies.
Thus there may be movement between both ‘sacred’ and ‘profane’ time during
one event. Indeed, in relation to performance in general, it is useful to think in
terms of these two senses of time as on a continuum. Even some theatre work or
parts ofa performance may be experienced as being towards the more ‘sacred’
end, others as closer to ‘profane’ or everyday time. Although, as I have indicated,
performance time conventions in general may be influenced by everyday life, they
serve fundamentally to set the even apart from it. Perhaps this is seen at its most
extreme in a solemn ceremony, hence the saying ‘to stand on ceremony’ which
essentially means to keep one’s distance and to avoid the ease, familiarity and
timing of everyday behaviour.
Furthermore, if we have identified the ‘time nature’ of the event we are
proposing to attend as primarily ‘sacred’, we may need to be prepared further for
what philosophers call a metaphysical time experience, an experience of
‘timelessness’. This is clearly described by theologians and also with reference to
traditions of meditation practice in which mundane, ordinary awareness and sense
of time are transcended.' As Capra explains, mystics tell of experiencing ‘an
infinite, timeless and yet dynamic present’ (1991, p. 197). Or, as Hui-neng states

1 For instance, in the practice of Indian Yoga, through pranayama ~ the thythmicisation of breathing
and gradual slowing down of the respiratory system — ‘there is no adept ... who, during
these
exercises, has not experienced quite another quality of time’ (Eliade 1991, p.86). Also, Indian myths
and funsoPhy refer to the rhythms of ‘Cosmic Great Time’ (see Eliade 1991, pp.57-9 1; Aurobindo
1948).
 TIME ELEMENTS AND PERFORMANCE CONVENTIONS / 69

‘The absolute tranquillity is the present moment. Though it is at this moment

there is no limit to this moment, and herein is eternal delight’ (Hui-neng quoted in
Watts 1957, p.220). These two senses of time may exist simultaneously.
Anthropologist Drid Williams writes of the Carmelite nuns’ experience: ‘It is as if
the Carmelite has two “maps”: one which locates her in ordinary space-time, and
another consisting of an “interior territory” of a spiritual and psychological nature
in which she is located at the same time’ (1975, p.113). As a continuing reminder
of spiritual life-time, prayers are customarily said at precise intervals through the
day and night in places of religion worldwide, from the Christian monastery to
the Islamic mosque.
A sense of timelessness or endless flow of time may also be experienced during
memorable theatre performances, and encountered in what is sometimes referred
to as the psychological experience of time in therapeutic contexts. For example,
therapist Maggie Scarf writes of a psychological sensation of time when she
describes how one of her patients spoke of a ‘molasses-like feeling of being stuck
in endless time’ (Scarf 1980, p.347). ‘Time travels in divers paces with divers
persons’ says Rosalind in Shakespeare's As You Like It(Act III, sc. 2) and, in contrast
to the last example, a common estimation of time in emergency experiences is that
it speeds up, as in ‘my whole life flashed before my eyes’. For the young, time can
seem endless, but as we grow older, or when we concentrate on a job which
interests us, time seems ‘all too short’. ‘The time just flew—1 don’t know where the
time went! Philip Larkin expressed an experience of an impressive, brief event
seeming longer than its actual duration in his poem The March Past:
The march interrupted the light afternoon
... And all was focused, larger than we reckoned,
Into a consequence of thirty seconds.

This illusory, subjective sense of time — how time ‘feels’ to us — is distinguished by

philosophers from the ‘objective’ measured clock-time of engineers.
A further distinction may be made between the experience of time in the
theatre and in daily life. As anthropologist Turner asserts, ‘no one could fail to
recognise ... when “dramatic time” has replaced routinised social living’ (1982,
p.9). Though criticised for some aspects of her dance theory (see Alter (1987),
Bartenieff et al. (1970), Cohen (1982)), philosopher Susanne Langer’s description
of the experience of time during performance events which she considered (from
the spectator’s viewpoint) is useful here. She first developed this concept in
telation to music and applied it to dance:
The realm in which tonal entities move is a realm of pure duration. Like its
elements, however, this duration is not an actual phenomenon. It is not a period —
ten minutes or a half hour, some fraction ofa day — but is something radically
 70 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

different from the time in which our public and practical life proceeds ... an
altogether different structure from practical or scientific time. (1953, p.109)

Turner has referred to physical biological changes which occur when we inhabit
performance time. The state which deep absorption in the performance of ritual
can generate in us has been deemed ‘ergotropic’ and identified by neurobiologists
as exhibiting ‘arousal, heightened activity and emotional response ... [with]
increased heart rate, blood pressure, sweat secretion, pupillary dilation and the
inhibition of gastrointestinal motor and secretary function’ (Lex 1979, p.136).

Performance planning, timings, calendars

To return to our imagined trip and intention to see a performance: coming from a
culture in which precise dates, diaries and set appointment times are the order of
the day, we will want to know when the event is due to begin. “We will start when
we are ready, when the time is right.’ This is one answer which may be given in
some places. It is interesting to note here that the ancient Greeks had two gods of
time, Chronos — the god of absolute, eternal time (hence our words such as
‘chronometer’) and Kairos — the god of favourable time — the ‘right’ time. The
starting time of the performance we are hoping to attend may be determined by
when a clock strikes the hour, or when the sun rises, or when everything is in place
and ‘it feels right’. It may be a time dictated by Chronos, or as indicated by Kairos.
Some peoples determine starting times and even the days of performance events
with more of our kind of mechanical-clock dominated precision than others.
Chapter 2 included reference to the way in which clocks have ruled us from
church towers and town squares for centuries, but, as Brother David SteindI-Rast
poetically remarks:
Time was not always
Ticking. Time was not
Discovered, but invented
To hobble the timeless dance.’

We might think that an obvious place to find out at least on which day a
performance is due to take place would be some form of local calendar. Through
their study of calendrical systems anthropologists can help us to advance our
understanding of how time elements affect or determine the framing of
performance cross-culturally. They have indicated how these systems both derive
from society and dictate to society.
To put these ideas in performance-event context, the traditional Hopi
calendrical system provides an example. When I visited the Hopi, I learnt that

2 From a poem published in Tui Shou, Living Tao Foundation, Issue 2 February 1997.
 TIME ELEMENTS AND PERFORMANCE CONVENTIONS / 71

Figure 3.3 An ancient oriental calendar-clock. Three hands travel round the dial to represent the
movement of sun, moon and seasons (indicated by Ursa Mayor or Peh Tao).

their year is structured in two halves, separated by the solstices and by the
residence of the Kachinas—the masked spirit figures. The traditional Hopi beliefis
that these live with them for one half of the year and for the other half they return
to their mountain home. Ceremonies and dates are scheduled to match. Hall also
remarked on this characteristic when he lived with the Hopi. For instance, one
day he asked when an event had taken place. Perhaps in the manner we use our
Christmas period he was told ‘it was just before Wowochim’ (Hall 1983, p.38). He
eventually discovered that meant it occurred in November.
Thus a local calendar may not provide us with a clear, straightforward answer.
Some calendrical systems seem immensely complicated to those of us who are
outside the system. Most combine several dating systems in one, such as civil and
religious dates, and days favoured for certain activities, all with an interlocking
pattern of performance events to match. Gell describes the Buddhist Thai
calendrical schemes which indicate favourable and unfavourable days for personal
and group activity. These are based on the four-phase lunar cycle, the planetary
 72 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

seven-day week, a cycle of twelve animals which applies to years and days, as well
as esoteric cycles which are to do with times for feeding spirits, and ‘the
orientation ofa giant subterranean dragon which turns on its axis as the year
proceeds’ (1992, p.76).
Let us imagine that our proposed visit takes place in Central India, in order to
attend some of the village rituals of the Muria Gands. If so, we would discover that
in addition to several other dating systems, they have a calendar of ritual events
which is different for each village. This is so that gods of village clans and their
devotees can travel and participate in each ceremony in turn (Gell 1992, p.89).
Timing of a ceremony may be pre-ordained on a regular basis (perhaps
seasonally), it may be socially determined, or decided by other means. A series of
related events can spread throughout a year. For instance, during the time Hugh
Richardson witnessed the annual ceremonies in Lhasa, the capital of Tibet, the
whole year was the performance time-frame for the annual series of events. There
were just about 60 days devoted to both secular and Buddhist ceremonies during
the year.’ [f our imagined visit is to a traditional group of Maring in New Guinea,
we would have to wait until the pigs and crops have grown before we could
experience the most exciting ceremony of the year (see Chapter 1 1).
The British climate affects or determines the timing of seasonal events, and this
is the case elsewhere too. Jonathan Reyman, in his study of annual and circadian
rhythms in south western Pueblo ceremonies, discovered that shifts in the use of
the plaza depended on the time of year, corresponding to the earth’s passage
round the sun. Predictably, the greatest ceremonial efforts and community
involvement were at the crucial agricultural times of seed preparation and
germination — when rain was needed.
Sunrise, sunset and the lunar calendar determine the timing of ceremonies in
many places. The Wahgi of Papua New Guinea calculate their calendar ‘from
shifts in the point at which the sun rises and relate these to wetter and drier times,
and to such processes as the swelling and ripening of pandanus nuts and fruit’
(O'Hanlon 1993, p.14). These items are important in the Wahgi system of gift
exchange which (with associated ceremonies) is a central feature of their life. We
need to look no further than an English parish church for an example of the
influence of the moon on the timing of ceremonies; the Christian Easter date is
governed by the moon:
EASTER-DAY
(on which the rest depend) is always the First Sunday after the Full
Moon which happens upon, or next after the Twenty-First
Day of March; and if the
Full Moon happens upon a Sunday, Easter-Day is the Sunday after. (The Book of
Common Prayer of the Church of England)

3 Richardson lived in Lhasa before the Chinese communists took over in 1959, and his observations
refer to this period.
 TIME ELEMENTS AND PERFORMANCE CONVENTIONS / 73

The traditional Chinese calendar is based on the cycles of both sun and moon and
also takes the movement of stars as well as other categories into account, all
thought to influence human existence. For instance, of the many festivals
determined by the calendar, the Chinese New Year with its traditional ceremonies
and celebrations occurs at the time of the full moon on the 1 5th day of their first
(lunar) month (usually some time in February in the western calendar). When
Richardson observed the annual ceremonies in Lhasa, Tibet, he noted the
influence of the positions of the sun and phases of the moon on timing: ‘Every
important event took place in the first half of a lunar month, and in the morning,
while the sun was in the ascendant’ (1993, p.11).
One of the most exciting beginnings ofa performance event I have witnessed
was in the early morning of 6 January, 1993, in Jemez Pueblo, New Mexico. I was
one ofa handful of people, mostly local, who had gathered to witness the start of
the ceremonies. We were standing around on the edge of the village, wrapped in
striped blankets against the cold. It was a day in celebration of Les Trors Reyes— the
three kings — a blend of native Indian and Christian tradition. A group of several
men, playing drums as they came, assembled nearby. We were all facing east, away
from the Pueblo, towards the glow in the sky — waiting for the sunrise. The
drumming continued. The day dawned — this was the cue. Thick smoke from a
preliminary ritual fire appeared on a distant high ridge. With a growing sense of
wonder and excitement, I began to see an outline of masked figures moving on the
skyline, intermittently visible through the smoke. I could distinguish the strong
outline of a buffalo head-dress, and later those of deer, ram and antelope.
Sometimes out of sight, these figures made their way down the hillside and
eventually arrived where we were standing, then continued with the drummers
into the centre of the Pueblo. The ceremonies had begun.

Duration, punctuation, tempi and attitudes to use of time

As the previous comments demonstrate, starting time, duration of the event,
ending time, tempo and the degree of precision of any of these in any culture are
determined by local or cultural convention. In her study of rhythm in dramatic
text Burns states: ‘The audience knows that the play is going to last two or three
hours, or in the Japanese or Indian theatre many more. Within these confines the
dramatist has first to project the time-rules that will govern the events and make
them coherent’ (1972, p.94). Tolerance or acceptance of duration varies culturally
and socially. For example, Indian audiences are happy with performances that last
all night; just as young people in the west throng rave events throughout a night.
Punctuation of the event is one feature of timing to notice, especially
significant structurally when the performance is long. Schechner emphasises the
structural importance of this in describing a trance dance he witnessed in a Sri
Lankan village, the 30-hour-long Thovil ceremony: ‘What holds the Thovil
74 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

together is a series of punctuations — ritual chants, further decoration of the

performance oval, expected dances and farces — that keep up the people’s interest’
(1977, p.48). Comprehension of a prolonged time sequence can be difficult if one
is not of the culture concerned. For instance an Indian tala— rhythmic sequence —
can be 108 beats long, but an Indian dancer (or musician) would be aware where
sam — the first beat of the sequence — falls.
The timing of beginnings and endings of events is treated differently in
various performance contexts and places. Before the dramatic ‘swish!’ of the
theatre curtains opening, all theatre-goers share that anticipatory pleasure as they
gaze towards it — perhaps wondering what is going on behind it. McPhee
described the delayed entrance between the curtains which was typical of
performances he attended in Bali:
If there are curtains, the only hint of the actor behind them is his voice, or the
twitching folds gathered in his hands which move in time to the music. This is the
dance of the curtains, a prologue to a prologue, for when the curtains finally part,
the dancer remains framed in the entrance, to continue the preliminary dance that
delineates his character ... These entrance dances, perhaps the most beautiful of
all in their delay and abstract elegance, take a long time to perform. (1948, p.188)

Cultural custom and context largely determine duration and tempo of

performance. Again in Bali, Schechner writes of how the ‘power’ ofa trance dance
affects the structure of the event: ‘How long the theatrical gestures will be
performed; how many repetitions of cycles of movement; what permutations or
new combinations occur — these things are unknown, and depend on the “power”
of the trance’ (1977, p.43). If a long duration or slow tempo is an unfamiliar
performance mode, perception and enjoyment of the whole can be lost. As an
audience member, expectation of rhythm is naturally affected by the customs of
one’s own culture. This is particularly evident in an individual’s response to
tempo. For example a western visitor comments that he overcame his usual,
native-based expectations ofa play’s tempo when watching Japanese Noh drama,
which he found very slow at first —
It is so slow that you almost push forward. You want to make it faster. Your
muscles push to get the actors going. Instead as it goes on they become even
slower, and by the very fact that it becomes slower and slower, before you know it
you are completely caught up; whereas if it goes in the way you first wanted it to
go, you would remain on the outside as an onlooker. (quoted in Strasberg 1965,
pp.244-245)

Wolz describes how in Japanese Bugaku style also, the prevalence of slow tempi
provides an alien experience for a western audience: ‘Though there are different
tempi in Bugaku, even the fastest would be considered adagio by Western
standards ... movements are extended in time to give the viewer an opportunity to
 TIME ELEMENTS AND PERFORMANCE CONVENTIONS / 75

Figure 3.4 The annual cycle of the Umeda, Papua New Guinea. The temporal focus of the year: the
performance of the ida ritual July-August, with the appearance of a series of masked and painted
dancers, aimed at increasing the supply of sago, with regeneration of the human population as the
underlying theme (see Gell 1992, pp.37-49).
Source: Alfred Gell

enjoy every subtle gesture. Economy of means and leisurely contemplation are
important aspects of all Japanese art’ (1971, pp.32—33).
Tolerance, expectation or acceptance of the length of a performance has been
found to vary cross-culturally. Peter Brook has spoken of variation in the attention
span of an audience which he experienced while presenting The Mahabharata. He
compared the relatively short attention span tolerance in Los Angeles with Tokyo
where the audiences ‘didn’t move’ for the nine hours of the show (Delgado and
Heritage (eds) 1996, p.51). Tolerance also varies from past to present. Kenneth
Branagh’s four-hour film Hamlet was threatened by cuts which distributors
demanded ‘to satisfy the shrinking attention span of modern audiences’ (Richard
Brooks, The Observer, 13 October 1996).
Moreover, people’s attitudes to everyday time varies, both individually and
cross-culturally. Edward Hall wrote of his early confusing experience with
contrasting attitudes to time which he encountered simultaneously in Arizona:
from Hopi native Americans, and from Navajo native Americans, from ‘white’
men, tourists from eastern USA, office people operating within bureaucratic and
banking times, as well as the overall USA time system. He considered ‘the culture
76 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

gap today is as broad and deep as it ever was’ (1983, p.29). In his writing, Hall
demonstrates the unique character of patterns and perception in a culture's time
frame.
If time is considered to be a scant resource, it affects the way lives are lived and
events planned. The central Indian Muria have this concept of time which is
derived from their agricultural way of life, based on the process of rice growth in
different seasons. They have a phrase pabe mayor — ‘I have not got time.’ The
Umeda of New Guinea, who have no sharply differentiated seasons and subsist on
the year-round agricultural production of sago, have no such attitude or
expression in their language (Gell 1992, p.88). Attitudes such as these can affect
performance events. In a typical West European or North American city where the
‘short of time’ syndrome prevails, it is rare to find theatre performances that last
longer than two and a half hours. In London recently I heard people remark that
they ‘hadn’t got the time’ to attend a day-long performance of a linked series of
plays by Robert Lepage. The writer Norman Lebrecht, commenting on this
tendency, observes how, in the USA an advertisement for a Mozart CD For the
Morning Commute asks: ““Want music that speeds you on your way? Let Mozart
make your day! Mozart ... is the ideal composer for the 20th century commuter.
He was always in a hurry to finish the many commissions that came his way”
(How Dumb Can You Get?, The Daily Telegraph, 26 February 1997).
Hall suggests that our attitudes to time can also relate to whether or not we
prefer to do more than one thing at once. He observed that in Northern Europe we
tend to prefer to do one thing at a time, a ‘monochronic’ mode, whereas in the
Mediterranean region people are happy with a ‘polychronic’ mode — several
things going on at once. In the latter context, appointments are frequently broken,
there is no sense of being ‘on time’, and interaction characteristically occurs with
several people at once (Hall 1983, pp.45-46).
How may this relate to performance context? In earlier centuries, multiple
staging (‘polychronic mode’) was an accepted norm in Europe, but in western
theatre today, the convention is for a single focus of attention (true to Hall's
characterisation of our preferred attitude as ‘monochronic’) and a multi-focus
presentation can bemuse or even disturb members of the audience. Theatre
directors may be criticised for ‘split focus’ (when more than one thing is
happening simultaneously on stage), although of course considered acceptable in
crowd scenes or in more experimental theatre productions. However,
Zimmermann’s radical 1965 opera Die Soldaten attracted some adverse criticism
for this characteristic. Opera critic David Blewitt reported the ‘shattering impact’
of the work which, however, greatly impressed him. In his review of the first
British performance, Blewitt describes the staging requirements:
Zimmermann wanted to surround the audience with twelve stages, each with its
own orchestra and projection screen so that, as in Artaud’s Theatre of Cruelty, ‘the
 TIME ELEMENTS AND PERFORMANCE CONVENTIONS / 77

Figure 3.5 Time and Fortune: a view of the changing rhythm of life. Astrology and the turning Wheel of
Fortune were common themes of medieval Europe — here Mars ts in the ascendant, with the Sun and
Venus to follow.
Source: German woodcut (c.1490)

spectator, placed in the middle of the action, is engulfed and physically affected
by it’. The composer, though compelled to settle for three screens in a traditional
theatre, still requires different actions on both stage and screen to play
simultaneously. (The Stage, 19 December 1996)

There is generally a single focus of attention at any one time during a ritual. In the
context of ceremony, a clear example of fully accepted split-focus occurred during
the ceremonies in Lhasa, Tibet, to which reference was made earlier. Richardson
recounts that on the 30th day of the second month — ‘The Golden Procession of
the Assembly of Worship’ — while four monks marched and performed a series of
slow prostrations to the Dalai Lama, other dances were taking place and ‘a joker,
holding a whip and bucket and leading a cow, prances round the arena teasing the
people in reach. The cow is the [legendary] Déjowé Ba which produces
wish-fulfilling milk. He pretends to milk it into the bucket from which he scatters
liquid over the crowd’ (1993, p.80).
78 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

_
K = ceremonial kiva; W, SC, SP = dance houses of the different moieties in the society;
X = instrumentalists

Figure 3.6 Spatial rhythm of travelling performance: Rio Grande Pueblo Indians’ day-long ceremonial
dances take place on the plazas between the house blocks. At Santa Clara Pueblo, groups of singers and
dancers move between four different plazas, with spectators clustered round each area and on house tops
(see Kurath 1986, p.175).
Source: Gertrude Kurath

Sequential order, performance space and adaptations

A mode of sequential ordering can be characteristic of culture or context. For
example, traditional British performance is related to a notion of events set out ina
linear, logical fashion through time (in accordance with ‘monochronic mode’),
with an expected beginning and ending, and development of intensity at some
points to reach a climax. Audiences have in general expected a cause and effect
pattern of action with associated increase and decrease of tension and tempo. In
this culture in general there is concern with the order in which things happen. The
English language is notable for the number of words which imply ordering:
before, after, during, then, next, earlier, later than. These link ideas of time, space
and action in a particular manner. Although challenged in some contemporary
 TIME ELEMENTS AND PERFORMANCE CONVENTIONS / 79

work, Aristotle’s ‘beginning, middle, end’ model for play structure has been the
accepted tradition in western Europe. In anthropology, Eliade (1959) has
discussed the difference between a cyclic view of time, based on the notion of
eternal return, and a linear view based on the notion of an ending. He points out
how this relates to ritual performance. A linear view of time may be seen as
countable in a series of lengths or as a row of similar and dissimilar units.
A non-lineal expectation and connection between events through time in life
as well as in performance arts can be found in other cultures. For example, anyone
visiting the Trobriand Islands (Pacific Ocean) with Dorothy Lee, would have
discovered that no lineal temporal connection is made between events. As Lee
reports: ‘Temporality is meaningless. There are no tenses, no linguistic distinction
between past or present. There is no arrangement of activities or events into means
and ends, no causal or teleological relationships’ (1960, p.141). Lee suggests that
Trobriand action is in the form of pattern rather thana line. The ku/a which is the
central gift exchange system of the culture is a pattern of gifts.
Features of the architecture of performance space, including the placing of
entrances and exits, are key considerations for the director when planning
performance timing. A most exciting presentational performance timing
challenge for director and actors was a Scottish Macbeth mounted all around
Inchcolm Island in the Firth of Forth. The performance began on a boat as we
crossed to the island with the three witches appearing in our midst from below
decks.* Other characters from the play soon came into view — tiny figures already
in action on the distant shore and cliff-top. This created a rare opportunity to
experience a juxtaposition of rhythms near and far in performance. In the context
of the Tibetan ceremonies which Richardson describes, the setting was inside,
around or even on the roof of the Potala Palace, which is situated at the top ofa
hill in the middle of a plain. Courtyards as well as the space below this impressive
edifice were used. The architecture framed and to some extent determined the
timing of the ceremonies (1993, p.9).
Conventions of stage size, shape and presentation affect performance time and
rhythm such as the use of three spatial levels (hell, earth, heaven) on travelling cart
stages or multiple staging in medieval European drama, or the long entrance
pathway which is incorporated in the stage ground plan of traditional Japanese
theatre, for example. In England to this day, the timing of the Abbots Bromley
Horn Dance is determined not only by the calendar and time of day but also by
the village street and lane plan and the time it takes to traverse this.’ I have
witnessed the start of the event in the early morning with a blessing ceremony in

4 Production under the auspices of Richard de Marco, Edinburgh Festival.

5 The Abbots Bromley Horn Dance is associated with Wakes’ Sunday, which annually honours the
patron saint ofa local church, in this case St Nicholas, on the first Sunday after 4 September, with the
dance-procession on the following day (see Figure 3.7).
80 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Figure 3.7 Abbots Bromley Horn Dance, Staffordshire: rhythm and timing through the ages. A moment
from possibly England's oldest surviving ceremonial dance, ‘owned’ by the current family of dancers for
over 400 years. It takes place once a year on Wakes’ Monday in the form of a 20-mile processional tour
of the parish from the church, with various stops for dancing and refreshment en route, including farms
and Blithfield Hall, ancestral home of the Bagot family. Six dancers (traditionally with Maid Marion,
hobby horse, boy with bow and arrow, a fool and two musicians) carry reindeer antlers (weighing
16-25b a pair). With a country dance-step rhythm, the patterns include the line weaving in and out,
circling, in two lines approaching and retreating, and changing places. Performed by men, but women of
the family have occasionally substituted when necessary.
Source: Doc Rowe

the village church, where the horns are kept from one year’s event to the next.
From there, the group of dancers, with some spectators following, travel round
the village, dancing and stopping at various locations and houses en route to
perform particular dances and to have refreshments. The performance ends at the
local pub in the evening.
Classical drama and dance, and local indigenous performance in non-western
cultures inevitably follow particular conventions of staging, duration, timing,
audience response and behaviour. These affect the overall time structure which
 TIME ELEMENTS AND PERFORMANCE CONVENTIONS / 81

usually has to be modified when examples are transferred for performance in

other countries or contexts, with variable results.
There was a striking example of the effect of adaptation to a different context
which I recall from viewing a TV film documentary.® In Ire Ekiti, Nigeria, a
Yoruba Ogun festival was transferred in a dramatised version to a western-style
performance space and performed by a company of dancers. Inevitably much of
its impact was lost. Of course this loss was only partly caused by inter-related
differences in the use of space and time elements. The ritual event was exciting and
significant in its own social cultural context. The timing had been due to the
diviner’s edicts, and the annual occurrence of the event was used as a marker for
the remembrance and anticipation of other events important in the life and
history of the people. Director Peggy Harper's objective was not simply to uproot
the ritual and put it on stage but, while expressing her respect for the original, to
create a new work which ‘had meaning for modern. African audiences’. Harper
herself later admitted ‘I realised we could never reproduce the intensity of the
event’ (personal communication, 1978).
In relation to our study of time elements, the following features of the stage
adaptation can be noted. The audience was seated in parallel rows facing an
open-fronted (non-proscenium) stage, with the customary distance between the
front row and the stage. Entrances, exits, movement patterns and the rhythmic
flow of the procedure all took place on the stage. Hand-clapping applause marked
the end of the show, in conspicuous contrast to the use and significance of
hand-clapping as rhythmic marker in the festival ritual. Furthermore, a large
number of people took part in the original which was enacted over a wide, fairly
rough, terrain outside, and which lasted at least 24 hours. Thus, to judge from the
evidence on film, the performance raised questions about a number of changes,
including the use of time elements in the context of adaptation.’

Spectators and conventions of audience behaviour

There are also conventions which relate to audience presence which affect the
rhythm and timing of performance. It is easy to visualise how the number of
participants affected the rhythm and timing of the original event in that last

6 BBC TV, The World About Us, 30 November 1975.

7 The 1990 European tour of dancers from Papua New Guinea provided another example of some of
the problems of adaptation away from an indigenous location. It was interesting to see the dance
steps, but the full rhythm and timing structure, timeframe, environment and significance were missed.
As reported on television from Gunnersbury Park, London, the rhythms and full costume with
impressive feather head-dresses seemed an exotic oddity in that environment. The outdated,
inaccurate words of the announcer did not help: ‘Melpa people's first taste of the West was when they
ate missionaries. Performing at Gunnersbury Park they are art on legs. Audiences be warned — hang
on to your heads as well as your hats’ (Thames TV, 07 for London, 31 May 1990; O'Hanlon 1993,
pp-56-57).
 82 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

example. During his attendance at the Lhasa ceremonies in Tibet, Richardson

estimated that approximately 20,000 people were present for the Great Prayer
Ceremony on the fourth day of the first month of the year. Monks from other
monasteries travelled to Lhasa to take part. The ceremonies of course followed
their own timing, but the size and movements of the crowd may to some extent
have been taken into account (1993, p.22). Schieffelin provides a striking
example from a ceremony in Papua New Guinea of spectators’ response making a
vital contribution. He describes how during the Gisalo ceremony, the Kaluli
people react to the dancers’ nostalgic songs about the lands and rivers of their
community. ‘Members of the audience are moved so deeply they burst into tears
and then, becoming enraged, they leap up and burn the dancers on the shoulder
blades with the resin torches used to light the performance.’ This retaliative
behaviour appears to be essential for an enactment to be deemed ‘successful’ since,
without it ‘the ceremony falls apart and is abandoned in the middle of the night’
(1998, pp.202—3). Furthermore, the dancers actually pay compensation to those
spectators who interacted with them in this way.
Visitors need to learn what is considered to be acceptable spectator behaviour
in terms of rhythm and timing. In most traditional western ceremonies and in
theatre performances, although spectators have a participatory role, they are
expected to be still and as silent as possible except at times of acceptable,
anticipated reaction or applause.° In other cultures audiences may be more lively,
participate more fully or even seem to interrupt the action. For example,
Chungliang Al Huang vividly describes the audience for traditional Chinese
theatre, where spectators are familiar with the plays which have been handed
down for centuries:
In contrast to the solemn atmosphere of most western theater, Chinese theater is
fun and casual. Behind every seat in the audience there is a tea cup. Hawkers keep
going round to sell you tea and food. Hot towels are passed around to keep you
awake. People eat lunch and crack watermelon seeds, while children run around
and drape themselves over the edge of the stage. It’s more of a living,
give-and-take situation. There’s no set time for applause. When actors do well,
the audience sings along with the actors and gets all excited. When they don’t do
well, they boo and throw things on the stage ...In Oriental theater there’s no such
thing as exact, set timing. (1987, pp.104—105)

Clifford Geertz witnessed performances in Bali, which ‘go on often for very
extended periods when one does not attend continually but drifts away and back,

8 Audience participation/spectator involvement: in France the verb ‘to attend’, assister (be it an event
such as a funeral or a play in the theatre), surely implies more than passive presence (also see Brook
1968, p.155-6).
 TIME ELEMENTS AND PERFORMANCE CONVENTIONS / 83

chatters for a while, sleeps for a while, watches rapt for a while, and stops’ (1975,
p-403). Those performances are being viewed from a different standpoint in
relation to time and within a time and space frame which differs from our own.
Thus, as also noted in the last chapter, performance in ceremony, drama and
dance is concerned in a wide variety of ways with interaction between performers,
and to a greater or lesser extent with interaction between performers and
spectators and with their response. As Barba reminds us: ‘to create the life ofa
performance does not mean only to interweave its actions and tensions, but also to
direct the spectator’s attention, his rhythms, to induce tensions in him’ (Barba and
Savarese 1996, p.70). Varied audience response is generated from different
performance time and rhythm structures. For example, Schechner points out: ‘The
use of selective inattention encourages a kind of alpha-rhythm performance that
evokes deep relaxation rather than tension. Or, as in the episodic pearl-
on-a-string pageants of Wilson, a long-wave rhythm stimulates dropping in,
dropping out: a different kind of medication’ (1977, p.156).
Various conventions prevail for interaction, and condition time usage during
performance. Social conventions, such as the degree of licence or informality
allowed, with attitudes to accepted/unaccepted behaviour are influential.
Reminiscent of other European mummers’ plays, village performances in the
Polish dziady tradition by masked gangs of ‘vagabonds’ are enacted with a marked
informality. These performances take place randomly, at unspecified times during
New Year’s Eve and the next day, from village to village and door to door in a
cross-country, processional pattern. Characters may include shepherds, gypsies,
soldiers, horses, a chimney-sweep, a bear and figures of death and a devil.
Unrelated actions take place simultaneously as these characters sing, perform
scenes, dance, play practical jokes and interact with local inhabitants. This creates
a mix of rhythms, a mayhem of play and performance, inside the cottages, outside
in the snow and sometimes up trees. The informality dominates and determines
rhythm and timing. It seems that almost anything can happen as villagers are
teased — items of furniture go outside, hay and animals are brought indoors from
barns, girls are tossed in snow drifts, a host's wagon may be put on his roof— anda
quantity of vodka is consumed (Young 1974). On stage, rhythm and timing can
express or emphasise degrees of informality or formality to bring out the relative
exuberance or dignity of the situation.

Western performance conventions and performance structure

To conclude, some final comments about western conventions concerning time in
theatre performance. Performance time overall is ordained by rules of procedure
established by long usage, which we are unlikely to question in our own culture. In
the context of western theatre traditions, we are used to drama and dance
performances occurring as directors or theatre administrators dictate. There are
84 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Figure 3.8 Spectators contribute to performance rhythm. A view of a play in action in the theatre of
Restoration England.
Source: Grace Golden, courtesy of Victoria and Albert Museum

conventions with regard to the imagined passage of time through a play, and to
the degree of freedom characters are allowed to traverse both time and space.
Aristotle’s rules concerning ‘unity of time’ (the 24-action boundary) were
originally influential in western classical or classically-derived drama. However,
freedom in stage use of time developed. Shakespeare is well known for his
acceleration and retardation of real time to assist the development of stage action.
In contrast, as Burns points out, ‘Passage of time in plays of Ibsen, Chekhov and
Strindberg was made to seem as plausible as possible’ (1972, p.95). In Ibsen,
events of the past often activate the present time of the play: for example, Beate’s
death in Rosmersholm. Chekhov's plays give the impression of lingering in the
present.
Some contemporary playwrights have established new conventions,
sometimes moving closer to the rhythms of everyday life, sometimes adopting a
more stylised approach or a non-linear, perhaps dream-like narrative structure (as
seen in film). Pinter provides an obvious example with his innovative approach to
performance, rhythm and timing in dialogue and detailed stage directions; or
 TIME ELEMENTS AND PERFORMANCE CONVENTIONS / 85

Beckett who, as described in the last chapter, moved further away from everyday
life rhythms, even rejecting any pretence of realism in relation to time.
The traditional western European notion of play division in the theatre is into
different scenes and acts. In contemporary drama this has often become a two-act
or even an uninterrupted single structure without intervals. Some performances,
particularly those in post-modern idiom and thereafter, develop intensity through
repetition and steady accumulative use of time elements rather than through the
old build-up of scenes and acceleration-climax pattern. We have seen this in the
theatre work of Laura Dean, Philip Glass and Robert Wilson for example (see
p.123). Work of this sort may take many hours, even days to perform — an unusual
experience for most western audiences. This kind of prolonged enactment has a
close relationship to forms of ritual performance.
Western theatre performances are punctuated by pauses which are expected for
audience applause and laughter. Applause may occasionally even greet the
entrance of a ‘star’ or mark an effective exit. A visitor to our culture might find it
strange when the action of a play halts while — as sometimes happens — an
audience applauds some effective décor. Intervals are provided which afford
audience relaxation from concentration, opportunity for social interaction (and
theatre revenue from sale of refreshments). Some, perhaps more ‘serious’,
contemporary plays or theatre events are presented without an interval. The
traditional interval between scenes and acts of a play, ballet or series of dance
items also allows time for performers’ rest, scene and costume change. The same is
true of a ritual or ceremony.
With conventions inherited from earlier centuries, dance performance in
western classical ballet traditionally either follows an act structure or consists of a
series of one-act pieces. Audience intervention during the dancing rarely occurs,
but star performers or displays of skill may be acknowledged and action delayed
by rounds of applause.
At curtain calls, applause is frequently prolonged. Timing of intervals in
contemporary dance performance is determined by length of pieces, each with
pre-set timing and uninterrupted by applause. Folk-dance performance on stage
normally also follows a similar pattern, but audience applause is sometimes
elicited by particular displays of skill during the dance action. Less formal
folk-dance performance in a local setting may include greater response and
audience participation.
There are many ways of considering rhythm and timing in the dynamics ofa
performance structure. The micro-and macro-structure of one performance can be
observed, or a performance may be considered in the wider context of social
group, region, nation or world. The notion of structural and contextual levels of
an event is the basis of this approach (Ortiz 1969; Cole 1975; Snyder 1978).
Many levels are articulated in one dance piece, a point also emphasised by Robert
86 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Dunn — pioneer-teacher of dance composition, Judson Church, New York, in the

1960s — during a conversation, 27 May 1981, New York City.
Levels of structural analysis may be identified sequentially, a development
which extends the perspective with each step: (1) sequence (built from motifs,
phrases or phases of action); (2) scene/part/section; (3) set of scenes/parts/
sections; (4) a dance, a play, a ceremony; (5) wider context. Use of rhythm and
time elements may be identified at each step, from the moment-by-moment
interplay of rhythm and time elements at the level of micro-structural actions or
motifs — through to the highest compositional macro-structural unit ofa dance, a
play, a ritual event, ceremony or series of such events, or even in a wider context.
As Snyder argues, ‘if one begins to perceive the dynamics of structure, a system
reveals itself which communicates more than structure’ (1978, p.2). The
polyrhythmic nature of performance derives from various strands in the
performance structure, in the ordering of events. Although an example in Chapter
2 (note 1) indicated that there is not necessarily a connection between performers’
sense of timing on stage and their sense of clock time, as examples in the this
chapter have shown, performance rhythm and timing is to some extent influenced
by people's attitudes to time and by their ways of planning and arranging
performances, whether in the theatre or in ceremonies. Contributory factors
include the interaction of performers, staging and environmental conditions,
audience behaviour and expectations. The miscellany of ideas and examples cited
have illustrated how these influences and factors, together with performance
conventions, determine outcome. Time elements — evident throughout, at all
levels of analysis — are central in the shared experience of performance and one of
the bases of cultural, situational and aesthetic identity, meaning and effectiveness.
 4

Contributions to the Study

of Rhythm from Observers
Movement Notation and Anthropology

This chapter provides a set of selected references to some of the ways in which
rhythm and timing has been observed and noted by professional notators' and by
anthropologists. It is useful to look at their approaches to the subject since a
notator’s task is to undertake detailed movement observation, and observing
people’s movement is part of an anthropologist’s job too. How do they perceive
rhythm and timing?

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Figure 4.1 Visual rhythm: a pattern inspired by Australian Aborigines’ Dream-Time Journey motifs — 4
form of movement notation (e.g. concentric circles = water hole, thick semi-circle = resting (print-mark
from squatting on the ground. Other lines may indicate various tracks or flowing water).
Source: Liane Payne

l Dance (or movement) notation: described by Ann Hutchinson Guest, recognised world-wide as an
authority on the subject, as ‘the process of recording movement on paper’ and as ‘a means of
communication of the language of dance’ (Hutchinson Guest 1984).

87
 88 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Movement and dance notation

Notation systems indicate those aspects of movement deemed important in the
particular culture, style and context for which a system was created, and in which
it is used. There are detailed notational methods designed to record dance
movement precisely, and less precise, non-prescriptive methods which are used
for descriptive purposes. Ann Hutchinson Guest (1984) has written a
comprehensive account of systems which is essential reading for a study of the
subject. My aim here is much more restricted: to provide a compilation of selected
examples from the range of approaches to rhythm and timing. As there are over 85
systems from which to choose, this is necessarily a limited selection.
Detailed systems usually combine graphic methods, but following Hutchinson
Guest’s lead, they can be categorised according to the main graphic method used.

Word abbreviations
Many movement students and teachers have used abbreviations of words to
describe movement action as a memory aid. This is fine in use with other people if
they are familiar with the original material to which the abbreviations refer.
Thoinot Arbeau’s Orchésographie (1588) was an early version, with for example,
the R (for reverencia) and d (for double). Many descriptions of folk dance and also
social, West European ballroom dances today include, for instance, S for slow, Q-
for quick (see Silvester, 1950). In tap dancing, word descriptive systems exist for
identification and teaching purposes using terms such as ‘shuffle step’, ‘step ball
change’.

Figure 4.2 Dance steps: figures from Arbeau’s Orchésographie, which he included to supplement musical
notation of the dance tunes, with word description alongside.
 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE STUDY OF RHYTHM FROM OBSERVERS / 89

Singer records the rhythmic patterns of Macedonian—Bulgarian dances in terms

of S/Q (‘slows' and ‘quicks') (1974, p.386). At the same time she points out the
difficulties of perceiving and performing these rhythms due to changes of tempo,
inconsistency and accentual variations from one bar to the next. Others such as
dancer/ritual deviser Anna Halprin have used words in a variety of
impressionistic methods, usually incorporating floor patterns or ground tracks
(see Schwartz 1982). Although quick to write, words or letters are too vague to be
of much use for detailed rhythm and timing study.

Figure 4.3 Dancers weave in and out as they trace the path of a contrapasso — in the shape of a rose,
‘according to the true mathematics after the verses of Ovid’.
Source: Caroso 1600

Track drawings
The single footprint which Crusoe found on his lonely seashore was a mystery.
Tracks which provide evidence of where people or animals have been, have always
exerted a certain fascination. Track drawings may either give a bird’s-eye view of a
movement sequence (pattern on the ground) or delineate a choreographer or
performer’s gestural track. Anthropologists are interested in the tracks indicated
on Australian churinga, a form of movement notation.’ (See Lévi-Strauss 1966;
Munn 1973). Track drawing systems were prevalent in seventeenth-century
Europe, being particularly appropriate for the royal court dances at that time with
their stress on the spatial rhythms of elaborate and significant floor patterns. For

2 Aborigines’ sacred wood or stone slabs — inscribed with lines said to represent ancestors’ spirit
journeys.
90 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

instance, at the triumphant conclusion of A Masque of Queens, Jonson's stage

directions require the name of the young prince, Charles, to be stepped out as the
floor pattern of the dance. In order to provide other indications of the action, the
method was usually supplemented by words, symbols or by little drawings such
as of tiny horses in the score of Allesandro Carducci’s horse ballet I! Mondo,
Balletto a Cavallo (1661).
The best known and most widely used track system was Feuillet’s (thought to
be based on Beauchamp). Published in 1700, the method became popular
throughout Europe. Feuillet’s system included the use of words and small
symbols. The decorative track, which expresses something of the grace of an
eighteenth-century ballroom, indicates right and left steps with lines penned on
either side ofa central line, intended to coincide with the bars of the music. Other
methods, such as that used by Kellom Tomlinson (c.1720) incorporated music and
tracks with detailed engravings of costumed figures in action. Modern ballroom
dancers are familiar with Victor Silvester’s use of footstep imprints, numbered to
indicate timing and sequence on a directionally arrowed track (Silvester 1950).
Track notation has been used by early dance anthropologists. Some instances are:
Langdon-Davies writing about Catalan dance (1929); Holt recording dances of
Celebes (1939); and Mason describing American Indian dances (1944).

Figure 4.4 An example of a dance notated in Feuillet’s popular, decorative system (originally devised by
ballet-master Pierre Beauchamp).
Source: Feuillet (c.1700)
 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE STUDY OF RHYTHM FROM OBSERVERS / 91

Figure 4.5 A drawing by choreographer Dana Reitz. Repeated Phrase, from Quintet Project
(1981). ‘When working on a dance piece, one of my main concerns 1s to find a rhythmic phrase to work
from... Drawing. ..1s another way to get at the energy that motivates movement, the direct line of intent
and attention, the underlying current of form’ (Shwartz 1982).
Source: Dana Reitz

Contemporary choreographers frequently use gestural track notation in the form

of free-style drawings to record ideas, as part of their working process. In relation
to rhythm, Dana Reitz, for example, states: ‘[drawing] is a tool that allows me to
see, outside of myself, the direct result of performing a rhythm as J hear it, without
trying to copy a completed shape or even to predict one’ (Schwartz 1982, p.56).
For Relative Calm (1981) Lucinda Childs made diagrams of the dancers’ spatial
pathways in relation to set time intervals (Schwartz 1982, p.49). This form of
track drawing provides less detailed information than standard forms of
movement notation, but may reveal much about the artist’s ideas on rhythm and
timing.
With his ‘Motation’ (1966), landscape architect Lawrence Halprin most
interestingly explored the possibility of devising a graphic notation system (with
time indications) for tracking kinetic environments whether of street or stage. His
system makes use of frames as in film, and 26 basic symbols to indicate features of
the landscape: structures, moving objects, direction and angle and other
92 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

geometric components.’ Anna Halprin devised a diagrammatic graphic score for

the ‘Time Sequence Activity’ in her community dance work, Animal Ritual. Read
horizontally from left to right, 11 lines (seeming to represent a flow of energy —
performance arteries, as it were) indicate the pathways of performers along which
they journey. They travel individually, through three phases of initiation for
instance, with specific named ordeals and experiences such as ‘burden’, ‘conflict’,
‘rivalry’, ‘courting’, ‘isolation’, ‘the hunt’. The lines begin to merge at ‘common
enemy’ and are as one at ‘confrontation’ before moving on elsewhere (Halprin
1995, p.118).
Track drawing alone is an inadequate method for notation of rhythm in all its
aspects. However, it is certainly a useful adjunct to other forms of notation. It can
give an immediate impression to the reader of the scale, shape and span of an
event.

Pictorial representation
From stick figures to sketches of dancers — again many movement students and
teachers have resorted to various representations of figures in action as a memory
aid. Most of the fully fledged notational systems place the indications of the
moving figure parallel to the music, which is read from left to right horizontally in
the usual West European manner. Thus the rhythm and timing aspects of
movement are reliant on West European musical form. There are a number of
examples. For instance, Zorn’s system, published in 1905, incorporated floor
patterns with melody and castanets’ rhythm alongside a series of stick figures —
for the notation of Fanny Elssler’s Cachucha. The best known example is the
well-established Benesh system (1956) which utilises a five-line horizontal stave
on which extremities and mid-joints of the body are plotted. The Benesh system
was first designed to notate ballet and is widely used, but it has been applied to
other styles. For instance, in anthropology, John Blacking included some Benesh
notation in his study of Southern African Venda dance.
Gertrude Kurath, respected doyen of dance anthropology (or dance ethnology
as it is more commonly known in the USA), developed the Kurath glyph system
(1953). This is based on a combination of the Laban system (which is described
later) and the use of parts of a stick figure, each part being given a line of the staff.
Timing is indicated by horizontal lines across the staff, read from the bottom to
the top of the page. Indeed, stick figures are a popular form of notation as a
memory aid, and they have been used by many people, such as Bessie and May

3 Architects are concerned with the movement of people through their spaces, but some contemporary
architects now deal more demonstrably with motion, and use less of the conventional language of
static elements. This is evident in projects such as Bernard Schumis’ Parc de la Villette or in examples
of Zaha Hadid’s work.
 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE STUDY OF RHYTHM FROM OBSERVERS / 93

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Figure 4.6 Dancers with instruments (gankogui bell, axatse rattle and kaganu drum): stick figures,
footprints, and indication of instrumental timing, Extract from a Takada club dance of the Ewe people,
Anyakol, Ghana.
Source: SI Kobla Ladzekpo and Hewitt Pantaleoni

Evans (see Evans B. and M.G. 1937) to record Pueblo dance steps, and Griaule
(1938) who used a type of figure notation in describing West African Dogon
dances. However, since a pictorial method is essentially a position-orientated
method it has severe limitations for indicating rhythm and timing.
Anthropologists are interested in cave paintings of figures in motion — an early
form of movement notation (Ucko and Rosenfeld 1967). Dance scholar-artist
Millicent Hodson has made a unique contribution to pictorial methods of
notation in the reconstruction of a number of early ballets for dance companies
which, with Kenneth Archer, she has undertaken since 1987. For example, for
Nijinsky’s Le Sacre du Printemps Hodson collected and studied verbatim accounts,
choreographic markings on the musical score, original designs and sketches to
execute drawings and paintings of the dancers as she researched and imagined
them at different stages of the dance. These she uses as an aid in the reconstruction
process (1996) (see Figure 4.7).
Although as Rawson comments ‘rhythm was used as an emotive catchword in
post-symbolist art discourse between about 1900 and 1940’ (1997, p.103),
interesting allusions to the rhythm of a painting or a sculpture have frequently
been made, both then and at other times. For the Italian Futurists the essence of
modernity was speed, which (with rhythm) they frequently aimed to represent in
their art — clearly exemplified in Balla’s work (see Millar and Schwarz (eds) 1998).
The extent to which a static picture can convey movement rhythms and
94 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

relationships, and differences between a dancer’s perception of rhythm in

movement and a graphic artist's perception of rhythm in a painting are subjects
which cannot be pursued fully here, but may be considered briefly in relation to
various pictorial representation systems of notation. Souriau describes the
‘phrasing’ ofa picture and stylistic differences in this regard:
the slow, full majestic phrasing of a Veronese ... the rugged phrasing of
Caravaggio, powerful in its boldness, brutal, even a bit melodramatic; the
essential polyphonic and architective phrasing of N. Poussin; or again the
pathetic and tormented phrasing of Delacroix. It is entirely reasonable to note a
likeness with these characteristics in the music of Palestrina, Monteverdi, Bach or
Berlioz. (1961, p.138)

In his discussion of rhythm in pictures, music, mood and feeling, Bayer suggests
rhythm is basically an emotional force with alternation of storm and calm, and

Figure 4.7 An example of Millicent Hodson’s work — pictorial representation of timing: The witch leaps
to make the young men jump. Augurs of Spring, Act 1, Scene I.
Source: Millicent Hodson
 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE STUDY OF RHYTHM FROM OBSERVERS / 95

concludes ‘what each and every aesthetic object imposes upon us, in appropriate
rhythm, is a unique and singular formula for the flow of our energy’ (1961,
p.201). Bayer brings dance and pictorial representation together when he asserts
that understanding of a work of art lies in understanding its rhythmic
construction: ‘We understand a work of art correctly, then, as soon as we perceive
it correctly in the rhythmic-formal sense, and as soon as we feel its true emotional
content through this formal perception’ (1961, p.29). Goldberg reflects that

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Figure 4.8 From Japan: an example of notation using a pictorial method with accompanying words (one
page from the complete system).
Source: Ann Hutchinson Guest collection

Margaret Schreyer’s woodcuts used as a form of notation for Lothar Schreyer’s

Expressionist play Crucifixion (1920) vividly evoke its rhythmic style — ‘bands of
zig-zagged instructions match the exaggerated shrieks and staccato movement of
the action’ (1982, p.5). It is clear that the concept of spatial rhythm in movement
relates closely to the artist's concept of rhythm, and to the choreographer’s sense
of design, as the comment from Dana Reitz has already indicated (see Figure 4.5).

Mustc notation
All the systems based on music notation naturally help us to envisage the metric
pattern of movement. For example, Woodard based her notation on the dance and
music notation system of the Jogjanese court, in order to examine structure in
Javanese dance (1976, p.10). However, there is frequently ambiguity about timing
in systems based on music notes. For instance, the duration of a note may indicate
 96 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

a dancer’s arrival and ‘held’ position, or gradual movement into a position

through the duration of the note.
If we look at some contemporary composers’ scores, and those of
ethnomusicologists who have had to address the problem of the notation of
non-metric rhythm or unfamiliar rhythmic forms, we find an interesting range of
features of rhythm, and ways of indicating these (Karkoschka 1966; Ladzekpo
and Pantaleoni 1970; Koetting 1970; Cole 1974).

Abstract symbols
Laban’s system, briefly mentioned in the last chapter, is perhaps the best known of
those which make use of abstract symbols (known as Kinetography in Europe and
as Labanotation in the USA). Since Laban’s death in 1958 the system has
continued to be developed and applied in different dance and other movement
contexts. To notate rhythm and timing, the method utilises a vertical stave which
is read from the base, with bar-lines to indicate metrical division of time and

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Figure 4.9 An example of Labanotation from The Language of Dance Series No.3: Niyinsky’s Faune
Restored, by Ann Hutchinson Guest. Read from the bottom of the staff. these two measures (bars) show
the faun’s action after he has picked up the dress discarded by the Chief. Nymph — he ts travelling to and
Jro and ‘laughing like an animal’ whilst holding the dress.
 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE STUDY OF RHYTHM FROM OBSERVERS / 97

symbols to represent different body parts. Rubato or cadenza-like form is allowed

for by the use of ad /ib signs. Wedge-shaped symbols indicate accents or presence
of ‘more than average strength’ or ‘little strength’. Floor patterns with spatial
directions can be inscribed alongside the main staff, and are also indicated within
the staff by directional signs. The system achieves economy — one symbol
representing duration, body part, level and direction. If use ofa full score appears
too complex, one can make a personal selection of signs from the total. There are
simplified versions of full Kinetography, such as Motif Writing, designed by
Preston-Dunlop (1963).
In addition to Kinetography, Laban devised signs to notate the dynamics of
movement from his ‘effort’ analysis. These signs can be placed alongside the
score, or notated as a separate graph. For detailed study of rhythm and timing,
both the kinetographic score and the ‘effort’ graph are needed.
There have been various extensions of Laban’s approach, notably Warren
Lambs’s Action Profiling, Movement Pattern Analysis and the work of Pamela
Ramsden and others. In the USA, Effort-Shape was developed by Irmgard
Bartenieff, with Davis, Kestenberg and others, working first at the Dance
Notation Bureau, and then at the Laban Institute of Movement Studies, New York
(see Bartenieff, Davis and Pauley (eds) 1970). The analytic methodology of
Effort-Shape (now incorporated into Laban Movement Analysis) is also used as a
basis for movement experience and training. Rhythm is central to the approach
which is particularly concerned with the interaction of effort combinations with
variations in spatial patterns (see Bartenieff and Lewis 1980). An important
contribution is made to the study of phrasing (see also Blum 1987; Maletic 1983).
Attention is given to ways in which phrases may begin, develop and end, and to
how phrases are initiated and prompted by particular body action, use of
symmetry or asymmetry and use of acceleration. ‘Effort-Shape’ is not a detailed
notational method and is not specific about all features of rhythm, but use of the
system can result in evocative descriptions of a full range of movement
characteristics, including aspects of rhythm. It has been applied in various
contexts such as in the Choreometrics Project (see p.104).
As noted in Chapter 2, Kestenberg has adopted notions such as ‘flow’ from
Laban to note preferred patterns of rhythmicity in young children. She charts
tension-flow along a curving line with a neutral centre line. Rise of tension is
indicated by a rising line, lessening tension by a lowering line (1977, p.7).
Kestenberg distinguishes between rhythms of tension flow as alternations in
‘sequences of fluency and restraint in the state of the muscles in various parts of
the body’ and rhythms of shape flow, which ‘organise the relationship of body
parts in such a way that drives can be satisfied in transactions with objects’ (1977,
p.86). She also refers to the significance of gestural size (near or far from the body)
98 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

in her definition of shape flow rhythm, which ‘consists of alternations between

growing and shrinking of body shape’ (1977, p.90).
Abstract symbols are also used by a number of others, such as Loring and
Eshkol-Wachman. ‘Kinesiography’, introduced by Loring in 1955, is potentially
useful in studies of rhythm and timing for the attention it gives to dynamics,
breathing and change of attitude from ‘introvert’ to ‘extrovert’ in performance.
But it shows no way of fully recording rhythm and it has a cumbersome,
eighteen-column staff. Better known is the mathematically based work and
system of Noa Eshkol and Abraham Wachman, published in 1958 as Movement
Notation. This system, soundly related to the structure of the body and process of
moving, notates action in terms of degrees of rotation of any given movement.

Other methods
Examples of anthropologists who have made use of detailed notation systems for
dance study and analysis have already been cited. Others in anthropology, dance,
and in the field of non-verbal communication such as those quoted in Chapter 1,
make use of various less detailed methods of noting movement patterns for
descriptive and analytic purposes, including use of abstract signs, boxes, graphs,
charts, frame-by-frame film analysis and drawings. Byers (1972), for instance,
devised charts for movement and speech, with duration marked in seconds, to
demonstrate aspects of synchronicity and shared beat or rhythm by two or more
people. Valerie Hunt’s movement behaviour scoring method includes ‘patterns of
energy; as well as shape rhythms’ ‘rhythm in movement’ (force and time) with four
headings: burst (explosive), sustained (smooth, continuous), undulate (wave),
restrained (irregular, continuous), with three degrees in each (1968). In his
interesting study of the African festival of Odwira at Akropong, Cole (1975) used
an ‘energy flow’ model and form of notation which consists ofa horizontal time
line, read from left to right, with ritual intensity plotted below and elaboration or
intensity of public display above the line. An aerial plan of the space used is also
included (see also p.101).
The use of timing graphs is common in physiological and behavioural studies
of various kinds. For instance, Kendon and Ferber (1971) plot observation of
greeting behaviour on a graph, with a base duration line. Pitcairn and Schleidt
employ graphs to record duration of dance pattern in their analysis of the Medlpa
courtship dance in New Guinea (1975). Ryman and Rannie (1978) have made a
quantitative analysis of aspects of the grande jeré dessus en tournant
in ballet, making
use of biomechanical methodology, including cinematographic analysis
presented in the form of graphs (as well as body tracings and tables).
Frame-by-frame film analysis has been used by a number of observers, such as
Kendon in his analysis of relationships between body motion and speech (1972).
Kubik also devised a frame-by-frame system of movement notation to describe
 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE STUDY OF RHYTHM FROM OBSERVERS / 99

the action of Angolan boys’ initiation ceremonies in Southern Africa (1977),

transcribing patterns from film on to graph paper. The movement analysis is
based on body use and changes in the direction of energy which Kubik terms
‘corner-points’.
The focus on the use of time elements, rhythm and timing in this book does
not include use of any one form of notation. However, it can be seen that for
detailed structural analysis, a notational system is needed. I have used
Labanotation in my own work from time to time, particularly in study and practice
of historical and ‘folk’ dance, and this system is compatible with the approach to
rhythm advocated in this book. Systems which notate floor pattern, such as in
Feuillet and Cole, are obviously useful for recording aspects of spatial rhythm. For
their emphasis on patterns of energy, Loring, Hunt and Cole’s approaches are
particularly helpful. Various inter-personal communication notational systems are
useful analytic tools, such as Byers’ (for synchrony), and Kendon/Ferber’s and
Kubik’s graphs and frame analysis methods. .

Contributions from anthropology

Rhythm in definitions of dance
In dance...rhythm is transformed, heightened, manipulated, so that it becomes
something larger and more effective than the ordinary rhythms that surround us
in everyday life. (Royce 1981, p.2)

When anthropologists study performance (such as dance — as a component in

ritual, for instance), they may examine it in terms of how it functions as social
catharsis and control, in the transmission of beliefs and maintenance of social
cohesion or in establishing cultural style, with time and use of rhythm and timing
— as contributing elements (see Spencer 1985). Some have addressed the
problematic topic of definitions of dance, and ‘rhythm’ is usually included in their
definitions. Here are four respected examples as a representative sample.
Roderyk Lange emphasises rhythm as a shaping factor in dance. He makes a
useful distinction between metrical and accentual modes of organisation, and
refers to the recurrence of durational units as establishing rhythmic pattern (Lange
1975, p.31). Lange points out that these modes combine in many different ways
and that accentual rhythm may result from energy output (dynamic accent) or
from durational variation (agogic accent) (see also Riemann 1844).
Judith Lynne Hanna’s definition of dance features ‘intentional rhythm’, which
she describes as ‘the organized flow of energy in time and space’ (1979, p.19) —
contrasting with the ‘autonomic-interactional’ rhythms of other human and
non-human motor patterns (1979, p.72). Hanna states that the features she
includes as ‘rhythm’ (tempo, duration, accent, meter) may be ‘simple or complex,
uniform or variable’. Studying material from the USA can sometimes be confusing
100 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

for people unfamiliar with the word usage. For instance, Hanna refers to ‘motor
time’ interchangeably with ‘rhythm’. She describes ‘accent’ as we might in the
UK, as ‘the relative force or intensity with which energy is released’ and meter as
‘the underlying consistent numerical grouping of beats and accents’ (1979, p.30).
Hanna, with Lange, emphasises recurrence as a salient feature of rhythm. She
further describes metre, as an element of rhythm, more broadly as a ‘basic
recurrent pattern of tempo, duration and accent’ (1979, p.245). Whereas Lange
refers to recurring ‘units’, Hanna includes repetition of ‘elements’. She stresses the
patterned nature of rhythm with its alternations of ‘relative quietude and
activeness’ (1979, p.28). The notion of alternation as a basis of rhythm is
emphasised when Hanna defines a phrase as:
the expression of a partial ‘thought’, a group of related movements in a pattern
where there are alternations of activity (peaking) and quiescence (pose, rest,
energy, diminution). A phrase has its own climax and is distinguished by
rhythmic pattern and visual configuration of locomotion and/or gesture. (1979,
p.259)
Elsewhere Hanna more briefly defines phrases as ‘groups of related movements
which have their own unity, perceptible start and stop, or climax’ (1979b,
pp.245-246).
Another definition of dance, and one that is widely adopted, is provided by
Joann Kealiinohomoku. She, too, includes rhythm as a distinguishing feature:
‘[Dance] ~ a transient mode of expression performed in a given form and style by
the human body moving in space. Dance occurs through purposefully selected
and controlled rhythmic movements; the resulting phenomenon is recognised as
dance both by the performer and the observing members ofa given group’ (1970,
p.28). Kealiinohomoku considers that temporal design features of dance are those
shared with music, and lists these as: duration, tempi, meters, rhythms (1976a,
p.307). This anthropologist further defines rhythm in dance as patterns of energy
output which include patterns of movement frequencies, accentuation and bodily
impulses (197 6a, p.26).
Drid Williams makes an important contribution in her definition, with an
emphasis on dance as a ‘rhythmically ordered’, symbolic transformation of
experience. She also includes reference to pattern, rhythm and time. A final
example is that of Anya Peterson Royce who, with Lange and Hanna, in her
definition of dance includes ‘recurrent alternation of strong and weak elements’
and repetition (1981, p.29). She suggests that the concept of rhythmic or
patterned movement is basic to all dance definitions (1977, p.5).
 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE STUDY OF RHYTHM FROM OBSERVERS / {01

Rhythm in the observation and analysis of movement in performance

Anthropologists have undertaken observation and analysis of movement in
performance in various different ways. The approach to dance analysis proposed
by Hanna is through a processual model of the idiom of dance as communication
system in socio-cultural context. Hanna sets down the elements of the interaction
process involved in performance, and places dancer, choreographer and audience
in a causative framework which stresses feedback (1971, p.79). However, the
limited causative stress of this model does not match the complexities of
performance events in general. Turner's broader approach to performance genres
and to concepts of time in relation to performance events provides valuable
insights and a basis for further study of rhythm and timing in performance
durational structure. He has directed attention particularly in ritual to phases of
actions and the transitions between them (Turner 1977).
Cole’s energy-flow model and study of the festival of Odwira was mentioned
in relation to notation and may be considered further in this context. Cole notes
the elaboration of public ritual display (the numbers attending and sensory
stimulation) and ritual intensity which he concludes create ‘an energy system’. He
suggests that ritual intensity develops from the commitment of participants and
religious significance attributed to the event. Cole describes the polyrhythmic
time structure of the festival, and focuses on the importance of repetition as a
structural device, suggesting that repetition is a fundamental component of the
festival structure: ‘Virtually everything is repeated on different levels: rituals
including prayers, libations, sacrifices, and honorific gestures; musical
performances; dance; isolable sculptures such as golden staffs, stools, swords and
other items; processions; feasting; assemblies and speeches; ceremonial dress,
jewelry, body painting and hairstyling’ (1975, p.22). Cole mentions that temporal
patterns recur throughout the week, with events being repeated simultaneously in
family compounds. A principle of elaboration emerges: “When repetitions and
variations are multiplied, as they so often are in a festival, the principle of
elaboration comes into play’ (1975, p.23).
In Brink’s study of West African Bamana drama and communication strategy,
he includes reference to aspects of rhythm, especially tempo, in ‘kote-tlon’
performance (a type of satirical comedy) in which fast tempo brings the play's
humour to a climax — and also considerably tests actors’ skills. Brink further
explains that to the Bamana, ‘good’ tempo is slow: ‘Slow tempos in music and
dance are said to put the rhythms and dance steps in order’ (1980, p.24). On the
other hand, he writes that fast tempos bring out ‘kegunya’ which can be translated
as ‘cleverness’ or ability to decorate. ‘Thus in the plays, slow tempi are used to
order a play's theme and fast to exploit humour, “impolite” states, pain, abuse. It
seems here that Bamana use tempi in a qualitative rather than in a quantitative,
durational manner’ (1980, p.25). Also, the theme of time underlies the drama
 102 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

which is the relationship between youth and elders. Brink comments that the
Bamana have a concept of good timing: ‘Actors who possess good timing are the
ones who can sense when it is appropriate to pluck a ‘funny thing’ from the local
gossip, imbue it with dramatic form, and by representing it in performance
proclaim it as official public knowledge, or better, as official public stupidity’
(1980, p.20).
Some anthropologists have included aspects of rhythm in detailed analyses of
dance structure. Particular reference must be made to the half a century of dance
research by the late Gertrude Kurath. Her work (already mentioned with reference
to notation) includes studies of Iroquois, Algonquin, Ottowa, Menomini and
Pueblo Indians’ dance, and features observation of rhythm at different stages of
her research. Vivid references to details of dance abound in her writing, from the
Iroquois women who ‘inconspicuously glide sideward in the wake of their
gyrating warriors’ (1951, p.126) to the ‘relaxed pulsation’ of the ‘stamp step’ of
the Buffalo and Bear dancers (1964, p.64). Kurath encourages an experimental,
flexible approach when she states that her observation procedure ‘varies with each
case, and [which] changes from year to year’ (1974, p.36).*

Rhythm in cultural and dance style

Anthropologists have often suggested that use of movement in general is
stylistically recognisable in a given culture or society, although they have usually
not referred to many elements of rhythm in this context. However, in relation to
dance, references are more detailed and wide ranging.
In early pioneering studies, Radcliffe-Brown and Evans-Pritchard, renowned
in British anthropology, paid an attention to dance, which was unusual in their
day. Radcliffe-Brown even commented on the part rhythm plays in the
development of the aesthetic sense (1922, pp.250—25 1). He described the dances
he saw on the Andaman islands, in the Bay of Bengal, and considered them to be
socially harmonising and unifying. Features of rhythm he noted were actions of
feet (in hopping), relationship to the beats of an accompanying song, musical
notation of the rhythm, the dance track (round the circle of the dancing ground),
and the step pattern used (1922, pp.28-32). Radcliffe-Brown stated that rhythm

4 Full reference to Kurath’s material in this chapter and to that of many others is not within the scope of
this book. For examples see: Kurath (1986), Kaeppler (1985), Lange (1975), Martin and Pesovar
(1961), Proca-Ciorta (197 1), Singer (1974) and Williams (197 2a, b). Dance scholars from Rumania,
DDR, Yugoslavia, Czechoslovakia and Hungary joined to discuss the development ofa syllabus and
basis for the scientific study of dance as ‘ethnochoreology’ under the auspices of the International
Folk Music Council in 1972 (reported in Reynolds, 1974). They put forward suggestions
for symbols
for structural units of dance, variation, course of movement, relationship between dance and music.
Tempo, metre and rhythm are included in their list of folkdance factors. Structural levels are listed as
Parts, sections, phrases, motifs, cells, elements. A method of formal analysis is described
and various
examples given of different dance forms.
 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE STUDY OF RHYTHM FROM OBSERVERS / 103

induces individuals to join in — the power of rhythm acting from within and
without — and encourages people to conform ‘to the needs of the common
activity’ (1922, p.252). He stressed the ‘rhythmic’ element in dance, which he
categorised as a form of play and means of group synchrony (1922, p.247): ‘The
essential character of all dancing is that it is rhythmical, and it is fairly evident that
the primary function of this rhythmical nature of the dance is to enable a number
of persons to join in the same actions and perform them as one body’ (1922,
p.247).
Evans-Pritchard presented a contrasting view from his study of the Sudanese
Nuer (in North Eastern Africa) with an example of dancing as a common occasion
for disharmony (1965, p.74). However, he stressed its socially integrative
function elsewhere, when he remarked on the social importance and role of dance
(1965a). Nuer life and use of time when Evans-Pritchard made his observations
was entirely governed by caring for their cattle. This gave rise to a particular
attitude to time which he identified in their movement style. Although he did not
refer to use of time elements in detail, with an interesting similarity to Laban’s way
of viewing movement (see p.131) he characterised Nuer action as leisurely ‘not
fighting against time’ (1940, p.103). Evans-Pritchard vividly refers to body parts
in use, and briefly to bodily placement of rhythm in another study, ina description
of Southern African Azande dancing: ‘All the muscles of the body seem to be in
action and the skin looks as though it accommodated a multitude of snakes ...
considerable latitude is allowed in variation of movement. Not everyone makes
the same movements but they are all made to the same rhythm’ (1928, p.450).
In the USA, Claire Holt, Gregory Bateson, Harold Courlander and Franz Boas
were pioneers in the description and discussion of cultural style. They posed
questions in their studies about movement style in relation to work actions,
personality, dance and culture. They also provided descriptive references to
rhythm in Balinese, Haitian, north west coast American Indian and Indonesian
dance.
Of this group, Holt paid particular attention to features of rhythm in dance. In
Dance Quest in Celebes (1939) and elsewhere, Holt recorded her observations of the
many dances she witnessed, making use of her own form of notation. Her
frequent references to time elements included for example: stillness, tempo,
sudden action, control (1972, pp.75—79). Although often referring in a general
rather than specific manner to ‘rhythmic’ elements together with diagrams of
formations and figures, Holt was ahead of her time in including interesting and
useful descriptive detail. For instance, in these notes about the use of a
dance-costume scarf in Javanese performance there is a careful reference to the
way in which body-extensions contribute to rhythm:
The dexterity and subtlety of the pliable hands and fingers is further enhanced by
the use of the dance scarf ... Its loose hanging ends ... are picked up by one edge
104 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

between thumb and middle finger, slowly led forward and sidewise [sic], thrown
over the wrists, flipped open, tossed aside flying, etc., adding an ethereal quality
to the relatively slow movement. (1958, p.119)

Holt noted rhythmic intricacy in Javanese dance, as distinct from the musical
accompaniment:
The movements of the dance intertwine not only with the rhythms of the music.
They flow, jut or vibrate in separate interlacing strands through the dancer’s
limbs. An arm may start to act and, as it continues to complete its pattern of
motion, the head may join — by turning in the direction of the hand while a foot
slowly moves forward and gradually causes the whole body to change its centre
of gravity as hand and head pursue their own individual prescribed course.
(1958, p.121)
Boas contributed an example of the significance of timing and tempo in a dance
ceremony, when he described the winter ceremonial of north west coast American
Indians:
suddenly the leader of the ceremonial enters the door swinging a rattle ... It is
essential from this point on that neither the novice nor any of the singers make a
mistake in the movement, rhythm, or song ... If any of them makes a mistake and
beats time too fast or too slowly, the Fool dancers and Grissly Bear dancers, who
police the ceremonial, become excited. Immediately the singers stop singing, and
beat fast time. (1944, p.13)

Originally performers who made mistakes were killed, but this was changed to
mock killing of an offender. Boas also referred to the significance of distinctive
rhythmic variety evident in family ‘ownership’ of songs, and the belief that each
of the clan ancestors received the spirit power in a slightly different form.
An extensive study of dance style is found in the cantometrics/choreometrics
study of expressive behaviour by Alan Lomax, with Irmgard Bartenieff. This
study describes pervasive, culturally distinct patterns in music and dance
world-wide. Lomax’s hypothesis was that ‘danced movement is patterned
reinforcement of the habitual movement patterns of each culture or culture area’
(1968, p.xv). He set out to locate and map culturally distinct patterns in the
manner of Murdock’s Evhnographic Atlas (1967). The research team related
synchrony in dance to the synchrony found in subsistence working actions: ‘The
degree and kind of synchrony found in a culture’s dancing also will repeat the
type of synchrony necessary to complete its community subsistence tasks’
(Lomax, Bartenieff and Paulay 1974, p.204). Thus in this study dance is reduced
to motor components ‘characteristic and most essential to the activity of
everyday’ (Lomax 1968, p.224).
 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE STUDY OF RHYTHM FROM OBSERVERS / 105

Reference was made to the rhythm of working actions in Chapter 1, and some
dance as well as everyday movement may be influenced by habitual working
actions. This is obvious in specific working-action dances and songs, which
frequently imitate and accompany the work. In everyday movement it is seen in
the walking action of women accustomed to carrying loads on their heads. But
the work context alone cannot necessarily explain styles and forms of dance. In
Lomax’s study there is no emphasis on the cognitive aspects of dance or on dance
as symbolic transformation of experience which we find emphasised in other
anthropologists’ definitions of dance. Also, there is little definition of rhythm and
timing in the dance descriptions and although his colleagues developed the
Effort-Shape system referred to earlier, rhythm is not emphasised in the coding
and rating system. Nonetheless, this pioneering work is valuable and Lomax’s
focus on physique and body movement cross-culturally is important and still a
relatively unexplored topic in relation to dance expression in anthropology.
A decade after Lomax, Judy van Zile represents the next generation of pioneers
with her research into culturally acquired patterns of energy use (1977). This
work is a considerable advance, and contributes to studies of the significance of
the use’ of time elements in style and in learning dance. Students’ problems in
mastering alien dance style are due, van Zile suggests, to habitual, culturally
acquired ‘energy patterns’ being different from the characteristic patterns of the
alien style.
For ‘energy patterns’ we might substitute ‘rhythm’, and known for her studies
of dance in Korea, Hawaii and elsewhere, van Zile’s approach reveals considerable
interest in various features of rhythm. In Alarippu:A Choreographic Analysts (1979)
she provides clear description and movement analysis making use of
Labanotation. A section on ‘use of time’ is based chiefly on noting counts, pulse,
pauses, repetition, tempi. ‘Rhythmic intricacy’ is included as a feature, though not
described thoroughly (1979, pp.14-16). Again, emphasising ‘use of energy’, van
Zile raises the question of phrasing in dance and asks if punctuation is achieved
through energy changes (1977, p.91). She suggests that measuring the energy
level in pauses could reveal significant differences between different pauses.
Dance style has been described by Peggy Harper in various African contexts.
She has also made particular references to the significance of rhythm in social and
performance context in her description of the Nigerian Gelede masquerade
ceremonies (1970, p.69). Several anthropologists have linked specific use of
rhythm in dance with gender identity, and Harper perceives the Gelede dance
movements to be an implicit synthesis of daily life action in a male dominated
society. She points out, for example, that in the ceremonies the male mask
performs powerful kicks, turns and strong swinging actions, and_ parodies
women’s movement. Harper makes useful reference to an important feature of
timing seldom noted — the significance of preparation-timing. She was also alert
[06 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

to the effect of tempi: for instance, she notes the way in which rapid steps create
excitement (1970, p.69).
In another reference to dance in Africa, Middleton (1985, p.175) also refers to
gender identity when he indicates that differences in Lugbara dance patterns
(from north western Uganda) signify the relative position of women and men in
the society. Men characteristically leap and perform in groups, women tend to
move gently but as individuals (like bush, wild people, say the men, in touch with
spirits). Specific timing of dances is significant here too — performed ‘when
ordinary time has stopped’. Middleton suggests that Lugbara dance expresses
structural conflicts and ambiguity; that dance is a means of resolving, changing,
digesting conflict, or controlling emotion, such as grief. Here we are reminded
that disorder in dance may be a means of coming to terms with it, as also occurs in
children’s play.
Many references to dance and ritual activities are found in John Blacking’s
studies of the Venda, in Southern Africa. In his introduction to Venda traditional
dances, Blacking refers to tempo, how rhythm is placed in the dancers’ bodies and
again how one may observe contrasts in use of rhythm between the men and the
women (1977b). One example indicates how even one feature of timing —
beginning and stopping — may be significant and how observation of movement
can aid understanding (1971, p.106).
Blacking was intensely interested in performance process, both as regards the
performers and the audience. He includes reference to rhythm when he describes
the ‘shared somatic states’ which can develop during performance events:
Crucial factors in the development of cultural forms are the possibility of shared
somatic states, the structures of the bodies that share them, and the rhythms of
interaction that transform commonly experienced internal sensations into
externally visible and transmissible forms. (1977a, p.9)

Those comments remind us of the references to synchrony and interaction in

Chapter 1. We may recall here Malinowski’s concept of ‘phatic communication’
(1948, p.315), and of the place of rhythm in collective action. For instance, as
Shirogoroff remarks in relation to Siberian Shamanism ‘The rhythmic music and
singing, and later the dancing of the shaman, gradually involve every participant
more and mote in a collective action’ (in Lewis 1971, p.53). In her account of
southern African !Kung Bushman religious beliefs, Lorna Marshall states that the
curing dance draws the people together more than anything else in their lives, She
refers to rhythm during curing ceremonies. ‘The clapping and stamping are of
 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE STUDY OF RHYTHM FROM OBSERVERS / 107

such precision that they give the effect of a well-played battery of percussion
instruments producing a solid structure of intricate rhythm’ (1962, p.248).’
Referring again to anthropologists whose definitions of dance have been cited,
Hanna supports the view that rhythmic patterns characterising a group’s dance
style tend to be culturally patterned, but suggests that style may be determined by
psychological, historical, environmental or idiosyncratic factors (1979b, pp.28,
30). Interestingly, ‘focus’ or ‘projectional quality’ is listed as an element of
rhythm. Hanna is unusual in including this as an observational category within
time elements of movement. She describes it as ‘texture’ produced by a
combination of elements, particularly by the relative quickness or slowness of
energy released by the performer (1979a, p.247). Hanna's studies of dance in
Nigeria, West Africa in particular, illustrate the central place rhythm has in her
system of dance style analysis (1979). Lange also has provided fine studies of
dance style, especially from his fieldwork in Poland. In relation to rhythm, he
makes useful comments on the significance of performance variation for instance
and use of rubato in different social contexts (1970, 1977, 1996).
Based at the Cross Cultural Dance Resources Centre which she founded,
Kealiinohomoku has specialised in cross-cultural studies of dance. There are
references to rhythm in her studies of cultural and dance style, for instance in
relation to Hopi and Polynesian dance (1967), and to African and United States
Negroes (1976b). Kealiinohomoku attracted particular attention from the
western dance world with her ground-breaking article ‘An anthropologist looks at
ballet as a form of ethnic dance’ (1970 and reprinted many times — see Copeland
and Cohen 1983, pp.533-549). This study considered many aspects of cultural
and dance style.
Williams focused on ballet too, in a discussion of various ‘grammatical’
features of classical ballet style (1976). She draws attention to the rhythmic or
dynamic terms which are used to describe movement in ballet, and to how the
movement is dictated by rhythmic step patterns (polka, polonaise, mazurka, waltz,
czardas, tarantella). Williams’ valuable emphasis on the symbolically expressive
nature of dance was referred to earlier. She also stresses the semantic significance
of dance, describing it as action suffused with meaning. The significance of time
elements in macro-structure is evident in Williams’ approach: she states that
meanings arise from the syntax, the ordering of elements to be noted as occurring
both through time and simultaneously. Williams examines how synchrony,
diachrony and panchrony apply to human actions and events (1976). Williams’

5 In a detailed study of Alaskan Eskimo Inupiaq dance, Johnston notes the prevalence of unison group
movement which he suggests is a significant ceflection of that traditionally egalitarian society (1990,
p.200).
108 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

writing includes several clear descriptions of her experience of West African

dance style in cultural context, with passing reference to rhythm (1968).

References to rhythm in aesthetic judgment of dance

Anthropologists have recorded local, indigenous aesthetic judgments about
dance. These sometimes include reference to rhythm and timing. For instance,
Keil in his study of the Tiv in central Nigeria, refers to the way they associate
specific tempi and dynamics with particular dances: ‘Girnya, the traditional
warrior’s dance, should be danced quickly (ferefere) light on the feet (gendegende)
with strength (tsoghtsogh) and rigorously, as a hen scratches (sagher-sagher) (1967,
p.32). Also in Africa (the western region), Ruth Stone refers to a number of Kpelle
remarks which indicate how performers should respond in both their dance and
in the accompanying song:
‘Mala na tee’, (cut the edge of the dance): the dancer should pause with a cut-off
cue; ‘Belei eye’ (lower the performance): the performers should pause; and ‘Beler aa
pilan’ which indicates “The performance has gotten down.’ This means that the
performers have reached a state of synchrony to allow the performance to enter
the phase of ‘ma yee’, where proverbs and certain highly valued aesthetic elements
can be performed. (1981, p.17)

In his account of dance in Africa (with particular reference to Liberia, Dahomey,

Nigeria, Cameroon and Zaire) Thompson describes the aesthetic significance of
‘cutting the motion’ in dance (1974, p.20). This means to present a sharply
defined, well-timed beginning and ending to a dance, with clear body position.
Thompson also refers to the time elements in his discussion of balance and the
concept of ‘cool’. This concept affects divers provinces of the artistic process and
refers both to the inner state of the artist and to the character of the art product.
Words used to describe ‘cool’ which relate to rhythm include: percussively
patterned, harmonised, balanced, finished, calm, tranquil, gentle, moderate
(1974, p.73). A further example of aesthetic significance ascribed to features of
thythm is provided by Kealiinohomoku. In relation to native American Hopi
dance judgments she writes: ‘A dance is considered ‘not so good’ if it is performed
at too rapid or too slow a tempo. .. It is important for the performance to have the
right number and length of songs so that the last song ofa daytime performance is
completed before sundown’. (1976a, p.131).
In conclusion, to summarise our findings: notators and anthropologists in this
compilation have certainly drawn attention to a number of important elements of
rhythm and timing. In their perception of rhythm, notators’ special interests have
led to particular observation of specific body positions and actions (such as a
Renaissance bow or the steps known in jazz dance), metric patterning, duration,
tempo, accents, pauses, tracks (the ground plan of steps, with changes of
 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE STUDY OF RHYTHM FROM OBSERVERS / 109

direction), gestural pathways and — to a limited extent in most cases — dynamics.

More unusual, interesting features from some notators (who in the examples cited
also happen to be anthropologists) include: paths (or flow) of energy,
synchronicity and ‘ritual intensity’. These are vital, captivating features of rhythm
which are most evident in examples described, such as in the Shakers’ movement,
and in the traditional ceremonies of the Maring and the Yaqui (see pp.61—64 and
Chapters 10, 12).
The anthropologists selected for their comments have likewise stressed a range
of elements, some from a special interest in dance, one example from drama, and
others from a focus on everyday life, ceremony or ritual. In addition to elements
suggested by notators, we find particular mention of structural features of
performed movement — motifs, phrases, alternation and repetition. Concepts,
factors or elements of rhythm and timing less commonly referred to in studies
include: rhythm seen in dance as a ‘shaping’ factor, asa stylistic element, and as a
key element in human communication and interaction. Intriguing references are
also made to rhythm in relation to focus or ‘projectional quality’ and with regard
to intricacy in events. We read of the significance of moments of starting and
stopping, bodily impulse and the infectious power of rhythm — a theme to which I
return later, for instance in relation to rock and rave dance (see pp.190~193). As
anthropologist Royce states, in dance: ‘Our bodies are caught up in the rhythm
and repetition whether we are performers or merely spectators’ (1981, p.9).
Movement rhythm and timing in the aesthetic judgment of performance is
another topic mentioned which warrants investigation. All these references from
both notators and anthropologists add to our understanding and store of
knowledge. They broaden our view and make a useful contribution to a
compilation and description of features, factors and elements of movement
rhythm and timing in performance, through history and world-wide.
 5

Contributions to the Study

of Rhythm in the Theatre

In the 1890s the Swiss artist Adolphe Appia called his theatre designs ‘rhythmic
spaces’: an exciting idea — it surely fires and extends the imagination about the
possibilities of rhythm on stage. Indeed, rhythm seems to have been in the
forefront of ideas in the European theatre and also in the USA in those days — in
the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries — especially in Russia and France.
In this chapter I have adopted an historical perspective to share a miscellany of
ideas from a number of pioneer theatre practitioners in drama and dance. It is a
personal choice selected from a wealth of material which matches or has
influenced my own approach to the subject. First, Stanislavski and Meyerhold
have much to tell us about the striking use of rhythm and timing on stage and in
the training of actors. Their insights and ideas on the subject are found scattered
through their writings and in observers’ accounts. Brief references to Copeau and
Artaud represent stimulating ideas from France.
Since ideas about rhythm are particularly evident in dance, the survey of
written studies from dance, although necessarily limited, is more extensive. An
introduction to early dance history is followed with reference to Emile Jacques
Dalcroze and Isadora Duncan — who made a particular contribution to rhythm
and timing studies. Next, to bring us into more recent twentieth-century theatre
work, there is an introduction to the ideas of Doris Humphrey, who wrote about
and brought aspects of time and rhythm into her work in a distinctive and
influential manner.
From these roots in dance history, later generations of dancers have developed
ideas about rhythm in their own multifarious ways. Since Merce Cunningham has
made perhaps the key pioneering contribution which broke with nineteenth-
century forms to bring us into the present, the chapter concludes with particular
reference to him and to some other contemporary theatre developments.

110
 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE STUDY OF RHYTHM IN THE THEATRE / [11
Drama
Theatre activity was especially impressive in Russia in the latter part of the
nineteenth century, and until the Stalinist era. The most well known ofa number
of inspiring contributions to the study of rhythm during these years was made by
Constantin Stanislavski, who stressed the inner organic nature of action. Rhythm
was central to this concept and according to Stanislavski, it should be evident
even when an actor was apparently motionless. In a seminar of noted Russian
theatre practitioners, Toponkov recounted how Stanislavski addressed him in the
middle ofa scene: ‘You are standing in the wrong rhythm!’ (Litvinoff 1972, p.29).
‘To stand and watch for a mouse — that is one rhythm: to watch a tiger that is
creeping up on you is quite another one’ (quoted in Toponkov Stanislavski in
Rehearsal). Stanislavski emphasised that the actor should not lapse in any way
during a pause in the acting: ‘If you drop out of the life of your part during the
pauses ... you will not gain the interest of anyone in the auditorium ... A pause on
the stage is the highest point of stage art’ (1950, pp.277—278).
Stanislavski had many ideas about the actor’s use of rhythm in the
development of a role. In a vivid description he explains one idea for an actor
playing the part ofa mentally unstable man:
In a mentally unbalanced man the rhythm of attention is broken. The intervals of
rest ... do not exist ... For him only the dashes exist, or in other words, attention,
attention, and again attention ... a dance of thoughts without rhythm or control.
He explodes ina series of disconnected thoughts — I am the Emperor of Abyssinia
~]am a great musician —here’s the stove — the mouse is on the table — I’m wearing
French slippers — it is raining — and so on. (1950, p.141)

He stated that actors, working together in a performance ‘must sound in one

rhythm’ (1950, pp.181-182) and it is clear from his writing that Stanislavski
strove to develop actors’ awareness of rhythm and timing both in ensemble
playing and as individuals, particularly through practice in use of breathing,
pause, metre and tempo. He saw breath rhythm as the basis of control and power
on stage. Awareness of this was fundamental in his advice to actors:
and it is only when it [breathing] is rhythmical that it renews all the creative
functions of your organism ... but what happens to you when you are distressed,
cross, irritated or when you fly into a rage? All the functions of your breathing are
upset. You are not only unable to control your passions, but you cannot even
control the rhythm of your breathing. (1950, p.142)

Stanislavski distinguished between rhythm as patterning of beats, and tempo

pattern. He introduced a tempo rating system in which tempo was associated with
life events. For instance, he indicated an increase of pace when characters were
experiencing a disaster, and a decrease when they were about to die. Stanislavski
 112 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

took this idea seriously enough to include numerical marks of the beats-rating
system (1-10) in the prompt copy. However, although he continued to include
references to timing in his stage directions, he later found the rating system was
artificial, and he abandoned its use.
In acting classes Stanislavski encouraged creativity and he devised training
methods based, for instance, on use of tempo and metric beats. For example,
students tapped out rhythm of different emotions and events such as grief, storms,
headaches, ecstasy. ‘Tempo-rhythm of movement cannot only intuitively, directly,
immediately suggest appropriate feeling and arouse the sense of experiencing
what one is doing but also it helps stir one’s creative faculty’ (1950, p.202).
Stanislavski frequently included notes on features of rhychm when criticising
actors — for example, he castigated them for lack of appropriate ‘mad rhythm’ and
the ‘bored faces and limp rhythms’ in what as a result he pejoratively dubbed ‘the
so-called Storming of the Bastille’ (1958, p.148).
The psychological component in human action was stressed in Stanislavski’s
approach to acting (see also Moore 1966, p.25). This was associated with the
actor's awareness of an ‘inner tempo-rhythm’ for each role and for every part of a
scene. Giving Hamlet as an example he writes:
At the point when the hero ... has to take a definite and strong stand there are no
contradictions and doubts — one all-embracing tempo-rhythm is not only
appropriate, it is even necessary. But when, as in Hamlet’s soul, resolution wrestles
with doubt, various rhythms in simultaneous conjunctions are necessary. In such
cases several different tempo-rhythms provoke an internal struggle of
contradictory origins. (1950, p.206)

Evgeny Vakhtangov, Stanislavski’s assistant and former pupil, explains further:

Rhythm must be perceived from within. Then the physical movements of the
body will become subordinated to this rhythm spontaneously. The task of the
school consists in training the pupil in this sensitivity to rhythm, and not in
teaching him to move rhythmically ... Every nation, every man, every
phenomenon in nature, every event of human life ~ everything has its own
characteristic rhythm. Therefore, every drama, every role, every part of a role,
every feeling — has its own rhythm. Given the rhythm of a certain scene it will be
played correctly. To perceive the rhythm of a drama is to find the key to its
presentation. (1947, pp.121-122)

Vakhtangov developed these ideas about rhythm in his own fertile experimental
work as a director. ‘He found a different theatrical rhythm for each character’
writes Sonia Moore, who was present at some of his rehearsals (1966, p.12).
Again in Russia, the wondrously inventive director Vsevolod Meyerhold
evolved ideas about the continuity of action and scene on stage. He stressed the
importance of rhythm: ‘the essential thing is rhythm ... how the actor breathes,
 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE STUDY OF RHYTHM IN THE THEATRE / 113

how he walks, how he combines with the rhythm of other bodies and other
movements on the stage ... how he embodies the rhythm of the play’ (quoted in
Kirstein 1935, p.32). And: ‘the task of the actors of the future is to develop in
themselves an awareness of time in their performance’ (quoted in Ivanov 1973).
Meyerhold developed a process which he called ‘braking the rhythms’. This
concerned use of tempo and strict timing of pauses. Gausner and Gabrilovitch
described the process in action in Meyerhold’s 1925 production of Bubus the
Teacher.
The braking of the rhythms in Bubus makes it possible for us to discover that
combinations of segments of time can acquire meaning. We were thus offered a
new theatrical procedure of extreme importance ... the succession of body
sketches would express nothing if they were not sustained by the tempo. It is the
tempo which gives these mimed elements al! their meaning. (from October in the
Theatre (1926) quoted in Barba and Savarese 1991, p.90)

Meyerhold’s working script was detailed and precise in notes about time elements.
It specified duration of pauses, the tempi and time in seconds of actions and
speeches, as well as timing of the all-important accompanying music. Indeed,
impressed and influenced by Wagner, the rhythms of music pervaded
Meyerhold’s productions. This was evident as a changing pattern of rhythm in the
flow of action, a subtext for the drama, underpinning and inseparable from the
total work (see Leach, 1989).
Chapter 2 included some comments about reduction in stage space in relation
to rhythm. Apparently Meyerhold explored the idea in his last great production,
Gogol’s The Government Inspector. ‘The entire performance was concentrated on
this small platform area [3.55 x 4.25 metres]. This restricted scene area obliged
the actors to be extremely conscious of both their most detailed movements and
the performance’s general rhythm’ (Barba and Savarese 1991, p.91). Stylised
gestures and actions of all parts of the actors’ bodies were an important feature of
the production. Meyerhold had developed Appia’s ideas of varying the planes and
levels of the stage space, and for this show he designed a raked platform so that the
audience could see the movement of the actors more easily.
Meyerhold aimed at increasing the degree of control in actors’ movements.
With this in mind he developed a theory of bio-mechanics and an athletic,
gymnastic approach to movement training for actors with a timing basis of:
Preparation for action — pause —
the action itself— pause —
and its corresponding re-action. (quoted in Roose-Evans 1984, p.28)

He declared: ‘performing is determined by the time principle’ (quoted in Barba

and Savarese 1991, p.91). And in a lecture about his experience of working on a
film The Picture of Dorian Gray (1918) he stated: ‘This rhythm with a capital R is
114 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

precisely what imposes the responsibilities on the cameraman, on the director, on

the artist and on the actors ... the task of the actors of the future is to develop in
themselves an awareness of time in their performance’ (quoted in Ivanov 1973).
In France in the first decades of the twentieth century, many owed a debt to
Copeau for their training in experimental, radical theatre. As Roose-Evans
explains, he stressed physical expertise in acting and he had ‘a great sense of
choreography’. But this ‘developed organically from the text... He was deeply
sensitive to the underlying rhythms of a text, the intervals of time and the
elements in drama which were similar to music’ (1984, p.55). These comments
refer to Copeau’s work at the Theatre du Vieux Columbier, Paris 1913-1914,
1919-1924. Stripping his productions to essentials, and at one time leading his
troupe around Burgundy with a portable stage, Copeau developed the concept of
commedia dell'arte with its use of contrasting masks which make increased demands
on the movement-rhythm of the actors.
Antonin Artaud, a leading figure in the Surrealist movement in Paris, and
influential in experimental theatre, placed movement centrally in his perception
of theatre action. He too referred to elements of rhythm (1958, p.37). In his essays
Artaud attacked the dominance of speech and verbal expression in our western
culture. He showed his appreciation of movement expression in his description of
Balinese performers: ‘through the labyrinth of their gestures, attitudes and sudden
cries, through the gyrations and turns which leave no portion of the stage space
unutilized, the sense ofa new physical language based upon signs, and no longer
upon words, is liberated’ (1958, pp.53—54).
Artaud displayed perception of elements of rhythm in Balinese performance:
‘Repeatedly they seem to accomplish a kind of recovery with measured steps ...
and on three final steps, which lead them ineluctably to the middle of the stage,
the suspended rhythm is completed, the measure made clear’ (1958, p.55). Artaud
also noted how any costumes worn may contribute to the rhythm of a
performance. For example, he observed the Balinese women’s headdresses ‘the
crests of which tremble rhythmically, responding consciously, or so it seems, to the
tremblings of the body’ (1958, p.56).

Dance
The earliest references to rhythm and timing appear in western European dance
history as description of social dances, with an emphasis on the accompanying
music in relation to the dance; sometimes with a form of notation and advice to
performers. Dancing masters such as Arbeau (1588), Feuillet (1701), Weaver
(1706) and Rameau (1725) wrote manuals for the purpose of tecording and
teaching their work. Training, with skill and artistry demonstrated in
performance, was taken seriously in the highly competitive social milieu of those
 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE STUDY OF RHYTHM IN THE THEATRE / 115

days. And it was these social dances which were the basis of the first theatrical
dance performance seen on stage.
There is evidence to suggest that early dancing masters considered rhythm and
timing to be key elements in the desired manner and form of dance performance
of their day. Of the five essential characteristics of dancers listed by
fifteenth-century Domenico for instance, two are concerned with rhythm and
timing: misura and fantasmata. Misura may be translated as both rhythmic control
or order, and moving according to the music or ‘measure’, and fantasmata relates to
both tempo and stillness: ““Fantasmata” is a bodily speed controlled by the
measure of each tempo, that is, having made the movement in one instant, one
must be all of tone, as if one had seen the head of Medusa (as the poet says) and in
another instant putting on wings as a falcon which is moved to flight in fear’
(Domenico, trans. Thomas 1978, p.24; Franko 1987). Linked with notational
methods mentioned in the last chapter, studies generally pay attention chiefly to
steps, metre and directions in space (floor patterns and partner or group
formations).
Some comments from dance history research help us to envisage what the
effect of cultural context may have had on the manner of performance of
movement rhythm in the past. Emma Thomas in her study, for instance, includes
reference to dance style as reflection of the image of man when she describes
dance principles set out in the Renaissance: ‘An awareness of these dance
principles is absolutely necessary for performers attempting to work within the
style of an earlier age when subtler gesture and balance, measure rather than
heroics, controlled calm rather than emotionalism were more important
considerations than they are today’ (1978, pp.24—35).
In Switzerland, Emile Jacques-Dalcroze developed a system of co-ordinating
music and bodily movement — ‘Eurhythmics’ — originally designed for training
musicians but also used for developing aspects of movement rhythm and
musicality in dancers. The emphasis was on music: ‘Music is the only art, directly
founded on dynamics and rhythm, which is capable of giving style to bodily
movements’ (1921, p.166), but Dalcroze considered duration, time, rhythm,
pauses, counterpoint, phrasing and construction (form) to be common to music
and dance. He distinguished between rhythm and time: ‘A machine, however
perfectly regulated, is devoid of rhythm — being controlled by time ... The
submission of our breathing to discipline and regularity of time would lead to the
suppression of every instinctive emotion and the disorganisation of vital rhythm’
(1921, p.184). Although Dalcroze placed metre in the realm of time, he held that
metrical regulation must be subservient to rhythmic impulses (1921, p.185). In an
interesting cross-reference to the field of drama, Dalcroze considered that he was
putting Appia’s training suggestions into practice:
 116 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

The special training for choruses proposed by Appia twenty years ago and since
practised by us, aims at giving performers the necessary flexibility for adapting
themselves spontaneously to all the rhythms, however complex, called into play
by the inspiration and what we may be permitted to call the ‘music’ of the creative
imagination. This education should be imposed likewise on conductors,
producers and specialists in stage painting and lighting.’ (1921, p.130)

Dalcroze saw rhythm as essentially physical, based on the action of heart, breath
and gait. His training emphasised beat and metric patterns, with steps and
gestures to match. He devised practical exercises in muscular relaxation,
breathing, contraction of limbs, marching, arm gestures, division of beats, note
values, pauses, rests, syncopation, anacusis, tempo, polyrhythm; he also
encouraged rhythmic invention, improvisation and group work (see Enders 1941,
pp.268-282).
Insights concerning the effect of temperament or personality on an
individual's rhythm are found in Dalcroze’ studies (1921, p.190). He also pointed
out the potential of rhythm in effective stage presentation:
In the collective movement of a crowd we have to observe both changes and
successions of attitudes ... polyrhythm ought to play a highly important part in
the training of stage crowds; not alone polyrhythm as applied to the chorus, but
that formed by counterpoint between the gestures of the individual actor and
those of the crowd. (1921, pp.128-129)

Isadora Duncan (who was born in America but taught and performed chiefly in
Europe) tells us in her notebooks that ‘The true dance must be the transmission of
the earth's energy through the body.”' Indeed, Duncan’s dancing and ideas about
dance were rooted in the natural world and her chief contribution to studies of
rhythm stemmed from this concern. ‘My first idea of movement of the dance
certainly came from the rhythm of the waves’ (1927, p.9). It seems that Duncan
immersed herself in sensing the flow of natural rhythms, of waters, winds, plants,
living creatures. Duncan’s much-publicised adoption of unrestrictive dance wear
and bare feet, freeing the body for movement, served to increase rhythm and
timing possibilities considerably. The soft fabric which Duncan used for dance
wear accentuated rhythmic flow. Although Duncan herself danced on carpet she
influenced the barefoot contact with the dance floor characteristic of modern
dance, which led to more varied use of the feet in rhythm.
Sensing her solar plexus as a ‘crater of motor power’, central body impulse
with motivation from the emotions was the source of Duncan’s ‘spontaneous
expression of feeling’ and use of rhythm (1927, p.75). Music motivated her too:

I Duncan notebooks 1900-1903 (folder 141 New York Public Library).

 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE STUDY OF RHYTHM IN THE THEATRE / 117

her response to music released the ebb and flow of her dance expression. In
private, Duncan worked in terms of the body's movement alone, without music.
In these studies ‘it was her hope to discover certain key movements, born of
specific emotions, from which would flow of their own will, so to speak, related
sequences of movement as natural reactions’ (Martin 1968, p.136). This serious
attitude to movement study and commitment to teaching was characteristic of
Duncan and also thought to be crucial in the development of modern dance (see
Siegel 1979, p.10).
In Britain and the USA from these early days until later in the twentieth
century, in the field of dance education, the need for training in rhythm has been
stressed. In this there was usually emphasis on features of tension and relaxation,
use of the breath, energy fluctuation, metricity and phrasing. Attention was
frequently directed to key elements of pulse, duration, tempo and accent as well as
to sequential form factors such as repetition, variety, contrast, balance, climax and
transition. These ideas were influential in the 1930-1960 era, especially in the
USA. However, details of that educational material is beyond the scope of this
book.
There were a number of influential pioneer dance artists who created and
transformed modern dance in the USA, influenced by artists from Europe, such as
Mary Wigman and Hanya Holm. From reports of the time, it is clear that the
rhythm and beat of the new modern age penetrated the dance from the 1930s to
the 1950s and beyond. There was evidence of this on stage in the work of Martha
Graham, and later Alwin Nikolais and Anna Sokolow to name a few. As university
dance pioneer Helen Alkire indicates, thought and change in relation to dance
rhythm was in the air. She points out that modern dancers of this era ‘were eager to
find greater rhythmic freedom ... they found that the dynamics of rhythm were
inseparable from expressive dance ... that emphasising changes in rhythm added
excitement and power to movement... The fast-moving 20th century required
that each person keep up with its urgent rhythmic pace’ (1961, pp.7—8).
Doris Humphrey (1895-1958) was foremost among the modern dance
pioneers in speaking and writing about rhythm, considering it to be of central
interest and significance in all aspects of dance: choreography, dramatic
expression, technique and teaching. ‘Every movement has a rhythm, everybody
has a rhythm, everything you do all day long has a rhythm, as people living also as
dancers. Now as dancers we can expand the idea of rhythm, we can manipulate
that too’ (1951). As her autobiographer Selma Jeanne Cohen writes ‘Of her
generation in modern dance, Doris was probably ... the most sensitive to rhythm
and phrasing’ (1972, p.225).
Rhythm is ‘the most persuasive and most powerful element, with the possible
exception of virtuoso technique and dazzling personality’ stated Humphrey
(1959a, p.104). She listed five main sources of rhythmical organization:
118 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

breathing, heartbeat, peristalsis, action of legs supporting the body travelling

through space, and emotions — ‘surges and ebbs of feeling with accents which not
only supply strong rhythmical patterns but are a measure for judging emotional
rhythms in others’ (1959a, p.105). Thus she developed her ideas about rhythm
from observation of what she termed the natural movements of the human body—
‘natural’ here in the sense of movement in the body’s muscular activity, response
to gravity, need for oxygen and circulation of blood. Critic John Martin described
her dance ‘movement as emanating from inner impulse’ (1965a, p.257). As is
common in dance writing, Humphrey also used ‘natural’ to refer to the rhythm of
everyday movements (as in walking, running) and to movements in the world of
nature.
In a famous statement Humphrey referred to life (and dance) existing between
two stillnesses as ‘the arc between two deaths. This lifetime span is filled with
thousands of falls and recoveries — all highly specialised and exaggerated in dance
~ which result in accents of all qualities and timings’ (1959a, p.106).
An investigation of the relationship of the moving body to gravity appears to
have initiated the rest of Humphrey’s dance theory. The physical movement
sequence in linked succession of ‘suspension, fall and recovery’ in relation to
gravity was a characteristic central feature of Humphrey’s dance technique
teaching. We can see that this sequence relates to breath pattern (inhalation,
suspension of breath and exhalation): ‘There is a whole world of movement
implicit in just this part of rhythm’ (1959a, p.108).
[We may consider] the breath rhythm as the one principle of all movement ... a
filling and expanding followed by a contraction in the dynamic sense, a
continuous movement growing in tension followed by a letting go of tension
which finishes with an accent. By combining these (three) elements of the breath
rhythm consciously in various ways the whole dance may be evolved. (1934,
unpublished ms)

Humphrey developed this idea as a dance impetus, with transference of action to

different parts of the body and influencing the dancer’s use of space.
Another important rhythmic source for dance, ‘motor rhythm’ (as it is
generally called in the USA) was identified by Humphrey; that is, rhythm chiefly
derived from change of weight from one foot or other part of the body to another,
and locomotor patterns (such as walking, running). Again, she related this to her
concept of fall and recovery. For instance, she stated that the action of walking
(hip, leg, foot lowering/raising) is ‘the key pattern of fall and recovery: ... the very
core of all movement’ (1959a, p.106). Humphrey also pointed out that since the
change of weight can make a beat, metric rhythm can easily be developed from
this, with use of accents. She made a clear distinction between breath rhythm and
metric, or strictly counted-out rhythm: ‘I think of rhythm as being of two kinds:
 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE STUDY OF RHYTHM IN THE THEATRE / 119

first what I call a breath rhythm and second what | call a metric rhythm’ (1951).
Passages in The Shakers exemplify this contrast powerfully, and I vividly recall
how this was something Humphrey stressed when, towards the end of her life,
she attended a reconstruction of this work in a London studio.
Group rhythm is choreographed powerfully in The Shakers, and Humphrey
once stated: ‘The group is my medium’ (1929). As an observer, Cohen describes
the inventive and complex group rhythm in another work, With My Red Fires:
‘Rhythm was taken sporadically through the group — everybody had a different
phrase length — my gosh, the stage was so jittery; and it was the rhythmic thing
that did it. It looked like chaos — it was anything but chaos’ (Cohen 1981,
personal communication).
Humphrey described the pattern of dynamics in a rhythmic structure as a
changing flow of energy:
the whole scale is subject to endless variation in tempo and tension ...
slow-smooth with force; fast-smooth without tension; fast-sharp with tension
(like pistol shots), moderate-sharp with little force (rather blunt), slow-smooth
without tension (dreamy, sluggish or despairing) and so forth. (1959, p.97)

And in her discussion of the structural form of a dance, Humphrey again referred
to energy and rhythm when she stressed the fundamental importance of phrasing
in dance structure: ‘this punctuation of energy is quite inescapable as a pattern ...
this most fundamental of all shapes’ (1959, p.67). She defined phrasing as ‘the
organization of movement in time-design’ and a phrase as ‘expenditure of energy
at various rates, followed by a rest’ (1959, pp.66, 67). And once more stressing the
breath-energy base of dance action, Humphrey stated ‘All our sense of phrasing
comes from what may be expressed on a breath’ (1951).
Humphrey’s notes for a lecture on rhythm stipulated ‘it [rhythm] must be
sensed in muscular effort, not as mathematical beat imposed from without’.
Furthermore, she insisted that for her, phrasing and rhythm was essentially
centred in body movement, rather than derived from any given music. Her
choreography was designed in relation to the music but not necessarily finally
determined by it: ‘The rules of movement do not always coincide with the music
and it is a matter of judgment as to how to treat it so that both keep their integrity
and both keep the dance moving forward’ (1951).
In a programme note for Water Study, a group dance with no accompaniment,
first performed in 1928, she wrote:
Probably the thing that distinguishes musical rhythm from other rhythm is the
measured time beat, so this has been eliminated from the Water Study and the
rhythm flows in natural phrases instead of cerebral measures. There is no count to
hold the dancers together in the very slow opening rhythm, only the feel of the
wave length that curves the backs of the group. (quoted in Cohen 1972, p.85)
120 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Thus, Humphrey was essentially concerned with dance as an independent art

with distinctive rhythm and timing — ‘subject to laws of its own’ (1959a: 135).
Her instructions to students about creating dance with music emphasised this:
Make a structure that does not merely rest like a bird on a wave on the music, but is
in flight in itself. To carry the simile further, as though the bird were moving
above the water and touching it and tipping it — so that when you look at the
whole thing there is a relationship but they are not identical — they are two
different things going on at the same time. (1950 class recording)

It is interesting to trace the trends, recurrence and changes in ideas about rhythm
through the generations as various allegiances shifted and modern dance
developed. For instance, some of Humphrey’s concerns recur in the otherwise
very different work and ideas of Merce Cunningham (1918— ).
As dance critic Marcia Siegel stated, ‘Cunningham was the first to explode the
old concepts of stage space, phrasing, sequence, and determinacy in dance’ (1973,
p.248). In relation to rhythm and timing, the dance technique which he
developed, initially to meet the demands of his choreography, is designed to
develop a dancer's control, precision and split-second timing, readiness for the
physically unexpected, and sensitivity to a wide range of tempi and intra-group
events. Dance critic Arlene Croce described what she saw as a new dance
technique and new dance vocabulary. She noted the marked and distinctive
rhythm and timing content especially in the use of tempi and weight transference:
he is the only choreographer working outside the ballet who has found a way to
move with security of expression at great speed... incredibly rapid shifts of
weight and direction of pace on the ground...When you see the whole
Cunningham company hitting clear bursts of rhythm with all their fast little feet
... and when the frenzy of the action and the austerity of the dancers’ control
combine to give an effect of slow movement speeded up, then what you are seeing
is the eloquence ofa new vocabulary. (1968, p.25)

Cunningham's choreographic ideas spring from and are about movement, not
derived from psychological or narrative source. In his work with dancers he
requires them to sense time and rhythm as coming from within their own bodies,
rather than as imposed from without. Thus, as with Humphrey, use of energy
contributes in a distinctive way to Cunningham's concept of rhythm, energy
which he describes as ‘geared to an intensity high enough to melt steel in some
dancers ... fusion at a white heat’ (1955, p.37).
This choreographer’s approach to the use of metre, as well as to the
relationship of music and dance, take Humphrey’s ideas a stage further. Metric
patterns can be identified in the movement his dancers perform, but the
choreography is not based on these. Cunningham feels strongly that the
 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE STUDY OF RHYTHM IN THE THEATRE / 121

nineteenth-century music-based metrical rhythms of ballet are inappropriate for

his work. He believes:
dancers can depend on their own legs, instead of on the music. So I let them
dance, instead of coming from an outside source— prompted by music —the dance
comes from the movement itself. Or from a sequence of movements, each of
which is built upon another. And the rhythms come out of that, rather than from
dependence on musical structure. (1979 May 9 interview)

The innovative composer John Cage’s collaboration with Cunningham notably

emphasised the autonomy of each art. In the past ‘The idea was that the music
kept everything together and one danced on it, or to it; interpreted it ... [the
musician was asked] to come in like a dressmaker and fit some music to the dance’
(Cage 1980 lecture, Goldsmiths’ College, London).
Unexpected effects of timing in Cunningham's works arise partly as a result of
his innovatory methods of choreography: for instance, he and Cage became
known for their application of chance methods in composition to determine
dance structure, including selection of type of action, sequential order and spatial
patterning. Cunningham again speaks out strongly against nineteenth-century
forms as a model when he is discussing timing in structure:
These consist mainly of theme and variation, and associated devices — repetition,
inversion, development and manipulation. There is also a tendency to imply a
crisis to which one goes and then in some way retreats from... More freeing into
space than the theme and manipulation ‘hold up’ would be a formal structure
based on time. (1952, p.150)

Thus, as noted in Chapter 2, Cunningham’s dance time structure is based on

duration: the one common feature Cunningham and Cage recognise in the
dance/music relationship.
Always adventurous and open to new developments, Cunningham's thinking
was influenced by the advent and use of electronic music: ‘I know for me one of
the things that changed my thinking about time very much was electronic music
because I suddenly realised that I couldn’t count that in the way that I had counted
conventional, metrically arranged music’ (1979). Thus working usually with a
stop-watch, Cunningham measures phrases in terms of the time their movement
takes, rather than in the counts or beats of conventional practice. As he has said:
time can be an awful lot of bother with the ordinary, pinch-penny counting that
has to go on with it, but if one can think of the structure as a space of time, in
which anything can happen in any sequence of movement event, and any length
of stillness can take place, then the counting is an aid towards freedom rather than
a discipline towards mechanization. (1952, p.151)
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Cunningham referred to his concepts and working methods in relation to time in

a lecture about his piece Torse. In it ‘there are no cadences. There are no traditional
ways of changing from one thing to another, [the dancers] just go’. Each dancer
frequently pursues a seemingly independent track of changing energy, speed and
direction, so that different rhythmic patterns occur in each track simultaneously.
In discussion of the work Cunningham expressed a liking for everyday rhythms
and for group movement with similar action content but not necessarily in unison,
‘as seen with animals or birds’ (London, 20 February 1977).
Notions of perspective and significance or hierarchy of certain stage areas such
as solo centre of front do not constrain Cunningham's use of stage space or spatial
rhythm: ‘ay point, wherever anybodyis, is of interest’ (interview May 9 1979). His
dancers primarily cue in relation to each other, to each other’s movement rhythm
and timing, and group interaction. Cunningham’s work even frequently gives the
impression that pieces begin or continue off stage, or are taking place
simultaneously on and off stage. In fact his pieces have left the stage entirely in his
explorations of television as a choreographic medium.
Cunningham is also in the forefront of experiments with computerised
choreography: ‘pushing at the frontiers of dance for four decades’ as the
introduction to a television programme about CRWDSPCR (pronounced
‘crowdspacer’) described him.” We saw in the programme how the grid of figures
moving on the computer screen influenced Cunningham to invent new steps,
gestures and rhythms. “The computer opens the eye to detail” he said.
It was something of a relief to notice that despite Cunningham’s fascination
with the computer he still gets as much of a kick as ever out of everyday rhythms.
Gazing down at the river from his studio windows high above Manhattan, he told
us: ‘There aren’t many boats, but when they come it’s a great pleasure. When I’m
teaching in the late afternoon, I often look out the window to see if one of those
large cruisers that carry many people to the Caribbean is coming down the river
very slowly — and the rhythm is so different from what's going on in the dance
class it adds a surprise element.’
To conclude, the multi-track approach to rhythm on stage which Cunningham
characteristically adopts (with or without the use of computer software)
frequently brings a high degree of variety, intricacy and complexity to his
choreography. For example, speaking about his work Events Cunningham stated
that he tries to allow: ‘for as much in that period of time as I can — as many
different kinds of complexities as I can get into that time. Sometimes there are
single things, sometimes there are multiple things’ (interview 1980).

2 CRWDSPCR first performed 1993. Summer Dance BBC2 TV, 4 August 1997.
 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE STUDY OF RHYTHM IN THE THEATRE / 123
Other contemporary theatre developments
The use of television, computer technology and the subject of performance
complexity brings us right up to date. It plunges us into the theatre world of the
late twentieth century, where especially in dance, it seems that ‘anything goes’. In
drama too, theatre work has become increasingly diverse. This chapter is not
designed to provide an account of the use of rhythm and timing in present-day
theatre developments, but some references here, in addition to the few made
elsewhere in the text, are needed.
Particularly obvious examples of focus on the use of rhythm and timing in
contemporary theatre are to be found in Robert Wilson’s work (in the USA — also
sometimes seen in Europe), and in that of the Wooster Group in New York. For
Wilson the passage of time seems to be an abiding theme. Merging drama,
titualised action, scenic effects and music, he has explored unusual structural form
and varied use of timing, with some influence from his work with autistic and
brain-damaged children. This exploration has included use of slow motion, as in
Deafman Glance (1971), considerable extension of performance duration, as for
example in The Life and Times of Joseph Stalin (1973) which lasted 12 hours, and
sometimes surprising, sudden actions and lighting changes as in his production of
Marguerite Duras’ La maladie de la mort (1997).
In common with other experimental theatre groups, the practice of the
Wooster Group has been to take months for the preparation of ensemble-
performance projects, devised and developed by the company with director
Elizabeth Le Compte. During their shows, sequences with varied rhythms have
been included from diverse sources, such as black stand-up comics’ routines,
vaudeville-style dancing, real-life timing (an actual telephone call to a food
take-out service was made on stage in one production), extracts from political
debates and other excerpts from programmes seen on TV screens, on stage. From
the realisation that we no longer inhabit a culture centred on one idea, the
company presents a number of rhythms such as these, simultaneously in their
works. Narrative structure is non-linear, and without transitions between
episodes. In LSD, during an idiosyncratic version of Arthur Miller's The Crucible,
the group used excessive pace and cartoon-like imagery to subvert audience
expectations and to generate the feeling of hysteria in the play. Particular use of
elements of rhythm and timing is inherent in their presentational style, even to the
extent of threads from shows being picked up and developed in later productions.
During past decades others in the USA too, such as Richard Foreman with his
inclusion of still tableaux, false starts and repetition, or the Bread and Puppet
Theatre's rhythm of changing, thought-provoking images, have expanded
notions of rhythm and timing in theatre movement.
These and other ideas have been seen in the approaches of European and other
directors also. For instance, Kantor, Grotowski, Tomaszewski, Barba,
124 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Mnouchkine and Suzuki (Tadashi) are well known for their challenging and
exciting work as well as for rigorous actors’ movements training methods which
have pushed theatre expression, with varied use of rhythm and timing elements,
to further limits.
In the earlier part of the century, the subject of rhythm in theatre movement
was largely neglected in Britain. Interest in text rather than movement prevailed.
Now, with influences from overseas and perhaps from contemporary dance too, a
more movement-based approach is sometimes evident. It seems then, that perhaps
this may be an appropriate time to draw attention to movement-rhythm and
timing in the theatre, and for a rediscovery of the work of early pioneers in both
drama and dance — and to consider how this relates to contemporary
developments.
We can see how those pioneering representatives from the world of theatre
lead us from the past into twentieth-century practice, and an important new
emphasis may be discerned. The core of Appia’s view of stage design was that it
should relate to the natural scale of man/woman, and the ideas and theories of
these working-directors, dancing-masters and choreographers bring us closer to
the performer's experience of rhythm. With the repeated stress from Stanislavski,
Isadora Duncan and the rest, on physical features such as inner organic rhythm,
rhythm initiated by central body impulse, breath, pulse, and muscular action, the
actor, dancer, moving person is brought vividly to the fore. Set within the design
environment of Appia’s ‘natural’ scale and ‘rhythmic spaces’, we are vigorously
reminded how use of elements such as tempo and pauses, and fluctuations in
energy or in the tension-release continuum, may contribute to actors’
characterisation and to the expressive range of dancers. This can be seen in the
work of individual performers and in the power and imaginative orchestration of
groups on stage, as well as in the variety around us in everyday life.
Suggestions about factors of rhythm and timing in the structural form of
performance in the work of the artists described, range from the traditional to the
innovative. Of the ideas presented perhaps the most radical — seen fully expressed
in the pronouncements of Doris Humphrey and Merce Cunningham — are the
distinction made between metric and ‘natural’ rhythm, and the idea that we
should consider movement rhythm in its own right, independent of music. In
addition to his innovatory work with television and computers Cunningham
expands our view of the expressive, dynamic potential of rhythm and timing in
his ideas about the democratisation of stage space (with its inevitable effect on
spatial rhythm), and about duration, rapidity — ‘split-second timing’, simultaneity
and complexity: ‘Things in life are changing ... if people are going to stay alive ...
they're going to have to deal with complexity’ (Cunningham quoted in Jowitt
1977). And Cunningham's approach is certainly one of ‘staying alive’. His
example encourages us to be adventurous, innovative and daring.
 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE STUDY OF RHYTHM IN THE THEATRE / 125

The concept of a physical language of movement emerges from the work of

these pioneers — further developed in contemporary theatre experimentation, and
rhythm and timing play a significant part in this. Rudolf Laban was a key figure in
the development of the concept, bringing the world of movement to the attention
ofa wider audience, not only in the theatre. His approach to rhythm and timing is
described in the next chapter.
 6

Time and Rhythm in Human Movement

Rudolf Laban’s Contribution

Movement therapists, management consultants, dance notators, some theatre

people and probably most movement teachers are familiar with the work of
Rudolf Laban. Countless numbers have based their practice on his discoveries
about the principles of movement behaviour, while others have derived
inspiration for research from his concepts: (see Bartenieff and Lewis 1980;
Gellerman 1978; Kagan 1978; Lamb 1965; North 1972; Pforsich 1978;
Preston-Dunlop 1981; Sweet 1978; Youngerman 1978 — to name a few). Laban’s
teaching and approach to time and rhythm in human movement has been
influential in the development of my understanding of the subject, and this
chapter provides a survey of his approach.’
Rudolf von Laban was born in 1879 in Bratislava, Czechoslovakia. Interest in
movement, thythm and nature — and in links between these — developed in him at
an early stage. In a memoir he refers to his movement response to a sunrise when
he was just 15: ‘I moved from sheer joy in all this beauty and order; for I saw order
in it all...And I thought, there is only one way I can express all this. When my
body and soul move together they create a rhythm of movement; and so I danced’
(1956, p9).
Asa young man, Laban travelled and studied architecture and the arts in Paris;
then, in 1910 he founded a community centre for dance and other arts with a
summer festival, at Ascona, Switzerland. This was to be a base for his experiments
in movement and dance on which he worked with other artists, of whom perhaps

| In brief, to acknowledge influences which led to my own Laban studies: first, as a University of
Bristol Drama Department student in the 1950s on our summer course at Dartington Hall, I was
impressed by Laban-trained Geraldine Stephenson's performance and work with us there on Yeats’
Plays for Dancers. Later Veronica Sherborne was the fine teacher who introduced me to more of
Laban’s approach when she taught a session for the Drama Department, after which I attended her
evening classes. Training at Laban’s Movement Centre came next, and opportunities to observe and
work with a number of Laban-trained teachers. A teaching appointment at the Centre followed ten
years later.

126
 TIME AND RHYTHM IN HUMAN MOVEMENT / [27

the best known were Mary Wigman and Kurt Jooss. By the 1920s Laban had
developed ideas of ‘movement choirs’ and dance-dramas for group participation.
He directed many performances and established dance schools, which were led
by former students in a number of European cities. In 1928 his Schriftanz, a
method of movement notation which he invented, was published.
Although Laban also worked as a choreographer in the theatre, he sought a
form of movement expression which was closer to nature, a form which was
markedly different from the ballet and other stage dance of his day. He was
seeking Bewegungskunst — movement art, and a modern form of dance, which
became known as Ausdruckstanz — dance of expression. In Germany this was
developed with his pupils, notably by Mary Wigman in stage performance and in
her teaching, and elsewhere by other dance pioneers such as Gertrud
Bodenwieser in Vienna (who acknowledged Laban's influence).
Laban’s life in Germany ended in 1936 when his work was banned by the
Nazis. He moved first to France and then to England in 1938, where he lived until
his death in 1958. The work in industry, education and notation with which his
name is now chiefly associated, developed further during that time.
Even as a student, ] recognised Laban’s exceptionally clear understanding of
the significance of time elements and rhythm in movement expression, which he
applied in imaginative ways. His approach was certainly unusual in England in
those days. I recall taking part in a work based on ideas from Shakespeare's A
Midsummer Night's Dream which he devised and directed. His view of the fairies
was a far from pretty one. He had us imagine and adopt individual rhythmic
patterns of grotesque, demented gremlins with sharply jerking elbows and knees.
At a rehearsal when we were still wearing the long skirts from the previous
episode in which we were representing members of Duke Theseus’ court, our
appearance as the weird, spooky ‘fairies’ was enhanced by Laban's sudden
inspiration to have us pick our skirts up from behind and whisk them over our
heads, where they remained for the scene — an unconventional, outlandish sight
from front or behind. A striking effect was created from individually varied
rhythmic phrases which agitated the skirt-cloaks in a bizarre rhythmic
counterpoint. The change from the preceding stately slow movement of the court
to a realm of unpredictable magic, provided a fine lesson in the effective use of
contrasting time-worlds on stage.” From a survey of Laban’s books and papers, it
can be seen that his writing is informed by the practical understanding of

2 Contrasts and range of performance experience were emphasised in the various dance-dramas which
were part of the curriculum in those days. One basis for this was the idea of differing performance
modes which provided themes. These were identified as: lyrical, rhythmic-dynamic, grotesque,
dramatic, mimetic, ritualistic. Characteristic use of rhythm and timing in each clarified the difference
between them.
 128 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

movement expression — whether on stage or off — which may be glimpsed in that

example.
Fundamental connections between posture, energy use and period, cultural or
contextual style were noted by Laban, and he emphasised the significance of
rhythmic content in relation to these:
In certain epochs, in definite parts of the world, in particular occupations, in
cherished aesthetic creeds or in utilitarian skills, some attitudes of the body are
preferred and more frequently used than others ... the selection of and preference
for certain bodily attitudes create style ... The finer shades of style will only be
understood after a thorough study of the rhythmic content of the attitudes in
which a definite series of effort combinations has been used. (1950, pp.88-9)

The approach to rhythm in both solo and group movement interaction which
Laban articulated remains valid still: ‘Solo dance is a duet between the dancer and
his environment, or the dancer and his inner world... More concrete is the play
and inter-action between people in a group in which rhythms of fleeing and
following, of sympathy and antipathy simultaneously appear and therefore
become more powerful’ (unpublished MS). He was thoroughly conversant with
the process of rhythm in dance, and he understood the performer’s experience of
it.
In the last chapter Doris Humphrey’s focus on dance rhythm as distinct from
music was described, an idea developed later by Cunningham and others. An
important feature of Laban’s understanding of rhythm in dance, and as with
Humphrey one unusual at the time, was that he too considered it as a subject in its
own right, essentially different in many ways from the concept of musical rhythm:
Rhythm is experienced by the dancer as plastic (three-dimensional). Rhythm is
not for him time-duration divided by force accents, as one tries to interpret this
concept in music. Rhythm is the law of gesture, according to which it proceeds at
one time more fluently and at another time less fluently and its sequence in space
within a sequence of time (duration), as a result, tensing and detensing
(relaxation) originating within the body whole. (quoted in Bartenieff 1980, p.55)
That dance training and expressive movement in performance has been
influenced by Laban was evident in the work of dance artists such as Wigman,
Holm, Jooss, Leeder — not least in their use of time elements. With these and other
associates, he developed ways of training the dancer. One fundamental action
stressed was that of moving from the centre of the body and stretching out into
space. There were also related exercises derived from the rhythm of alternating
bodily tension and release. As John Martin wrote: ‘Throughout the studios of
Germany you will hear the phrase “Anspannung und Abspannung” over and over
again — the ebb and flow of muscular impulses. It was perhaps Rudolf von Laban
who was primarily responsible for this emphasis’ (1933, p.32). And I can vouch
 TIME AND RHYTHM IN HUMAN MOVEMENT / 129

for the echo of such phrases in our training. However, Laban’s chief aim with
students was to develop the fullest possible range and extent of movement
vocabulary and use of rhythm, rather than any one particular style. He was
concerned to discern and bring out the individuality and creativity of each class
member. Asa teacher, I hope I never forget his immediate, positive response to a
student who expressed an innovative fresh idea: ‘Try it!’
Laban presented a broad, encompassing view of movement. He investigated
the principles of movement which underlie the complexity and surface detail.
Observation and analysis of these principles at work in human movement were
the foundation of his pioneering approach. This provides a basis, not only for
movement and dance training, but also for movement therapy, for vocational
guidance and for the study of work efficiency. By adopting Laban’s approach, it is
possible through observation to acquire a detailed picture of the rhythm and
interplay of movement elements that constitute what. we might call signature
characteristics of the movement-personality of an individual. This approach can
be applied to the study of a movement style too, such as we see in the performance
ofa particular traditional folk dance.
The method of movement observation, with its codified vocabulary and
notational method which Laban developed, was clearly a marked advance on
general unsystematic description and the use of idiosyncratic language. ‘In calling
rhythms wild or soft, frightening or appeasing we do not give more than a very
general idea of the mood they evoke’ (Laban 1950, p.68). Laban did much to
remove the weaknesses of limited generality and inexactitude in the description of
rhythm.
Fascinated by human movement and committed to all aspects of its study,
Laban was especially alert to the significance and power of time elements in
performance and of the need to examine these:
Rhythmic movement is the basis of play and art ... The actor on the stage shows
in his rhythmic movements a great variety of efforts which are characteristic for
almost all shades of human personality ... In watching dancing, our interest is
focused upon the visible efforts forming the rhythm expressed by movement. Ina
similar way we can discern the rhythm in the efforts of any working person ... We
can gather the meaning ofa movement and though it seems difficult to express it
in exact words, rhythm conveys something by which we are influenced; we may
be excited, depressed or tranquillised. (1948, p.xiv)

Laban applies a broad concept of rhythm to choreographic inspiration when he

writes of rhythm in the world: ‘The vision of the world as an arrangement of
rhythmical vibrations on a vast scale, of waves and dynamic streamings, might
prove to be a powerful incentive for future choreographers’ (unpublished ms.).
This description could well be applied to one of the movement choir
presentations referred to earlier, and which Laban himself continued to devise in
 130 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

later days with Lisa Ullmann. I well remember the experience of ‘dynamic
streamings’ on those occasions, and Ullmann herself makes references to
thythmic content when she writes of her own first experience of seeing a
Laban-led ‘movement choir’:
There were groups of men with strong and vigorous rhythmical movements
countering the women creating smoothly flowing patterns, there were dramatic
moments when one group seemed to imprison and subdue another one and when
finally at first a few and then more and more dancers emerged from a maze-like
entanglement in a pulsating rhythm of joy and harmony. (1956, p.5)

As indicated in Chapter 2, definitions of rhythm frequently include reference to

metricity. This can derive from a musical approach to rhythm. Although Laban's
concept of movement and dance rhythm differed from a purely musical one, he
certainly valued and used music extensively in his work. He had a particular
interest in metric rhythm, which is associated with music and with classical poetry.
In discussing metric rhythm he frequently referred to classical Greek practice with
its basis in a combination of time duration and accentuation. Varied moods were
thought to be evoked by the six ‘fundamental’ rhythms of trochee, iambus,
dactylus, anapaestus, peon and ionian. This seems close to ideas about energy
fluctuation in relation to anima, animus etc. (see pp.25—26) and it was also thought
that they suggested gender difference. For instance the Greeks referred to the
‘feminine’ trochee or the ‘masculine’ iambic pattern, and Laban followed this
model (see Laban 1950, pp.130, 129-131). (For further explanation of metricity
see Chapter 7.)
Incidence of accents, irregular (or mixed) metrical form and duration had of
course been studied before. But for me, one of Laban’s major contributions to the
study and practice of rhythm was his recognition of non-metric or free forms of
thythm. Non-metric or free forms are those which are ‘elastic’ in their use of
duration, erratic in their use of accents, and not framed in bar-lines or measured in
lengths. They are governed more by the fluctuation, increase and decrease of
energy flow and dynamics than by other rules, such as those derived from western
classical music.
A further contribution made by Laban was to the study of phrasing in dance
and movement. He emphasised the role of increase and decrease in the use of
movement elements in ‘shaping’ phrases. In particular he referred to the effect of
fluctuation in the output of energy, in the rate of movement, in the degree of
extension in space and in the stability/lability continuum.’ This idea of energy

3 Readers familiar with developments of Laban's work in the USA, will notice differences in word
usage. For instance in the USA ‘lability’ is sometimes referred to as ‘mobility’ which in the UK has the
more general meaning of ‘free to move’ (O.E.D.).
 TIME AND RHYTHM IN HUMAN MOVEMENT / 131

fluctuation was incorporated in Laban’s teaching about rhythm in phrasing when

he stressed the expressive difference between the adoption of an ‘impulse’ or of an
‘impact’ pattern in motifs and phrases. An ‘impulse’ (so-called ‘feminine’) pattern
is that of the trochaic accent pattern (that is: long-short, with an accent and more
output of energy placed at the beginning of the motif or phrase). Patterns which
adopt the ‘impact’ (so-called ‘masculine’) iambic (short—long) pattern have an
accent placed at the end of the phrase. He sensed ‘more impetuosity in the first
one and the expression ofa more languid mode in the second one’ (1959, p.21).
Since Laban’s ideas about rhythm were bound up with his concept of motion
factors, a brief summary of this now follows. (At this point readers may prefer to
proceed directly to an application of these ideas in a dramatic context (Dr. Faustus,
below), and then if they so wish, refer back to the theoretical basis which follows
here). Four motion factors common to all movement were distinguished by Laban
as ‘weight’, ‘time’, ‘space’ and ‘flow’ (inseparable in practice, but isolated for study
purposes). All are present to a greater or lesser extent in any movement. These
factors ate more commonly understood quantitatively. Indeed they are used
quantitatively in movement: weight, as a measure of strength or use of muscular
energy; time, as a measure of durational length; space, shown by degree of angle
in gesture or floor pattern; flow, the degree of continuity or controlled pausing.
However, the analysis, although not unrelated to the quantitative aspects, was
especially concerned with the qualitative — always more difficult to describe.
Broadly speaking the qualitative ‘weight’ range of expression is from strong or
powerful through all the variations in between to delicate or gentle; ‘time’ extends
from the suddenness of an unexpected action to lingering, sustained movement.
‘Space’ or spatial quality in movement ranges from an extravagant, roundabout
pliancy at one extreme to a more directed, economical linear focus; ‘flow’ from
freely going movement to a held-back restraint. Here the focus is on what Laban
called a person’s ‘inner attitude towards’ use of the four motion factors, which
may, to a varying degree, be one of resisting or of yielding.
Indeed, Laban frequently referred to the relationship between inner feeling
and the outward form of movement expression, which includes the pattern of
rhythm. For example, he stated ‘The fighting against or indulging in motion
factors forms the basic aspects of the psychological attitudes of hatred and love’
(1950, p. 116). He also indicated how particular combinations of movement
elements might be correlated with certain states of mind or with mood, and
showed how this was evident, not only in general bodily movement, but also in
the small ‘shadow’ movements of which we are even less aware.
When applied, these ideas are dynamic and it can easily be seen how they
relate to characterisation in drama. Two of the Deadly Sins in Marlowe's Dr.
Faustus provide a contrasting example. Awareness of the motion factors and
qualities of the constituent movement elements with particular reference to
 132 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

rhythm may be applied to envisage and make suggestions about some possible
aspects of their characters and movement. First, Wrath: urgent, attacking self and
others, forceful, roaring and snarling; sudden and impactive in phrasing, moving
with vehement steps and stamps, perhaps using space in both a wild, round-about
whipping manner and also with a direct thrusting energy; rushing and furning,
lashing out at phantoms — never achieving satisfaction; flamboyantly free at times,
at others, strictly contained — but ready to burst forth and threaten at the next
opportunity, or before it: ‘I leapt out of a lion’s mouth when I was scarce half an
hour old; and ever since I have run up and down the world with this case of rapiers
wounding myself when I had nobody to fight withal. I was born in hell’ (Dr.
Faustus lines 735—7 38).
Wrath contrasts with Envy who appears next in the scene, possibly entering
with sly, mingy, impotent steps and certainly relishing a narrow, mean-spirited
attitude. Envy nurtures a limited self-absorbed outlook; perhaps somewhat
impulsive in phrasing, experiencing life as a fruitless, ever-unresolved journey;
existing on the continual treadmill or rack of wanting to outdo and have all and
more than everyone else, but with none of the wit or intelligence to achieve
anything. There is some of Wrath’s sense of angry frustration and self-flagellation
here, but it is a less overtly powerful anger. Envy is always gazing outward and
craving an escape from the inner torture, the invidious, grinding ache; the eyes of
Envy devour the possessions and talents of others, but really just glimpse an
unattainable shining, slippery surface of things — snatching at the air and opening
the hand only to see its emptiness, and even the spaces disappearing between the
fingers. We can imagine the sharp, piercing, viciously jabbing actions which
perhaps sometimes degenerate into a painfully intense, sustained stare or twist of
pain: ‘I am lean with seeing others eat. O that there would come as famine through
all the world, that all might die, and J live alone! Then thou should’st see how fat I
would be. But must thou sit and I stand! Come down with a vengeance!’ (Dr.
Faustus lines 743-747).
Thus if actors apply Laban’s ideas to a role, they may be helped to develop
characterisation strongly and effectively. They may also come to a closer
understanding of differences between characters, and also of how inter-personal
communication takes place (in everyday life as well as on stage). This approach can
be applied when considering how situations and events may be developed in
performance. Indeed, Laban indicated that specific use of rhythm distinguishes
the nature of performance: ‘It is the arrangement of the efforts of everyday life into
logical yet revealing sequences and rhythms which gives a theatrical performance
its special character’ (1950, p.91). This is an interesting and rare focus.
Laban’s theories developed throughout his life and were formulated in both
German and English and translated in various ways in different publications, This,
together with varied use of his terms by others, can be confusing. The term
 TIME AND RHYTHM IN HUMAN MOVEMENT / 133

‘effort’, as used by Laban and by those who have adopted his approach, can refer
to several aspects of human movement. Rhythm is central to the concept.
In Laban’s terminology, ‘effort’ could mean the energy content of action, in the
first instance in relation to inner motivation, as in ‘the inner impulses from which
movement originates’ (1950, p.10). He also used the term in relation to the visible
evidence of effort in human exertion, and in relation to the time and rhythm
patterns which arise from this:
A person's efforts are visibly expressed in the rhythms of his bodily motion. It
thus becomes necessary to study those rhythms, and to extract from them those
elements which will help us to compile a systematic survey of the forms effort can
take in human action. (1948, p.xi)

The term ‘effort-action’ was originally used to distinguish working action from
dance action. Laban identified six different ‘effort-actions’ by combining each of
the motion factors of weight, time and space in terms of a blend of contrasting
movement qualities.
Reference was made to the physiological basis of rhythm in Chapter 1, and
contemporary biological and physiological assumptions were a basis of Laban’s
research into ‘effort-recovery’ movement patterns which he related to ‘the rhythm
of life’. He used the metaphor of the interdependent food-procuring cytoplasm
(for male rhythms) and the reproducing nucleus (for female rhythms) thus:
If it is assumed that the rhythm of life consists of an alternation of male and
female functions as they become visible in unicellular being and that the
co-operation of the two rhythmically opposite poles works on the evolution of
the chain of life, perhaps one comes nearest to a definition serviceable for our
research on effort and recovery. (1959, p.21)

Laban stressed the significance of recovery in relation to action, ‘one of the most
important aspects of the great number of rhythmical alterations observable in
Nature’ In class, this idea was applied in many ways in action—reaction partner
and group work. Attention was drawn to the particular use of motion factors
during recovery: ‘which is not simply a fading away of energy, but ... contains a
set of elements of movement which momentarily help to dissolve those of the
main action, thus preparing for its effective repetition’ (1959, p.18). ‘Recovery’
can also be thought of as a form of transition to a fresh action. Laban here again
drew attention to an aspect of movement phrasing, to patterns in sequential
development. In his instructions for observation of rhythm he advised that there is
‘much more [to be] observed than a series of single movements. The investigator
endeavours also to trace the relationship between the movements’ (Laban and
Lawrence 1945, p.1). Thus it can be seen that observation of the constituent
elements of motion factors is not only fundamental in a Laban-based analysis of
 134 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

the dynamic content of rhythm, but also the basis of his method for study of
expressive energy use in phrasing.
Use of personal and general space is included in Laban’s analytic scheme, and
he recognised ways in which spatial aspects of movement contribute to rhythm.
‘One can discern space-rhythms, time-rhythms, and weight-rhythms. In reality
these three forms of rhythm are always united, though [any] one can occupy the
foreground of an action’ (1950, pp.127-128). Laban drew attention to the
inter-relationships of dynamics and spatial use. He alerted people to the
possibility that there might be latent expressive meaning in the use made of
directions and gestural shaping in space, combined with use of time and force
(1966, p.31). He also related ‘space-rhythm’ to ‘effort-rhythm’, showing, for
example, how certain effort sequences can promote particular gestural designs in
space.
Laban explained that ‘space rhythms’ arise from the related use of directions
which result in spatial forms and shapes. ‘Two aspects are herein relevant; (a) the
one in which there is successive development of changing directions, and (b) the
other where shapes are produced through simultaneous actions of different parts
of the body’ (1950, p.128). Laban’s exploration of geometric forms in relation to
movement in space is well recorded. As students, our sense of spatial orientation
developed through imagining ourselves moving in the centre of larger-than-
life-size versions of these forms. Some of these were constructed from long, thin
poles for our practice. We were encouraged to discover that movements in
dimensional directions promote stability (i.e. directly up-down, side-to-side,
forward—back), those in diagonal directions, lability/mobility. The implications
of these ideas for the use of time elements in performance is suggested in the
following extracts from a compilation, made by one of Laban’s assistants,
Gertrude Snell Friedburgh, in 1929: ‘dimensionals always induce restriction ...
contrast with ... the pure diagonal, which is charged with movement intensity to
such a degree that the moment flows on in an unrestrained manner’ (quoted in
Laban 1966, p.208).
Other aspects of spatial rhythm to which Laban drew attention, included the
‘calming’ nature of movements in one plane, and the ‘rousing’ effect of those using
three-dimensional pathways. He explained how some gestures in space have the
effect of restraining flow of action, while others promote it. For example,
returning to the starting point of a movement or gesture restrains the flow of
action, whereas progressing to somewhere different in space promotes the flow
(1966, pp.208-209). Laban sometimes referred to stylised forms of fencing and
sword-play, with their contrasting gestural patterns of curves and thrusts, when he
pointed out that rhythm is also derived from the different ways in which the body
contracts and opens out in space.
 TIME AND RHYTHM IN HUMAN MOVEMENT / 135

Contracting and opening, tensing and releasing — the ‘anspannung und

abspannung’ referred to earlier — are examples of key movement-rhythm activities
favoured in Laban-based training. They offer a student balancing, harmonising
bodily experience which at the same time are designed to expand movement
tange and vocabulary. Another fundamental action sequence related to these and
which was stressed in the body training we received as students was ‘Gather and
scatter!’ When we heard that phrase resounding through the studio, it meant we
had to direct our energies, arm gestures and bodily intention inwards towards the
body centre, and then take a reverse gestural path and open out, with palms and
inner surfaces of the arms turning outwards. Perhaps readers can picture how this
generated curving figure-eight patterns in the arms. The sequence was frequently
performed with transference of weight in the legs, with inward—outward
figure-eight gestures in alternate legs which were synchronised with opposite
arms. This then could develop into energetic travelling as we flung ourselves
across or around the room, on a bounding 6/8 rhythmic pattern.
Laban's ideas on space-rhythm were in tune with theories about the cosmos
prevalent in the thinking of his time. He frequently spoke of movement as
universal flow, or as he once wrote, ‘the stream of life and growth’ (1948, p.8) The
ideas and theories were linked with his concepts of space harmony, and with his
interest in patterns of natural growth and crystalline forms in relation to human
movement.
Our mind seems to conceive and understand that the same laws rule not only the
construction of living beings but also the structure of all inorganic matter and its
crystallisation. With this discovery the whole of nature may be recognised as
being governed by the same choreatic laws, the laws of inter-dependent circles.
(1966, p.26)
The circle (reigen in German) was viewed as the archetype of universal order — ‘the
reigen is a unity which embraces everything ... up in the immensity of space of the
endless solar systems, up to the equally immense play of the small atoms, the same
order is present, the retgen’ (1920, p.38). We may be reminded here of the
so-called whirling Dervishes for whom circular motion leads to a form of cosmic
union. Students’ training included varied experience of dancing in circles and in
curving lines — waxing and waning, as well as practice in the rounded or steeply
rising, falling, opening, closing movement-rhythms of spatial studies.
Thus Laban brought cosmic dimensions to the personal act of dancing, more
usually to be found in some form of religious or liturgical dance, or in ritual
context. It is clear from his writing that he thought of dance as an expression of
divine power (1920, pp.101, 146) and of movement in general he writes: “We
should never forget that every gesture and action of our body is a deeply rooted
mystery and not a mere outward function or trick, as many people regard it in
 136 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

modern times. It was thus that tumbling or standing on the head could once have
been a sacred play’ (1966, p.54).
When we read of all this now, the ideas seem related to some of the latest
thinking of environmentalists, Gaia theorists, contemporary ‘sound-scape’
musicians, post-atomic physicists and other artists and seekers. Many of Laban’s
statements, once pejoratively dismissed by some academics as mystical,
unsubstantiated or lacking in supportive evidence, would not seem out of place in
more recent, well-received writing today. For example, see Berendt (1988), Capra
(1996), Moore (1996).
Laban’s approach in practical movement context also appears related to
examples of dance we see today. Some of the work in ‘post-modern’,
‘contact-release’ and ‘new dance’ since the 1970s has been strongly reminiscent
of the movement exploration and dance experience of students at the Laban
Centre in the late 1950s. At that time there was virtually no support for ‘modern
dance’ in the theatre in England.’ Classical ballet dominated as the preferred
performance dance style. Laban was seen as much an innovator then as he had
been in the Europe of 1910. In relation to time and rhythm in human movement,
in many ways he still seems like an innovator today. His ideas on the subject
remain valid and useful, and even now there is still much to be learnt from them.

Conclusion
Since, Janus-like, he encompassed both in his work, the focus on Laban’s
approach takes us from the ideas and theories of Part I to the domain of practice in
Parts II and III. Furthermore, Laban's special interest in movement observation
leads us towards the particular subject of the next chapters.
We have seen in Part I that movement-rhythm with timing in performance is
essentially an integrated process which develops from a mix or blend of different
elements. The outcome depends on the circumstances and given conditions, as
well as on the performer's intention and utilisation of energy in time and space.
Ideas and comments from the wide range of sources cited in Part I are
incorporated and expanded in the exposition which follows. The focus now is on
the practical context of performance with a delineation of factors and elements
which generate, influence, shape and order the structure of rhythm in any
performance event.

4 With the notable exception of critic A.V. Coton.

 PART II

Looking and Seeing

 7

Description and Classification of Time

Elements in Performance Events
A Synthesis of Approaches

Every movement has a rhythm, every body has a rhythm, everything you do
all day has a rhythm, as people living, also as dancers. Now as dancers we can
expand the idea of rhythm, we can manipulate that too. (Humphrey 1951)
Rhythm is an aesthetic organization of phenomena or events ... structured in
time and/or space. (Nicholls 1992, p.146)

A performance ofa play is an alternation of dynamic and static moments, as

well as dynamic movements of different kinds. That is why the gift of rhythm
seems to be one of the most important a director can have. (Meyerhold quoted
in Schmidt 1980, p.155)
In these statements a choreographer urges us to expand our idea of rhythm, while
an anthropologist and a theatre director draw attention to the significance of its
structural features. If we are to pursue these and other ideas satisfactorily, in order
to observe and study rhythm, it is necessary to look at its features systematically
and in some detail.
It is not easy to study the use of rhythm in complex performance events. I am
reminded of my own unsatisfactory attempts to identify various features on many
occasions, when watching the Polish Gardzienice Theatre Association’s highly
creative work for instance (such as Avvakum or Gathering) which so powerfully
integrated all aspects of movement-rhythm and timing with voice and imagery. It
was experiences such as this which prompted me to undertake a detailed survey of
the subject.
Asa beginning, and in order to organise observation effectively, it is necessary
to distinguish factors and related elements of movement-rhythm and timing as
clearly as possible. Drawing from the material presented in Part 1 as a basis, |
suggest these factors and elements may be identified and broadly classified to

139
 140 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

address the key issues of where, how and when the rhythm is located, and how the
environment may influence proceedings. These do not comprise separate or
discrete sets of factors — elements of rhythm may relate to more than one set.
Observation of these suggested factors and elements can provide a useful general
impression of the main characteristics or features of rhythm and timing in a
performance event. (For full analysis a more detailed classification, notational
method and fully developed rating method are required.)
Body and space. Where the rhythm is located in the performer's body structure,
and in the space.

Body structure

Type of action
natural, innate rhythm
parts engaged in the rhythm
left/right simultaneous
extensions and accessories
successive
adjacent/separate
discrete actions

Participants

Movement path number

gender
age
movement reach
amplitude
quantity of movement Position in space
gestures
tracks
symmetrical/asymmetrical
standing, sitting, kneeling, lying...
falling, lifting
stable, labile

Figure 7.1 Body and space

To begin with the obvious, we recognise rhythm in movement events through

observation of the human body (the performing instrument). If more than one
person is performing (such as in a duet, trio or larger group) we also recognise
 DESCRIPTION AND CLASSIFICATION OF TIME ELEMENTS / 141

Figure 7.2 A unique world of timing and rhythm: when in action, attention is drawn to undulating
patterns and accents in the variously jointed arms and hands. The movement and dramas of Javanese
puppets fascinate many western theatre artists.

rhythm in the interaction. Movement of participants in a larger group generates

group orchestration of rhythm. When participants gradually gather together in a
dance, scene or ceremony, the growing accumulation of people is a form of
rhythm (as in a Shakers’ custom, see Chapter 2).
The skeletal-muscular structure of the body provides the physical frame which
offers the potential for movement rhythm; gender and age of participants may be
influential factors. Bodily range and capabilities determine outcome. The degree
of mobility we have in our joints, the length of our limbs — together with the pull
of gravity — affect our movement. In order to develop their performance, dancers
may need to compensate for a particular body type. A physiotherapist with whom
I was discussing this, drew a clear distinction between short, stocky dancers and
those who are tall and long-limbed, pointing out that the ‘natural’ preferred
physical rhythms of each are entirely different. Whatever our body type may be,
the shared fact of our two-limbed, right—left structure generates rhythm. I
remember Laban remarking in a light-hearted moment in class that perhaps
rhythm began because early humans became tired of standing on one leg!
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Figure 7.3 A length of fabric adds to the rhythm of a dance, during rehearsals for an Asian Mela festival
in east London.
Source: Mark Turner

In drama, dance or ceremony, extensions to the performer's body or accessories

may contribute to rhythm, and together with the bodily action promote varied
time-patterns of co-ordination. For instance, performers with long hair sometimes
swing it about ina lively, patterned way as part of a dance. Choreographer Alwin
Nikolais was famous for the moving body extensions in his works such as the
elongated head-gear in Imago, or the elasticated curving cloth inside which
dancers moved in Sanctum.’ Thus items such as banners, billowing lengths of
fabric, clashing swords, assertive threatening sticks, lighted candles, or even

1 Ina powerfully expressive example, sharp lines of cloth, worn and pulled in different directions by the
soloist, emphasise the grief-stricken mood of Martha Graham's Lamentation.
 DESCRIPTION AND CLASSIFICATION OF TIME ELEMENTS / 143

animals held by performers, may need to be observed as part of the pattern of

rhythm. In Alaska, Athabascan women dancers use feathers ‘to extend movement
into space’ and Tlingit ceremonial dance features the spinning of tassles on dance
gloves (Johnston 1992, pp.222, 295). The long sleeves ofa Japanese or Chinese
dancer are sometimes used almost like additional limbs, and mark the rhythm
when little other movement is taking place. Wolz has written of the use of
extensions to the body such as this in Japan, where, in performance, ‘so much
movement is simply a manipulation of very elaborate costumes, which sometimes
even inhibit movement ... The manipulation of properties is also a very important
source of movement’ (1971, p.34). Men dancing with chickens, grasping their
wings, was observed by anthropologist Linda Shanson during Mexican wedding
festivities (1978), while I myself found that the feather head-dresses of the
Maring dancers in New Guinea generated an intricate counterpoint (see Chapter
11). Dorothy Ray supports the notion of paying attention to these performance
aspects; describing items worn by an Eskimo dancer which made an important
contribution to rhythm in the dance she witnessed, she writes: ‘As important as
gestures in the dance was the movement of undulating feathers and appendages
on masks and clothing, or in the hands’ (1967, p.25).
As noted in Chapter I, a basic form of rhythm is realised in the body in the
processes of breathing, heartbeat or pulse and peristalsis. In the survey from drama
and dance studies, we have seen how some artists developed choreographic and
training ideas from these processes. Instinctive, spontaneous physical reactions to

Figure 7.4 Body positions: gestures and changes of position may generate rhythm.
Source: Liane Payne
144 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

situations and events may be thought of as an aspect of body timing, such as

occurs in startled reactions of fear.
It has often been suggested that in dance, performers base their use or
measurement of rhythm, consciously or unconsciously, on these natural or innate
rhythms (see Martin 1965a, p.68). Dalcroze made a significant contribution here;
and perhaps Agnes de Mille’s ‘inner pulse’ refers to the same factor:
The true artist will develop a sense of rhythm complex and subtle, not just the
mechanical reflex to a downbeat, but a sense of shape and dynamism in musical
phrase and dynamism in gesture, and an inner pulse that lies beneath all these and
that is the true life beat. The last is essential; without it all the rest is useless. (1963,
p.82)

As Doris Humphrey and others have shown, phrasing in movement performance

has a physical basis and may be related to breathing in a variety of ways. Dancers’
phrasing may follow or be shaped by a performer’s breath pattern, especially in
non-metric sequences (for explanation of metricity, see pp.153-155). Inhalation
is frequently associated with the start ofa phrase and exhalation with the ending
ofa phrase (or phrase-section). This is a breath-time pattern which is also required
in the actor’s delivery of clause or sentence. Also, as with breath, our movement
cannot be evenly continuous; it includes necessary rhythms and phases of
preparation, action and recovery which contribute to performance structure. (For
further reference to rhythm in performance structure, including phrase, phase etc.
see pp.160—163).
Muscular contraction and release, which we see most noticeably in working
actions or in sport and gymnastics, has its own rhythm. Another obvious body
action which generates rhythm is that of walking or stepping in various ways.
Indeed, in classical Greece the range of dynamic intensity in movement was
thought of as generated largely by the physical action of ‘thesis’ (the foot touching
the ground) and ‘arsts’ (the foot lifting) (see Aristoxenus, 1959 orig. c.370 BC).
The dancer's sense of what would be termed ‘beat’ and ‘upbeat’ in music (as well
as ‘strike’ and ‘rebound’ is associated with this. Particular body actions like
swinging, swaying, vibrating, bouncing, whipping, punching, skipping (with
weight transference) tend to produce distinctive rhythm. A young child’s pleasure
in the mastery of a skipping pattern frequently extends even to the extent of
insisting that an accompanying adult join in.
Changes of body position, direction and level in space, generate rhythm.
Features of symmetry and asymmetry in body position and action can affect
rhythm, with the balancing effect of the former and the uneven characteristics of
the latter. As demonstrated in Chapter 6, Laban developed particular ideas about
space-rhythm. As he stressed, an aspect of body-use in space in relation to rhythm
concerns stability and lability. Stable body action, where the body’s centre of
 DESCRIPTION AND CLASSIFICATION OF TIME ELEMENTS / 145

Figure 7.5 Holding on: lability anchored by stability — a dramatic moment of arrested motion from an
East London Dance workshop performance.

gravity is directly above the base-support (usually hips in relation to feet) tends to
promote regular, steady rhythm. Labile, off-balance or tilted action, where the
centre of gravity is shifted away from directly above the base-support, tends to
promote irregular, varied rhythm.
Spatial factors which contribute to rhythm operate in relation to the movement
of individual performers, and to the movement orchestration and spatial
disposition of groups. Theatre directors can display inspired crafting of the
orchestration of movement rhythm in group action and interaction to provide
exciting theatre experiences. | am reminded of sequences such as the scene of
unexpectedly imminent departure from the governor's palace in Brecht’s The
Caucasian Chalk Circle when harassed servants rush and dart about with varied
degrees of efficiency, packing the governor's wife's possessions at her imperious,
somewhat erratic behest. Or I think of the interaction of the eccentric, sometimes
threatening mountain king’s trolls in Ibsen’s Peer Gynt. A degree of rhythmic
complexity on stage can bring life to less agitated, more peaceful sequences too,
such as in the scene of Cerimon’s healing care of the storm-beaten victims in
Shakespeare’s Pericles. Here a range of calming rhythms infiltrates the stage as
some servants wrap and enfold the unfortunate victims of the turbulent night in
 146 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

blankets, others perhaps gently wind soft bandages while Cerimon applies the
soothing balm of ointments, and the victims comfort one another. All this is made
the more telling after the violence and uneven rhythmic attack of the preceding
storm scene, and creates a rhythmically varied prologue to the unifying,
rhythmically focused discovery of the chest, washed up on the shore, which
contains the temporarily inert Marina.
We can note if actions and accents are occurring simultaneously or
successively in a performer's body and across a group of performers. Simultaneous
actions shared with partner or group may be synchronised. The movements may
be the same, that is, in unison, or they may be complementary, contrasting or in
counter-rhythm. (In the movement of an individual, this applies to accents or
actions in different body parts.) There are striking examples of group unison
action in the popular Irish Riverdance shows. All those sharp little knees hitting the
air together! And the rows of perfectly synchronised crossed legs, heels and toes.
Spatial rhythm is also generated in this example from the contrast between the
erect, vertical body carriage and up-down emphasis of steps, and the fast, even,
horizontal lines of the dancers travelling across and around the stage.
Actions and accents may be located successively in adjacent body parts. For
example, in an individual performer, ‘successive adjacent’ would describe a
sequence in which accents occur in the right shoulder, then right elbow and
finally wrist and fingers. Successive movement travelling through a group of
performers can be likened to a rumour spreading. A succession of actions or
accents may be located in body parts (or among a group of performers) which are
not adjacent, but are separate. For example, in an individual performer ‘successive,
separate accents’ would describe a sequence in which accents occur in right
shoulder, left elbow, right heel.
The path of movement in ground track or in gestures has a rhythm component
which may be emphasised, as in the Riverdance example. The angle employed at a
change of direction (in gesture or floor pattern) ‘colours’ the rhythm. The use of
wide angles or curves brings forth a different rhythmic pattern from the use of
narrow angles. Spirals, twists and zigzags are a development of these possibilities.
Different spatial pathways referred to here can induce different moods, of course,
depending also on use of other movement elements. A circle, for instance, can
appear to have a more calming effect than does a zigzag’s sharpness.
A gestural trace-form through space or a ground track which returns to its
starting point tends to have a restraining effect and promotes security, whereas
one which arrives somewhere new tends to promote less restraint. The latter
contributes irregularity, and perhaps more vitality, to the rhythmic pattern.
A further spatial factor which has a bearing on rhythm is range of gesture or
movement in respect of the individual's reach space, as well as in the general
acting area. Anthropologist Claire Holt noted the expressive power of expansive,
 DESCRIPTION AND CLASSIFICATION OF TIME ELEMENTS / 147

Figure 7.6 Spatial rhythm: people far apart and close together — contrasts in the use of space are
emphasised bere by the tension in extended arms and by varied directional focus. Members of The Royal
Ballet in Kenneth MacMillan’s Anastasia.
Source: Douglas Jeffery

large gestures in a Javanese dancet’s personal reach space, which, combined with
‘stately, regular rhythm of his gestures’, made him ‘an unrelenting force,
impersonal, impassive’ (1967, p.101). Also, the quantity or amount of movement
both in personal reach space and in general acting area contribute to rhythm. This
is especially interesting to observe when performance space is limited, as noted in
Chapter 2. A dancer’s use of space may be limited or expanded in various ways.
McPhee provides another example from his observations of Balinese dance. Here
he describes space limited vertically through the dancer's constant use of flexed
knees and tack of elevation, and of the stylistic significance of the
movement:space ratio:
The Balinese dancer moves within a narrow frame, out of which he never steps. It
is in the narrowness of this frame, and the amazing life and freedom created
within it that the beauty of his dancing lies... The dancer never leaps ... he
remains firmly on the ground, moving across the surfaces by a controlled shift of
 148 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

weight from one foot to the other, the free foot raised an inch above the ground
or grazing it as it moves to the next position. The normal slow advance is
accomplished by the free foot moving out in an arc and returning to center ahead
of the other. (1948, pp.186-187)

The direction in which the rhythm of the movement is projected, or its focus,
contributes to spatial aspects of time-use and rhythm in performance. Whether
this be towards an audience, to fellow performers or to sky, earth or meditatively
inward, it is likely to have different expression and significance.
Development of action: How energy is used and when features of rhythm and
timing occur.

Time and energy Pauses

degree of emphasis duration

degree of urgency location
restraint/spontaneity occurrence

recurrence

Accents

Metricity
occurrence

recurrence

location

Progression
_ Tempo

duration of events
regularity of events pulse, underlying beat
repetition of events pace
movement: time acceleration

Figure 7.7 Development of action

To summarise, rhythm develops in performance action through fluctuations in

energy and with the use of accents, pauses, tempo and duration.
Accents are an important feature in the patterning and dynamics of rhythm.
They attract and direct attention. Accents may be spatially and dynamically
 DESCRIPTION AND CLASSIFICATION OF TIME ELEMENTS / 149

Figure 7.8 Use of rhythm evident in a back view. Spatial rhythm: the angle at the knee ts offset by the
balance of the horizontal arm with its firm energy — perhaps there is a hint of softer energy in the
dancer's left hand. The downward focus of head and eyes contrasts with the onward and upward
direction of the leap; sharp accents in toes and in stretched and flexed knees. The bunch of hair adds
quirky a-rhythmic detail, Dancer Catherine Quinn in Siobhan Davies’ The Art of Touch.
Source: Hugh Glendinning

limited, or located in small body parts but nevertheless they may be important
stylistically and expressively, such as in the eye movements of Indian dance. A
relatively small but characteristic and distinctive accentual feature of modern
dance pioneer Martha Graham’s dance performance was the sudden movement of
her mouth opening, on an emphatic gesture or muscular contraction, as in a gasp.
Related to her own idiosyncratic way of breathing, and probably an involuntary
movement, this was nevertheless part of the whole rhythmic expression of her
performance. An example of the use of accents as a feature of style in dance is
provided by McPhee, who describes use of accented movement in hands, eyes,
shoulders and head as a predominant characteristic of Balinese dance:
The hands ... move alertly to the syncopated accents, or vibrate rapidly from the
wrists ... Eyes are slewed first to right and then to left to stress certain rhythmic
 150 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

accents. Accents may also be marked by a slightly raised eyebrow ... The rapid
shoulder quiver (engejen pala) and slight shifting of the head from side to side with
neck erect (engota) are a feature of many dances. (1948, pp.187-188)

Accents occur in a number of different ways both in the performer's body itself
and in the use the performer makes of the performance space. Thus a gesture, step,
turn, jump or change in dynamics may be accented, ‘standing out’ from what it
follows or precedes. Change of direction, entrance (or exit) of performer, contact
with other performers, use of objects or performance environment (for example,
movement up a flight of stairs) may be accented. However, let us be aware, as far as
we can, of cultural bias in our assumptions. For instance, as Pantaleoni points out
in his discussion of Anlo dance drumming, it is a particularly western
characteristic to ‘attach to dynamic stress a major role in the rhythmic
organization of an ensemble’ (1972, p.62).
Particular, regular placing of an accent can generate specific kinds of bodily
action. For example, an accent every two beats may promote a march. In dance,
every three beats may promote a swinging movement — especially if associated
with a drop, lift, lift action. There are of course exceptions. A three-beat pattern is
the base of the well-known triplet ‘walk’ in Graham-based dance technique (but a
flowing quality does result from the pattern); 3/4 is the metre of a march in
Rameau's Hippolyte et Aricie, Act V, and of Schumann’s march of the Philistines of
culture in Carnival, but perhaps he used the metre for an intended bizarre
emphasis. Dotted rhythms (unequal division of beats within the bar) promote
other distinctive actions such as in the skipping referred to earlier. Irregularly
recurring accents produce an uneven pattern. Depending on the context and
whether combined with other dynamics, this may generate an uncertain mood, or
perhaps it may have an aggressive effect. A repeating pattern of irregularly
recurring accents may be termed ‘irregular’ yet ‘constant’, but a pattern of
irregularly recurring accents, continually changing, may be termed ‘irregular’ and
‘inconstant’. Further reference to metricity is included later in the chapter.
Contributing to rhythm in an exciting way, syncopation is another use of
accents where stress is displaced from an expected regularity, in metrical terms
essentially avoiding the ‘downbeat’. (For example, in 4/4 time, emphasis on beats
two and four instead of one and three, or on halfbeats. From synkope (Greek): to cut
short.) It is sometimes referred to as emphasis ‘off’ the beat, or more flexibly,
‘around’ it, in African music, for instance (Chernoff 1979, p.48). Accents
occurring frequently, very close together, may be referred to as ‘dense’; if they
occur sporadically or spread apart, ‘sparse’. Frequency of accents can be a strong
mood indicator when combined with other movement elements that affect
dynamics. For example, many accents occurring near each other — with a
particular combination of other elements — can create or contribute to a mood of
excitement, perhaps eroticism, urgency, even panic. Accents placed erratically can
 DESCRIPTION AND CLASSIFICATION OF TIME ELEMENTS / 151

be exciting too, or they may produce a disturbing, strange or even frightening

effect. Placing single accents in different parts ofa sequence or phrase can create
different dynamic effects. If an accent occurs at the beginning it initiates the
phrase as an ‘impulse’; if at the end it provides an ‘impact’, an abrupt conclusion
(see also Laban p.131). Use of accents by a particular performer may indicate a
leadership role, or reveal a system of cueing rhythm and timing in a performance.
The moment of pausing, or of stopping, movement may be a form of
accentuation and may alert attention, especially if it happens unexpectedly or is
preceded by a sharp, strong movement. This is clearly illustrated in a further
description ofa Balinese dance from McPhee:
Rhythms are taut and syncopated throughout, and filled with sudden breaks and
unexpected accents ... Dance movement is not conceived ina single broad, legato
line, but continually broken by fractional pauses that coincide with the breaks in
the music: on these the dancers come to a sudden stop, and the eyes of the
spectators focus momentarily on a motionless sharply defined pose. (1948,
p.160)

Stopping movement may serve as a punctuation mark, or make a particular

intentional statement in the context ofa performance, or extend and result in an
ending. For a pause to appear heightened is dependent on what precedes it;
alternatively, a pause may draw attention to what follows. Hutchinson Guest
(1981) includes use of timing as one of four distinctive stylistic features of the
Bournanville (ballet) style (the others being use of body, space and dynamics).
Hutchinson Guest particularly notes accented use of pauses: ‘Bournanville
punctuated his movement phrases and sentences with pauses in a most interesting
way ... suddenness — unexpected abruptness — often occurs as an ending where an
unusual pose occurs’ (1981, pp.146—148). We can distinguish between pauses
during phrases or sequences of movement and pauses which define and mark the
end ofa phrase or sequence.
Significance of pauses may be likened to the Japanese concept of the spaces
between the lines of design being as important as the lines themselves — or even
more important than the lines: lines as containers for spaces, pauses as containers
for movement. Small, preparatory movements can create the effect of a slight
pause which draws attention to the gesture following, and may make it seem
larger in scope. Balanchine described the importance of pauses in relation to
music, but his words are equally applicable to pauses in movement: ‘A pause, an
interruption, never means an airless space between two noted sounds. They are
not simply anothing ... life goes on in each pause’ (quoted in Goodwin 1973).
Thus pausing, or even stopping movement for a while, can create a variety of
effects and promote tension as well as calm not only in dance, but in stage acting
as well as in ceremony. A pause or more extended period of stillness may be used
152. / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

as a foil to contrast with movement. In dance there is an obvious and well-known

instance of this in the popular MGM film musical classic The Belle of New York
(1952). In an ocean-view scene, the background static pose of a group of
promenading bystanders serves to highlight the lively rhythmic patterning of
Fred Astaire and Vera-Ellen’s duet in the foreground. There is a striking,
expressive example in recent dance work — American Bill T. Jones’ We set out
early... visibility was poor (European premiere 1998). The theme of the picce is a
group's life journey towards the millennium. Strong contrasts in the use of
rhythm and timing are evident throughout. But during the final moments, as the
work nears its climax, there is a particularly effective extended sequence when
one dancer (who has emerged as a hero-figure) stands quite still, alone
down-stage, as if in contemplation of the future, while the other nine dancers of
the company are in constant motion as they move across the stage behind him ina
close-packed, happily rapping, hip-hopping, throbbing cluster, perhaps
representing the pulse, energy or busy-ness of ever-passing or past life. Placing,
number and duration of pauses may be significant. In the context of ceremony we
learn, for instance, that when Princess Mary visited Henry VIII, sixteenth-century
court etiquette demanded three pauses (during which she would curtsy): the first
on entering the presence chamber, the next in the middle of the room, and finally
on reaching the monarch (Wildeblood and Brinson 1965). The two minutes’
silence and stillness at the Cenotaph service in London on Remembrance Sunday
indicates honour, respect, mourning, national pride.
We can relate stillness in movement to silence in speech. In western Apache
culture, moments of silence are associated with situations involving ambiguous or
unpredictable relationships (Basso 1970). It is interesting to examine similarly the
use of stillness in different contexts and situations. Behnke’s study of silence
includes comments which can usefully be applied to stillness in movement
performance (1977, 1978). She refers to the expressive use of silence, for
example, ‘an angry silence’, ‘the silence of outrage’; as well as to silence as the
‘source of things’ in meditation and religious tradition. Silence with stillness is a
feature of the Quakers’ form of worship, for instance. (See also Lasher ‘The pause
in the moving structure of dance’ (1978).) The ratio of both accents and pauses to
time duration overall is a further element to consider, and one which may certainly
affect the mood in a performance. Frequent, irregularly recurring pauses may have
an uncertain or hesitant effect, or if the recurrence is regular, pauses in the
movement may contribute to a more relaxed, calm mood.
Shared metre and pulse are characteristics of west European time-keeping in
music and dance; elsewhere the process varies. For instance, Pantaleoni draws
attention to a different source of timing in Anlo dance drumming. A high,
relatively soft bell sounds a repetitive, asymmetrical pattern to which dancers and
other players relate individually: ‘The players neither follow a beat nor build
 DESCRIPTION AND CLASSIFICATION OF TIME ELEMENTS / 153

additively upon a small, common unit of time... Performers may derive from the
play of the bell a feeling of pulse ... but this feeling of pulse is not the primary
source of timing’ (1972, p.62). Hall contrasts the African Tiv use of the beats of
four drums, each for different parts of the body, with the common European use
of one beat (1976, p.78). ‘Marking time’, in terms of movement as well as
metaphorically, indicates simply walking on the spot, making no progress.
Alternations of accented and unaccented movement and of short and longer
actions generate a basis of rhythmic pattern in phrasing. Alternation of short and
longer actions is a basis of metric patterning in movement as in music, or as in the
morse code. This is a form of accentuation through use of duration — durational
accent — known as ‘agogic’ (Riemann 1844).
Metric pattern, based on a discernible regular pulse, is a pattern dependent
upon the contrast between ‘long’ and ‘short’ movements governed by the given
pulse and within a given time-frame. As emphasised in jazz and tap dance, the
pulse or beat underpins the structure and unifies an ensemble. Being ‘in time’ or
‘keeping the beat’ means that the moving person is holding correctly to the
regular pulse, the beat of the metric structure. Some people, even trained dancers,
can find this difficult.? The pattern may be repetitive (motifs repeated) or
changing (successive motifs of different metre), which is commonly termed
‘mixed’ metre. ‘Cumulative metre’ consists of successive increase or decrease in
arithmetical progression of the number of beats in each motif (or bar ‘measure’ in
transatlantic terminology). ‘Resultant rhythm’ occurs when two or more different
metres performed simultaneously result in another one. Ancient Greek practice
provides the west European basis of this procedure, with patterns selected and
often repeated from the following motifs, which interestingly also correspond to
Indian Sanskrit metres (ftom Fox Strangways 1914, p.196):

Greek Indian Sanskrit

iambus —_— — laga
trochee —_ gala
dactyl —> —- bhanasa
anapaest —- —- — salagam
spondee —_ — gaga
molossus —_- - ——_ _ — matara
amphibrach —- —_— jabhana
antibacchic —_ -——_ — taraja
cretic —_—> —- rajabha

2 Dancers have been known to infuriate instrumental accompanists by counting aloud as they design a
sequence to enumerate an order of actions, of varied duration, that is, not counting in the regularly
spaced, metric order of musicians.
154 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

tribrach —- — — nasala
pytrhic —_- — lala
bacchic — — — hamata

Note: One beat ‘short’ duration; two beats ‘long’ duration.

The Greeks attached expressive significance to the use of metric patterns, using
(for instance) the iambus to convey what they considered to be masculine energy
and the trochee for femininity. The dactyl was used in performance for solemnity
and the cretic for excitement or terror.
Strict use of metric pattern in dance form predominates in west European
social ballroom dance, which we sometimes also see in theatre performance
context. The 3/4 of the slow waltz and the ‘quick, quick, slow’ pattern of the
quickstep are instances of this. Particular use of metric pattern may contribute to a
specific dance style or be characteristic of historical period. For example, the
particular characteristic of the fast nineteenth-century waltz was the movement
flow and lack of restraint generated by its 6/8 metre. It was interesting to note
that the first production of Pam Gems’ version of the nineteenth-century classic
Camille in 1985, successfully realised a sense of period — until the waltz, which
was performed in the later, slow 3/4 version. Another familiar use of 6/8 in dance
is in swinging action (that is, in a drop, lift (lift), drop, lift (lift), use of weight which
differs from the side to side regularity of a pendulum swing). In British
ceremonial, use of metric pattern prevails most noticeably in marching: spondee
base for a slow march, pyrrhic base for a quick march.
When we observe performance events we must be on the alert for both unison
and non-unison action and for more than one metric (or non-metric) organisation
which may be occurring simultaneously. Synchronicity does not necessarily
involve sharing a metric pattern, but it is likely to mean a shared sense of pulse or
beat. To note Stern’s comments here: ‘Congruent synchronous movements tell
you that the humans involved are in a situation of relatedness. In fact, one way to
diagnose some kinds of psychotic behaviour is to observe how out of synchrony
the affected person is ... Moving together is one of the things that defines a
collection of people as a group. The group stops being a group when a person
stops sharing movement patterns or rhythms with others’ (Stern 1973, p.124).
In western European dance of the early Renaissance, the rhythmic variety and
texture which arises from polymetric rhythms is a notable component of the style,
and uses a wider range of time values than those listed above. This style makes
considerable use of syncopation and of beats divided in various ways, triple as well
as duple time, and incorporates the six rhythmic modes of medieval musical
practice:
 DESCRIPTION AND CLASSIFICATION OF TIME ELEMENTS / 155

war J

a
w
rva

J a Q_
d.
QD

wd dd
Arbeau noted the rhythmic characteristics of dances of his period in 1588. For
example:
Pavane: d J J

Tordion: A443) cJ

Allemande: d J ) o

Courante: Q DNS)

Much folk music and dance exhibit varied use of metricity. For instance, in
traditional Macedonian dance interesting use is made of irregular subdivisions of
the beat..In a dance of the Ewe people of Ghana more than one metric pattern is
used simultaneously and repeated extensively. An example of a basic rhythm,
notated approximately (from a workshop in Ewe dance, Africa Centre, London):

a
Ji 33 J J?
reF PF FT
New York choreographer Nancy Zendora gave me a fine example of metric
patterns varied in another way which she had experienced in Haitiian
spirit-possession dance: ‘the feet take up a side-to-side three beat pattern, the
hands cross in front of the body with a two beat pattern while the spine and head
ripple in a continuous phrase, more like a swinging 6/8 — this signifies mounting
by Damballah, the ritual snake spirit’ (interview, June 1997).
A non-metric movement pattern is one which cannot be metred or counted in
the way outlined above. There is no discernible regular pattern or set of patterns of
that kind in non-metricity. The movement follows what seems an erratic,
unpredictable and free pattern — as occurs in conversation, or even in the kinetic
 156 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

constructions of artist Alexander Calder. Pauses of varying lengths are likely to be

included, and metrically unrelated accents. There is no obvious recognisably
constant pulse on the surface, but a very slow pulse may be found underlying
what appears as rhythmic dissonance.
It can be argued that sections of non-metric rhythm occur in passages of
acceleration and retardation or rubato in otherwise metrically patterned
movement. However, the difference here is that such passages simply represent an
elastic approach to the presence of the beat, which may give a spontaneous,
improvisatory impression, but it is not a fundamental cancellation of the metric
beat as would be characteristic of non-metric rhythm. There is a relationship here
to Laban’s concept of ‘flow’. Release and arrest of flow, its liberation and control,
and the varying degrees and conditions between extremes which contribute to
dynamic intensity, may be registered as key aspects of non-metric rhythm.
Tempo of movement (alternatively referred to as pace, speed or rate) may be
judged from the number of beats, steps or other actions which are performed in a
given length of time, such as in the traditional west European beats-per-
minute-measure of metronome marking used in music, with considerable leeway
permitted in execution:

Rate Approx. number of beats per minute

(Very slow) largo 40-90 MM (metronome mark)

v larghetto 70-96 MM

v adagio 97-126 MM
v andante 127-156 MM
v allegro 157-184 MM
(Very fast) presto Over 184 MM

Of course a beat may be established without recourse to metronome or

clock-time. As Chapple explains: ‘The beat is built up from the length of each
action and the interval of silence or inaction in between, the summation of which
establishes the tempo (or pace) of the individual pattern of behaviour’ (Chapple
1970, p.39). In Chapter 4 there was reference to Stanislavski’s use of beats in
theatre training and rehearsal. The practice continues in theatre work today, such
as in waiting for ‘a beat’ before delivering a line or making an entrance, (see
reference to Billie Whitelaw in rehearsal, Chapter 2, p.53).
Sense of pace and judgment of speed varies from one person to another.
Characteristic use and sense of tempo varies from one era and culture to the next.
 DESCRIPTION AND CLASSIFICATION OF TIME ELEMENTS / 157

McLaughlin (1970, p.3 1) summarised findings on sense of pace and judgement of

speed in early 1970s British culture, as:

Very slow Below 30 (bpm) MM

Slow 30-50 (bpm) MM

Moderate neutral 50-95 (bpm) MM

Fast 95-240 (bpm) MM

Very fast Over 240 (bpm) MM

This is a useful beginning but ambiguous: is 30 ‘very slow’ or merely ‘slow’?

Comparisons of both everyday and stylised forms of behaviour in different
countries have illustrated cultural variation (see Hall 1959). In many places and
contexts, slow tempo and an extended duration are characteristically associated
with solemnity, dignity, respect. Duration of applause may signify degree of
approval (Alistair Cooke saw fit to report that Senator Dole received an eight
minute standing ovation when he resigned on 11 June 1996: Letter from America
16 June 1996). People are often prepared to wait a long time for the arrival of
star-performers or other high-status persons. Anthropologist Monica Wilson
refers to the significance of duration in East African Nyakyusa burial rites —
prestige is indicated at funerals by the number of days the drums play (1957,
p.31). Wolz describes use of slow tempi in traditional Japanese dance, and
particularly in Bugaku, where:
movements are extended in time to give the viewer an opportunity to enjoy every
subtle gesture. Economy of means and leisurely contemplation are important
aspects of all Japanese art ... Bugaku’s association with the Imperial Court, with
its strict hierarchy and formality, is reflected in the solemnity and dignity of the
dances... The combination of these solemn, dignified and ritualistic qualities
creates a special, almost hypnotic atmosphere. (1971, pp.2—-3)’

Alternatively, brevity and rapidity may be associated with frivolity, even

superficiality (not allowing time to go deeply into a matter or to ‘give due
consideration’). A vivid example of utmost speed is seen in the arrival of the
Nigerian Igede Ogirinye (warrior association) mask at a funeral ceremony.

3 In his Journa! Paul Claudel comments on how the use of slow tempo in Japanese Noh acting can make
a range of interpretations possible: ‘The slowness of the gesture makes all interpretations possible: for
example, the woman wants to cry and so moves her hands up to her eyes, but this action can also be
the image of her grief, which she brings closer so as to see it better. She seems to draw up the water of
her tears, the weight of the pain, then comes the withdrawal from the cup of bitterness which she has
drunk, the abdication from life,’ (23 February) (quoted in Barba and Savarese 1991, p.257). Also see
other references to extended duration pp.74—75.
 158 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Running at full tilt represents ‘a great warrior who is so fast that he can hardly be
seen, and by extension, so too death, which also appears unexpectedly among the
living’ (Nicholls 1984, p.73). Anthropologist Leach has referred to pace as one of
the most widely distributed major constituents of human ritual sequences (1961).
See also Hall (1959, 1966, 1976).
Novelist Kundera maintains, ‘our period is given over to the demon of speed,
and that is the reason why it so easily forgets its own self’ (in Slowness 1996,
p.115). Indeed, in our high-speed western urban culture, the excitement, risk and
tension of rapidity is prevalent. In the rhythm of movement performance perhaps
this is most obviously evident in television programme style. In the theatre, shows
such as Starlight Express even bring the ever-increasing rate of roller-skaters to the
stage. The desire for speed dominates advances in technology. Performance artist
Laurie Anderson, long experienced in the use of technology in performance, goes
further: ‘it’s like you're in a race against speed itself’ was her comment about
present-day tempo and what can become an addiction to the latest computer
technology (The Speed of Darkness Royal Festival Hall London 30 June 1997). In
contemporary dance since the 1970s, forceful, sometimes risky rapidity — which
makes considerable technical demands on the performer — has been a popular
component of dance style. Cultural and personal preference may be seen to
influence use of tempi. Habitually preferred tempo, and differences between
judgment of tempo when watching or when performing, should be taken into
account when observing the use of tempo.
‘Slow’ — performing each movement through an extended time-duration —
may be a demanding test of control or balance. The performer's ‘inner attitude’ to
energy use, referred to previously, assists the performer here if a sustained (a ‘time’
movement factor in Laban’s terminology) and restrained (a ‘flow’ movement
factor in Laban’s terminology) attitude is adopted. ‘Fast’ ~ performing a number
of travelling steps or other successive movements in a short duration of time — is a
more demanding test if these are large movements or of varying pattern.
Sometimes tall, long-limbed dancers find fast, intricate movement difficult but in
terms of preferred tempo it is misleading to assert that physique is a determining
factor. Training and practice overcome many physical limitations. As McLaughlin
states, albeit in a different context: ‘There is no evidence that short-legged
conductors habitually set faster tempi than lanky ones’ (1970, p.33).
Tempo, after duration itself, provides an on-going frame for the detailed
patterning of rhythm and appears to be one of the more easily recognised
elements of rhythm. Perhaps this is because we are familiar with a characteristic
use of tempo in individuals or with its distinctive use in social and everyday life.
To refer to Kundera’s Slowness again, his premise in the novel is that speed is linked
to forgetting (a person trying to forget something walks fast), and slowness is
linked to memory (a person may automatically slow down when trying to
 DESCRIPTION AND CLASSIFICATION OF TIME ELEMENTS / 159

remember something). Particular usage may be expected or criticised in different

contexts; for example, in the culture in which I was educated, to be ‘a slow
learner’, ‘a fast talker’ or ‘a fast worker’ were all pejorative terms — elsewhere they
might have been considered praiseworthy characteristics.
Different tempi may occur simultaneously in a performance. This will be
manifest in the distinctive tempi of different characters in a play, for instance,
while there will also be an overall sense of shared tempo in the whole production.
Changes in tempo may involve changes in pulse and in body tension. These
changes contribute to expression and characterisation in dance and drama, and to
excitement or calm in ceremony. Different speeds, acceleration and retardation
can promote different moods or expressive results. This is partially implied in
musicians’ terminology which is sometimes used in relation to dance. The
terminology (OED) can indicate the kind of bodily tension with which a musical
instrument is to be played, such as:

vivace in a lively manner

allegro in brisk time

largo in slow time with broad dignified treatment

staccato abrupt, sharply detached
legato smooth, without breaks
Sostenute sustained, prolonged

These terms relate to metronome markings but there is considerable leeway

permitted in execution (e.g. allegro 158-184 MM, largo 40-60 MM). Rubato
indicates occasionally slackened or hastened tempo - literally robbed or stolen
time.
A nervous or excited condition may lead to the adoption of either faster or
slower tempi (affected by pulse) even to a total standstill (‘paralysed’ through fear)
— ‘the pulse ofa healthy person is regular, but accelerates or decelerates under the
stress of physical or psychological experience’ (Neuhaus 1973, pp. 30-31). Byers
directs attention to an aspect of the possible significance of tempi in movement
expression:

the same movements ... of gesturing, walking, changing postures, etc. ... take on
a new effect to the observer if they are performed either more slowly or more
quickly than usual. This might be seen as signalling a new state ... or tiredness,
illness, depression on one hand or excitement, frigidity, or restlessness on the
other. (1972, p.42)
160 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Fluctuation in tempi may indicate or support change of mood or change of

situation. Deceleration may indicate depression, time for thought, a peaceful
mood, or menace. Acceleration frequently occurs as excitement builds, at the end
of a folk dance, for example. Or it may occur in a thriller, for instance, with
dramatic tension gathering as the victim becomes increasingly afraid. Nketia
provides an example ofa common use of acceleration — to induce a state of ecstasy
~ in the African Yewe cult of the Ewe (1975, p.221). Also, in Sinhalese curing
ritual, ‘the dancers spin ever faster around the arena, carving elaborate patterns in
the air with flaming torches’ (Kapferer 1973, p.15) — using acceleration and
spatial rhythm to drive out demons.
A number of features of rhythm may contribute to a growing or lessening
sense of urgency or power in a performance as in accelerating or decelerating
tempo, or with more or less strongly marked accents. A performer's use of energy
makes a particular qualitative contribution here. Laban’s concept of ‘inner
attitude’ to energy use may be applied in this context. ‘Inner attitude’ relates to the
performer’s intention which initiates or provokes the use of energy in the
movement, and promotes dynamic expression in performance. The expressive
outcome of ‘inner attitude’ to use of energy is displayed through a blend in
rhythm of time, weight, space and flow elements, particularly significant in
dramatic characterisation. As theatre director Paul Baker states: ‘Rhythm is a
combination of tempos and tensions which come from physical, emotional and
philosophical tracings, from attitudes towards life’ (1972, p.102). A performer’s
inner attitude to time and energy use may also be evident during stillness —
perhaps observed as degrees of intensity. Zeami’s handbook for Japanese actors
advises that the actor:
must be careful not to lose his intensity even down to the deepest recesses of his
heart at such times as the moment after the end of his dance, song, dialogue,
gesture, etc. The feeling of concentrated intensity in the depths of the actor’s
heart is sensed by the audience, and thus the silent pauses are made interesting.
(quoted in Nakamura 1971, p.51)

Accents, pauses, tempi and duration in the micro-structure ofa performance, all
contribute to the punctuation and total duration of an event. That is, they
contribute to the way in which the segments or phases of action develop and build
up in terms of motifs, phrases and longer sequences in varying conditions of
complexity, to form the macro-structure of the event. Seen in another way, we may
distinguish two levels of structure in performance — micro-structure (performers’
moment-by-moment use of elements of rhythm and timing, observed to the level
of motifs and phrases) and macro-structure (time and rhythm in performance
structure overall, observed from the level of motifs and phrases through to
complete events, series of events and wider contexts such as a series of annual
 DESCRIPTION AND CLASSIFICATION OF TIME ELEMENTS / 161

festivals). The emphasis of the mode of classification and categorisation

delineated in this chapter is on micro-structural features of rhythm and timing.
However, comments on features of macro-structure now follow.
Structural analysis of the pattern of time use and rhythm throughout a
performance event can be in terms of its syntax, of constitutive counted-out units
and the sequential and thematic development, a method analogous to
grammatical analysis. That is, one action unit = a word, a movement motif = a
word cluster, a section of a movement phrase = a clause, anda phrase = a sentence.
To distinguish one fixed action pattern from another requires criteria with which
to separate them — the process of ‘sequential demarcation’ (Altman quoted in
Chapple, 1970, p.33). Following established practice in structural analysis of
movement, single movement units may be defined by one-directional focus or
focal point (to allow for circular pathway) and/or body part in action. They are
thus primarily distinguished from each other by change of focus or active body
part, and may be further delimited by accent. For further explanation of structural
analysis of movement, see Birdwhistell (1952), Kaeppler (1972), Pesovar (1976).
Aunit may be termed ‘single’ if only one occurs at a time, or ‘compound’ iftwo
or more units occur in the body simultaneously. ‘Motifs’ consist of two or more
units and normally include at least one accent and change of direction in space,
focus or dynamics. It is difficult to define their length precisely, but they do not
usually consist of more than four units, or take longer than a full inhalation or
exhalation of breath. In choreography, a dance motif is usually considered to be
the smallest compositional unit capable of development (since simple repetition of
one action is not normally considered as development).
A motif repeated or developed, or several different motifs or actions connected
together, may comprise a phrase. Dalcroze has suggested that ‘every set of
gestures in logical succession constitutes a phrase’ (1921, p.162). ‘Logical!’
requires further definition, especially if the definition is to be applied in
contemporary choreography, where, as in contemporary music, traditional ideas
of phrasing do not necessarily apply. However, there is a sense in which the
actions ofa phrase ‘belong’ together through some compatibility of style, action,
idea, theme or mood and use of energy in the progress of the movement. A phrase
may have an independent character, although one phrase may be designed as a
response to the previous phrase or to lead on to the next until the end of a
sequence or section of action. Transitions are often fluid. Also, among a group of
performers, there may well be overlap of phrasing.
We see again how the various factors or spatio-dynamic characteristics of
rhythm inter-relate, since phrases may be initiated in a number of different ways.
For instance, a phrase may begin with a marked change of focus, direction,
dynamics or action, or with a change of body parts in action — as when one phrase
ends in a contracted position and the next is initiated by a limb extension. Phrases
162 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

may be concluded by a change in use of dynamics or by a pause. The significance

of pauses as boundary markers usually increases as one proceeds to longer
structural units — a short pause may mark the boundary of a time and rhythm
phrase, a longer pause the end ofa sequence, section or scene. Lengths of phrases
may relate to tempo: for instance, in his discussion of the form of Japanese Bugaku
court dance Wolz points out that phrase lengths are ‘eight beats for slow pieces,
four beats for medium tempo and two beats for faster pieces’ (1971, pp.19-20).
Breathing pattern, together with the notion of ‘shaping’ movements and flow
of movement energy through time and space, is central to phrasing, most
noticeably in dance. Changes of weight in body action (as in steps, jumps, rolls
and so on), placing of accents, pauses, variation and fluctuation in use of
dynamics, spatial direction and movement amplitude all contribute to the shaping
and patterning ofa dance phrase. Dynamics and accents may be used to shape a
phrase by drawing attention to the beginning, a central section or ending ofa
phrase, or in keeping an even level throughout (see references to Laban and
Humphrey, pp.130, 119; Blum (1987) and Maletic (1983), for the dynamics of
phrasing identified in more detail; and see the reference to an aspect of phrasing in
Japanese performance practice, p.53). Thus a phrase may be considered analogous
to a sentence and divided into sections (analogous to clauses), though it is usually
more difficult to discern separate phrases and phrase sections in movement than it
is to recognise sentence structure. Movement phrases in drama and in ceremony
may be discerned more readily when they follow a text or sequence of ideas, with
clearly defined entrances or exits; and they may be pointed by use of objects or
furniture.
Repetition is a common organising agent in movement patterns. It can bring a
sense of security and a form of coherence to the whole. We frequently see children
relishing the fun of repeating rhythmic movement — predictable and contagious, it
is enjoyed by adults too. Motifs in dance can be repeated to reinforce mood,
indicate character or to emphasise communality. Alternatively, they may be
brought back later in a work in various ways. We can use or observe different
kinds of repetition: it may include exact or distorted versions of the original motif
or phrase. Variations include echo or partial repetition. Repetition can be used
sequentially to accumulate further material (as in the nursery ditty ‘The House
that Jack Built’). A litany form uses a repeated pattern of words as a refrain.
In the macro-structure ofa dance or ceremony, the rhythmic pattern accretes in
many different ways through a variety of compositional means. In these examples,
A,B, C, D each represent a unit: repetitive series, A A A A A; varied series, AA1 A2
A3; contrasting series, A B C D. A particular form ofa repetitive series is the rondo
(sometimes termed ‘periodic’, AB A C AB A (and variants). It may be seen that
notions of symmetry and balance are related to series such as these. A series may
 DESCRIPTION AND CLASSIFICATION OF TIME ELEMENTS / 162

take a cyclic form (A BC B A), a mirror form (A BC D CB A), or if performed by

more than one person, a canonic form:

(ABC
ABC
A BC)
Less definite or regular series may be recognised as consisting of varied ot
contrasting units. Cross-cutting complexities of patterns and randomicity may
emerge from repeated viewings.
Structures such as those described are usually more evident in dance or
ceremony rather than in drama. However, sometimes repetition of elements may
be readily discerned in drama too — in poetic or surreal work, as a thematic device
or perhaps for comic effect. For example, repetition is an unusually important
component in Caryl Churchill’s two linked one-act Blue Heart plays (1997). With
bizarre, fantasy elements and some accelerated action for emphasis, tensions in
family life are reiterated again and again in Heart’s Desire. The opening action and
lines are repeated 11 times at different times (followed by varying amounts of the
rest of the script). In Blue Kettle the con-situation ofa son meeting his (pretended)
biological mother is repeated four times, and a meeting with his real mother ends
the play. With ‘A’ representing one of the meetings, this results inan AABACA
DA Structure.
Repeated gestures may be a particular feature of an actor’s performance — for
emphasis, or perhaps in agitation or as some habit or eccentricity of character — or
simply as part of the action. In films, Peter Sellars’ obsessively repeated restriction
of his arm’s involuntary urge to salute in the Nazi manner during his appearance as
the doctor in Dr. Strangelove, Stan Laurel’s uncertain scratch of the head in baffling
situations and the distinctively repetitive ways of producing a gun from a holster
in a Western, are obvious examples.
Extended use of repetition can be monotonous, but its particular use may be a
stylistic characteristic in dance, for instance in Laura Dean's choreography where
she has used repetition of steps, turns. It can induce a trance-like state. It is usually
significant in ceremony. Use of repetition can generate an intensity which is
different from everyday life. For instance, movements designed to banish the evil
spirits thought to cause illness, are repeated over and over again with increasing
power during curing ceremonies in many parts of the world.
164 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Environment: Location of the performance event and its affect on rhythm and
timing.

Site,
building

Setting
Connections

luminosity
entrances and exits visual effects
spatial disposition of spectators wind and weather
response, participation sound

configuration
shape height
levels: steps, stairs, gradients
floor or ground surface-texture

Performance area

Figure 7.9 Environment

I remember witnessing designer Bruno Santini’s instructions to actors during

rehearsals for a touring production of Shakespeare's Pericles. When the company
first saw the splendid, wooden hexagonal floor of the set, he told the actors to
move around it thoroughly. He asked them to sense and appreciate the space, not
forgetting the area high above which was contained by six long outwardly angled
masts. The actors were urged to ‘experience’ the surfaces, to notice the shapes and
angles of the planks, to make varied use of the flights of steps. All this, so that they
could respond to, fully explore and make subsequent effective use of their stage
environment — Appia’s living ‘rhythmic space’. Thus ‘the environment’ is
considered here as the physical circumstances in which the performance takes
place. They frame and may limit, extend or complicate the possibilities of
performance time-use and rhythm. (See also Roose-Evans’ 'Making ofa Ritual’ in
 DESCRIPTION AND CLASSIFICATION OF TIME ELEMENTS / 165

Passages ofa Soul 1994.) The performance-frame conditions the expectations and
perception of the audience, marking off time and place — like the enclosing ofa
picture by a frame. In a BBC interview the painter Patrick Heron remarked on the
importance of edges in looking at pictures: ‘The eye is always going to the edge
and bouncing back into the painting.”
The observer should note the size of the performance space and of specific
areas used within it in relation to spatial factors of rhythm such as the ratio of
movement to space. From the simple carpet of Peter Brook’s early company travels
to the theatricality of Noguchi’s vibrantly interactive sets for Martha Graham,”
configuration of shape, levels and height of the stage influence rhythm and

_ASTLEYS ROYAL AMPHIXKEATRE

Figure 7.10 Auditorium, circus ring, stage and orchestra pit: movement-rhythm in all parts of the house.
The tiered spectators partly encircle and look down on the action in Astley’s Royal Amphitheatre where
dn equestrian act is in progress, with lively action on the stage and in the ring, accompanied by the
musicians.
Source: Courtesy of Victoria and Albert Museum

4 Interview Omnibus, BBC TV, 13 March 1983.

5 Sets which included items such as the shining wire sculpture of many waving strands under which
Medea ferments and into which she steps (in anguished pride) at the end of the Cave of the Heart, or the
scarlet cloth pathway for Agamemnon’s return in Clytemnestra, later used ceremonially as curtains to
reveal his ritualised stabbing to death.
166 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Figure 7.11 Plan of an Elizabethan playhouse — ‘thrust’ stage presentation. The parallel lines indicate
the arrangement of seating and the blank space between seats and stage was where the ‘groundlings’ stood.
This is a theatre design which brings the rhythm of the drama forward into the auditorium and
encourages actor—audience interaction.
Source: Liane Payne

timing. Movement on the traditional nineteenth-century west European

‘picture-frame’ stage ‘reads’ differently from ‘in-the-round’ staging and the time
and rhythm orchestration in the space is likely to differ in each case. Other stage
shapes include ‘thrust’, in a full form of which spectators are ranged round three
sides of the action, and ‘avenue’ — spectators face each other on opposite sides of
the action. Deborah Warner adopted this form for her 1996 production of
Richard If at London’s Royal National Theatre. As an audience member, I found
this form of staging induced an increased sense of participation in the action,
almost as if we were sitting in judgment on the king, ranged adversarially as
opposing sets of witnesses to his downfall. The long avenue shape of the
performance area was reminiscent of a tilting yard of the period.
 DESCRIPTION AND CLASSIFICATION OF TIME ELEMENTS / 167

Figure 7.12 Promenade performance staging: a moment in Noah’s ark from Tony Harrison’s Royal
National Theatre production of The Nativity — Noah (Howard Goorey) and his wife (Edna Dore)
with other actors. Use of objects contributes to the rhythm of action: the umbrellas in use as billowing
waves surrounding the storm-tossed ark generated a Irvely rhythm. The audience clustered round the
acting area defined its limits. The informal, fluid nature of promenade staging provides changing,
irregular outlines to the acting area and influences the audience—actor relationship and rhythms of
interaction.
Source: Douglas Jeffery

Different levels of the performance floor or ground in the context of theatre or

ceremony may affect the use of time elements — well illustrated by Fred Astaire in
performance on film, or by Meyerhold’s incorporation of flights of steps in his
staging. New concepts of rhythm and timing were brought to the London stage in
the memorable 1973 production of Lorca’s Yerma, presented by the Nuria Espert
Company, in which all the action took place on a trampoline stretched in different
ways during the production. If the stage is steeply ‘raked’ or ramped, the force of
gravity may affect the performer in various ways, with a bearing on the use of
rhythm. The performer may either go with or against a natural flow and tempo
induced by the slope. As Santini mentioned during his advice to actors in the
previous example, the height of the performance space above the floor may also
168 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Figure 7.13 Changing levels of dancers with body extensions leaning towards and away from one
another as they work together in an ensemble of rhythmic interplay. Lighting contributes to the rhythm in
this episode from Mantis, performed by The Dance Theatre of Alwin Nikolats (from Nikolais’ Imago
— a full length work in eleven parts).
Source: Douglas Jeffery

be significant in relation to spatial rhythm, a concept which was realised and

made famous in Craig’s theatre designs.
The texture of the surface of the performance area can affect use of time
elements and rhythm. If an event is transferred from an outside location on rough
ground to an indoor location with highly polished floor, the conditions and limits
for use of time elements and rhythm have altered fundamentally. Pina Bausch is a
choreographer well known for her use of different surface textures on stage,
including earth (Rie of Spring), leaves (Bluebeard), flowers (Carnations) and water
(Arias).° The Dance company Pilobolus, visiting Sadler's Wells Theatre, London,

6 When water is used it not only affects performers’ movement-timing — it may also contribute irregular
rhythm-patterns of scattering drops and splashes. For a supreme example, see Gene Kelly's ‘Singing
in the rain’ film sequence.
 DESCRIPTION AND CLASSIFICATION OF TIME ELEMENTS / 169

1985, used a plastic stage-cloth flooded with water, on which they skidded and
slid, carrying weight on various parts of their bodies — obviously the surface
influenced their use of rhythm and timing while it also added to the company’s
distinctive stylistic feature of unconventional body use. In England, further
examples were demonstrated in contemporary dance work such as in that of
Jackie Lansley and Rosemary Butcher, both of whom have made use of outdoor
locations with surface-textures varying from sand or rough stones on a beach, to
hard cement. In the theatre, Peter Brook’s production of The Ik featured a stage
covered with peaty earth, and more spectacularly, his production of The
Mahabarahta played on a beach of sand with a canal of water and real fires lit.
Choreographer Geraldine Stephenson provided me with an example of how an
unexpected change in stage surface texture caused her to alter features of the
dance she had designed for a production of The Winter’s Tale in Birmingham
1985. After rehearsal on a smooth studio floor and expecting a similar stage floor
surface, she had to adapt rhythm and timing considerably to adjust to a rough,
uneven surface of the stage design.’
As indicated in earlier chapters, connections between performers and
spectatots, between stage and auditorium, location of entrances and exits (on stage
and in the auditorium) affect spatial rhythm. The comments made concerning
performers’ floor pattern and ending positions in the preceding section on spatial
factors of rhythm may be applied here. Symmetric or asymmetric use can be made
of the performance area and may be assisted or generated by location of stage
entrances and exits.
The spatial disposition of spectators is primarily determined by the shape of
the performance area. However, the degree to which spectators may participate in
or contribute to the timing and rhythm of a performance may be affected by
associated aspects, such as their proximity to performers and ease of access they
may or may not have to the performance area. Innovatory directors have
experimented widely with these aspects of performance, even to the extent of
timing the entrance of spectators, one at a time, in this example from an
Off-Broadway 1969 New York production by the Performance Garage’s Makbeth:
‘Spectators had to enter a door on Wooster Street, go upstairs over the theater, pass
through a complicated maze one at a time, and descend down a narrow, steep
stairway into the theater’ (Schechner 1977, p.254). In Tony Harrison’s Royal
National Theatre’s promenade production of The Nativity(1985), spatial rhythm —
with the power of the circle predominant — was evident in the scene of Christ’s
birth. Participating members of the audience, bearing lighted candles, gathered in

7 Choreographer Twyla Tharp has described the effect of ground texture on rhythm during the
preparation of one of her works: ‘The controlled sustained lowering of the weight through the feet
comes from creating The Fugue on grassy fields and softly padded beds of lichen, textures that promote
different speeds and transitions’ (Company programme notes 1998).
170 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

an encircling cluster. As the scene drew to a close the light-bearing hands

converged in gentle, uneven flickering patterns of rhythm over the birth beneath.
An obvious display of how the setting, lighting and other visual effects may
contribute to the overall performance rhythm is presented during the
transformation scene of a traditional British pantomime. In contemporary dance
such effects are most marked in works by choreographer Alwin Nikolais, for
example. Describing Somniloguy, the critic Siegel writes,
Instead of accepting the stage patterns traditionally implied by the wings, the
cyclorama and the edge of the stage, Nikolais has divided his stage horizontally
into an almost infinite number of planes by the use of a scrim and bands of light.
The action takes place within any one of these areas, or in more than one area at a
time. The lights and projections can make the spaces appear and disappear.
(1968, p.214)
The piece contains many and varied design ideas, including dancers’ use of
flashlights and in the final scene a projected image of white dots with a repeated
switch of focus. There are many other vivid examples in Nikolais’ work. Loié
Fuller is to be noted here as a pioneer in the theatrical use of the rhythm of light
and fabric. From the dramatic shock of a sudden black-out to the quiet ending ofa
fade, designer Lauterer is one artist who urged the considered use of light in
relation to time:
When light is used in any other way than as time, it is used in sheer economy in
lieu of paint and the labor that attends it, and hardly ever in our modern theatre
do we see light used honestly and properly, which means as time, because that is
what it is, essentially — it is time.’ (1969, pp.66-7)

Visual effects of many kinds may add to the rhythm and timing ofa performance
in theatre or ceremonial context: for an example of the latter, Nelson comments on
visual effects and use of scenic devices in the Eskimo Yukon River.Doll Festival.
Large hoops were hung in the kazgi (ceremonial house) halfway between floor
and roof. Tufts of feathers and down were attached to these and to the many rods
hanging from the central roof hole and fastened to the upper hoop at equal
intervals:
These hoops and rods represented the heavens arching over the earth, and the
tufts of feather were the stars mingled with snowflakes. The cord suspending the
rings passed through a loop fastened to the roof, and the end passed down and
was held by a man sitting near the lamp. This man raised and lowered the rings
slowly by drawing in and letting out the cord in time to the beating ofa drum by
another man sitting on the opposite side of the lamp ... This movement of the
rings was symbolical of the apparent approach and retreat of the heavens
according to the conditions of the atmosphere. (1899, p.496)
 DESCRIPTION AND CLASSIFICATION OF TIME ELEMENTS / 171

Figure 7.14 Vertical rhythm — an aertal spectacular: performers atop flexipoles swoop and swing to a
background rhythm of flags stirring in the wind outside the Royal Festival Hall, London. Australian
company Strange Fruit im Flight. During this summer 1997 show, unison swaying action contrasted
with random accents and patterning of acrobatic movement, high above the ground.
Source: James E. Graham

The use of dry ice to create the effect of drifting mist is a popular stage effect, but
in another example from ceremony, smoke, fire and fireworks are components of
the rhythm of a celebrative rite during the Santa Fe fiesta, New Mexico, held
annually in November — the burning of Zozobra (Old Man Gloom). As one
witness told me:
Fire spread closer and closer to the effigy of Old Man Gloom until it began to
consume him, and by this time the whole of the hill was a smouldering mass. The
fire reached his hind-part and then up went the fireworks. It was a brilliant
display and continued amid cheers until Old Man Gloom was gone. Gloom was
gone and the fiesta was under way. (Bruce, personal communication 1986)

The release of doves during the Pope’s blessing in Rome provides a further
instance.
172 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Body and Space

participants
body structure and extensions
natural, innate rhychm
body position and action
movement path
focus

accents . a:
site, building
pauses
. performance area
metricity .
connections
tempo
: setting
time and energy use
progression

Environment
Development of Action

Figure 7.15 Movement-rhythm and timing: summary test of factors and elements.

Finally, the effect of wind on rhythm pattern can be noticeable in many outdoor
performances, affecting flags, plumes, costume. This was considered sufficiently
important to be generated electronically for an effective display of flags during
the British ceremonial ‘hand-over’ of Hong-Kong to China, 30 June 1997. In the
theatre, a wind machine produces various effects. A most striking example was its
use in the creation of a vast snow storm which appeared to fill the stage and
advance towards the audience as the small figure of Russian clown-performer
Slava Polunin struggled against the density of whirling flakes (Snowshow, Hackney
Empire, 1996).
To conclude, movement rhythm and timing develops from a mix of
spatio-dynamic characteristics and continuity-pattern variables. It is suggested
 DESCRIPTION AND CLASSIFICATION OF TIME ELEMENTS / 173

that these develop from combinations of the body, space, action and
environmental factors described in this chapter, and as summarised in Figure
7.15.
 8

Suggestions for Training in the

Observation of Rhythm and Timing

Even if we don’t make theatre, we are theatre. To be theatre is to be human,

because only humans are capable of observing themselves in action. (Boal in
Delgado and Heritage (eds) 1996, p.35)
I suspect we all have characteristic ways of perceiving movement. I know that
after all these years there is no such thing as being able to see what no one else
can see — its just a matter of persistence, motivation to really get into the
observation, and readiness to see new details each time you look! (Davis 1973,
p.19)
The concept of rhythm is a conceptual tool. When we use this tool and
assorted technology to examine it, we can arrive at another level of process
description. (Byers 1972, p.9)
Observing movement in detail is not a skill which comes easily to everyone. We
can see the process at work when a child who has this aptitude registers and
imitates the movement of an adult. The classroom imitation of a teacher may
develop into the expertise and art of a stand-up comic, or be stored in the
observation-bank of an actor.
As a model for characterisation, an actor may study the movement rhythm and
timing of an individual in everyday life. Assuming the movement habits and
characteristics accurately — which may then be exaggerated or emphasised by
repetition — is essential for the success ofa stand-up comic’s routine. For instance,
delighted recognition and applause rewarded Eddie Izzard for his imitation of
Prince Charles’ occasional habit of lightly checking his cuffs between thumb and
forefinger, just before making a speech. This action has a distinctive, repetitive
rhythm which through effective observation was captured in Izzard’s portrayal.
(Eddie Izzard at the Albery Theatre London, March 1994).
For teachers, observation and response to what is seen is a continual process.
Generally speaking, the better or more efficient and thorough the observation,

174
 SUGGESTIONS FOR TRAINING IN THE OBSERVATION OF RHYTHM / 175

the better the teacher. Of course, rhythm and timing elements in an actor’s
characterisation, in the classroom or in everyday life, are only one aspect of

OVO to epdencd 65d)

Figure 8.1 Observing the rhythm of writing. An English-speaking Sri Lankan friend notices that her
thought and behaviour patterns are different when she writes in her native Sinhalese. This she ascribes to
its flowing, predominantly rounded letters and to the resultant rhythm in the act of writing. She also
thinks thts relates to a characteristic non-linear mode in aspects of Sri Lankan people's behaviour and
interaction. (‘To wish you a happy birthday’) :
Source: Kumari Lryange

movement behaviour. But as examples in earlier chapters have indicated, these

elements are a significant component in movement and dance, and they offer a
useful basis for movement observation practice. Thus in this chapter the features
and elements of rhythm and timing which have been described are considered in
application to the practical situation of movement work and its observation.
Throughout this study the writer has attempted to emphasise the integrated
nature of movement expression and of rhythm itself. However, the suggested
elements of rhythm and timing are listed separately as a reference check-list at the
end of the chapter.
Different contexts and study purposes determine the kind of observation to be
done. These factors affect the amount or level of detail required and the form of
analysis which may be needed as a result of the observation. Full analysis of the
rhythm and timing content of an event, be it drama, dance, ritual, ceremony or
other event, requires a considerable amount of detail. However, this chapter has a
limited objective. Advice on methodology and procedure for fully detailed and
analytic academic studies are beyond the scope of this book. The purpose here is
to interest beginners and to enable them to make a start, and perhaps to improve
any observational skills others may already have. The suggestions include mainly
simple, basic starting ideas for observational tasks we can all set ourselves if we
want to develop our skills, as well as some suggestions which present a more
difficult challenge.
A useful pre-requisite for movement teachers or anyone else who wishes to
develop skills in directed, detailed observation of movement, is a basic anatomical
knowledge of the kind usually acquired by dance students as part of any effective
training. That is, as a basis for recognition, knowledge of the taxonomy of
 VODA prip wT 55 1°K1
Figure 8.2 As if hewn from stone, but with a flowing band and pen: an ancient writing rhythm. An
example of the Hebrew Yerushalmi or Dead Sea Scroll script in a modern version: ‘and there 1s nothing
new under the sun’ (Ecclesiastes 1:9).
Source: Meg Nellist

movable parts of the body, action of joints and muscles together with an
understanding of the physical features of momentum, force, velocity, acceleration
and gravity.
Looking and seeing: a young teacher may be nervous and too concerned with ‘the
content’, really to see the details of the action, or in the case of rhythm, precisely
how different parts of the body were involved, particularly in the torso and
all-important body centre. Movement in arms and legs is more obvious. The eye
needs training and practice: observing movement involves the visual and
kinaesthetic perceptual systems, whereby the individual is required to look with
heightened perception and clear purpose.
A relaxed, easy attitude during observation, without pressure to produce
results, is beneficial. As zoologist Frazer Darling stated when describing his
experience in observing deer:

It takes time for the eye to become accustomed to recognise differences ... the
observer must empty his mind and be receptive only of the deer and the signs of
the country. This is quite a severe discipline calling for time and practice ... soak
in the environmental complex of the animal to be studied until you have a facility
with it which keeps you as it were one move ahead ... In this state the observer
learns more than he realises. (quoted in Chapple 1970, p.6)

Observational skills are dependent on visual competence, kinaesthetic sense

memory which informs one’s response, experience and practice. Swift,
non-judgmental response to what is seen in a given context, and immediate
recognition of movement elements is also required. And observers need to be able
to identify and distinguish rhythm and timing from other movement features.
 SUGGESTIONS FOR TRAINING IN THE OBSERVATION OF RHYTHM / 177

t=

Figure 8.3 From hand to band: a graphic artist's view of juggling rhythms in space’ — wavy lines,
zigzaes and loop the loop provide a simple reminder of some of Laban’s ideas about spatial rhythm.
Source: Liane Payne

A beginning may be made by scanning the whole scene and noticing its main
characteristics in terms of use of space, dynamics, physicality; and at the same time
allowing for whatever features of rhythm are prevalent to make an impact. What
do you notice first? Just as when looking at a painting, recognition and responses
to its visual rhythm will differ, so when viewing rhythm in movement, we do not
all see it in the same way. Perhaps there may be something about the use of time or
rhythm which strikes you as particularly interesting or unusual in the context.
Variations in tempo, acceleration and deceleration are usually readily discernible.
If you are looking at a choreographer’s work, can you distinguish characteristic
use of any aspects of rhythm or timing?
Here is an example from my own experience of observing dance. Once
described as ‘a wondrously strong, fast, slouching hell-cat of a dancer’ (Croce
1976, p.122), choreographer Twyla Tharp has stated ‘Dance is like a bank
robbery; it takes split second timing’ (1977). I certainly found this characteristic
most evident in Tharp's own work, in the use of rhythm and timing in her early
pieces from the 1970s. Of course individual pieces of work differ, but to take one
example by way of illustration: The Rags Suite. This is an eight minute piece in
178 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

~
Figure 8.4 Outline traces here suggest how changes of direction with timing of gestures may contribute to
movement rhythm.
Source: Judith Greenbaum

three sections, for two dancers. It is set to piano music: Scott Joplin — Fig Leaf Rag;
Mozart — Variations in C major kv265; and Scott Joplin — The Ragtime Dance. Let us
just consider elements of rhythm in the style of movement (that is, as distinct from
rhythm and timing features in the partner relationship, in the use of stage space
and in the macro-structure of the piece). Characteristics of rhythm which I noted
included the following. There was varied deployment of accents and varied
intensity or degrees of vehemence in their use, performed in different body parts,
and often in more than one part at once. Deborah Jowitt vividly described this
aspect of Tharp’s dancers’ movement: “They twist and shudder lightly as if
something were crawling on their spines’ (1973). It seemed like playing tricks,
perhaps. Indeed, the overall mood was carefree, fun-loving. Quirky use of accents
which occurred irregularly during phrases, with marked use of syncopation,
contributed to this atmosphere. Spatial rhythm was noticeable too, with extremes
 SUGGESTIONS FOR TRAINING IN THE OBSERVATION OF RHYTHM / 179

in use of stability and randomly tilting lability, of symmetry and asymmetry, and
in range or size of movement gestures. Small movements were frequently stressed,
which drew attention away from predictable climaxes. Clearly etched changes of
direction promoted spatial rhythm. The tempo varied, and movement was often
rapid, with fast, staccato footwork or surging, open swinging action which
contrasted with sudden freeze-holds. Sections of expansive gestures, slashing
turns and off-balance lunges were set against motifs of little twisting steps,
jiggling hips and shoulders, or calmer phrases, with softly folding arms (as at the
ending). A propulsive, continuous flow of energy at different tempi induced
vitality, and a feeling of ‘get up and gol’
There was a strong sense of dancing with the music, but the music was not
necessarily matched precisely by the movement. Both metric and non-metric
patterns were adopted. A sharply pointed sequence following the beat of the
music might continue with one of seeming casual, nonchalant movement, across
the beat. Regular movement motif-patterns, sequences and action-phrases were
part of the structure, such as a sequence of falling, followed by rolling out of the
fall, then rising, turning, and a surprise ending with a step or two. Sometimes a
clear metric pattern was adopted, such as in a slow, quick, quick, slow succession
of steps, reminiscent of ballroom dance patterns; pre-dating by many years
Tharp’s later choreographic work based on this idea. The overall drive of all
aspects of the rhythm-patterning of the action had the effect of impelling the
dancers to the end ofa phrase with unusual skitterings, swoops, scuttles, dives and
turns of many kinds: risky, subtly syncopated action which contrasted with
precise arrivals ‘on a dime’.
Dance company member Colton described the physical experience of
performing in Tharp’s early works: ‘our muscles must keep the proper balance of
tension and relaxation so that the dance appears to be held together, not by counts
but by magic’ (quoted in company programme notes, 1986). This writer suggests
that use of elements of rhythm other than metrical counts made a major
contribution to that ‘magic’ and to the dance style. (Photographs which illustrate
Tharp’s style of this period are included in many books about contemporary
dance. For instance, see Siegel 1991, photographs 6, 22).
The on-going nature of Tharp’s dance-action, the variety and complexity in
the use of rhythm and timing features made a strong impression, and were
innovatory features of dance style at the time. As Marcia Siegel commented:
‘Tharp uses the classical movement vocabulary with distortions, changes,
interpolations ... she mixes the order of energies, starting fast and ending slow ...
she evades climaxes that have been working out the same way for generations’
(Siegel 1974).
Sometimes the challenge of observing a whole dance or scene of movement
can be daunting. Limited objectives at the start may help. For instance, if you want
 180 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

to figure out the pattern of beats or accents in a dance, a basic, obvious exercise is
to notice when the feet (or other body parts) contact the ground, and note what
pattern emerges. It may be that the dance follows the metric pattern of
accompanying music, or it may have adopted a non-metric rhythm which goes
across any regular beat. Another simple idea is to select one part of the body for its
involvement in rhythm. Ina dance, perhaps the arms often swing and beat the air,
initiate phrases or accent the movement in a distinctive way. In a ceremony,
stillness may be an important key: when does it occur? What part of the ceremony
does it mark? Perhaps it is a sign of particular respect.
Some of the suggested categories such as frequency of accents or of pauses
require a rating system. A simple approach is to note the extremes at either end of
a range, or presence of the feature or element as low/high on a scale of degree.
This is sufficient in the general kind of observation for which these suggestions
are designed. Alternatively, in relation to a particular element, ask yourself: ‘Can I

Figure 8.5 Visual rhythm: an emblematic pattern.

Source: Liane Payne
 SUGGESTIONS FOR TRAINING IN THE OBSERVATION OF RHYTHM / 181

see lots of this, a little or is there none?’ Or very broadly: ‘When is it slow, when is
it fast?’ That is, notice contrasts or alternation in the use of elements of rhythm.
Skills in observation of movement rhythm and timing may be stimulated when
you have enjoyed performances and may wonder how the directors or performers
achieved their effects. The use of timing is perhaps at its most obvious in comedy.
A televised compilation of the work ofa favourite comic actor is a useful source of
material for practice. Questions to ask about a theatre performance might include:
How is rhythm used to build a relationship with an audience? How does an actor
manipulate an audience through the use of rhythm and timing to generate
response? Take a look at the ways rhythm and timing may function during
performers’ interaction. In an ensemble, can you detect a movement cueing
system? Do teachers use the same techniques? Perhaps consciously at first, but of
course unconsciously later in their careers when techniques have been established.
Are you able to distinguish different elements of rhythm in audience behaviour
such as during an actor’s comedy routine? Frequency, speed, pulsing and
synchrony of people during laughter have been studied (Mair and Kirkland 1977;
Brodzinsky 1977).
Although time elements are ever present in movement, the degree to which
they are stressed, developed or arresting in a performance (with use of rhythm),
varies. A powerful or particularly captivating scene may alert and prompt you to
consider the extent to which the effect was achieved through a director’s use of
time elements. One experience of this occurred for me during Yukio Ninagawa’s
production of Terayama’s play Shintoku-Maru (Barbican Centre, London, 1997).
Clear, varied use of a remarkable number of the elements suggested on the
check-list at the end of this chapter was evident throughout the production.
Indeed, the potential and theatrical power which resides in skilled utilisation of
these elements was strikingly demonstrated. For instance, one dream-like scene,
which developed into a nightmarish whirl of movement, was particularly
memorable for contrasts in the deployment of environmental, spatial rhythm and
in the use of rhythm in the development of action. Briefly, in darkness at the
beginning of the scene, several inconspicuous, crouching figures gradually began
to enter, slowly pushing low boats, which were filled with flickering candles.
Steadily gliding, the boats changed places across the space and moved around. In
the semi-gloom, a contrasting procession of very high, precariously balanced
fringed canopies, golden palms and other objects hanging from slender, swaying
poles encircled the stage. Then during the subsequent development of action,
there was a further strong contrast. The movement rhythm of an isolated, young
boy (the central character in the play) was violently disturbed by a series of
cross-cutting, irregular, non-metric, accented rhythms. These sprang from the
individual movement patterns of wild, grief-wracked women, who zig-zagged
headlong about the central area of the stage with flailing arms and clutching,
182 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

tearing hands, doomed ever to mourn and seek their lost children. In the first
example, the use of slow tempo and the exaggerated low/high and direct/
circling spatial rhythms considerably heightened the mood of dream- like, surreal
mystery. In the second example, the movement-rhythm of the women not only
contrasted with that of the boy but also heightened the audience's sense of his
inner feelings, since in the scene he is mourning and seeking his own dead
mother.
Rhythm and timing elements as characteristic or stylistic features of
choreography, individuals (dancers, actors, other performers, politicians — or your
acquaintances) as well as cultural signature may all provide subjects for the
practice of your growing skills. Variations which occur in different live
performances of a work may be a focus of study. The function and use of rhythm
and timing in the various phases of the performance process is an intriguing topic
(rehearsal/performance/post-performance). Ways in which performance usage of
rhythm and timing relates to everyday usage and to perception and attitudes to
time — and how these vary cross-culturally ~ are yet to be fully investigated.
In a large, busy observational situation, beginners are advised to restrict and
frame their observational field and to develop eye-movement speed in ranging
this. Depth of field, background as much as foreground, and a full sideways
scanning can be included. In some cases one particular performer may be
observed; in others, an impression of the pattern of rhythm of the group in
general. If several observers are working together, each may watch one performer,
or single elements of rhythm or timing in use by one performer.
I encourage students to use any notation skills they may possess and to explore
and experiment with various modes of notation and recording their observations.
They may, for example, make use of freehand drawing as Kestenberg advises:
Rhythm consists of the recorder’s freehand drawing of the increase and decrease
of muscle tension during movement. It is based on the observer's kinaesthetic
mirroring identification with the observed subject. The tracing must be done
with free-floating attention while at the same time one has to judge the rate of
increase of tension, the degree of the intensity reached, and the frequency of
fluctuations of tension during a given sequence of movement. (1977, pp.4—5)

As in the development of any skill, practice in observation best proceeds from the
simple and relatively familiar, to more complex and less familiar observational
tasks. It is worth taking advantage of any occasion or situation for inconspicuous
observation practice; for instance, when sitting opposite people on train or bus, or
watching people on television. If you have access to video, make use of that,
especially with the sound turned down. Study movement in nature too. The free
patterning of boughs in the wind, the varied regularity and irregularity of waves
as they approach the shore and recede; animals and birds — the sudden precision of
the sparrow’s head, the slow relentless sustained progress of a predatory heron.
 SUGGESTIONS FOR TRAINING IN THE OBSERVATION OF RHYTHM / 183

In my own experience with students it has been found helpful to undertake

preliminary work on recognition of fieldworkers’ own preferred patterns of
rhythm and timing before unfamiliar patterns from other cultural areas are
experienced or observed. As Kestenberg states: ‘preferences for certain rhythms
tend to distort kinaesthetic perception and reproduction of another person’s
movements’ (1977, p.5. See also Hunt, as recorded in van Zile 1977, p.93).
Preconceptions, prejudice, and seeking or seeing only that which confirms held
views are dangers. Bambra warns us of this: ‘Movement is inevitably interpreted
by each observer in terms of his own knowledge and his inbuilt perception of
movement. What we observe is readily coloured by our own understanding,
experience and convictions’ (Bambra 1966, p.41). Also see studies of perception
such as Kafka (1957) and Newtson (1971).
Training in movement observation ideally should include practical class
experience of movement. Even at a rudimentary level, some appropriate
movement training can stimulate the requisite kinaesthetic awareness in would-be
observers. In his Anthropology Department at the University of Virginia,
Charlottesville, Victor Turner advocated and experimented with practical
movement experience for anthropology students. During a study visit, the
example in which | participated took the form of an improvised version ofa ritual
event based on Turner's Zambian Ndembu ethnography. From movement
experience of this kind, Turner argued, fieldworkers’ understanding would grow,
proceeding from ‘lived-through’ experience:
At the very least, potential fieldworkers would begin to grope, in a more than
cognitive way, towards an experimental or ‘inside view’ of the other culture. They
would also learn something about reflexivity, since they would be learning about
themselves and their own values and modes of assigning meaning even as they
attempted to grasp and portray those of the other group. (198 La, p.9)

However, it was noticeable that a number of the students in the group I joined,
clearly lacked movement experience. This affected their participation and
concentration detrimentally.’ Practical movement training may also facilitate a
fieldworker’s participation in dance activities of any community, often an essential

1 Turner was receptive to my suggestion that the students would have become more readily involved,
benefitted more thoroughly from the experiment and been better prepared for the subsequent
analytic session, if they could have had some movement class work and observation training
beforehand. The suggestions for movement rhythm observation and training have been endorsed by
anthropologist Allison Jablonko: ‘I consider anthropology will have a big breakthrough when
movement classes will be offered to anthropology students so their learning will not be limited to
verbal-mental channels, but will include the physical experience of different culture rhythms. Thus, a
more concerted study of rhythm and timing, as J.G. [Janet Goodridge] is in the midst of, will provide
vital tools for improving cross-cultural contacts, both in teaching dance and in preparing
anthropological fieldworkers (whether film workers or not) to “find” themselves more readily (or not
at all) in their field location’ (unpublished ms., 1978).
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Figure 8.6 Street carnival rhythm. Informality within processional structure. Banners and mobile
costumes add to the rich patterning and rhythms of the Notting Hill Carnival, London.
Source: Simon Ashmore Fish

feature of social life (also suggested by Kurath 1952, p.53; Hood 1971, p.35;
Blacking 1973, p.81; Koning 1980, p.417). And what Spencer has termed ‘some
kind of tool kit for movement observation’ is useful to the ethnographer in the
field. (Spencer SOAS Seminar, 7 January 1984). Training in movement
observation remains relatively neglected in the fields of drama, dance,
anthropology and in teaching, despite the work of psychologists, ethologists and
movement practitioners.
The suggestions put forward here are in the nature of work in progress, and are
not intended as a categorisation or method ‘set in stone’ or to be imposed on
anyone. In fact, given the persistence, motivation and readiness recommended by
Martha Davis at the beginning of the chapter, the best training is that which is
done by individuals for themselves. One way of undertaking this is through
posing and exploring questions for ourselves — an endless process. One of the
most experienced movement observers in the field, Ray Birdwhistell, was always
asking questions. For instance: ‘How do we isolate, differentiate and measure a
body motion? What are the initiation and end points of a particular motion or
motion sequence?’ (1970, p.170).
 SUGGESTIONS FOR TRAINING IN THE OBSERVATION OF RHYTHM / [85

Figure 8.7 Observed in nature: a long, slow rhythm of widening lines on a sea-snail shell.
Source: Annabel Rees

If repeated viewing is possible, additional features of rhythm and timing may be

observed each time. As already indicated, for detailed study a number of viewings
of the work or event are required. However, a useful general impression may be
obtained from one viewing by a practised observer. During my own experience of
observing rhythm it has usually been apparent from one viewing which
characteristics were emphasised or significant; for example, during an Indian
Kathak performance it was possible to note a number of recurring elements of
rhythm and timing, as well as to supplement these notes by recalling other
features after the performance.”
On this occasion, the process of observation was aided by several factors.
There was a usefully limited viewing range because of the reduced performance
area which is characteristic of Kathak dance style. Much of the dance took place

2 This performance was by Alpana Sengputa, Leyton Town Hail, London, 26 March, 1981.
186 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Figure 8.8 The skirt swirls to continue the rhythm: Alpana Sengupta, Kathak dancer, in performance.
Source: Mick Taylor

on the spot, with occasional figure-eight or circular floor patterns. Front-focus to

the audience predominated. Also, a strong dance—music relationship and
synchronicity between the dancer and the musicians served to reveal and
emphasise many features of the rhythm, making them more obvious.
Provided by sitar and tabla, the music matched the pattern of the dance which
retained metric patterning throughout. The relationship between the music and
the dance was most evident in the shared use of pulse-divided beats, with the
dancer's feet marking a constant pulse. There were occasional rapid passages of
dance movement which elaborated the beat. These movements were further
accentuated by the four-inch wide bands of bells which the dancer wore round
her ankles. Not only the ankle bells but also the richly coloured, fluid silken skirt
 SUGGESTIONS FOR TRAINING IN THE OBSERVATION OF RHYTHM / 187

were adjuncts which added to the rhythm in torso, hips and legs. Pauses were
used at times. The dancer would sometimes arrest her movement very suddenly;
here the swirling continuation of rhythm in the skirt softened the abruptness of
the stop.
Since the dancer was positioned centrally, and facing the audience for
extended periods, with repetitious use of starting and ending positions and
gestures, again observation was a relatively simple matter. Given the
predominantly frontal view, it was more possible than usual to note the small
action-rhythms of hands, feet, neck, eyes and eyebrows. There was often a clear
flow of action from the eyes to the hand and seemingly back to the head. (After
the performance I wondered if maybe this related to the adage, well-known in
Indian dance circles: ‘The eye follows the hand, and the head directs the eye, and
the heart directs the head.’) The performer's inner attitude to time and energy was
perceived as emphatic and intense, and there was a strong driving flow of
thythmic action throughout. Tempo varied from medium to fast (judged on a
low/high scale of degree), with bursts of speed and use of acceleration.
There was emphasis on the use of rhythm in the dancer’s personal space. Arms,
in which much of the rhythm resided, were predominantly held above waist level,
at shoulder height, sustaining the flow and as it were ‘holding the reins’ of the
rhythm and timing. This position of the arms again afforded a usefully limited
visual range for observing the pliant, successive rhythm in the hands and the
symmetrically balanced, curving, or sharply direct arm gestures which extended
from near to full reach in the dancer’s personal space, sometimes with an alternate
right, left rhythm of the arms. With complementary action in the legs and feet,
sometimes it seemed as if the arms were juggling the rhythm in the air, pointing or
smoothing the varied pattern of beats and accents.
Accents were both regularly and irregularly placed and increasingly frequent
as each section of the dance proceeded. Body parts stressed and accented in use,
were feet (especially in the flatly placed stamping action and use of heels), hands
(wrists, fingers, thumb and forefinger particularly), arms, neck, head, eyes,
eyebrows and smiling mouth. There was also accented use made of changes of
direction, especially in turns towards the musicians and also towards the audience,
and in pivot turns executed by the dancer in place. Each of the main sequences of
the 22 minute dance built to a climatic concluding section: vibratory action in the
legs followed by the dancer turning ten times on the spot, with pivot steps.
Throughout her performance, the dancer gave the impression of totally
inhabiting the rhythm of the dance and of the music. It was alive in her centre, and
she in the centre of it.
This miscellany of first impressions from one performance provided an
introduction to the use of some features of rhythm and timing as a basis for more
detailed subsequent observation and study. Following Bartenieff, ‘summary
 188 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

images and the outline can be valuable aids to the researcher in the process of full
movement analysis’ (1984:7).
It is always useful to have feedback and constructive criticism. For this
purpose, on this occasion I was able to have comments from an advanced student
of Kathak dance, Linda Shanson, who supplemented my notes with reference to
her own experience of the rhythm and timing components of the form and style.
Shanson first pointed out that traditionally the area used for the dance was even
smaller than in the performance I had seen. It used to be performed solely in an
intimate ‘chamber’ setting. Performing artists have now adapted the form for
larger spaces.’
Concerning the use of the feet and legs: Shanson demonstrated important
differences in the ways in which the weight is directed more or less strongly into
the ground through the feet, which I had not noticed. Furthermore ‘there is
significance attributed to the earth and use of the feet in relation to signs of
respect’. The vibratory action observed in the legs is to give an illusion of the
valued appearance of ‘shimmering’. It is produced by the action of a beating
flat-foot, heel, heel, and is clearly emphasised in the ankle-bell sound. Here, as in
other comments, the advantages of obtaining notes from someone who has had
personal practical experience of a movement style were evident: a spectator may
not identify physical sources of rhythm as clearly as a performer can. About the
use of sudden stops in the dance: “These are for dramatic emphasis or as a high
point on the first beat ofa new sixteen-beat cycle.’
Shanson commented that the glancing action of the dancer’s eyes ‘are
particularly significant as they address Krishna — as if looking at the beloved’. The
use of eyebrows is apparently a distinguishing mark of Kathak, and in any further
observational study it would be important to note this specifically and in detail.
Using eyebrows individually is considered to be more alluring than when they are
used both together, simultaneously.
There was an interesting amplification of my observations about hand
movement when Shanson quoted her teacher Binju Maharaj, an undisputed
master of Kathak. During classes he had described the movement of the hand in
various ways: ‘as if water is on it ... as if water is dripping off it ... as if blessing ...
as if two friends are meeting ... as if riding a horse’. In another comment about
rhythm and timing in the hands and arms, during turns the aim is a spiral effect in
gestures. This pattern starts in a hand and arm gesture and circles on, spiralling
around the body as the dancer turns. According to Shanson, this is very clearly
observed when the dance is viewed from above. Commenting further about

3 After the performance I was told that one training method is for the student to practise the steps
within the confines ofa small square of bricks in order to achieve the necessary retention of placement
and reduced use of general space.
 SUGGESTIONS FOR TRAINING IN THE OBSERVATION OF RHYTHM / 189

thythm in the neck, Shanson informed me that ‘the rhythm is decorated with the
neck — these are known as ‘adami’ movements’.
Shanson was convinced that rhythm in Kathak dance is a form of expression:
‘There is an aesthetic operating ... it is clearly a dimension of expression as well as
motivation ... it brings out the masculine and the feminine’. And to quote Binju
Maharaj once more: ‘The dance is never purely abstract — there is always some
meaning in it.’
The observations about rhythm in this example are endorsed and further
supplemented by Devi:
The predominant style of Kathak dance is Nritta - pure dance, footwork is its
distinctive characteristic. The beauty of Kathak dance is the perfectly harmonised
plastic patterns of the arms and curves of the body that give visible expression to
the rhythmic patterns of the feet. Variations in tempo, permutations of the timing
cycle in cross rhythms, rapid turning movements and sudden still poses, are the
technical formulae of Kathak. Flow of movement, grace and poise are its aesthetic
qualities. (1972, p.168)

Full involvement as a spectator, together with a kinaesthetic awareness and

empathy, stand the observer in good stead during later recall. In some cases, the
more understanding an observer has of an event, the better the observation. In
other cases a fresher, sharper result may be obtained from attending an event
without preconception. If recording or note-taking is feasible at the event, this
should be done efficiently and without attracting attention. Practice is required in -
making notes while watching movement, especially in a darkened theatre or
outside at night, and preferably with no glances away from the action.
In many contexts, recording or obvious note-taking may be inappropriate or
inadvisable. In such cases, as in my study of the Yaqui Easter, memorisation is the
only possibility, with repeated viewing if there is the opportunity for this; and
with any notes made as soon as possible after the event (see p.219). As Scheflen
(1965) advises, repeated viewing is necessary in order to see repetition of specific
behaviour. There is then the chance to examine clusters of elements or features;
and to discern regularities, complementariness, contrasts and inter-relationships.
However, the difficulty of discernment should not be under-estimated. Let us
remember that at an advanced level, and in an academic context, Scheflen and his
associates undertook several years of study of repeated viewings of one filmed
psychotherapy session!
Through practice in movement observation, definition of chosen categories
can become more precise. The ability to perceive a full range of elements of
thythm and timing and structural features may be developed. Attention span
increases. Awareness of the details of patterns and of the complexity of movement
rhythm also develops over time.
190 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

The experienced observer develops a more refined judgment and also learns to
perceive use of several elements in combination, or a particular configuration or
overlapping patterns of elements. In relation to observing layers of patterns, when
rhythms overlap in the movement of an individual performer, Hutchinson Guest
offers useful comments to would-be notators which illustrate the expressive
potential of body-timing:
For example, in a formal bow, the inter-related timing of the head movement and
the accompanying torso bend will provide a very different message according to
whether the actions occur completely simultaneously, or whether there is only a
slight overlap. The head may start first and the body later, or the head
participation may come through the torso bend or only near the end. With each
such variation the expressive effect is subtly altered. (1984, p.21)

Hutchinson Guest goes on to explain how an action delay in one body part may
express different attitudes. For example, if the torso and head bow simultaneously
—‘a gracious bow’. If the torso bends first, the head after — ‘reluctance’ or ‘a lack of
true respect’. In more advanced studies, mapping layers of patterns of rhythm in
group movement superimposed on each other as a complex set, might be the
challenge.
This chapter is mainly concerned with looking at live performance, but film
directors’ use of rhythm and timing is a fascinating study in its own right, and it is
interesting to notice how the suggested factors and elements relate to film. Also
video or film if available, can be a useful observational study-aid — and is certainly
recommended for in-depth work. Since tempo is a crucial factor of rhythm, in
general it is necessary to retain tempi of the original during repeated viewings.
However, using video with speed variation control during repeated viewings can
be useful. Through accelerating the tape, attention may be drawn to the
patterning of certain structural features, such as use of accents and aspects of
spatial rhythm and phrasing. Also, boundaries of phases, phrases and sequences of
movement tend to emerge more clearly when the tempo of the tape is increased.
Movement detail in complex sequences can be noted more easily through
decelerating the tape.
In addition to the observation of rhythm and timing elements of a
performance event, the wider context of the event may be a focus of interest. An
observation study of rhythm and timing in a relatively limited context may
perhaps unexpectedly lead you further. Here is an instance of what I mean by this
and how a development may occur, as a final example. I was pursuing an interest
in features of rhythm and timing and their effects in rock and rave dancing. At
first, the observation of movement rhythm and timing was my only concern. My
attention had been drawn to the essential features of non-stop continuity of
action, duration, beat, tempo, repetition, specific body involvement and step
 SUGGESTIONS FOR TRAINING IN THE OBSERVATION OF RHYTHM / 191

patterns — as well as to the popularity of the movement style with an enormous

number of young people. Brief comments on these features now follow.
Experience of holiday-makers abroad pre-dated and influenced the
development of rave in England. With reference to the non-stop continuity of
action and extended duration of events, Adam Heath remembers dancing through
the night, non-stop, on Ibiza in 1987: ‘We were there to dance! And dance, and
dance and dance! And not stop!’ (quoted in Collin 1997, p.52). At Longstock in
1991, one of the notorious all-night festivals attended by many thousands, the
Spiral Tribe sound system was ‘never slacking, never slowing’ (Collin 1997,
p.201).
The incessant beat and pulse of the music was picked up in the movement ofa
crowded dance floor: “The dance floor was something special ... [it] would be
pulsing’ (McKenna 1996). Or as reported in The Sun 17 August 1988: ‘On the
packed dance floor, youths in surf shorts stripped to the waist flailed their arms to
the pounding beat’. And as Julia Franks, a former rave events promoter, now
working as a therapist with ex-ravers, assured me ‘we are certainly dancing in time
with the beat!’ and also, when I asked her what ‘dancing well’ entailed, she replied
‘dancing in time ... keeping with the beat’. A number of writers have drawn
attention to the significance of the beat in ecstatic or trance-dance: ‘the rhythmic
beat of every dance movement [is] the most essential method of achieving the
ecstatic’ (Sachs 1937, p.25). So as we probably could have guessed, in rave events,
the power of the beat is paramount. Furthermore, it relates to the heart-beat. The
music is timed to take account of this. The House music prevalent at raves has a
particularly fast beat and as Franks commented, ‘there’s something about the
heart-beat going faster that gets the whole thing going more’.
When I asked Franks about step patterns, she was adamant: ‘It isn’t about steps
— it’s not about being a great dancer!’ And as she went on to explain, there is a
sense of release, of casting off restraint in the style of moving. Dave Roberts,
speaking of his 1988 rave dance experience, bears this out: “The music was so
crazy. The dance you danced to, it wasn’t posed, it was joy’ (quoted in Collin
1997, p.84).
Concerning environmental factors which relate to rhythm and timing, the
visual component at rave events, including lighting and other effects, such as dry
ice shot through with laser beams, makes a considerable contribution to the
rhythm. The timing and beat-pattern of these effects are a striking feature of raves
and club events. For instance, Collin describes the ‘jerking bodies synched to the
strobe and the metronomic beat’, and the ‘relentless’ strobe light (1997, pp.61,
74). When I enquired about this, Franks assured me that the rhythm of the
lighting is important; it is specifically designed to complement and synchronise
with the rhythm of the music.
192 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Meerloo wrote of the ‘contagious quality’ of rhythm (1962, pp.70—72). The

extent to which rhythm is ‘caught’ through each of the senses — hearing, sight,
touch — is a further area of investigation. In his work on interpersonal synchrony,
Condon suggested that it is established by sounds (Condon and Ogston 1971).
Stern and others have suggested it is accomplished by people perceiving an
underlying pulse and joining it (1973) — but how is the pulse perceived?
‘Too-fast music could cost nightclubs their licences’ (10 December 1996).
Newspaper headlines and reference in the press to the 1996 code of practice for
dance venues alerted me to the particular significance of tempo and changes of
tempo in club programming. The London Drug Policy Forum was advising clubs
to include periods of music in their programmes which had a slower beat and
tempo. Thus an initial consideration of rhythm and timing features began to
suggest the need for a wider focus.
Medical experts had become increasingly concerned about the physically
damaging effect of over-heating, induced partly by the continuous fast music and
rapid beats, and accentuated in the body by the accompanying movement. This, as
Franks had told me ‘increases the effect of Ecstasy and develops into the altered
state aimed for ... House [music] perfectly complements Ecstasy ... It’s fast ...
You need to get your heart going to get the effect of it [Ecstasy]’. And in Mixmag
July 1994 we read: ‘They pushed the tempo further to see how high they could
take the music.’
It is well known that drug use has always been part of the scene since those
early Ibiza days — when apart from anything else, the majority of participants
thought they needed ‘something extra’ to help them last the night. But
information from the London Drug Policy Forum and elsewhere indicated that if
a movement rhythm and timing study was to proceed adequately, a thorough
investigation of the effect of the different drugs in use would be required.
Franks pointed out that Caribbean music and dance has had an influence on
developments in Britain. For instance, she had witnessed DJ track mixing in West
Indies’ sound systems before it had begun at raves in England. And more
interestingly in relation to tempo and to slowing the tempo, she had seen DJs use
their judgment and introduce a process of interruption when the temperature and
pace got too hot. They would repeatedly stop the music after a few phrases and
then start it again, only to stop again, to cries of ‘Play it! Play it DJ! Play the music!’
Despite the excitement it provoked, Franks found that this procedure had the
effect of physically cooling and slowing people down. However, the code of good
practice for safety at dance events in Dance Till Dawn Safely, published by the
London Drug Policy Forum, warns that ‘an abrupt and unexpected cessation of
music or sudden change of tempo could inflame an already highly charged
situation’ (1996, p.10).
 SUGGESTIONS FOR TRAINING IN THE OBSERVATION OF RHYTHM / 193

The features of rhythm and timing with regard to group movement in rave
events connects with group movement in other contexts. The nature and
significance of the unison action which occurs, and of the group synchronicity
which is so enjoyed at rave events; the links of these and other features with the
use of movement rhythm in religious cults, in spirit healing, trance-dance or
possession rituals of various kinds are obvious topics for further study.
It can be seen that, as in the case described, if observers and researchers are to
extend their studies, it may become essential to investigate the reasons for an
event, as well as to study the form and function of rhythm and timing features
within it in more detail. Information about traditional and innovatory features
may also be gathered. This material may be obtained both directly and indirectly
from the people concerned. Also, as Kealiinohomoku has pointed out, it may be
useful to note not only what is said but also what is not said about an event — just as
one may observe what is not done as well as what is done in, or because of, an
event (1976a, p.343). It is suggested that Kealiinohomoku’s and Lange’s
check-lists be referred to for background features of an event (Kealiinohomoku
1972, pp.245—260; Lange 1985).
Although to follow Kurath's expert example, observational procedure may
vary with each case, (see reference p.102) at an appropriate stage some initial
procedure for observation and assessment should be clearly established. This is of
course particularly important if comparative studies are to be undertaken.
Increased recognition of the elements of rhythm and timing as well as awareness
of process and interaction in movement rhythm develops over time. Results of
observation can be analysed to discover frequency and persistency of use of
certain elements of rhythm. Particular features, regularities, complementariness,
contrasts, inter-relations and causal relations in use of rhythm and timing, as well
as range in use of elements, can be examined. See Scheflen (1965) for further
comments. For detailed study, considerable practice and perseverance is required,
as Condon indicates: ‘I spent a year and a half studying 4% seconds four or five
hours a day, before I could see interactional synchrony’ (1982, p.55). Condon’s
study is an example of an extremely detailed, painstaking form of movement
observation in the service of advanced academic analysis.
Recognition and clear description of features and elements of rhythm and
timing at the micro-structural level is a first stage of observation, and has been the
main objective of these suggestions. Analysis and interpretation of data as well as
detailed study of the form and function of rhythm at the macro-structural level is
for a further stage of development. A full movement notation score would be
needed for more detailed analytic study. Principles of order and implicit rules
governing various forms of performance may emerge at that stage. This method
for identification and description of suggested, selected elements of rhythm was
 194 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Ling exp].

«er we OO Priby ‘Z

av lloping jh Peep,
oe gost” ve ayy
nS
we
ee
-
¥
ot a Ye %2
» . ¥ % s
&
s 8
é &
. s"len, S &
eo 2
‘S
s 33 =
s See
3s ©x % S&S
§S 2% ¢ae ye
FS —= &a %Z.
2
% med gt 3 >
2S 2
%= af
my - = $ &
s * a4 1 Ap at & y-
2 2 as oe
aa 3, ay R
= Sp 1 x
% 3 ° us
we “eae supion® ag
By
. anA
n2un nuotoqunt

Figure 8.9.A random selection of words from many which may describe rhythm in action.

devised in order to pursue the study of performance rhythm and timing at a

descriptive level.

Check-lists of factors and elements of rhythm and timing in movement*

He that has eyes to see and ears to hear may convince himself that no mortal can
keep a secret. If his lips are secret, he chatters with his finger-tips; betrayal oozes
out of him at every pore. (Freud 1908, quoted in M. Cox and A. Theilgaard 1994,
p.238)

4 The check-lists provide a summary of the exposition in Chapter 7. Also see comments, p.157.
 SUGGESTIONS FOR TRAINING IN THE OBSERVATION OF RHYTHM / 195
Introduction
Disadvantages ofa mode of categorisation or check-list are acknowledged by the
writer. For instance, if this means fitting perceived behaviour into pre-determined
categories it may be considered that this process over-simplifies and distorts the
material (see Davis 1977, p.60). However, for serious study a system of some kind
is needed when faced with the complexity of movement behaviour, and for
comparative purposes. In such cases it has been found that the suggested
check-lists aided focus on particular aspects of movement-rhythm and timing.
Fellow observers’ responses influenced the writer in devising the form of
categorisation and the suggested check-list. Both quantitative and qualitative
categories are included. Although qualitative categories are not amenable to
objective, exact measurement, they are included since they are recognised to be
integral aspects of rhythm and timing in performance events. This inclusion is
supported by other researchers (Wallbott 1982; Stone 1981). However, the
category ‘time and energy use’ which involves performer’s ‘inner attitude’ may be
considered a particularly problematic category (see p.131). Under ‘Environment’,
‘response/ participation of spectators’ is included as a general category to remind
observers of the potential importance of this in the overall rhythm and timing of
an event. Clearly, more detail and a rating system is needed if these categories
become a particular focus of study. Furthermore, in any development of a rating
system, ambiguous and general terms such as ‘frequent’ should be avoided.
Researchers may prefer to make initial observations without recourse to the
check-list of suggested elements of rhythm. But if its general validity is
acknowledged, it could be used subsequently to ascertain whether any aspects
have been overlooked which on reflection perhaps should be included. This
manner of usage may also allow researchers to check their own bias and draw
attention to their own preferred perspectives.
Although the listed order of elements of rhythm has a coherence, choice and
order of elements may predetermine observations and findings in a
counter-productive way. Therefore, it is advisable to change or rotate the order so
as to jolt observers’ perceptions and perhaps provoke their own, new discoveries.
As Hollenbeck comments ‘In observing behaviour, humans filter sensory
information into scoring categories that have focused their attention to predefined
responses. Reliability of observation is influenced by the observing unit, the
behaviour observed, the scoring categories used, and the interaction between the
observer and the scoring system’ (1978, p.83).
196 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Body and Space

Participants
number
gender
age

Body structure
natural, innate rhythm
parts engaged in the rhythm
left/right
extensions and accessories
Position in space
symmetrical/asymmetrical
standing, sitting, kneeling, lying ...
falling, lifting
stable, labile

Type of action
simultaneous
unison / complementary/ contrasting
successive
adjacent/separate
discrete actions

Movement path
movement reach
in personal space
in the performance area
amplitude
quantity of movement
in personal space
in the performance area
gestures
shaping
starting and ending point
tracks
shaping
starting and ending place

Focus
projection inward
(within the performer)
projection outward
up, down
to the side...
to fellow performers
to spectators
SUGGESTIONS FOR TRAINING IN THE OBSERVATION OF RHYTHM / 197

Development of Action
Accents
occurrence
single/ multiple
Srequent, dense/ sporadic, sparse
recurrence
regular/ irregular
location
in the body
in personal space
in general space
in the sequence, phrase
In group interaction

Pauses
duration
location
occurrence
frequent, dense/ sporadic, sparse
recurrence
regular/trregular

Metricity
metric/non-metric
regular/irregular
Tempo
pulse, underlying beat
regular/irregular
constant/inconstant
pace
acceleration/deceleration

Time and energy

degree of emphasis
degree of urgency
restraint/spontaneity
Progression
duration of events
a beat
an dction
motif or movement untt
phrase
phase
sequence
regularity of events
repetition of events
movement: time
198 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Environment

Site, building
Size of performance area
Configuration of performance area
shape
height
levels: steps, stairs, gradients
floor or ground surface texture

Connections
entrances and exits
spatial disposition of spectators
spectators’ response, participation

Setting
luminosity
visual effects
wind and weather
sound
 9

An Application in Learning
and Teaching
Rhythm and Timing in an Approach
to T’ai Chi (Tai Ji)

Tai Ji: “Like the sea it ebbs and flows ... it relaxes the mind as well as the body
... it keeps us in touch with nature ... arthritis pains me but Tai Ji makes me
feel as ifI am floating ... I feel so relaxed — from head to toe I’ve got that
glowing feeling’. (comments from members of the classes referred to in this
chapter)
This example describes my experience of rhythm and timing in the practice of
two different forms of T’ai Chi Ch’uan — more commonly known as Tai Ji — in a
western environment.’ First, a brief introduction. There are many different forms
of Tai Ji and all teachers and experienced practitioners develop their own
approach. The practice is essentially an individual matter, and it can be interpreted
and understood on many levels. My interest and gradual process of learning
began in the 1970s; it is a continual process. [ must state that I do not consider
myself an expert. Furthermore, I make no claims for originality in the comments |
make about rhythm and timing in Tai Ji. They are derived from observations of my
own practice — chiefly of two forms or versions of Tai Ji, but also from the teaching
I have received from inspirational teachers, and from reading, gathered from many
sources over the years. One form I practise is a version of the traditional long Yang
form which I have studied in England with Gerda Geddes.’ Another is The Five

l I have adopted the term and spelling “Tai Ji’ in this chapter since it is the best known Chinese Pinyin
spelling and it encourages a pronunciation which is closer than ‘Tai chi’ to the Chinese original (see
Huang 1987, p.vii). Also, #1’ avoids confusion with ‘ch’’ which has other particular meanings. In
China the revised spelling for ‘ch’’ is ‘qi’ and for ‘Ch’uan’ ‘Quan’ which provides further clarification.
These changes are in process of adoption in the West and used in the full title of TarJi Quan (Tai Chi
Ch’uan).

199
 200 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Elements (and associated Circle forms) which I have studied in the USA and in
Europe with Chungliang Al Huang.
As a result of an unexpected invitation from my teacher Gerda Geddes to
introduce Tai Ji in a London Senior Citizens Day Care Centre, I began — with
some hesitation — to share my experience of Tai Ji. Six years later this activity has
extended to another such centre, and occasionally to sessions with other people.
With Chungliang Al Huang’s encouragement, in addition to an introduction to
the long Yang form, my classes also include The Five Elements. This is the first in
the series of progressively more complex Circle forms developed by Chungliang
Al Huang from his deeply rooted knowledge of Tai Ji and traditional Chinese
wisdom. He has described it as ‘an organic choreography’ (1989, p.55). During
the process of moving through its fluid action sequences, participants visualise
and learn to embody and integrate the changing energies and symbolic ideas
inherent in the circle of elements or moving forces, identified in China as fire,
water, wood-wind, precious metal and earth. The movements are derived from the
essence of each of these, taking the ideas metaphorically (i.e. not mimetically). In
the early stages The Five Elements is simpler to learn and more readily accessible
to the western mind and body than a classic form may be for some people. Thus it
is likely to provide more immediate experience of the beneficial harmony, balance
and well-being which are generated through practice of Tai Ji.
Good teaching practice inevitably includes varied use of rhythm and timing,
and teachers generally take this for granted.’ Undue analysis or dissection of what
we do intuitively as teachers could interfere with the process. However, the
experience of leading sessions has necessitated a more intent focus for myself on
movement ingredients in Tai Ji. Now, for the purposes of this chapter, a further
step is to consider the elements of rhythm and timing in some detail as an example
of an observation project in the context of practical movement teaching.
First, some comments about rhythm and timing in my experience of the long
Yang form. In the version which I practise and share, the most obvious rhythm and
timing features concern use of tempo, duration, specific body involvement, flow
of energy, relationship with rhythms of nature, aspects of spatial rhythm and
general style of the movement. The tempo is slow and sustained. This slow pace
differs from an everyday use of ‘slow’; it has a more lingering quality and a
stronger sense of the present moment than we often allow ourselves in everyday
life. The action is continuous and flowing, with a natural-seeming ease of timing.
There are no held, static poses. Any named ‘positions’ are stages in the process,

2 Gerda Geddes, the first person to offer Tai Ji as a teacher in England in the 1950s, studied with Choy
pawk-pang and Choy Kam-man.
3 For example, I think all teachers are familiar with basic class timing-structures, which relate to
phrasing: such as from energetic to calm (or vice versa) or a wave-like structure which grows from
calm to energetic, calms again and then builds energy once more to end the session.
 AN APPLICATION IN LEARNING AND TEACHING / 201

moved towards and through. This relates to the pattern of breathing which is
regulated by the movement, in accordance with the action. ‘Holding the circle’
provides an example of this relationship. To refer solely to the arm movement,
from a starting position with both arms down, as breath is gradually inhaled, the
left arm rises to the side and the right moves out slightly, then both curve in
towards the front — left remaining above, right below — with palms facing (as if
carrying a sphere) and exhalation into ‘holding the circle’, with energies directed
inward.
To consider duration — in the example above, inhalation and exhalation of
breath is of approximately equal duration. But the timing of breaths is not
repetitively the same throughout the form. Some of the movements take more
time than others, and may require a longer inhalation — matched by an exhalation
of breath. For instance ‘the crane spreads out its wing’ is a relatively expansive
movement made on an inhalation, as one arm curves up sideways from low to
high. This is balanced by the ensuing movement of the arm travelling down and
across the body on the exhalation. There may be fractional pauses in the
movement which are barely noticeable, as also occur between exhalation and
inhalation. The subtle irregularity of the rhythm overall contributes an intriguing
variety to the pattern, and may also help the practitioner to remain alert. There is
no sense in which the rhythm is metric or counted numerically as in many other
forms of movement training. There may be an underlying sense of one’s pulse
during the practice, but the varied breath and movement-action rhythms override
this.
The entire form is in three parts, each ofa different duration. The form consists
of over one hundred movement motifs which are grouped into sequences, again of
varied duration (no specific set time — in my practice it takes approximately 25
minutes). There is a degree of repetition: some of the movements introduced in
parts one and two recur later.*
Practised in a standing position — upright but not stiff (with ease in the neck,
‘open’ across the chest, and with ‘soft’ shoulders, elbows, wrists, knees, ankles) —
the rhythm and timing is carried in and through every part of the body. To help
readers visualise the form a little more clearly f should mention that the starting
position, and many subsequent positions of the feet in this traditional form of Tai
Ji, is with the toes straight forward and the feet parallel. The knees are always
aligned above the toes, including when they bend (sometimes called a ‘riding
horse’ stance). This position has the result of releasing tension in the lower back,
to healthful effect.

4 I do not lead the Day Care Centre groups through the whole of the long Yang form. The classes are
specified as an introduction to Tai Ji and at the time of writing include Part One and a few motifs from
Part Two.
202 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

The aim of the movement is that every part of the body be co-ordinated with
economy of effort and without muscular force, to promote sustained, flowing,
circular patterns. Tai Ji muscular action is sensed — allowed, rather than
commanded to occur. The movement-rhythm and timing is essentially organic,
and a ceaseless shifting between opposites ~ for instance, the arms may lift, then
lower; weight may transfer forwards into one leg and then backwards into the
other. There is focus on the way the body actually functions (e.g. in rotation,
flexion, alignment). Indeed, through Tai Ji practice I have become increasingly
aware of anatomical structure and of the location of inner organs and internal
rhythms of the body.
Beginners frequently first notice the movement of the arms and may think that
they initiate the timing. But before this occurs, action is sensed in the soles of the
feet, which retain contact with the ground much of the time during practice of the
form. The Chinese refer to yong chuen ‘the bubbling well’ point which is located
just behind the ball of the foot, an apt description of an energy source. In fact
when I practice, I imagine that I am drawing the energy up from below the feet,
from a well of energy in the earth beneath. From the feet, the movement-energy,
known as ch’ and associated with the breath, is thought to travel and be
discharged throughout the body, if the channels are clear.
During practice of the long Yang form we pay close attention to the timing of
action in the feet. For instance, in the action of taking a step, as in all the
movement of the Tai Ji, the foot is easy and relaxed. But this is never a heavy
relaxation; there is life and awareness in the action and care is taken over timing
the placing of the foot. There is resilience in the feet and a sensation of gently
‘rolling through’ the foot as the weight is gradually transferred from the heel
through to the whole foot and leg. Rooted in the ground but not stuck or
remaining there, the action is much as if the foot were to be softly yet
unmistakeably imprinted in sand or ina first fall of snow, only then to move on or
shift to another soft imprint.
The knees are usually in a gentle p/té that is, in a slightly flexed position, or the
legs are moving towards or away from such a position. The pattern of continually
shifting weight, from one leg to the other, is sensed and described as changing
between ‘full’ and ‘empty’. This, with the gentle release of one foot when it is
necessary to take a step, are key features of the rhythm.
The play or fluctuation of energy — a basis of rhythm as identified in Part I — is
especially important in Tai Ji. Of several treatises now available in translation, Lun
Chin in Discourse on Intrinsic Energy clarifies the distinction between intrinsic
energy and force: ‘force is visible, energy is invisible; force is linear, energy is
circular; force is harsh, energy is smooth’ (Olson 1994, p.37). Described as ch’i
‘breath essence’ (or energy) of Tai Ji, during Tai Ji practice the mind is trained to
 AN APPLICATION IN LEARNING AND TEACHING / 203

sense this travelling through legs, hips, waist, spine, upper body and head, as well
as through the arms, hands — into palms and fingers.°
The lower tant’ien which is the mid-point of the body — the abdomen just
below the navel — is sometimes described as a ‘cauldron of energy’. This is
considered as the centre of gravity for Tai Ji practice. As Chungliang Al Huang
explains:
[the rant’ien] is concerned to be both a reservoir for the ch’i, and the center from
which our movement originates. Tan means the distilled vital essence, and also
the rich, red color of blood. T’ien means field or place. So the tant’ien is the field
of energy, the intrinsic energy, the reservoir of your vital force. (1987, p.23).

As we inhale we imagine our breath sinking down to the tant’ien. A sense of this
place not only as the reservoir of vital force but also as the location of our centre of
gravity is important. Essentially a moving centre, our sense of the tant’ten aids in
the development ofa mobile balance and of being stable and well grounded: all of
which are inherent in the experience of Tai Ji.
Rhythm in the Tai Ji is generated by the contrasting actions that occur, and by
the irregular alternations in the use of right and left sides and limbs of the body.
The basis of this contrast, and of other aspects of the Tai Ji, is in the interchange of
yin/yang vital energy, but ‘within every yang some yin, within every yin some
yang’ (Crompton 1990, p.19). In Chinese thought, this energy is considered to
exist not only in ourselves but also as the two great complementary opposite
forces of the whole universe, symbolised by the Tai Ji inter-related _yzn/yang circle,
in perpetual balancing motion. Yin — the passive principle, yang — the active
principle, each containing the germ, embryo or vestige of the other. Indeed, the
concept is the fundamental basis of Tai Ji. As Hua Ching Ni states:
In doing t’ai chi movement, it is helpful to know the cosmic T’ai Chi Principle.
[This] is rhythmic alternation or rhythmic movement: for example, inhale to
exhale, or movement inward to collect energy in the center to movement outward
from the center back to the limbs ... The cosmic Tai Chi Principle is to follow the
alternation of the two [yin and yang]. (quoted in Tsui-Po 1994, p.20)

For instance, in the arms these contrasting movements include actions of lifting
(mainly yang) and lowering (mainly yin), of moving the arms apart then towards
each other, of taking them around in a circling, horizontal movement or of gently
‘pushing’ hands forward. . The waxing and waning of the gestural shaping is

5 Chungliang Al Huang provides a fuller explanation of this (and other concepts). An extract: ‘CHI or
Qlis the force of the Cosmos, between heaven and earth. It is the primal life energy that we receive
from our parents ... It is the air we breathe, the food we eat and the enveloping atmosphere’ (from
Huang 1982).
 204 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

predominantly curved and circular, and the arms appear slightly rounded since
they are never fully extended.
There is a sensation of ebb and flow of energy in the rhythm as one moves
through the form. This relates to rhythms in nature, such as the waves of the sea as
they surge towards and draw back from the shore. Sometimes I am reminded of
the effect of wind passing across a field of wheat or long grass, especially when
the form is practised together with other people and the flow of movement travels
through the whole group. Another image which frequently comes to me when [
am moving my arms is of long fronds of water-weed being moved by the flow of
current in a clear stream.

Figure 9.1 Flowing lines of rhythm from plant life.

Source: Wen Cheng-ming (1470-1559). Courtesy of the Victoria and Albert Museum.
 AN APPLICATION IN LEARNING AND TEACHING / 205

Throughout the form there is an ordered sequence of named movements or

images, most of which are derived from nature. These may be read as a series of
symbols which connect with other aspects of ancient Chinese culture — art,
religion, mythology (see Cooper 1978 and Geddes 1995 both of whom have
made a particular study of this connection). This material enriches and extends
understanding limited by a western viewpoint. As with the movement of the crane
(or ‘large bird’) spreading its wing referred to above, the timing may relate to the
image in some way. Each of the three main sections of the form begins and ends in
a mood of calm tranquillity with the image ofa mountain: energy within, stillness
without. Each section also draws to an end with the image of a tiger — symbol of
energy: ‘Embrace’ or ‘carry tiger’, a gently scooping action as arms cross in front
of the chest, before the ‘return to mountain’.
Next, some aspects of spatial rhythm. Tai Ji is traditionally oriented to north,
south, east and west and to the diagonal directions in between. In our sessions we
do not take this literally. In class we adopt the geometric directions of the form but
we position ourselves at the outset in the most congenial, appropriate way in the
given architecture.
Turns and changes of focus in the body, in the arm gestures and in the
movement of the legs generate spatial rhythm. The co-ordination of the rhythm is
subtle and quite complex. There is a multi-dimensional flow of energy in the
action as parts of the body move in a complementary manner in different
directions, both simultaneously and successively. Ease of movement in the waist
area promotes an easy turning of the spine, as if around a vertical axis. When this
occurs the motion then continues through arm and hand, into palm and fingers.
Sometimes the backs of the arms lead the direction of the movement, sometimes
other surfaces of the arms or the hands. The supposed origin and subsequent
development of the form as a martial art lends a logic to the direction of the
gestures and to the spatial rhythm, albeit in slow motion in the version of the form
which I practise.
An interesting experiment is to attempt Tai Ji standing breast-high in water.
Awareness of different aspects of the movement and of the timing can develop
through this. The water resists movement and gestures have to be firmer to retain
their correct pathway. It is almost as if one is participating in a martial arts version
of the form and confronting an invisible opponent. The different surfaces of the
arms and hands have to press or slice through the water. The challenge of holding
one’s ground and the details of physical co-ordination, spatial rhythm and timing,
are heightened.
The effect of the spatial rhythm in Tai Ji has often been likened to that of
unwinding or winding a skein of silk. It winds up and around the body and
encircles the space within arm’s reach; sometimes close to the body, sometimes
further away. An eternal, mysteriously unending, invisible web. Chen Kung
 206 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

describes the mobilisation of energy as like reeling silk: ‘when reeling long pieces
of silk from a cocoon it must be done gradually, and softly, otherwise it will break
and be of no use’ (Olson 1994, p.167).
The preferred ground surface in a practice location is horizontal and the spatial
rhythm has an even, horizontal emphasis. The predominating plié position and
almost cat-like prowling action of the legs means that the head stays on one level,
without bobbing up and down. With ease in the neck, the head is perceived as a
continuation of the spine, with the crown (the par hut point) sensed as if lifted or
suspended from above by a thread. The back is felt to be rising while shoulders
(and elbows when in use) relax downwards. There is a sense ofa plumb-line from
the top of the head through the spine and continuing down. This simultaneous,
combined upwards and downwards sensation prevails throughout, together with
the multi-dimensional flow referred to earlier.
The rhythmic flow, mood or quality in the general style of movement in the
form is calm, sustained and tranquil; relaxed yet alert. It is thought that any
unnecessary tension in the body, blocks or restricts the flow of ch’. We aim to
attain the sense of stillness in motion, of motion in stillness and of being ‘present
here, in the now’ which Taoists describe. There is no intentional movement in the
face. Eyes, mouth, jaw and even the tongue are quiescent. (It is specified that the
tip of the tongue should rest, gently touching the back of the top teeth, and that
breathing should be through the nose). As the stance settles, tension is released
and tranquillity is brought about before any movement begins; this may be
assisted by preliminary breathing or chi gong exercises. There is a sense of the space
all around, and of the earth beneath, but the practitioner's focus is inward rather
than outward. The eyes sometimes follow the movement of the hands, or look
gently downward — aptly described as ‘slantingly forward’ by Gerda Geddes. The
practice of Tai Ji is for oneself. Even if spectators are present it is not a performance
to an audience. Perhaps it could be said that during practice of the form there is an
inner sense of an outward focus to the universe.
The movement rhythm is clear, intentional and disciplined, but never accented
ot sharply marked. No one individual movement should be stressed. In the second
part of the form there is a section in which there is a series of movements which are
termed ‘kicks’. Although energy is gathered to perform them, they are executed
softly, with the economy of effort and lack of urgency or strain which is
characteristic of Tai Ji. There is none of the hard attack or emphasis usually
associated with the action of kicking.
The degree of restraint is an especially interesting feature of style in the
movement rhythm to consider in relation to the practice of the form. From
tradition, and as it is ‘a form’, there is the restraint ofa pre-determined structure. It
is practised with enormous respect for the tradition and for past Tai Ji masters.
Students may be advised how to execute the various movements and how to
 AN APPLICATION IN LEARNING AND TEACHING / 207

consider the internal aspects of the form, such as the breathing pattern. There is
discipline and control in the practice. However, the degree of physical mobility,
ease of movement, continuity, and inner sense of flow — which are essential
features of the style — offset, contradict and balance the formality of the learned
Structure. But, a certain restraint does remain in the outward manner of
performance.
Some comments about rhythm and timing in my experience of The Five
Elements version of Tai Ji now follow.® Given the shared traditional roots, some of
the features of rhythm and timing in this form are similar to those already
identified as characteristic of my experience in the long Yang form. One essential
difference lies in an increase in the relative sense of freedom with which the
movement is performed. There is an inner attitude of spontaneity in the
movement, perhaps due to Chungliang Al Huang'’s reference to it as dance, for
instance: ‘Allow the sense of the movement to flow to you without worrying, and
the dancing will come to you’ (1987, p.122). The regeneration of energy and the
sense of discovering the movement anew at each ‘repetition’ — as if for the first
time — are important aspects of the experience. These features are also
fundamentally inherent in practice of the long Yang form, and in my experience
of both forms, we speak of ‘playing’ the Tai Ji. But it does take a considerable time
and discipline to learn the long Yang form, and although this has not been true of
my experience of Gerda Geddes’ teaching, sometimes conventional modes of
teaching may seem at odds with the development of a sense of freedom,
spontaneity and life. Anyway, in The Five Elements, this developmental
experience is brought to the fore, made explicit and evident in the beginner's
experience from the outset.
The form is never rigidly fixed or set. In my experience of classes with
Chungliang Al Huang, although the overall sequential order of The Five Elements
has remained the same, details and movements are varied from time to time. With
people who have had more experience, and in the later Circle sequences, there is
focus on more precision and clarity in execution so that students may reach more
understanding. However, since Chungliang Al Huang developed the form himself
from the mastery and knowledge of his own traditions, he is able to introduce and
develop it as he wishes, in different ways, at and for different times. This reinforces
the realisation that any creative form is open to change, that any natural, living
form is always changing, and that as we have seen in the comments about the long
Yang form, change is at the heart-core of Tai Ji itself. Also, perhaps it is useful to
remember this warning:

6 The Five Elements contains the essence of Tai Ji. The introduction of this version has not confused
classes since it is compatible with my way of practising and teaching the long Yang form, yet it
provides a beneficial and interesting contrast.
208 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Unfortunately, when each master begins to teach, he may use his master's teaching
method as he remembers it, instead of sharing with you out of his own experience
now as a result of years of practice, instead of showing you a process that can
gradually lead you to this. (Huang 1987, p.64)

Features of rhythm and timing in teaching style are prompted by the

characteristics of a movement form to be taught. For instance, in The Five
Elements, just as there is limited emphasis on absolute rhythmic precision in the
performance, when introducing the form I do not rank this as of paramount
importance in my teaching. Instead, the rhythmic flow and fluctuating patterns of
energy which the form generates are emphasised.
During the sessions at the Day Care Centres, focus and concentration is
excellent. But, in keeping with the spirit of change, free timing and spontaneity, if
a new idea emerges unexpectedly, I may go with it and improvise. For example,
one day a class member suddenly uttered the familiar phrase ‘mens sana in corpore
sano’ {a healthy mind in a healthy body). This apparently represented his
understanding of Tai Ji at that moment. We all joined in and learnt the words. I
found that the phrase fitted most satisfyingly with the movements of one of our

Figure 9.2 Earth, This Chinese character evokes a sense of vast expanse, broad stability and deeply
rooted power. Sky above, earth below.
Source: Chungliang Al Huang
 AN APPLICATION IN LEARNING AND TEACHING / 209

breathing exercises, which we then all repeated with much enjoyment — words
and movement together — an unpremeditated rhythmic development.
As in practice of the long Yang form, we begin The Five Elements from a
feeling of relaxation, ease of movement and a calm mind. The well-grounded
stance and verticality of the torso is also similar. As a preliminary movement (and
repeated at the end as a conclusion) it has become customary to sweep both arms
up in a wide curve, as if to embrace the sky and to draw from the energy all around
us in space, then to bring the arms down towards the earth. Next we generate a
sense of drawing ch’i-energy up from the earth, coursing up through the body and
out of the head, before we bring the arms round to ‘Embrace tiger, return to
mountain’ in a way similar to the long Yang form. We are then ready to continue
into an experience of the five elements and their changing, constantly circulating
energies.
In group practice we synchronise our movements, as — with a sense of unity —
we follow the recognised sequential pattern together. But there is no absolute
uniformity. Details of rhythm are not timed to be ina precise unison. Chungliang
Al Huang likens this to the movements of the branches of a tree: ‘the different
branches of the same tree do not move the same but they are moving in unity’
(1987, p.15).
If we compare the general impression of my experience of tempo in the
practice of The Five Elements with that of the long Yang form, although the
tempo may vary and fluctuate, the overall impression in The Five Elements, as in
the long Yang form, is that tempo is relatively slow. However, the ebb and flow of
movement in the form is more marked, with clear upsurges of energy at times. As
in the long Yang form, the action is continuous and flowing. This relates to the
breathing, again as in the long Yang form, but the breath rhythms are not matched
to movement in any specific way.
The Five Elements form consists of an extended, continuous sequence of
movement motifs or phrases of different durations. There is no recurrence of these
at later stages of the form as there is in the long Yang form.’ As in the latter, there
may be fractional pauses between sections or phrases, particularly when there is
change or transformation from one element to another. For instance, there is a
sequence when we visualise fire-energy (yang) changing into (or moderating)
water-energy (yin) — each of which possess both powerful and soothing
characteristics. We imagine that we embody and generate fire-energy outwards

7 There is recurrence in Chungliang Al Huang’s later Circle form sequences.

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Figure 9.3 Water. This Chinese character evokes a sense of the ever-streaming flow of rivers and the
power of springs gushing from the earth’s centre.
Source: Chungliang Al Huang

and upwards. It is then transformed into water-energy which we imagine

receiving as it streams down from above, and through the body into the earth.*
Here there is usually a moment of pause. This pausing occurs as we visualise the
water fully sinking into the ground and then being drawn up and into the body as
nourishment, like sap rising through the roots and into the growth of tree-wood.
Some understanding of the Chinese many-layered approach to the meaning of
a language-symbol or ‘word’ helps us when we study Tai Ji. In his teaching
Chungliang Al Huang introduces the rich symbolism of Chinese calligraphy, with
its ancient, even primal roots. He draws attention to the full, detailed translation of
each character and to the movement rhythm and energy of the brush strokes. For
instance, the character for water ‘means forever flowing constant: the oneness in
the nature of the movement of water.’ And he explains ‘The brush stroke should

8 Chinese cosmological ideas are bound up with a system of classification and correspondence of
everything in the cosmos. A basic idea is that there is movement of transformation between Five
Phases (or the Five Elements) which applies to all categories of life. There is a cyclical order with
correspondence to the seasons: Wood corresponds to Spring, Fire to Summer, Metal to Autumn,
Water to Winter. In what is known as the productive cycle the Phases lead from one to the other:
Water produces Wood; Wood, Fire; Fire, Earth; Earth, Metal; Metal, Water. The destructive cycle (or
tegenerative) is opposite: Water versus Fire; Fire versus Metal; Metal versus Wood; Wood versus
Earth; Earth versus Water. (from Schipper 1993, pp.33-35). In the version of the Tai Ji described, the
concept is taken metaphorically rather than realistically. Although the movement sequence does not
appear to be designed to relate precisely to the cosmological ideas about the elements, we may note
that the ‘destructive cycle’ is taken in reverse, beginning with Fire, then Water, Earth, Wood, Metal.
 AN APPLICATION IN LEARNING AND TEACHING / 211

have the same sensitive contact with the paper that you feel between your feet and
the ground in tai ji’ (1987, pp.125-126). These ideas may be shared and
incorporated in movement teaching even if the teacher is not a proficient
calligrapher.
The duration of The Five Elements is roughly equivalent to the first part of the
long Yang form. Choice and fluctuation of tempi, and the number of repetitions,
determine the duration — which may be as long as desired.”
As in the long Yang form, the pattern of rhythm and timing is carried in and
through every body part, the movements being co-ordinated in a flowing pattern.
Since the process is essentially one of grounding and centering, there is again
emphasis on the tant’ien as centre of gravity. The movement rhythm is balanced in
the body since it is usual to practise with alternate sides leading the movement.
The images of the five elements follow from one to the next, and each
generates a particular pattern of rhythm and timing. For instance, the fire-energy
sequence begins with a sense of power in the tant‘ien, and growing yang energy.
This develops from the central ‘lift’ which precedes most steps, then continues in
the legs with a strong surging step forward, while with arm gestures from low to
mid-height the fire-energy travels up the body, and is finally released through the
palms. From there, although a trace of fire energy remains, a softening of the
movement and less urgency in the rhythm is sensed. This occurs with a
transformation of energy into the yim energy of water, imagined as being received
from above. A gentle, less obvious free rhythm follows, as with arm movements
near to the body and fractional shifts in the head and torso, a sense of a cascade
and flow of water streaming down and through the body and into the earth is
experienced.
There is a transformation into the imagined element of wood (with traces of
fire and water energies still present) as the flow of ch’t grows up and outwards
again, coursing through the body. Energy is felt tingling in the spine, and there are
gentle, rippling accents in the rhythm as the energy surges into and out of the
arms. This movement and rhythm is combined with a pattern of repeated slow,
circling steps, ‘riding the energy round’ in an even, regular pattern. This is like the
natural rhythm of the growth and expansion of a tree, being rooted and branching
out in all directions from the central core of the trunk. (In no sense is this akin to
the well-known clichéd caricature of the worst kind of British ‘music and
movement’ class of former days typified by the instruction ‘Be a tree!’).
Although the five elements are experienced in turn, a sense of the energies of
each remains and accumulates through the form. Towards the end of the whole
sequence, after the experience of gathering in the precious, shining energies of
metal, there is a strong accent in the rhythm with a movement of the arms

9 From approximately 6 minutes for the first part of the long Yang form or The Five Elements.
212 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

relaxing, dropping down and outwards, and a sense of release through the entire
body of all that has accumulated. This movement may be identified with the
eventual return of everything to the element earth.
It can be seen from these illustrations which are characteristic of the whole,
that—at least in my experience — there is more overt ebb and flowof energy in The
Five Elements than there is in the long Yang form, and a use of accents in the
movement rhythm which is foreign to that form.
Spatial rhythm in The Five Elements has more symmetrical balance and less of
the complexity that exists in the long Yang form. The arms frequently move
together into the same direction — up or down, forwards or outwards, for instance.
Personal space is fully used as in the long Yang form. The arms may mirror one
another simultaneously or with right and left moving alternately, in gestures of
stretching out or gathering, for example.
A major difference in the execution of The Five Elements which affects the
rhythm lies in the way we space ourselves for group practice. We adopt a circular
formation, with a common focus towards the centre. This offers an experience
which totally differs from that of traditional practice of the long Yang form.
There, as already described, the group shares a focus towards the imagined
compass directions, which necessitates positioning with everyone facing the same
way, in a loose group formation or in rows. (However, I should mention that in
group sessions with Gerda Geddes, when space permits, and with more
experienced practitioners, we execute the long Yang form in a circular formation
as well as opposite one another in pairs, mirroring or both retaining the original
right/left action).
Given the circle formation of the group, it follows that in The Five Elements
the spatial rhythm which is generated is one of the individuals within the group,
continually curving outwards and inwards in relation to the shared centre. Arm
gestures and the few steps involved in the form follow this pattern. There is one
sequence of turning and stepping around and away to an outward focus, but with
awareness of the common centre and returning to that shared focus. A perceptive
member in one class with Chungliang Al Huang, likened a similar group
movement-chythm to the action of an ever-moving kaleidoscope, as our energies
and movement rhythms were gathered, not only into ourselves individually, but in
towards each other, and outwards again, in ever-widening circles as in our
imagination we connected with the world and the whole universe. A free sense of
energy streaming out and in, and of extension into space around one’s body and
beyond, is emphasised in The Five Elements.
The formation of the group in a circle encourages a sense of relating to other
people and with the environment. Synchronicity of shared rhythm and timing
develops. In the Tai Ji context, this is usually found to be a beneficial experience
for a group. It can be extremely powerful, particularly when a large group
 AN APPLICATION IN LEARNING AND TEACHING / 213

practises together. Since the movement-action of The Five Elements is relatively

simple to perform, not technically complex, attention can be given to group
Participation more easily than would otherwise be the case.
This is not to suggest that the form is practised in an extrovert manner. For
many practitioners it may be an extremely ‘inwardly’ focused experience. Perhaps
the inner attitude to the use of time throughout may be described as sustained in
quality; this despite the fluctuations in the output of energy, and the use of accents.
However, Chungliang Al Huang positively discourages anything which
approaches a pompous or pious solemnity in the execution of the form. On one
occasion an over-serious, downward-looking group provoked a general
suggestion: ‘Don’t be like a frog asleep at the bottom of a well!’
Tai Ji is traditionally performed in silence, and another major contrast to
practice of the classic long Yang form is in frequent use of music with The Five
Elements. We may occasionally perform in silence, or indeed as we do in practice
of the long Yang form, in the out-of-doors location preferred by all Tai Ji
practitioners — to the accompaniment of birdsong, wind in the trees and other
natural sounds. But Chungliang Al Huang encourages varied use of sound,
anything from natural sounds to carefully selected, appropriate classical or jazz
music, or sometimes fun surprises. On some courses, as opportunities present
themselves, we may be joined by live musicians, or sometimes by the flute playing
of Chungliang Al Huang himself.
Musical accompaniment can serve to promote the rhythmic flow of the
movement, it encourages and stimulates more dance-like movement, and it also
has the power to aid the release of tension. Although I have not known Gerda
Geddes to use music actually in a class, herself a trained dancer, she has suggested
it for individual experimentation. Music certainly affects and changes the mood
ofa group. It can of course dominate the tempo and also the phrasing. However, in
Chungliang Al Huang’s teaching of The Five Elements, students move ‘with’
rather than ‘to’ the music. Details ofa metric pattern of the music are not intended
to be imposed on the form, but an invigorating surge or pulse of music may be
matched in the movement. As in practice of the long Yang form, there is no
numerical counting of movements.
Despite the fluctuations in tempo and energy use which I have identified, there
is a satisfying sense of balance about the timing and rhythm in the practice of The
Five Elements. This, together with the enrichment of ideas, variety and contrasts
in the movement experience which it provides, has made a most effective
contribution to sessions, in particular at the day care centres. Furthermore, the
relatively simple gestural patterns do not unduly alarm the beginner or become an
insurmountable obstacle to hinder enjoyment. A section of our sessions takes
place seated (on chairs) in a circle, and sometimes a class member may need to be
214 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

chair-bound throughout. Indeed, the Five Elements is a form which can be

adapted and usefully, enjoyably practised sitting on a chair.
The weekly sessions at the centres take place through the year, interspersed
with a number of breaks. This is a limited time allowance, but members assure me
they go through some of the movement from our class daily. Both general and
specific physical and mental benefits of Tai Ji practice are now widely
documented; improvement in the physical condition of centre participants has
certainly been most apparent. Together we experience Tai Ji as movement practice
which brings well-being to mind and body, a means of harmonising with nature
and of bringing mind and body together as one organic process, occurring
through each present moment.
Primary aims of the sessions are enjoyment and a re-awakening of the senses —
which of course includes the kinaesthetic sense — as well as relaxation and a time
away from anxieties, urban rush and competitive attitudes. ‘If your mind becomes
calm, you can think in front of a tiger’ (Mencius quoted in Geddes 1995, p.33).
Our general orientation is open and alive to possibilities and to new and
deepening experience. There is a varied rhythm to the sequence of events in each
session. Tai Ji masters’ demonstrations on video are occasionally shown in class,
and material from Chinese arts, poetry, journals and current newspaper articles is
frequently shared.
I do not theorise about movement elements in class or even necessarily refer to
features of rhythm and timing directly (and certainly not in the words of the
check-list), But I have found that ifI myself pay attention to different features of
rhythm and timing, and include these in various ways in the class, an enjoyable,
physically beneficial, manageable challenge is presented which interests and
stimulates the group. The wealth of features which there are to consider provides
variety (quite apart from other aspects of Tai Ji practice, of course).'°
Each week, from the oldest student of 93 to the youngest — a mere 65 — the
groups share an experience of continuous rhythm from recharged energy —
‘plugging-in’ — and discharge — release, letting go. The session brings renewed
vitality and a sense of having achieved something different or in a fresh way,
however simply. Together we gradually discover more about Tai Ji and about the
flow and pattern of rhythm and timing it contains. ‘The form is a process that
serves you, not an adornment like a beautiful art work you buy and bring back to
hang on your wall’ (Huang 1987, p.65); it is a process of transformation.'' And as
one of the over 90s frequently tells me: ‘It keeps me young!’

10 Just as I was completing this chapter, I was interested to read that in the opinion of Robert Parry, a
well respected teacher: ‘Rhythm and tempo are, in fact, the keys to fluent tai chi technique’ (1997,
p.9). / :
" Also, since my Tai Ji experience is a continuing process, the contents of any future chapter would
inevitably differ from this one.
 PART III

Performance Events
Time Elements, Rhythm and Timing in Action
 10

Easter in Arizona and Mexico

An Experience of Yaqui Ceremonies

A Yoeme (Yaqui)' greeting:

Lios em chonta wyla (God be with you).

Ketcha ma leta (And with you too).

Prologue
It is one night in Easter week, and I am recalling my first visit to a Yaqui Indian
community in Tucson, Arizona, at this time.’ I remember stumbling across an
expanse of rough ground to reach a dazzlingly lit, totally open-fronted small
church in the wide expanse ofa plaza. Under the dark desert sky, stalls are selling
hot food, cooked on the spot; while dimly visible round the edges of the plaza are
reminders of everyday life — parked cars and trucks, and children playing about.
Then, all of a sudden, for no apparent reason, a phalanx of menacing,
black-clothed marching figures, with drum, flute and flag-bearers, are firmly
trudging the length of the plaza, filing around and back, and up again; then
departing, to be heard tramping in the darkness around us as they encircle the
plaza at some distance. Then they are getting nearer, returning once more,
ever-present like the evil and persecution I later found out they represented (until
their decisive defeat on Easter Saturday, and the joyous triumph of good).
Many things seem to be going on simultaneously, so that while watching the
marching it is easy to miss the slow, gentle figures of women in the church,

1 The Yaqui Indian people call themselves Yeomem (The People), but they are more familiarly known as
the Yaqui, the term used throughout this chapter.
2 From work in progress, this account is based on my experience and observation during three visits to
each of four areas of Yaqui settlement in Southern Arizona, and one visit to six of the Pueblos
(villages) in the earlier Yaqui homelands area of Sonora, north west Mexico 1990 to 1994. (See
Acknowledgements). I have obtained clarification and supplementary information in particular from
Painter (1971, 1986), Spicer, E. (1980, 1984 (orig. 1940)), Spicer, R. (1939), Evers and Molina
(1987), and from archival material. For further information about Yaqui history, life and ceremonies,
readers are referred to these sources.

217
218 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

attending to the altar, extinguishing or lighting candles in the brightly coloured

tall glass containers of pink, scarlet, magenta, puce, or a man quietly brushing the
church floor. How did that fire by the church suddenly become larger? I hadn't
seen the Caballeros, responsible for some of the heavy tasks, throwing on more
logs. Although there is no ‘on-stage/ off-stage’, there is a sense of things going on
behind the scenes, such as the activities of the women who are busy cooking for
participants in the kitchen adjacent to the plaza — smoke rising from their
makeshift oil-drum stoves, the hiss and splutter of fat, the soft flap of deftly turned
tortillas.
Another memory is of times when nothing seems to be going on anywhere.
This is equally mysterious, inexplicable, yet strangely compelling. Bright daylight
this time. The dusty, wind-swept plaza looks quite different under a hot sun,
brilliant in a deep blue sky. Men lounge against walls or spread out on benches. A
group of Caballeros drag a huge swathe of green-leafed branches across the plaza.
Where did they come from? They disappear. Where are they going? Time for
reflection. Waiting. A masked Chapayeka trots by. (Remember not to stare, laugh
at his antics — never gesticulate or point). It is an experience of clumsily learning
how to behave in a different world, with its unfamiliar rhythms and timings, and
where we are not totally sure of our welcome. Waiting. Being in the present
moment.

Introduction
Fifty years of resistance and warfare in Mexico brought the reputably fierce Yaqui
armies to eventual defeat in 1887, and the Yaquis who arrived in the USA in the
early 1890s were refugees from these battles and from the long struggle for
existence on their native land. After living in the USA quietly for some years, in
fear of deportation, they began to observe their customs openly once again —
never truly defeated.’
Welcome to Pascua Pueblo. This is the most joyous sacred time in the life of all
Yaqui Indians, (from Yeomem Tekia Foundation Easter leaflet)

Although the events of the Yaqui Easter are not ‘put on’ as a show and are
certainly not intended as an entertaining spectacle, non- Yaqui visitors are allowed
to be present at most of the ceremonies, and are welcome — provided that certain
rules of attendance are followed. Apart from a bank of raised seating at one
location of the ten I have visited, there may be some chairs or benches around, but
there is no official seating provided for any spectators who might be present. The
Yaqui are sensitive about exploitation of their culture and to intrusive behaviour
from outsiders. For instance, no one should enter the church without permission.
3 There were 30,000 Yaquis when the Jesuits came to them in 1617, and 20,000 in 1970 (the census
figure quoted by Spicer).
 EASTER IN ARIZONA AND MEXICO: YAQUI CEREMONIES / 219

Ke:
Yaqui areas visited = + (ten settlements in total, six in Sonor, Mexico, four in Arizona)
Mexico = 1; Arizona = 2; California = 3, Nevada = 4; Utah = 5; Colorado = 6;
New Mexico = 7

Figure 10.1 Map of the area.

Source: Liane Payne

Rules are displayed for the benefit of visitors, and should be taken seriously.
Cameras, tape-recorders are banned. The Yaqui do not wish photographs of their
ceremonies to be taken or reproduced and this wish is respected in these pages.
(Photographs may be seen in cited publications, dated before this rule was
enforced. See references in note 2). On one occasion a Yaqui official near me,
seeing someone with a camera, pulled the film out and threw it on a nearby fire. It
is not possible to make notes or sketches at the time of observation.
220 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Figure 10.2 The church on the plaza at Old Pascua, after the Easter ceremonies. Security grilles were in
position at this time. Yaqui churches vary in appearance from place to place, but the bell tower, crosses
and open frontage are common features. (Photograph taken with permission from a member of the
community.)

We are glad you have come to share this time with us. Please respect our holy
areas and the few rules we have that govern our behaviour as well as that of
visitors.

There are no cameras, tape recorders or video recorders allowed in or around the cultural
area! Leave these things in your car — come and experience with your eyes and
your heart. You will remember this time and we hope you will come to Yaqui
Easter again. Thank you. (Anselmo Valencia Toni, Spiritual Leader, Pascua Yaqui
Pueblo, from a Yoemem Tekia Foundation Easter leaflet)

However, despite the understandably ambivalent attitude to non-Yaqui visitors,

the supportive presence of sympathetic observers is valued, as adding power to
the event. Local Yaquis throng the church for the Easter ceremonies, but
 EASTER IN ARIZONA AND MEXICO: YAQUI CEREMONIES / 221

sometimes it is as if it is enough for them to know the ceremonies are taking place
— much of the time it seems as if few are watching outside, but hundreds, both
Yaqui and non-Yaqui, may attend on Easter Saturday, while contributions to
funds made by visitors are gratefully received. At the end of the Easter Sunday
events one year, I was formally thanked for my presence by a local Yaqui woman
who was standing near me.

The Easter ceremonies and their significance in Yaqui life

The traditional Lenten (Waehma) to Easter (Pascua) cycle of ceremonies is held in
all Yaqui settlements. It is carried out in the area of the central plaza with its
church, open to the east (the favoured Yaqui direction, towards the dawn), and
ramada, taking place in much the same way as it did far back in Yaqui history. The
ceremonies originate not only in traditional Yaqui, pre-Christian beliefs but also
in European Christianity, accepted and absorbed into their own beliefs when it
was brought to the Yaqui. The two Jesuit missionaries who arrived in 1617 are
particularly credited with bringing liturgical drama to the area.’
A collective expression of Yaqui solidarity and renewal of spiritual belief: this
cycle of Easter ceremonies has particular importance in Yaqui life, reaffirming the
Yaquis’ sense of identity, and celebrating their survival. The cycle includes
ceremonies during Lent as well as the intensive phase in Holy Week, and finally
on 3 May the Kusim Taewa (Day of the Crosses).
Charged with social, cultural and spiritual significance and meaning, the
period is a time of serious endeavour termed ‘our work’ by the Yaquis. As Muriel
Painter, who experienced and observed Yaqui life and ceremonies through four
decades tells us, it is ‘a time of consecrated community enterprise’ (1971, p.8). The
main participants fulfil their duties for the entire seven-week period. During Holy
Week itself, they may have little sleep; with prayers to start each day, day and
night they live at the plaza.
The ceremonies are organised through the Yaqui system of membership of
ceremonial societies and sponsorship of individuals through life. Each person has
a number of godparents. This is a relationship which involves mutual bonds and
obligations related to the societies who are responsible for the organisation and
performance of ceremonial events through the year. Membership of the societies
results from a manda or vow.
The vow is usually made during serious illness, when the aid of Jesus or Mary is
sought for help in curing, in return for which a promise is generally made on

4 The plaza and church were brought by the Spanish missionaries; the ramada: an open-fronted shelter
on the plaza, also to be found at Yaqui homes, thought to have been of earlier history and used in
fiestas and ceremonies, with an altar at one side. — _
5 That is, the development of tropes (sung dialogues in the church liturgy) and dramatisation of Biblical
texts, as part of religious teaching and practice.
222 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

behalf of a child by the parents. But it may be made by an adult for himself. The
term of service is generally for life, but it may be for a shorter time... When he is
confirmed, the child is sponsored by godparents whom he retains for life. It is
thought that ifan individual does not carry out his ceremonial obligations he will
be punished by illness, by accident, or even by death. Almost all the participants
in the Easter Ceremony are under such religious manda to carry out their parts.
(Painter 1971, p.9)

The social organisation, the continuing use of the Yaqui language and knowledge
of customs keep the traditions alive.
There is an inter-locking, multi-layered mix of many rhythms and timing
patterns to consider in the Yaqui Easter week. In all Yaqui settlements or villages
the same sequential cycle is being enacted during that period. The timing of the
arrival of visitors from near and far, including family members, who traditionally
gather at this season, is one important feature of the rhythm. There is a time-depth
aspect too, when memories are shared of ancestors who enacted the self-same
sequence. | was made particularly aware of this during an interview with
Rosamond Spicer when she showed me a short film made in the early 1940s
during fieldwork with her husband, the anthropologist Edward Spicer. The rural
environment seen in the film differs from the urban one of today (local roads
nothing but dusty tracks, hardly any buildings in the vicinity of the plaza, and
very few non-Yaqui visitors). But although the environment and some details are
different, the action, appearance and behaviour of participants seem almost
identical to that of today, some sixty years later.
Spicer wondered how the Yaqui had managed to remember and revive their
ceremonies so effectively, despite the hiatus of more than twenty years when such
public expressions had been suppressed in Mexico, and further years when the
people had dispersed or been driven into hiding, and many had died. She
conjectured that the Yaquis probably thought through the ceremonies at the
specified times, and recalled the action quietly among themselves. Apparently, this
was just as she had done the year we met, when she had been unable to attend the
Easter ceremonies. During years of absence, I have found myself doing the same.

Rhythms through time: components and participants

Today, at the ceremonies, rhythms ancient and modern are juxtaposed. In one of
the Yaqui settlements in the Arizona area, traffic on an elevated freeway
(motorway) thunders by, only just beyond the edge of the plaza; in another, a
fairground is adjacent. In the performance arena (the church, the plaza and
surrounding area) everyday activities take place, including cooking, eating and
 EASTER IN ARIZONA AND MEXICO: YAQUI CEREMONIES / 223

sleeping as well as selling food and other items such as the traditional Yaqui-made
cascarones.’ All these activities contribute a strand of rhythm and timing.
In fact, after my first visit to the Yaqui Easter 1 began to realise that the
ceremonies, organised and enacted by different societies and groups within Yaqui
society, may be thought of as an amalgam of various strands, derived from a range
of sources and equal in importance. Each has its own significance and patterns of
thythm and timing, and the drama lies in the action of the various groups
involved. There is no attempt at theatrical embellishment as there would be in a
west European context, but readers familiar with Christian liturgy, medieval
European drama and folk dance, are likely to be as intrigued as I am to discover
some echoes and parallels. One strand in the ceremonies is the Yaqui
interpretation of the Catholic Easter liturgy. This is performed by members of the
church group, “Mary's army’ (wearing cassocks over normal clothes) led by the
Maestros’ with sacristans (assistants) and women singers. These are joined at times
by women who tend the church altar, girl flag-bearers and small boy and
girl-angels, dressed in white dresses, each accompanied by a female ‘godparent’.
Simultaneously, another strand — a version of the Christian Easter story — is
symbolically enacted. In this, other members of the church organisation
symbolise followers of Mary and Jesus and carry images of the three Marys and of
Jesus in procession.* Further removed from anything | have seen in European
Easter traditions, Pilate and those who persecuted Christ are symbolised by the
Fariseo and Caballero societies who, known as the Kobtumbre (Lenten/Easter
customs authority) are in charge of the Lenten and Easter events, and are readily
recognised by the black hats they wear, Fariseos’ black clothing and other
distinguishing features. In the role of Kohtumbre they effectively ‘police’ the plaza
and endeavour to see rules of behaviour are followed. For instance, on one
_occasion at the beginning of the procession to Christ’s crucifixion I was asked to
remove a small headscarf (which I was wearing as protection from the intense
mid-day sun, having taken offa hat; but even though it was black al! women’s
head-coverings are expected to be removed as a sign of respect). A threatening
force with their repeated marching up and down the plaza in front of the church,

6 Of Mexican origin, these are blown eggshells filled with confetti, decorated with paint and sometimes
with sequins, feathers, glitter-dust. They often seem too beautiful to destroy but are designed to be
broken over people's heads at fiestas or celebrations.
7 Leaders of the Yaqui church which has been independent of the established Catholic Church since
1767 when the Jesuits were expelled from Mexico. a
8 A number of Holy figures and crosses ate displayed on the church altar and carried in the Easter
processions; the three Marys are three figures of the Virgin.
 224 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

and even surrounding the whole area when they march round the Way of the
Cross,’ they are organised like battalions of infantry, with officers and soldiers —
of mixed ages, including young boys. Some of the Fariseos are dedicated by vow
to be the people of Pilate (known as the Pilates).'°
The Caballeros are cavalry officers and soldiers (traditionally mounted on
horseback in Mexico, and where I did see them, suddenly looming up in the dark
during the ceremonies one night, urging their horses on with star-shaped spurs).
Two of the soldiers give various signals with drum and flute during the
ceremonies, such as for starting, halting the marching or changing the rhythm,
and officers (with flags) lead the ceremonies with signals at different times. The
Caballeros march and are associated with the Fariseos until Good Friday
afternoon when they withdraw their support.
The marching may be described as a determined trudge: with knees slightly
bent, the feet are thrust into the ground with a flat step, and a forward impetus.
The leaders and more experienced participants lead the lines, and the intention is
for a synchronised unison, not always easy to achieve in the long lines, though
those near each other are usually in step and the general impression is one of
unison and a shared beat. As the men and boys tramp over the rough terrain,
marking the ground with intent, these frequent periods of marching seem to
tepresent a reiteration of purpose, a re-dedication, perhaps in memory of Christ’s
sufferings.
Christian European preconceptions about Easter ceremonies are further
challenged by the appearance of the Fariseos’ soldiers — the masked Chapayekas."'
Of uncertain ancestry, but akin to some other native mask traditions, they seem to
come from a realm which is alien, even to Yaquis. Although they recognise and
sometimes mock or appear afraid of the words and activities of the church group,
the Chapayekas play about and often behave as if they don’t quite understand all
that is going on. They wear an old coat or a blanket folded and pinned as a coat,
9 Stations of the Cross: the 14 places marked with crosses for devotional halts along the way associated
with Christ’s journey to Calvary— the Way of the Cross; a traditional route and practice familiar to
pilgrims to Jerusalem, a number of whom from the early fifteenth century created symbolic
representations in their home countries in order to foster the devotion of those who could not make
the pilgrimage. To this day the Stations are represented with crosses or pictures around the walls of
Catholic churches. All the Yaqui Easter church group processions travel in an anti-clockwise
direction — but occasionally the Fariseos and Chapayekas reverse this.
10 Participants may not all be immediately visible: wives of the Kohtumbre provide food in the
community kitchen on the plaza during Easter week.
VW Chapayekas from chapa (narrow) yeka (nose) - many of the masks made of hide or cardboard have
narrow pointed noses. With his mask on, the man becomes a different being, and there are rules
associated with this. For instance, he must not speak while wearing the mask, and to sneeze or cough
is held to be a sin. The small holes in the mask provide limited ventilation. If a Chapayeka needs to
cough or feels unwell during his arduous, taxing participation in the ceremonies (which includes
various heavy jobs as well as the ceremonial sequences), he lies down on his left side and is
immediately surrounded and hidden by others while he recovers, briefly removing and replacing the
mask. Beneath the mask and costume each man wears a rosary, with the cross held in his mouth as
Protection against the evil inherent in the mask and role, and in case the man dies during the
ceremonies.
 EASTER IN ARIZONA AND MEXICO: YAQUI CEREMONIES / 225

and traditional Yaqui thong sandals. Their masks, helmet-like, cover the entire
head and are considered sacred. They may represent caricatures of non-Yaquis
such as a Mexican soldier, pink-faced ‘white’ man or a cowboy, as well as birds,
animals and the occasional comic-book character. Although the Chapayekas
frequently seem amusing, it is said to be dangerous to look directly at them or
show enjoyment of their antics; their behaviour can be menacing and they do
frighten children at times.
Immediately recognised by their appearance and distinctive behaviour, the
Chapayekas perform tasks left-handed ot backwards. They march with the
Fariseos but sometimes improvise movement en route; they walk in a special way
with trotting-like steps, cocoon rattles rustling round their ankles, and may adopt
some movement characteristics appropriate for their masks, such as the stance ofa
bull or of a superior government official, or the scratching feet of a flighty
chicken. They communicate in their own language of signs, even at some distance
from each other, with shakes of their deer-hoof rattle belts and raps of their
wooden daggers on their wooden stick-swords (which they also tap jauntily to
accompany the marching which they join). When there is news to impart or
exchange, it is relayed and spreads in waves of a continuing rhythm of
communication through the group.
The Chapayekas improvise much by-play with their daggers, pretending these
are everyday items of various kinds — such as combs or drinking vessels. A
favourite game is to catch imaginary fleas on dagger-points. Each year, the making
of the masks, sticks or swords and daggers is the responsibility of the individual
concerned. The Chapayekas consider Judas their chief, and all the objects made
are burned on Judas’ pyre on Easter Saturday.’
Allied to the church group, the activities of the Matachin society,'? dedicated
to the Virgin Mary (as soldiers in her army to fight evil), generate another strand in
the ceremonial, with distinctive, bright rhythms reminiscent of European folk
dance, and accompaniment from violin and guitar musicians. This society is in
charge of other ceremonies, and the change of authority, which dominates the
pattern of the Yaqui year, is transferred to it in the course of the Easter events — an
important strand of community rhythm. With their devotional dances which bless
the ground where they dance, the Matachinis do not enter the proceedings of
Easter week until Saturday, to aid the destruction of evil. Their dances, closely
structured in three parallel lines and rectangular formation, are performed with

12 Except for ewo masks which are retained to be buried with any who may die during the year.
13 As the name ‘Matachin’ suggests, the dance figures resemble European folk dance (including English
Morris), performed with a slight lean forward and a downward focus and emphasis. It has been
suggested that dances of this kind were introduced by the Jesuits (Spicer 1980, p.101). Boys who
dance behind the lead dancer in the middle line are known as Malinchim; said to be dressed like the
Virgin Mary to honour her, they wear a white blouse and long skirt over their trousers. Malinchim are
‘promised’ and in training as future dance leaders. (Other American Indian groups in New Mexico and
Mexico perform Matachin dances also.)
226 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

downward, forward emphasis, well centred in the body, and repetitive patterns of
steps which include low kicks, crossing feet, turns and sometimes figure-of-eight
chains or files, up and down the set.
There is usually a minimum of nine men and boys in the dance group and a
non-performing leader who stands outside the dance. Dressed in shirts, trousers
and ordinary shoes, the Matachinis wear special regalia which is treated with
respect, including prayers, before they put it on: brightly coloured crown head-
dresses decorated with paper flowers, shining discs and streamers. They carry
gourd rattles in their right hands, which are rotated clockwise during the dance —
stressing the beat and with a sound said to frighten devils and witches. The
dance-leader sets the tempo, performs the first step and the rest join in. In their left
hands they carry trident-shaped wands, bedecked with flowers and feathers,
which are waved and used in a sweeping action during the dance as a form of
blessing, and also used by the leader, together with a particular swaying of his
body, to signal changes in the dance patterns.“
A further strand in the ceremonies is drawn from earlier Yaqui life and legend,
from Yaqui spiritual belief, before the influence of Christianity and Spain. It
encompasses the complementary domains of nature, wilderness, night-time,
dreams, visions and enchantment. This is the realm of the Pascolas’® and the Deer
Dancer (Maso) who are on the side of good against evil, but they do not make
formal vows in the manner of other participants. There should be three Pascolas
present, who, with the Deer Dancer, make their first appearance at the ceremonies
during Easter week on Easter Saturday. Unlike the group of Matachinis, they
dance as individuals. Bare-footed, with bare torsos, they wear a light-coloured
blanket wrapped around the waist, tied to the legs, and a leather belt hung with
bells; traditional beads and a shell cross are worn around the neck. In their right
hand they have a wooden rattle with metal jangles (a sonasum) which they beat
against their left, while a long string of cocoon rattles is wound around their lower
legs. These, with a sound similar to that of a rattlesnake, are said to represent the
snake, and rustle vigorously during the shuffling, juddering heel beats and low
jig-like steps of their dances — performed with a downward focus, torso bent
towards the ground. With his hair in a top-knot tied with a red pabko sewa wikia

14 Flowers, known as sewam, which decorate the Matachinis’ regalia and confetti — sewam ilichi, (little
flowers), figure prominently at Easter and elsewhere in Yaqui ceremonial life. (In everyday life too,
e.g. decoration on clothing or scarves). In Yaqui culture flowers not only symbolise blessings, holy
acts and duties but are also thought of as weapons against evil. The concept is incorporated into Yaqui
Catholic beliefs with the legend that Christ's blood falling to earth from the cross was transformed
into flowers.
15 Pascola from pabko (fiesta) and o’ola (old man). Despite their pre-Christian origins, Pascolas and deer
dancers are dedicated to Jesus. This is not seen as contradictory since Christianity was absorbed into
Yaqui beliefs, and Jesus, with his love of animals, people and gift of healing, is thought to be a Yaqui.
Also as Spicer states, to explain the historical origin of the Pascola ‘there are a number of obviously
post-Christian myths ... which suggest that his role has been much reinterpreted since the Jesuits
began teaching in the 1600s’ (1974, p.326).
 EASTER IN ARIZONA AND MEXICO: YAQUI CEREMONIES / 227

(fiesta flower string), the Pascola wears a small black wooden human or
goat-featured mask with a long white horse-hair beard and eyebrow tufts, which,
when not over the face, is worn on the side or back of the head. Of the Pascola
musicians (who wear everyday clothes and hats) two or three play the violin and
harp and when the Pascola dances with the mask over his face, one man, the
tampaleo plays a combination of flute with drum (music said to have been learnt
from wild birds and animals).
The Deer Dancer (who always appears with the Pascolas) is accompanied by
his own musicians: singers with songs which refer to the flower forest world, and
playing wooden rasps — said to imitate the sound of antlers against bushes — and a
gourd water-drum.'®
Quite distinct and different in behaviour from the Pascolas (although he is
always in their vicinity) the Deer Dancer does not generally interact with them,
and appears remote from the audience.'’ Closely associated with the wild deer
and its environment, his head-dress is a real smal! stuffed deer head, with glass
eyes and antlers. This is worn, tied over a white cloth wound round his head and
folded low just above his eyes. Like the Pascolas, the Deer Dancer is bare-foot,
with bare torso, and wearing bead necklaces and a cross. Over rolled up trousers,
he wears a rebozo (cloth) round the waist to below the knees; he also wears a
deer-hoof rattle belt, cocoon leg rattles and holds a gourd rattle in each hand.
While he waits to dance he stands impassively by, then when the time is right, he
ties on his deer head-dress, adopts a position of alert readiness, and bending
forward suddenly begins to shake his rattles rapidly towards the ground. He plays
patterns of some complexity with his rattles (the accented rhythms are varied
individually by the dancer, contrasting patterns in each hand).’* Retaining a well
centred forward-downward focus, he makes deer-like, sharp turns of his head, and
as the tempo increases, he treads the ground and takes rapid steps with changes of
direction — all performed within a limited radius, which generates intensity. After
passages of both metric and non-metric movement, the dance comes to an abrupt
end; the dancer immediately turns away and removes his head-dress."”

16 The water in the resonator of the drum, symbolic of the streams of the deer's habitat, is considered to
be enchanted or sacred after the songs have been sung over it, and, as is customary after the
ceremonies, I have seen the singer make a cross on the ground with it before sprinkling the remains
over any spectators nearby.
17 Notonly a source of food and skins in the life of early Yaquis, the deer was the most sacred, respected
wild animal in their environment.
18 For example, with clockwise circling action in the right hand and up—down action in the left.
19 Itis thought that there used to be dancers who represented other animals, and at one period there was
a military society, the Coyotes, which took part in Easter ceremonies. I saw them during the Yaqui
Easter ceremonies in Mexico and their Coyote dance was being revived when I was last present in
Arizona, and I was very fortunate to catch sight of it. Three young dancers, with the distinctive
narrow animal pelt hanging down their backs, travelled forward and backward ina line, galloping
sideways a few steps and stopping, or sometimes crawling along. Occasionally one dropped a small
stick and picked it up in his mouth. These were accompanied by a drummer who also sang into a hole
in the side of his drum.
228 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

The number of participants in each group depends on who is available in the

community and who is socially qualified to take part — on one occasion I counted
158 people in the circle at the end of the ceremonies — but there could be
considerably fewer or more than this. As Kealiinohomoku pointed out to me,
certain elements, such as the number of people taking part, are fluid, while others,
such as the order of sequences and number of repetitions, are essential.
The participants are not assuming roles or performing as actors do ona stage.
Except for the Chapayekas there is none of the characterisation, facial expression
or use of rhythm and timing which we would expect to see in a stage performance.
Also, the only relationship with an audience | noted was during interchange with
the Pascolas in the ramada during the Saturday all-night fiesta; occasional, limited
by-play with the Chapayekas at one or two moments, and during three informal
collections from some spectators for monetary contributions. However, there is
full expression of real feeling, particularly noticeable at certain times. Surely this,
the people’s feeling for the significance of the Easter ceremonies, forms the most
important strand of all.

Sequences of action
Again, the events are not defined or clearly set out as they would be with a theatre
audience in mind; timings are uncertain, or at best approximate, but the following
extracts from the whole event, taken from the last days of Holy week, may provide
a general impression of the timing and mode of sequential patterning during the
ceremonies.
Let us imagine that it is about 8.00 p.m. on a warm night in southern Arizona,
the Wednesday of Easter week. Picture arriving at a plaza similar in outline
orientation to the sketch-plan. The ten different Yaqui communities I visited each
had the plaza with church, barracks (guardia), kitchen, ramada, and a wooden
cross on the plaza. There was a path or Loria Vo’o (Glory Road) the width of the
church entrance from the church down the plaza, marked with cottonwood twigs
stuck in the ground and which visitors are forbidden to cross. But environments,
terrain and size of the enactment area varied considerably (I have walked down
one Yaqui plaza for 150 paces, another was smaller, but some have been
considerably larger than this).
With just a few other bystanders, there is a relaxed, calm atmosphere. We are
standing on dusty ground, the well-trodden sandy earth of the plaza, near the
wide entrance to the open-fronted church.
Inside the church, the Holy figures on the altar have been wrapped in purple.
Leafy branches which represent the forest, the Yaquis’ own country and legends of
Jesus’ wanderings, decorate the building. A sacristan is lighting the 15 candles on
20 The extracts following are drawn from observations made at different Easter visits between 1990 and
1994, with some reference for clarification to library sources.
 EASTER IN ARIZONA AND MEXICO: YAQUI CEREMONIES / 229

*# ~

“*
+ g Ft 4
Figure 10.3 Schematic plan of a Yaqui plaza (not drawn to scale — the church may be much smaller and
the plaza much bigger than this implies). Included are the east-facing open-fronted church, ramada at the
opposite end of the plaza, other community buildings and approximate positions of the Stations of the
Cross.
Source: Liane Payne

a triangular candelabrum in front of altar, while members of the church group are
singing the office of Tenebrae. During this time, outside the church we are
suddenly aware of a large group of black-clothed men and boys resolutely
marching in unison towards us — our first sight of the Fariseos and Caballeros,
accompanied by the masked, bulkily-clad figures of the Chapayekas, their
belt-rattles clattering. They march to the east end of the plaza and halt.
 230 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Caballeros Fariseos Fariseos Caballeros

Officer + flag Officer + flag Officer + flag Captain
Corporal Pilate Pilate Corporal
Captain Sergeant
Soldier + drum Soldier + flute

Chapayekas Chapayekas
(Fariseos’ soldiers) (Fariseos’ soldiers)

Corporals Corporals

Imagine the ominous effect of this unexpected appearance in the dark plaza, a
strong contrast to the calm, candle-lit interior of the church where the candles are
being extinguished one by one. The Fariseos make a gradual, ritualised approach
towards the church, advancing three steps as each flame is extinguished. Also,
during this period of time, about ten successive pairs of Chapayekas set out to
approach the church. Most of them seem to be using their swords like hobby
horses and, without any vestige of theatrical exaggeration, gallop and trot along
quite naturally, in a variety of ways — some mounts appearing to be more
recalcitrant than others. Each pair has a Caballero-guide who indicates the path to
the church, which the Chapayekas enter. They crawl up to the altar — as spies
‘searching for Jesus’, then report back to the officers outside. This all takes some
time ~ at least 30 minutes or more.
When only two candles are left alight, two Chapayekas enter the church and
crawl under the altar, howling like animals. This is said to express fear of the
increasing dark, and perhaps a sense of evil in the darkness. Along with other
visitors we leave the church, but we may be able to glimpse what is going on from
the church entrance. The last lighted candle (which represents Jesus — ‘Light of the
World’) is then carried into the sacristy and the church is in almost complete
darkness while the Miserere is chanted.
Next, the Fariseos rapidly enter the church for a ritually enacted whipping
ceremony. The officers kneel, the Chapayekas lie down and the Fariseo corporals
lash them.”' A recurrent time-pattern of three repetitions is apparent in the

21 There are various explanations of this procedure such as that the whipping is in memory of the lashes
received by Jesus, it is a penance and is in mutual blessing and forgiveness.
 EASTER IN ARIZONA AND MEXICO: YAQUI CEREMONIES / 231

ceremonial and sometimes actions are repeated three times into four directions,
which I particularly noticed in the action of the flag-bearers. The pattern of three
repetitions was evident when the Fariseos approached the church, and again here
as the Fariseo corporals make the sign of the cross on a Chapayekas’ back three
times (symbolic of the Trinity), then whip it three times. The procedure is
repeated with the officers being whipped, and the whole whipping sequence is
repeated three times. The Chapayekas once more how! like animals. The
whipping ritual is taken up in socially determined pairs by most of the
congregation to request hiokoe (forgiveness and blessing) for which thanks are
given. This whole procedure takes a considerable time. There is no sense of
urgency or doing things ‘to time’ during the ceremonies.
The church service continues while the Chapayekas may improvise a few
dance steps and deride the church people, but seem to react in fear when they hear
Holy names; and then the service ends. The night air is cold now. The church
group prepares to sleep in the church, while the Fariseos and Caballeros retire to
the barracks or round the fire outside. We leave the plaza.
Thursday, early afternoon. Various ceremonies have taken place in our
absence, and a wooden clapper has replaced the church bell which remains silent
until the Gloria on Saturday, when dramatically it rings again. The plaza seems
deserted. This is one of the times when obvious watching or being anywhere near
the activity is positively discouraged. In the distance we may notice some
Chapayekas carrying out a sequence in which they pursue one of their number
who represents Jesus, portrayed as an old man — E/ Viejito— who stumbles about
and appears a pathetic figure. In what seems a preview of Christ’s sufferings on
the Way of the Cross, captured by a small group of other Chapayekas he journeys
round the Stations on a rope. He is teased — and although at each Station he lightly
whips his tormentors he becomes more and more exhausted until eventually the
Chapayekas carry him to the plaza cross. From there he is led by the Chapayekas
to approach visitors for money, contributions towards the cost of the ceremonies.
Later in the day, towards the east end of the plaza, the Chapayekas make a
bower from cottonwood branches to represent the Garden of Gethsemane, and
the figure of the Nazarene” is taken in procession from the church to the Garden
by members of the church group. It is noticeable that the more clustered formation
of the church group’s processions differs markedly from straight-lined spatial
rhythms of the Fariseos.
During the evening, the church group processes to the Garden with lit candles,
and mounts a vigil. I have always experienced this, and what follows, as one of the
most solemn, moving and profound sections of the ceremonies. After about an
hour, the Fariseos and Caballeros march to the church. Two Chapayekas go to

22. The Nazarene figure carried in the Easter processions is a standing figure of Christ wearing a red robe
and carrying a cross.
 232 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

look for Jesus and return to the Fariseo officers with the news that He has gone.
This causes the captain to command the capture of Jesus. The Fariseos and
Caballeros then march away from the church to the east end of the plaza where
the captain orders three Chapayekas in turn to act as a spy. Using his sword like a
hobby-horse, each Chapayeka goes round the Garden, and reports back that
Jesus is there. The Fariseos and Caballeros (with the Chapayekas) march towards,
file back and march again towards the Garden (getting ominously closer each
time).
When the last of the three Chapayekas returns with a twig as proof that Jesus is
there, the Captain orders the troops to advance and seize Jesus, and all match again
in the direction of the Garden. Tension builds; members of the church group are
chanting prayers. The Fariseo who is the head of the Pilates approaches the
Garden and strikes the ground three times. He speaks with the sacristan who is
inside. As bystanders, we cannot hear the exchange (which is true of all the
dialogue in the ceremonial; not only is it in the Yaqui language but not intended
for spectators’ ears). It has been reported that the speeches usually proceed in a
manner similar to the following: The Sacristan: ‘A quien buscais” (Whom do ye
seek?). The Pilate: ‘A Jesu Nazareno’ (Jesus of Nazareth). The Sacristan: ‘Yo soy’(I am
He). The Pilate retreats. The Fariseos and Caballeros march closer to the Garden.
This approach, dialogue and marching is repeated three times. The third time the
Pilate asks the question, the sacristan replies ‘Os dicho que yo soy. Si me buscais a mi,
dejad ir a estos, para se cumplan’ (I have told you that I am He. If ye seek me, let them
go, so that it will be fulfilled.) (Painter 1986, p.445). The Fariseos and
Caballeros in two lines march in opposite directions to surround the Garden — an
implacable, intimidating, encircling force. The Chapayekas lie down and howl
(once more representing wild animals) then the tempo accelerates as they leap up,
pull down the branches and destroy the Garden. The captain of the Caballeros
ropes the Nazarene and four Chapayekas carry the figure to the church. The
church group, singing in mourning, follow. The Chapayekas place the figure of
the Nazarene in front of the altar, and a Chapayeka stands on guard in the church.
A procession takes place round the Stations of the Cross, which symbolises
Mary searching for Jesus. The Maestros lead a closing service with the church
group, mocked by the Chapayeka guard (who also appears nervous — for instance,
he reacts fearfully when he hears Holy names). Chapayekas take it in turns to be
on guard in the church throughout the night (they act with bravado but also
continue to behave as if they are afraid). The Arizona nights are chilly. As at other
times, hot coals are brought from the large log fire outside to warm the church.
Two by two, the Caballeros and Fariseos say their rosaries in front of the Nazarene
through the night.

23 This exchange is reminiscent of the exchanges in early European liturgical drama which developed
from the Quem quaeritis trope (a verse in the church Mass).
 EASTER IN ARIZONA AND MEXICO: YAQUI CEREMONIES / 233

Good Friday: perhaps we are returning to the plaza around noon. Various
activities will have taken place in our absence — a curtain has been hung across the
front of the church, and now unseen by us, the figures of the Marys and other
figures on the altar have been covered with black cloth.
Women of the community arrive in dark clothing. The general mood appears
sombre; Fariseos in black shirts, the Pilates in black capes. The long processional
march outside the plaza around the Stations of the Cross to Calvary now takes
place, with the community dividing into two groups after prayers together at the
First Station. In brief, the women who carry the figures of the three Marys,
accompanied by two lines of the Kohtumbre proceed in an anti-clockwise
direction, the Chapayekas with the figure of the Nazarene and other men with the
Way Cross, clockwise.** The Chapayekas indulge in mockery of the Maestros and
much by-play en route.
When the two groups meet eventually at the Eleventh Station — Calvary —
where three crosses have been erected, the Way Cross is put down on the ground,
showered with confetti (sewam ilichi see note 14) and a ritual is enacted which
symbolises the crucifixion. There is more by-play from the Chapayekas who joke
and pretend to hammer nails into the Way Cross (reminiscent of soldiers in
medieval European Passion plays). The Way Cross is lifted and carried in
procession round the final three Stations and to the church for the closing services.
A sacristan places the Way Cross in front of the altar and binds the figure of the
Nazarene to it, as the crucified Christ.
Various activities follow through the next hour or more, during which the bier
for Christ is collected from nearby in the local community, where it has been
decorated. Traditionally made of an arched bamboo framework covered in gauze,
it is trimmed with lace, ribbons, artificial flowers and a paper dove. The Fariseos
and Caballeros (in their role of Kohtumbre) march to fetch the bier. The church
group meets the Fariseos and Caballeros at the First Station of the Cross, and all
proceed to the church where the bier is placed on a table. Further processions and
other ceremonies take place later in the afternoon, the Fariseos’ faces now
forebodingly covered with black scarves. The church group processes in the
following order, but in a less regimented manner than the Fariseos:

The Way Cross with the men accompanying it

Boy angels with godmothers
Bier of Christ carried by four men
Girl flag-bearers
Girl angels with godmothers
The figures of three Marys carried by the women

24 The Way Cross, about 6 feet high, carried in the Easter processions, is kept behind the altar in the
church at other times.
 234 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Maestro and singers

Other people of the community

Towards evening the church is packed for the full group veneration. This is
another of the many passages of the ceremonies which for me is imbued with the
powerful, heartfelt feeling of the community. In a solemn silence men place the
figure of Christ (which has been taken from the Way Cross) at the entrance to the
church, the women scatter confetti over it, and the girl flag-bearers ritually wave
their flags over the figure (in four directions}, then kneel. All come forward to
venerate the figure of Christ while the Maestros chant. Offerings are made of
flowers, candles and money. The mass of lit candles clustered on the ground, fills
the church with warm, flickering light. Reverently, four men lift the figure into the
bier and cover it. The bier is now taken in procession around the Way of the Cross
and returned to the church (which symbolises taking Jesus to the tomb). The
Chapayekas take turns to guard the bier while the Maestros and church singers
keep vigil. Further veneration from members of the community takes place during
this time, and later in the evening a procession takes place round the Stations of
the Cross, which represents Mary looking for Jesus.
Around midnight, women remove the black cloth from the three Marys and
the mauve flags are replaced with red. A sacristan takes the black cloth from a
figure of the Infant Jesus which has been on the altar and which becomes the focus
of the ceremonies from this time. There are now further sequences of action,
including a procession with the figure of the infant Jesus round the Stations of the
Cross, said to symbolise the Resurrection and Jesus born again as a baby.
Meanwhile a sacristan in the undemonstrative, practical way of all the action,
secretly takes the figure of Christ from the bier and substitutes a small toy (often
one of the Chapayekas’ playthings). This is a seemingly small happening, done so
quietly we may easily miss it, but in fact it is the trigger for the massive climax
tomorrow when the Fariseos have discovered the frame of Christ is no longer in
the bier, in their possession.”°
At some time after midnight, there is another distinct change of pace and
resulting mood. The Fariseos march again, with the bier, in quick time round the
Stations of the Cross with a Chapayeka mock Mexican-style band — the
Chapayekas appear self-satisfied and braggartly. The bier is placed ona table at the
front of the church, with a Chapayeka on guard. The Chapayekas (who behave
more confidently and aggressively as the week progresses) now have a private
party, a mock fiesta, with much clowning: for instance, they pretend their daggers
are bottles and drink from them, then act as if inebriated. They try to dance in
different styles and generally fool about with spontaneous and imaginative
by-play.
25 In theatre terms, this is a key turning point in the action, and could be seen as most ‘dramatic’ — here
performed in untheatrical manner and context.
 EASTER IN ARIZONA AND MEXICO: YAQUI CEREMONIES / 235

Easter Saturday dawns. Activities now include tidying the church, sweeping
and dampening down the dusty surface of the plaza and marking the pathway
from the church to the east end of the plaza with fresh cottonwood twigs. A line of
ash is made across the main church path about 50 feet from the church, to
designate holy ground: this is the day ‘when the church and the holy ground in
front of it are identified with heaven itself’ (Painter 1986, p.477). A pole for
Judas’ pyre is put in place at the far east end of the plaza. During the morning, a
lively extended sequence takes place when, marching in procession and playing
their own version of Mexican tunes (a further rhythmic element), the Chapayekas
carry a straw figure of Judas which they subsequently fasten to the pyre. They
dance, embrace and honour him as their chief. Members of the community also
bring small items to burn on the pyre.”* About this time, the Pascolas appear at the
plaza and the Ramada is prepared for events which follow later.
After a further church ceremony (blessing the New Fire) preparations for the
Gloria are under way as the Pascolas prepare a special large sheet onto which
people put flowers and confetti — which is used later as ammunition to ‘kill’ the
Fariseos. The Deer Dancer stands and waits nearby, his head-dress at his side. In
the church, women, altar girls and child-angels in fresh, white dresses and flower
crowns assemble by the altar preparing to defend it. Meanwhile, outside, the
Matachinis have arrived. Entering the church to pray they dedicate themselves at
the altar and return to the plaza where their musicians are seated and starting to
play a little. The excitement of anticipation gradually begins to gather as
spectators arrive in their hundreds, it seems, for this special day, and line the route
from the church all the way down the plaza.
At about midday, the Fariseos assemble at the barracks. They are still clothed in
black and with the black scarves over their faces, a black cloth covering the drum.
By now they have discovered that the figure of Jesus is missing and is with the
church people, so they prepare for attack and further pursuit of Jesus. To a sharp
beat from the accompanying Chapayekas’ weapons they march in strict unison
away from the church down the plaza then back towards the ash-line several
times, and again back to the end of the plaza. The Caballeros march with the
Fariseos at first, then leave them and march to stand inside the ash-line, which
signifies their change to neutrality and separation ftom the Fariseos. Godmothers
run out to tie scarves round Chapayekas’ arms.”’
26 One explanation is that these items (such as small toys) may be contributed in the name of sick
children — as ifto have their illness burnt away. (There is also a connection with Judas as a saint, which
I have yet to understand.)
27 Thad thought of the scarves here as ‘flowers’ and as symbols of protection until I found an authority
stating they are mainly for ready identification of godsons in the later rush (Painter 1986, p.477).
Action with a practical purpose, a salutary example.
Surrounded by the inexplicable, unknowable, it is easy to jump to the wrong conclusions. In
addition, in a personal communication, Kealiinohomoku contributed ‘It is my experience that many
metaphysical reasons also have practical reasons as well’. The action with the scarves again seems
‘dramatic’ but is totally without theatrical intention.
236 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

The head Maestro sends a written message to the chief Fariseo warning him to
surrender: he tears it up and gives a piece to each Chapayeka. They pretend to read
with much irrelevant by-play and then stamp the papers scornfully into the
ground. The Fariseos again march determinedly towards the ash-line and back
several times. Chapayekas sharpen and flourish their swords, threatening the
defenders of the church; the Pascolas call to the Chapayekas to surrender and
show them the array of flowers (their ‘weapons’). Tense anticipation now, with
on-going threats from the Pascolas, as two further warnings are sent; each time to
be met with scorn, Chapayekas’ bravado and repeated, defiant marching back and
forth several times to the ash-line.
When the Maestro begins to recite the Litany, the Fariseos’ marching
continues but the step-rhythm alters to a pattern with step and stamps, (which I
remember as something like R RR R L LL L). Then, as the church group’s Kyrie
begins, the marching rhythm changes again — back to the usual RL pattern but
with a heel scuff inserted before each step, and an increase in tempo. Tension
gathers and next, as the Maestro begins the Gloria, there follows the most
exciting, stirring sequence of group rhythm I have ever witnessed — a torrent of
colour, sound and movement, initiated by the Fariseos’ final attack.
There is sudden action from everywhere as many rhythms occur
simultaneously: with voices from the church raised loud in the Gloria, sounds of
the church bell fill the air, Pascolas throw flowers at the Fariseos as they dash past
to the ash-line, the Deer, Pascolas and Matachinis dance (with their three separate
groups of musicians each playing or singing their different music full out), the
church curtain is swished open and the wide-eyed child angels — urged by their
godmothers and ranged with the church women at the front of the church — hit
out with their switches at the fast-approaching headlong rush of Fariseos; behind
the angels (many of whom look increasingly alarmed) the flag girls ritually wave
their flags, the church women throw flowers, the Caballeros kneel and cross
themselves; spectators throw confetti and flowers — many spontaneously,
irrepressibly calling out against the forces of evil represented by the Fariseos as
they pass.
Then, repulsed by the flowers, confetti, energy and multiplicity of rhythms,
the Fariseos stop suddenly, turn back at the ash-line and quickly withdraw to the
other end of the plaza where they and the Chapayekas hastily begin to take off
accoutrements — godparents hurry to collect them before the lines re-form and the
marching begins once mote.
As the church group sings the Gloria again, with gathering intensity the entire
sequence of action is repeated, each group of musicians with different specific
tunes or songs. Again the Fariseos march. Finally, the Gloria is sung for a third
time, and with even more noise, different tunes, songs, and energetic action, the
whole sequence is repeated. There is uproar as the Fariseos begin to rush right up
 EASTER IN ARIZONA AND MEXICO: YAQUI CEREMONIES / 237

to the church entrance; the enemy now at terrifyingly close range, the little angels
(some really frightened now, one or two sobbing) bravely thrash out still more
vehemently with their switches (backed up fiercely by their godmothers); I’m
aware ofa heightened tension all around me as a great cry goes up — the Fariseos
are successfully repulsed — they tear away to their waiting godparents at the end
of the plaza.
Rapid action now: as if the Chapayekas realise Judas has betrayed them, they
rush to the pyre, and throw onto it their swords, daggers and masks.”* The pyre is
lit — fireworks hidden in the bonfire explode and flames leap high. Good has
triumphed over evil: the power of God, Jesus and the Virgin has saved us once
more. The Fariseos have been defeated and ‘killed’ by the dancing of the
Matachins and the Deer, by the thrown flowers (that is, by everything which they
represent) and by spiritual powers. Now, again simultaneously: godparents throw
a blanket or coat over the Chapayekas in their charge'to hide and protect them,
and rush them up to the church altar for re-dedication and blessing (the evil of the
role has been shed as the accoutrements were shed). The Caballeros too dash to
the altar, kneel, cross themselves and then stand outside the church. Godparents
take the angels to the altar for prayers. The pyre continues to burn, carefully
tended, until nothing but a rough scatter of ash remains. There is a sense of relief
from anxiety now, and the Pascolas, Deer Dancer and Matachinis dance in
celebration in front of the church. Finally, with the figure of the Infant Jesus, there
is a procession of all participants to the fiesta ramada.
The Yaqui believe that the blood and tears of Christ which fell to ground grew
flowers of eternal life. Therefore, the flower is stronger than the sword. The
confetti and flowers will eventually conquer evil spirits. (from a Yeomem Tekia
Foundation Easter leaflet)

Activities continue through the rest of the day. Around sunset, and to my great
surprise the first time I saw it, the Matachinis perform a maypole dance in front of
the church, winding over and under ribbons (the maypole surmounted by a crown
and dove in honour of the Virgin). (Surprising to me, since it, at least from a
distance, matches the dance I know from England.) Then they dance their other
usual dance figures all night. In some places I have witnessed the Matachinis
actually dancing in the church at this time, to honour the Virgin Mary, and with
no other spectators present. Members of the church group, Fariseos and
Caballeros, spend the night at the ramada where the Pascolas go on performing in
secular manner until day break, with dance, songs, jokes, stories and ribaldry,
interspersed with more serious, intense dances from the Deer.

28 That is, except for the two masks which are retained for the burial at ta Chapayeka’s funeral, should
this occur in the year following.
238 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Easter Sunday activities usually include, near dawn, the Matachinis’ maypole
unwinding dance, and perhaps we may see a sequence of Pascolas pretending to
hunt the Deer. Later, the head Pascola gives a sermon in the ramada, and there is a
collection for funds from bystanders.
The news of the Resurrection is brought to the plaza by two girl flag-bearers in
flower crowns — Alleluia and the final surrender of the Fariseos is fully recognised.
As Spicer has pointed out: ‘the major rhythm of the Yaqui ceremonial year is
marked by the substitution of one kind of dance for another kind’ (1974, p.321),
and from this time the Matachinis with their dancing rhythms are officially in
charge of ceremonies until next Lent, when the Fariseos’ marching patterns take
over once again.
As we near the end of our shared Yaqui Easter, the Matachinis followed by the
Pascolas and Deer Dancer lead a procession to the church, and continue round the
plaza; the Holy figures are returned to the altar. The Fariseos are taken into the
church by their godparents for a final blessing and re-dedication.
To conclude, all the participants move into a large circle in the plaza
(traditionally known as the ‘Farewell’ or ‘Thank You’ circle). The Maestros and
Matachin leader stand in the centre. The head Maestro delivers a sermon (which I
have been told includes reference to the meaning of the Easter ceremonial, the
blessing (flower) received, completion of vows, new vows, report of money
collected). The final ritual: the Kohtumbre officials (the Fariseos and Caballeros) go
round the circle three times in traditional manner, touching hands and saying
farewell. There are then general farewells as people disperse and leave the plaza.
Even though we are a poor nation, we still talk for the whole earth through our
songs, prayers and dances ... We constantly ask for world-wide peace. Yes, this is
what we do here in our poor villages. (Jean Leon Naehto, Potam Village, 1989)

Epilogue
A multiplicity of rhythm and timing patterns, both seen and unseen, contribute to
an experience of Yaqui Easter ceremonies, together with a release from the
pressure or need for precisely measured timing. A sense of performance in real
time (unlike theatre time) with variations in tempo and intensity, duration of
pauses and periods of waiting for the more noticeable events to occur, combine
with details of the rhythms of the different sequences and dances, variations in
processions and marching patterns, and contrasts of timing in movement
behaviour. Presence at the event is to witness a many-layered mix of rhythms and
timing patterns. These, derived from a range of sources (through traditional
knowledge and the distinctive Yaqui system of cueing and signalling), contribute
to meaningful, highly expressive action. It is an extensive, intensive enactment
which has so far survived remarkably through history.
 EASTER IN ARIZONA AND MEXICO: YAQUI CEREMONIES / 239

There is a wealth of traditional knowledge embedded in the Easter

ceremonies, and I have only been able to offer a glimpse of this. There are various,
sometimes conflicting, explanations of the events. Much will never be understood
by non-Yaquis. Even many Yaquis themselves are not able to explain everything,
or do not wish to do so. They are known to smile quietly when they see visitors
checking the explanatory leaflets which are sometimes available, in efforts to sort
out meaning, order and timing of events. Perhaps it is preferable simply to allow
the events themselves to speak.
This series of summarised, fragmentary extracts described by one observer
from work in progress, cannot do full justice to the actual experience, to the
privilege of being present at the Yaqui Easter. It is difficult to convey the
transformative power of the events, the sense ofa dedication which is truly lived
through the period of Easter, and beyond.
Dominant memories of my experience of the ceremonies are many: an
ever-present sense of ignorance, of having entered a new world peopled by a blur
of mysterious happenings, a sense of wonder, and certainly an abiding respect for
the Yaqui. This is an extract from a Yaqui deer song:
Sewd yotume sewa yotume
sewa yo machi hekamake stka
Machi hekamake hekawapo chasime
yo yo machi hekamake stkaaa
(Growing flower, growing flower,
flower with the enchanted dawn wind, went.
With the dawn wind’s air, you are flying,
with the enchanted, enchanted dawn wind you went)
(Evers and Molina 1987, p.106)
 11

Papua New Guinea

Rhythm and Timing in Traditional Maring Life

With this account, which is an approach to the study of rhythm and timing from
ethnography and film, we are looking at an example from one of the last regions
of the world to be explored. Ethnographers who were writing at the period of the
film which I viewed (early 1960s) tell us that the Maring were approximately
7000 people, organised into more than 20 named territorial and political groups,
living in scattered hamlets in the densely forested Bismarck mountains (Madang
District) of Papua New Guinea. The term ‘Maring’ is recognised as the name by
which they are known to outsiders but it is not used by the people themselves.
They feel ‘no corporate identity beyond speaking the same language (menga) and
sharing certain other cultural traits — traits similar to those found in the broader
Highlands area’ (Healey 1990, p.28).
Daily activities of the people were those which arose from social, domestic and
titual obligations. These included gardening, pig-rearing, hunting and trapping
animals, and gathering plants for food and other purposes in the forest. The
gardens, planted in forest clearings, provided the staple crops of taro, yam, sweet
potato, manioc and bananas. (For further details see Rappaport 1968.)
Contact with non-indigenous people even in the 1960s was extremely
limited. As film footage of an earlier time vividly records, the first sight of white
men in the 1930s confused and frightened the New Guinea Highlanders
(Connolly and Anderson First Contact (1987). Visitors to the remoter parts were
still rare in the 1960s when Rappaport and Jablonko first went there.'

i Since that time there has been much change in the area (which it is beyond my scope to describe fully).
In order to avoid giving a false impression I have therefore adopted a generalised past tense except for
the film description. Some aspects of traditional Maring life, beliefs and customs do remain, but there
are no longer the large-scale ceremonies of the kind referred to in this chapter. It is probable that the
last of these occurred in the 1980s, to be replaced by the pati (party) where people gather together for
dancing and other activities. Other events are hosted by the mission at Christmas, and by the
government e.g. to celebrate new buildings or roads. ‘Fundamentalist missions have had wide
influence in suppressing pig festivals ... branding them as satanic and also by persuading the people

240
 PAPUA NEW GUINEA: TRADITIONAL MARING LIFE / 24]

+ = approximate location of the Tsembaga Maring

Figure 11.1 Papua New Guinea.

Source: Liane Payne

Our focus is a traditional Maring ritual event — the konj kaiko (pig festival), as
celebrated by the Tsembaga group or ‘clan-cluster’.’ Each clan-cluster had its own
10- to 20-year ritual cycle. The konj katko was the final part of the culminating
year-long ritual period (known as kaiko) during which friendly groups were

to keep fewer pigs so that they do not have the capacity to hold festivals’ (Healey 1990, pp.253, 260).
Modern dress is preferred by young Maring men, and increasingly worn by the younger women. I
understand that on the ceremonial occasions remaining, they still decorate themselves traditionally
along with the older men.
2 ‘Clan-cluster’ is a term which Rappaport and Vayda adopted from Ryan (1959) to describe two or
more neighbouring clans, approximately 130 to 200 persons, living in clearly defined territories of
approximately 3 to 10 square miles in area.
 242 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

entertained; it was the largest Maring gathering — Rappaport estimated that 1000
were present at the konj kaiko he describes in Pigs for the Ancestors (1968).’ The
event included dancing, ceremonial presentation of salted pork, feasting,
socialising and trading. It took place principally during two days although final
preparations started before this, and relatives began to arrive from several days
beforehand.
The kaiko was of fundamental importance in Maring life. It influenced or
facilitated growth and dispersal of the population, food accumulation and
sharing, as well as trade among groups. Moreover, as Healey writes in a recent
study ‘The number of allies present as helpers could, in the past, serve as an
indication of military strength’ (1990, p.74). According to Rappaport, the katko
regulated the frequency of inter-group fighting and mitigated its severity. Groups
who were prepared to support each other in fights were established through it: ‘to
join a group in dancing is the symbolic expression of willingness to join them in
fighting’ (1968, p.196). There is something ofa paradox here, since those present
may also have been potential enemies. Mounting the katko was a demanding,
expensive and time-consuming affair. The ability to do so indicated the viability
of the local population as a working unit, as well as its effectiveness in the
exchange network vital to Maring life.*
This chapter demonstrates how through study of ethnography and film it was
possible to gain some understanding of ways in which time elements functioned
in the life ofa vigorously ritual-based society during the period when they were
visited by the expeditionary team.
The preferred procedure for the study of events is of course to undertake
fieldwork if circumstances permit. Participating in life with the people concerned
is the ideal. No written account or film can replace the experience of being present
at a live event. However, in the case of remote locations it may not be realistic or
helpful to advocate foreign trips. Even if finance is available, it takes a considerable
amount of time to establish the relationship of trust needed for satisfactory
fieldwork. Local or intermediary contacts are needed and not always easy to get.
Also, however sensitive we may strive to be, the outsider’s presence is not always
welcome. It inevitably affects the people and not always to their advantage. Thus I
suggest we should take full advantage of both written and film ethnographies for
study purposes.

3 Although each clan-cluster celebrated a kaike on average perhaps once every 12 to 15 years, it was
possible for an individual Maring to participate in kaiko events somewhere every year, due to
cross-cutting clan-cluster relationships (see Jablonko 1968, p.44).
4 The term ‘kaiko’ was used in more than one context. For instance, it described both the year-long
festival which ended the 10- to 20-year-long ritual cycle, and the occasions on which friendly groups
were entertained, as well as the dancing which took place on these occasions.
 PAPUA NEW GUINEA: TRADITIONAL MARING LIFE / 243

However, with film we must take note of any limitations of the medium.
Ethnographic film, like any written ethnography, has the status of a historical
document which cannot provide an accurate picture of life as it is now. We are
witnessing an event from the film-maker and editor's perspective. In relation to
movement or dance study, footage with adequate views of moving figures and
what we would like to see may be limited. Lomax wrote of his team’s frustrations
during their massive study of ethnographic films (see p.104). In relation to rhythm
and timing, for example:

One of our most common experiences in screening filmed footage is to see

movements cut off in mid-phrase or interactions sliced in two as they are
unfolding. The length and ... spatial dimensions of movement phrases and
segments of interaction vary profoundly among cultures... The placement of
accents, whether they come at the beginning or the end of actions, whether they
produce an effect of follow-through or sustained energy, gives human behaviour
all sorts of different rhythms. (1971, p.29)

But with adequate footage, the opportunity for repeated viewing is an advantage
for observation practice, and in order to focus on different aspects of rhythm or
use of time elements in detail.
A chance remark, a magazine article or TV documentary may provide the
spark which stimulates interest in a particular ceremony or ritual. The ensuing
study process can be like a treasure hunt — as it was in this instance. After initial
interest has been roused by whatever means, ethnographic studies are a source of
further information; travel books may provide useful ancillary material while
cultural departments of embassies can sometimes offer helpful advice and further
references.
Sometimes the professional jargon and style of theoretical anthropological
writing can be somewhat daunting, and may seem too far removed from actual
events to be useful for a study of rhythm and timing ‘on the ground’. However in
this case I had access to two fine ethnographies about the Maring which provided
insights, stimulating description, and considerable background information:
Rappaport’s Pigs for the Ancestors (1968), and Jablonko’s doctoral dissertation
‘Dance and daily activities among the Maring people of New Guinea’, (1968).
The latter was a real find since the focus was on Maring movement.’
Jablonko’s emphasis on movement as signature behaviour and interest in
synchrony coincided with my own. However, she had not commented extensively

5 These ethnographers took part in anthropological expeditionary team work (led by Andrew Vayda,
from Columbia University, New York) during 1962 to £964. The basic assumption of Jablonko’s
study was derived from the Lomax and Bartenieff choreometric studies (see p.104). Her aim was to
examine the hypothesis that Maring dance was a formalised and repetitious use of movement patterns
that were frequent and important in their everyday life.
 244 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

on a full range of rhythm and timing elements. I was able to study extensive
footage with this topic in mind, footage which recorded daily activities and
rituals among the Maring clans, shot by Marek Jablonko (62,000 feet of research
film and an edited film Maring in Motion). 1 was immediately captivated by the
energy and vitality in scenes of dancing and ritual action, and intrigued by the
rhythm and timing palette on display in traditional Maring life. The head-dresses,
resplendent with plumes from forest birds, attracted attention straight away with
their flamboyant colours and varied rhythms.° Purposeful engagement in the
dance was evident. The men’s apparent enjoyment of the synchronised, regularly
repetitive bouncing steps in small clustered groups contrasted with an
exhilarating free-time, full-tilt rush when visiting groups descended on the dance
ground, and at the climax of the dancing. The proceedings were enlivened by
unexpected explosions from burning bamboo canes (which I later learnt had
ritual significance).

The performance time-frame and timing of the ritual cycle’

Traditional Maring life and ritual seems complex to an outsider. It involves
relationships with various groups of people and with different sets of spirits, as
well as use of specific animals and plants, fire, stone objects, particular songs, food,
spells and taboos; all with accompanying action and ritual procedures. Much
remains mysterious. A brief introduction with reference to a few features is all that
can be provided here.
As illustrated in other examples included in Chapter 3, traditional Maring
events did not follow what native west Europeans might think of as a regular
calendar dating system. Traditionally, towards the end of one of the long ritual
cycles, sporadic fighting led to a decisive rout or a truce. If there was a truce,
rumbim (a small tree — Cordyline frulicosa) was ritually planted as a boundary
marker. This signified that the particular host group should not initiate axe fights
or beat drums (which were used to incite warfare), and that preparations for the
konj katko, the culmination of the ritual cycle, were to be undertaken. This
principally involved nurturing pigs, growing crops and performing associated
rituals. Also, members of the host group transferred their homesteads near to the
ritual dance ground for the katko year.
There appeared to be nothing more decisive than a general consensus as to
when the katko should take place. Days were appointed, but temporal
arrangements remained uncertain. The feather plumes and other decorations

6 Other western highlanders such as the Melpa have even mote elaborate decorations — more skins and
plumes.
7 For background information | have drawn principally from Rappaport (1968), Jablonko
(1968),
Strathern andStrathern (1971), O'Hanlon (1983, 1989, 1993) and Healey (1990) and from personal
communication with Strathern, Jablonko and O'Hanlon.
 PAPUA NEW GUINEA: TRADITIONAL MARING LIFE / 245

worn for the event had to be gathered together and new ones acquired through
hunting or trading. Particular crops had to be grown and sufficient pigs had to be
reared and accumulated. Clearly time duration was crucial here. It was associated
with Tsembagas’ judgment of ‘good’ or ‘bad’ places — in a ‘good’ place pigs were
accumulated more quickly (see Rappaport 1968, p.155). Anthropologist Michael
O'Hanlon points out that the shifts of political rivalry and jockeying for position
which occurred at this time, may have given an impression of indecision to an
outsider, but the process was not intrinsically vague (1989).
Other groups influenced when the konj katko took place, or frequently caused
delays. For example, Rappaport states that during his visit the Tsembaga could
have staged a konj katko several weeks earlier, but had to wait until their most
important allies and closest neighbours had conducted the ritual which allowed
them to eat the pork which was to be presented to them (1968, p.201). During the
year, it was customary for Tsembaga youths to visit neighbouring settlements to
announce a forthcoming kazko, and later to check on any need for postponement if
visiting groups were delayed. The process of making arrangements and travelling
to meet, dance, share ritual and feasting and then to depart in different directions,
was the basis of the overall macro-structure of this impressive event.

Preparation for the konj katko

The considerable period of preparation for the konj kaiko was an essential
component in the rhythm and timing. Nurture of pigs, crop-growing, collection
and preparation of body decorations took some time. New paths had to be cut,
special arches, ritual dance ground fence and visitors’ shelters constructed.
Various rituals were enacted which included meetings with allies and processions
to establish territorial boundaries to protect the men’s min (‘life-stuff’ or spirit),
and to prevent enemies’ spirits from entering the enclosure — defined by ritually
planted stakes. During the year, groups of allies visited the host group to dance
through an afternoon and night, with trade the following morning. The
Tsembaga entertained 13 such groups on 15 occasions during a year observed by
Rappaport. Sometimes two or more groups were entertained at the same time and
three groups attended more than once.
The basis of traditional Maring life was belief about their ancestor spirit-world
(believed to be on the mountain tops). The konj kaiko was an occasion for fulfilling
obligations to the spirits as well as to the living, and pigs were sacrificed to the

8 I have been concerned about lack of direct contact with the Maring throughout this study.
Independent feedback was sought at an early stage, and again more recently, from anthropologist
Michael O'Hanlon, who is well known for his studies of another Papua New Guinea Highlands
group, the Wahgi. This group has a way of life and ceremonials which share characteristics with the
Maring (O'Hanlon 1983, 1989, 1993). Hence the references to his comments in the course of this
chapter.
246 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Figure 11.2 A group of Maring men bedecked for dancing. The young man in the centre who is playing
his drum, wears the decorated mamp gunc hairstyle.
Source: Roy Rappaport

spirits during the many other ritual preparations. According to the Tsembaga, the
purpose of communicating with the ancestors at this time was to induce them to
look benignly upon the dance ground. This was so that all might dance strongly
and the drums sound ‘rich’. It was also in the hope that the min (as above) of the
local girls be kept inside the fence during the kaiko: ‘The men often express the
fear that some of the unmarried girls might elope with visitors whose strong
dancing and finery have captured their fancies’ (Rappaport 1968, p.174).
Apparently a number of men maintained that their wives were first attracted to
them because of the admirable figures they cut in the dance.
The last preparations for the konj kaiko continued for two or three days during
which visitors who were to be honoured with ritual presentation of pork arrived
 PAPUA NEW GUINEA: TRADITIONAL MARING LIFE / 247

to assist. The tempo of preparations built up through this period. Apart from the
slaughter of pigs (a total of 96 were killed for the event filmed), ovens had to be
built, and firewood, ferns, and greens (to cook) were gathered. Finally, on the day
when all the visitors were expected, the dance ground was ritually prepared.
The decorations of men and some young unmarried girls took several hours to
complete. The young men’s head-dresses were particularly flamboyant. These
were of vertical black, white, green or yellow feathers set around red feather
crowns mounted on a basket base. The bird of paradise plumes and the eagle and
parrot feathers commonly used in a head-dress were among the most valuable
Maring items, and usually worn only at the kaiko.? Head decorations of some of
the young men also included mamp gunc — a crown-like decorated hairstyle
(constructed on 6-in.-high frames) — ritually created by ‘fight-magic’ men,
dedicated to the spirits and associated with strength and empowerment. Also
shells were worn by men through the pierced nose bone (septum). Other
decorations included bead and shell necklaces, and for the men, large bunches of
several kinds of leaves which hung from their waists at the back, and loin-cloths
trimmed with glossy fur.'°
During repeated viewing of the film material I tried to identify the order of
events and the nature and purpose of activities, as sketched in the account
following. After initial general impressions of the use of rhythm and timing
elements I later referred to the categories described and listed in Chapters 7 and 8
in order to consider the rhythm, timing and dance elements in more detail, and in
relation to traditional Maring life.

The sequence of events and use of rhythm and timing in Maring dance as
viewed in the film material'’
At the dance ground, morning. This ritual ground is a sloping area of
approximately 150-200 feet. A 15-ft-high fence (pave) made of saplings and

9 The head was considered to be the seat of the red spirits, Rawamugi, who possessed the warrior and
enabled him to fight.
10 Highlands’ groups continue to use traditional decoration at certain times, with imported items and
material which have long been incorporated in decorations and used as gifts. For instance, a
photograph in O'Hanlon (1993, plate 16) shows a young Wahgi girl whose decorations for the
presentation of her bridewealth include traditional shell necklaces, fur, pelt, luxuriant feather
head-dress (with a tinsel ball among the fronds), Papua New Guinea paper currency tucked into her
arm bands and ring-pulls from beer cans as earrings. Healey refers to the Kundagai Maring preference
for the bright colours and range of store-bought paints (1990, p.199). Bridewealth presentations of
valuables in the area now include ‘money trees’ — tall bamboo poles to which paper money is attached.
Writing in 1990 Healey states that most younger men are familiar with the use of money as currency
too, but that many older people are not (1990, p.201).
iW In order to retain something of the film’s immediacy, I adopt the present tense for this part of the
chapter. As anthropologist Kirsten Hastrup has pointed out, the ‘ethnographic present’ is frequently
adopted in fieldwork reports. Although criticised by some, it ‘reflects the reality of fieldwork’ and ‘the
instance of the discourse’ (1995, pp.20-21).
248 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Figure 11.3 A group of visitors charge onto the Maring Tsembaga dance ground.
Source: Roy Rappaport

foliage encloses three sides of the upper part of the ground (which slopes at
approximately 20 degrees). The term ‘pave’ refers to the fence and to the area
behind it, which is concealed from the dance ground. This incorporates the
principal men’s ceremonial house where the chief host men assemble, hidden
from visitors’ view. Separation from potential enemies outside and the strength of
the group seems emphasised by this containment within a fenced enclosure.
Before any visitors arrive, men and girls of the host group begin some dancing.
Then visitors can be heard singing as they approach, and contingents, fully
decorated, come into view. (Rappaport describes similarities between dance and
battle behaviour. The visitors approach the gate: ‘silently, led by men carrying
fight packages, swinging their axes as they run back and forth in front of their
 PAPUA NEW GUINEA: TRADITIONAL MARING LIFE / 249

procession’ (1968, p.187)). Followed by their women and children who join the
other spectators, the men from each of the visiting groups charge onto the dance
ground (again with movement like an attack in battle). The fight packages which
the men carry are magically endowed, containing ritually prepared leaves and
other items. It is said that if pressed to heart and head they will bring courage and
improve the chances of killing an enemy. A further link with warfare is obvious
here, especially since the men also carry weapons.
The host groups of men continue to dance. The feathered head-dresses which
add at least 2 feet to their height and the prominent bunches of leaves hanging
from their belts at the back add ‘presence’ and make the men appear bigger than
they are in everyday life, more conspicuous.'? Appearances differ, with no two
men identical, but there is a similarity between the style of the head-dresses and
other decorations worn by each group. The dance ground is edged by local
married women, children and some older and undecorated men. (According to
Rappaport, there would have been men from other places who had come to watch
and join the trading which followed the other activities). Thus, the ceremonial
and dance action is framed by the pave round the three upper sides and spectators
round the rest of the periphery.
As people continue to arrive, small groups of girls gradually start to dance,
singing amongst themselves. At times, local men meet the visitors and greetings
are exchanged."
I estimated that each of the visiting groups observed consisted of
approximately 30 people. There were about 7 to 8 persons in each of the dancing
groups, which circled around the general area of the ground, using the whole
space. I could not make a clear distinction between hosts’ and visitors’ use of
rhythm and timing.'*
Next, concerning body position and action: individually, the movement could
be described as ‘contained’. The reach of gestures was limited (and included use of

12 Rappaport judged the approximate height ofa Maring man to be 4ft 1Qin. at most.
13 Rappaport provides further details of kaiko events. For instance, he writes how ‘fight magic’ men
apply magic to the feet of the local dance contingent. This enables them to ‘dance strongly’ and
empowers ‘the beauty of the feathers’ to attract the visiting girls, while local girls remain ‘unmoved’
by the visitors. He also describes the speeches of presentations and encounters including trade
transactions (1968, pp.187—188).
14. Most of the dancing was done by the men, and all or most of the young men and those older men who
had direct kinship or trading connections with members of the visiting groups, danced. Some other
older men also danced or assisted the dancers with decoration repairs or in other ways. Women and
girls danced some of the time; Jablonko confirmed that it was only unmarried women who danced.
The other women and girls clustered in small bunches round the edge of the dance ground. In his
study of the Kundagai Maring clan-cluster, Healey states that some married women danced, in
decorations provided by their husbands, but that the women dancers appeared before the massed
groups of male dancers and on the periphery of the dance ground (1990, p.78). (In the Lomax analysis
of Maring movement, which made use of the Jablonko films, it was implied that men and women
dance separately (1968, pp.254, 124f). Although this is the emphasis, men and girls are shown
dancing together in the film A Katko Entertainment.)
250 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

drums near the body, see also p.251). I particularly noticed that the men’s torsos
were held in a steady, balanced and controlled manner.’ The movement of the
men’s feather head-dresses and bunches of leaves hanging over their buttocks
added considerably to the rhythm. The dancers remained on their feet
throughout and the stamps or steps down into the ground were emphasised.
There was little change of body position except for the vertical shift as knees
flexed with each dance beat.
The groups adopted various formations, with varying degrees of precision.
There were groups in which a number of dancers were roughly oriented towards
the middle of the group with varied distance between them, at no more than an
arm’s reach apart, rarely touching — described as ‘clumps’ by Jablonko. Sometimes
a group of dancers adopted a single file formation, moving counter-clockwise in a
circle, once more with individuals fairly close together and with the distance
between them varied. A block was formed when several rows of dancers lined up,
one behind the other (with two to four dancers in each row and spacing as before).
Spacing was again close but inexact. Just once I observed another formation when
two lines faced each other and moved sideways in synchrony. Individual men
sometimes danced ahead of a formation or occasionally in the middle of a ‘clump’
group. People did not necessarily retain position in any of these formations, none
of which were regimented or strictly precise.
I have described certain group formations but the positioning of men in the
space seemed more like a flock of birds than a group of people in a choreographed
dance pattern. This impression was of course emphasised by the bird feather
head-dresses. Reference to identification with birds was also voiced by a local
inhabitant: ‘and when we dance we dance like the bird’ (BBC TV programme
World About Us: New Guinea, 25 October 1981).'
Dancers’ focus was generally within-group, except for a bank of dancers who
moved directly towards and away from the pave, with focus on it. However, the
projection of energy and group rhythm seemed directed forward and outward to
the space in general. Structured use of rhythm in dancing tends to generate

15 I have discovered from Healey that it was the Kundagai Maring custom to attach the waving birds of
paradise plumes to a flexible stick which projected above a dancer’s head and extended down
through the base of the head-dress to the nape of the neck. The neck was held against the stick so that
‘the head and torso move as a rigid unit’. | do not know if this was a Tsembaga custom also. With this
impediment, ‘to achieve the admired undulating, beckoning movement of the plume, the dancer is
obliged to master a difficult undulation of the whole body through movement of hips and knees’.
Healey goes on to remark, as indeed I had observed with the Maring: ‘The effect is almost as if the
plume is waving the man’ (1990, p.78).
16 Healey emphasises an association between the Maring plume bearing birds and virility ‘signalled in
the act of display by both birds and men’. Also, ‘to dream of plume-bearing birds is a sign of future
good health’ and ‘soul consciousness’ (miny-nomani) may be manifest as birds (Healey 1990, p.80).
During discussion O'Hanlon emphasised the competitive nature of the display during dance at a
similar Wahgi pig festival which he witnessed.
 PAPUA NEW GUINEA: TRADITIONAL MARING LIFE / 251

energy: here it seemed that rhythm activated the release of dancers’ energy into
the environment, although contained within the performance area for the benefit
of all present, and perhaps symbolic of a wider meaning: O’ Hanlon was told that
by dancing you will be building a protective fence around your land’ (1983,
p.324 and see 1989).
I was able to observe two main dance steps and a variation performed in the
groups, which Jablonko (1968) has described in some detail. A bouncing step
with transference of weight from one foot to the other was the principal step used.
All these steps were characterised by synchrony, predominance of leg motion,
fepetitive continuity of movement, and durationally short movement segments.
The dancers also used a walking step, marked by synchrony within the group, and
a variation with more angular directional changes.
Some men had bows and arrows or an axe or spear in their right hands. The use
of drums strengthened the sense of cohesion in each group: many men held a
small one in the left hand, beating it with the right. It was noticeable that the men
synchronised their steps and drum beats only within their own group. However,
although there was match of feet contacting the ground, there was not a total
unison since each dancer appeared to have an individual, complementary pattern
of body movement.
The overall tempo of the dancing varied from medium to medium-fast and
accelerated to a faster rate at the breaching of the pave. The beat was regular and
the dance stress was on metricity and repetition. Patterns of rhythm were seen
chiefly in the steps (feet and legs), in the movable body decorations, and in the
spatial rhythms created from use of formation and direction. Accents in the body
movement generally occurred in a simultaneous complementary manner —
successively only in the ever-dominant feather head-dresses. The steps themselves
were not rhythmically complex if one assessed the action ofa single dancer, but
the overall effect was polyrhythmic. In fact, there was a multiplicity of patterning
which included not only the different individual bodies, but also the feathers and
leaves which were fastened at the waist and bounced on their buttocks as the men
moved. O’Hanlon told me that for the Wahgi, keeping the plumes and leaves
moving at maximum display was ‘the most important thing’ (see O'Hanlon 1989,
for more detailed local assessment of displays). Indeed, the long feathers of the
men’s head-dresses were in constant movement.
The spatial rhythm generated by the groups’ dance routes consisted
predominantly of wide curves and occasional angular changes of direction,
together with some straight pathways. As noted above, there were some
individuals dancing on their own, in advance ofa group, and others who danced
among the rest of the people. These tended to traverse more complex,
cross-looping pathways. The various dancing groups moved back and forth,
252 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

between and around each other, rarely retracing the same pathway. Little use was
made of 360° turns.
The ratio of movement to duration was high in the sequence viewed, with no
pausing within the movement phrases. Phrases were extended and of an even
character without strongly marked accents. At the end ofa sequence of dancing,
the groups and individuals in them did not stop at precisely the same moment,
likewise they did not start at precisely the same moment when dancing
recommenced. There seemed not to be any one leader. When a group was
standing together in preparation, the first sign of dance beginning was the long
head-dress feathers starting to wave; once they were all in motion the group
would begin. The feathers and plumes never seemed to drop off or get entangled.
O'Hanlon comments that the Wahgi in their dancing consider it a bad omen if
they do (1989, p.114). The movement was moderately energetic yet controlled
(but in a relaxed manner) — again with the exception of the swaying head-dresses,
nose quills and buttock leaves which provided a lively, unrestrained counterpoint.
To return to the film of the event: by mid-afternoon it seems that all the visiting
contingents have arrived. A host man climbs a pole behind the pave and shouts to
the crowd. An older man raises his arm in a gesture to silence the people, but
groups of men continue to drum, sing and dance. Eventually, the dancing
subsides, and the groups of dancing men draw closer to the lower edges of the
dance ground. The host men behind the pave have been busily preparing the
salted pork fat for the ritual distribution, unseen by the visitors.
As this important ceremony begins, the movement rhythm begins to build
with an increase in tempo. Behind the pave another man from the host group
climbs up a stake beside the first, and calls by name the men honoured to receive
gifts of salt pork. (The honoured men are any who have been wounded in battle,
sons of those killed, as well as kin and trade relatives from visiting groups.)
Summoned in order of honour, each individual runs up to a small window in the
pave with members of their household shouting — battle cries are included in the
shouts. Some are brandishing axes. (There were 28 of these men who were
followed by their dance contingents.) When the honoured man reaches the
window of the pave he removes the shell from his septum. A large chunk of salted
pork fat is pushed through the window into the honoured man’s mouth. Salt is
rubbed into his shoulders and then bundles of pork are handed through the
window. The man then dances back to join his dance contingent. Local girls
continue to dance inside the pave throughout the pork presentation, while older
women and children continue to stand on the fringes beyond, watching. Grouped
along the edges, these spectators contribute to the rhythm and timing chiefly by
defining the performance time-frame and the ritual dance area, and by their
general focus on the action. (They did not appear to be concentrating directly on
the action all of the time, but when the presentation of pork began, attention was
 PAPUA NEW GUINEA: TRADITIONAL MARING LIFE / 253

immediately drawn to that.) Use of rhythm had built to this prolonged first climax
of the event when the pork was presented to the allies as described, one by one,
through the window.
Late afternoon, 5.45 p.m. approximately, and the presentation has finished.
The men come down from the stakes, and all the Tsembaga men remain within the
pave enclosure. The visiting dance groups spread over the dance ground and sing
and dance with great vigour and excitement. In traditional Maring ritual a
time-marker is the cracking sound made by bamboo tubes burning, which is
thought to attract the attention, protection and assistance of ancestors. On this
occasion, after about half-an-hour, the last phase of the ritual cycle is initiated
when men of the Tsembaga clans gather round a small fire in the pave. Bamboo
tubes that had been heated and burned there begin to explode. As each length
explodes, a man holds it up above his head, talking loudly and vociferously, while
a young man dances and drums. (These bamboo explosions acted as a signal. The
sounds contributed strong accents as non-metric punctuation, and generated
excitement and a sense of building to a climax. Although an important signal,
they were not produced at precise moments since they were the result of the
burning process and thus exploded at random, without any overall control. This
was consistent with other observed aspects of the Maring handling of time (see
pp.256—257).)
Both men and women greet each bamboo explosion with enthusiastic
shouting. After several explosions the host men rush down to a corner of the pave
which others have begun to break down. Then with the girls following, the men
in the pave form a column, and one of them holds a split bamboo over his head. He
leads the column of leaping men out through the breach, followed by the girls.
There is a strong climactic impetus as men rush across the dance ground and
regroup at the lower edge of the slope. First, they dance together and then all
groups dance in the area, seemingly as equals, with no one group appearing to be
the centre of attention.
The whole group dances several times round the ground, and then gathers at
the lower gate. While the women, children and visitors watch in a close crowd,
one of the host men digs out the rumbim which had been ritually buried by the
gate to the dance ground to indicate territory boundary and a time of truce (see
p.244). The rumbim roots are carried among the crowd by two host men, who then
lead the column of dancing men and the whole group once more around the
dance ground. As this formation disintegrates the dancers leave the dance ground,
and go along a narrow path, a few men singing and drumming. Rappaport
describes how the men carrying the rumbim walked to a distant bluff and
254 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

performed the last act of the ritual cycle — the roots were thrown over the bluff
towards the enemy territory. Names of enemy men were called out with ‘We have
finished our kaiko; we are here’ (1968, p.218).'’ There was further distribution
and consumption of food on the dance ground later (not recorded in the film, but
reported by Rappaport and Jablonko) and hosts’ speech-making. The speeches
apparently recalled obligations, exchanges and assistance given in fights.
There was some film footage which showed that the dancing continued and
went on spasmodically through the night with a mix of group members. During
this, men would drop out of the dance groups and go into shelters to eat snacks —
such as sugar cane, roasted tubers or bananas. Eventually many local women
returned to the gender-defined houses. Others stayed round fires.
The next morning, according to Rappaport, there was ‘a massive trading
session’ (1968, p.218). The final section of film starts when it is about 7.00 a.m.
that morning. The dance ground is only about one-third full, and the dancing has
ceased. A little trading is going on. (For example, I noticed that one man traded a
£1 note for a green sea-snail shell — a highly valued item.) Relatives and
acquaintances meet and acknowledge each other, shaking hands. People are
milling freely on to the dance ground and the young men are drumming a little.
The decorations are being taken off and these and other items are being offered
for trade, with women and children again standing watching on the perimeter.
People from distant territories had been leaving since the early morning. Men
carried their gifts over their shoulders — sides of pork and bundles of sugar cane.
Women’s string bags were full of smaller pieces of pork and tubers (often with a
small child riding on the top). They carried these bags in the characteristic manner
of the region's women, suspended from the handle over their heads. According to
Jablonko, people continued to leave throughout the day — an attenuated, gradual
ending to the event, which marked a truce (although in former times, warfare
broke out within a few months of ending a katko). Through the katko, obligations
to the living and the spirits were met, exchange of goods and marriage of women
facilitated and new debts generated — the next ritual cycle was beginning.

General observations
Observations of the use of time elements and rhythm in the film material brought
out several features related to traditional Tsembaga Maring life. It seemed that the
impression the men made in their dancing had a direct bearing on the
effectiveness of the all-important alliances. The richness of their decorations
which was fully displayed in dancing signalled the relative wealth and economic
standing of a group (see also Healey 1990, p.74). The more assertive and

17 Jablonko told me that at this stage the young men with the ritualistic mamp gunc hair style cut it off.
 PAPUA NEW GUINEA: TRADITIONAL MARING LIFE / 255

impressive the dancers were, the more effective they may have been in securing or
strengthening alliances (and the stronger the alliance, perhaps the more confident
the dancing). Counting and securing marriage partners was an important part of
the proceedings. As Rappaport discovered, a yu wundi (good man) who will attract
women is one who ‘dances strongly, whose plume waves bravely, and whose
adornment is rich’ (1968, p.189). Appreciation of strength of legs and feet in
dancing is shared by other Papua New Guinea societies such as the Wahgi
(O'Hanlon 1989, p.114). Impressive, ‘strong’ dancing, with plumes waving
‘bravely’ clearly arises from effective use of time elements, the more especially
here since body position, gesture and other spatial design elements were limited.
In his studies O’Hanlon stresses that to the Highlanders themselves, the
adornment and display (such as the use of feathers and bunches of leaves in the
Maring dance action) are not the ‘natural and rather passive adjuncts’, as usually
viewed by anthropologists (1983, p.317). ‘Plumes should participate in the
vigorous and lively bearing of warriors’ (1989, p.114). I certainly saw the body
movement, with use of the body extensions, as intrinsic to the display.
With its opportunities for display, show and trade, the konj kako was both an
expression of solidarity between allies and of a wary truce between past or
potential enemies. The demonstration of solidarity, vigour and size of groups —
the number of people in the host group and number of allies — was mentioned by
Rappaport as significant. O'Hanlon supports this view. A local Wahgi man told
him:

‘Generally we don’t really know whether ... other groups have many men or not.
But when they do go/ or displays associated with food prestations al] their
component groups take part. We look at one and say “Ah! They've got a lot of
men”, and at another and say “Ah! They've got a lot of men (too)”, and so we assess
them. We look closely at their appearance, at their arms and legs, we see whether
they are well built men or not. So we carry on assessing them and then we come
home and tell of what we've seen...’ The challenge ‘Nimye owol ma’ (you are not
many men) is a particularly provocative one leading to heated arguments and
violence. (1983, p.323)

It can readily be seen that displays such as those undertaken by the Maring during
the konj kaiko had similar communicative functions — they asserted power,
emphasised relationships and deterred actual and potential enemies.
Group solidarity was particularly evident in the use of complementary rhythm
and timing in the dancing, especially that which occurred after the pave was
breached. As previously noted, some of the dance movement and distinctive use
of rhythm and timing was similar to that of battle action. For example, the men
leaping and rushing across the dancing ground was like a battle charge, reminding
us of an ambiguous Tsembaga saying ‘those who come to our katko will also come
to our fights’ (Rappaport 1968, p.195). The pave, until breached, represented a
256 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

barrier between the hosts behind it and the visitors. They stood in an ambivalent
relationship to one another, both friendly and hostile.

Time elements in other aspects of traditional Maring life

In addition to the relationship of both the konj karko, and the dance movement
within it, to fighting, there were characteristics in the use of rhythm and timing in
the dance movement which seemed to relate to other aspects of traditional Maring
life.
Although clearly articulated steps and group patterns featured in the dancing,
randomicity and lack of regimentation emerged from my observation as
predominant characteristics of rhythm and timing in Maring dance style. Jablonko
was surprised by this evaluation:
In [my] dissertation, this randomness of movement was passed over with scant
mention... The astonishing new perspective which suddenly burst on our vision
was that this randomness is a crucial ‘glue’ for the Maring ‘world’. Previously,
seeing through my own cultural blinders, I had perceived randomness as an
‘undesirable’ or ‘non-optimal’ quality. I had unconsciously construed it as at the
low end ofa hierarchy {randomicity to complex precision). Therefore, I virtually
dismissed it and went on to analyze in painstaking detail movement activities and
phrases that were more recognisable to my own culturally trained eye/mind.
(Jablonko, personal communication, 13 February 1978)

From the film it was also possible to note a degree of randomicity in Maring use of
landscape. With unpredictable weather and no clear-cut seasonal variations it is
necessary to be prepared to vary the timing of planned activities. Some film
footage (in Maring in Motion) showed a lack of precise, geometric order in the way
dwellings and garden plots were laid out. Indeterminate pathways predominated.
The placing of the dwelling settlements and the mixed planting layout in the
gardening areas was far from uniform. Gardens were at many stages at any one
time. In addition to visual randomicity, a complex rhythm and time action pattern
was generated. As Jablonko had noted:
it is clear that a variegated movement pattern is used to cope with this rich
plant-space pattern. She [the woman working] has taros, then she picks a handful
of kem which she holds in her elbow-bent left hand (at shoulder height) while
picking pit-pit with right hand. (Notes for Planting Stakes at Gat)

In some sequences of the konj katko, it was relatively easy to identify ritual leaders
who could be observed initiating phases of the ritual action. On the other hand, it
was not easy to identify dance leaders. Now and then someone would emerge as
an initiator or apparent co-ordinator of rhythm, but different people led each
group off around the dancing ground. To the outsider, inexactness and apparent
 PAPUA NEW GUINEA: TRADITIONAL MARING LIFE / 257

randomness were thus striking in both the formations and in formation-

leadership. These characteristics of leading or cueing changes of rhythm in the
dancing appeared matched by the way in which authority in daily life appeared to
shift from one person to another. In relation to this, it is interesting to note that
the Maring had no hereditary or formally elected chiefs. Some men were
recognised as ‘big’, that is, they are more important than others, but they did not
command obedience from others. Older men with traditional ritual knowledge
were respected but even they were not leaders in the usual sense. Where headmen
had been appointed by government officials, some managed to adjust and cope
with this, others not. Rappaport reported ‘loose’ discipline and organisation — in
fights ‘discipline was not tight nor control close’ (1968, p.138). Persuasiveness
and rapport, rather than authority or position, appeared to cause or result in
action. On at least one occasion I noted lack of immediate response to an older
man’s signal.
Rappaport commented that Maring processes of decision-making were ‘as
amorphous as the structure within which they take place’ (1968, p.30). When I
was studying the film I noticed that meetings had the appearances of being more
for discussion than for decision-making. Groups of men were shown standing or
sitting and talking among themselves; a few men would move from group to
group and occasionally one man would address the whole group. Also there was
no apparent or definite end to meetings. It seemed that the purpose was to reach a
consensus, and when any one man thought that had been achieved, or that there
had been enough discussion, he would initiate what he considered was the
appropriate course of action.'®
The film material gave me the impression that everyone present pursued their
own course of action in an individual, personal manner. In daily life in general |
observed that people typically moved about separately. For the few activities
which required concerted action, those available gathered together but drifted
apart at the end of the activity.
In conclusion, use of the suggested mode of observation with identification of
rhythm and timing features, brought out aspects of traditional Maring dance
movement and behavioural style not previously evident to anthropologist
Jablonko. It stimulated a less preconceived, judgmental approach and drew
attention to the significance of use of these features in the life of the Maring.
Jablonko had described Maring social organisation as exhibiting ‘looseness’. The

18 O'Hanlon emphasised during discussion that this is classic New Guinea Highlands behaviour. There
is no coercion. He suggested that for these autonomous individuals to come together for group action
as in the katko— despite internal factions, problems of communication and necessary preparation — isa
triumph of consensus and of organisation. He also made a further interesting point that
competitiveness lies at the root of any apparent lack of order.
258 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

lack of precise synchrony and clear group focus in the movement rhythm and
timing appeared to reflect this characteristic. Jablonko admitted:
It is hard for us, either in the field or looking at film, to even be able to see this
looseness — our eye is immediately caught by ‘discrete bits’ which have the
character that we have been trained to find important within our own cultural
context. The theoretical base that I used for my dissertation, Lomax’
Choreometrics, also used a model ofa ‘vertical scale of complexity’. So, it was all
too easy for me to fall into judging the Maring movement style as an all too simple
and vague version of ‘the human movement style’. Now I perceive Maring style as
a totally different style, exactly right for the total situation binding people to
people and people to environment. (Personal communication, 13 February
1978)
Jablonko wrote later of further awareness which developed during our period of
film observation. She had been studying synchrony in Maring dance:
Suddenly I realised, to my horror, that I had always been perceiving this as a
‘second rate sense of synchrony’... I suddenly saw that it is not a matter of some
sort of laxity, of falling short, but that it is a sense of timing in its own right and is
a crucial part of the whole cultural system... the loose synchrony observable in
Maring dance is the precise parallel, though condensed in time, of inter-personal
relationships in daily life with their extreme flexibility in timing and the
dependence of each person on his own decision and timing. (1979, p51).

Judging from this study of film and ethnographic material, we can see that features
of rhythm and timing may be considered a significant component of cultural
identity, of distinctive dance style and movement signature. Furthermore, this
observation project showed that it was possible to extend perception of stylistic,
cultural, and societal features through focus on movement-rhythm and timing.
 12

For Queen and Country

A British Event: Trooping the Colour

Now we travel from distant lands back to London, in June. A blue sky and just
enough wind to lift and display the flags: these are the ideal conditions for the
staging of perhaps the best-known British royal annual event, both here and
abroad — the ceremony of Trooping the Colour. If we observe this ceremony
where it’s held on Horse Guards Parade in the centre of London, on the occasion
of the Queen’s official birthday, or as one of the millions world-wide who watch it
on television, we have an opportunity to notice links and differences between
titual, ceremony and theatre performance, the influences of ‘natural’ and
culturally determined timing, as well as the function of rhythm and timing in the
structure of an event. My purpose here is to present not only a contrasting location
and context, one closer to home and readily available for viewing through
television, but also a simpler, more limited introductory approach than in the
previous two chapters.
A visitor is immediately struck by the sheer size of the Horse Guards Parade
ground, an area of approximately 174 x 120 metres. A sense of history is gained
from the quietly impressive government buildings of Whitehall, the statues and
the Guards’ Memorial. These, together with the trees of former royal hunting
territory — St James's Park — and tiered banks of spectators, frame the performance
space — once the tiltyard of Tudor kings. Visitors line The Mall and are packed into
the seating on the parade ground. The ceremony begins and the excitement
builds.
The Queen arrives attended by the Royal Procession and escorted by the
Sovereign’s Escort of the Household Cavalry. The imperturbable proud-looking
figures of the Guards impress in the vibrant colour of their full dress uniforms —
red, white, dark blue, shining gold and gleaming black — all emotion withheld,
faces partially masked by thick bearskin cap or fearsome helmet. Attention is
caught by the grandly caparisoned, high-stepping horses; the Guards’ traditional
stoic fortitude is displayed as man and horse submit to the demands of the

259
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Key:
blocked areas = buildings — Buckingham Palace, Whitehall
dotted areas = route of processions along The Mall and Horse Guards Parade
slashed lines = lakes in St James’ Park

Figure 12.1 Plan of the area.

Source: Liane Payne

occasion — they, like us, buoyed up by the stirring music of the bands. Spectators
wonder at the precision, the seamless exactitude of the drill and the well-schooled
discipline. The most important figure — the Sovereign — is tiny in that vast space,
honoured by row upon row of highly skilled fighting men, albeit disguised today
in the grand panoply of ceremony. The basic elements of early Guard-mounting
ceremonies of the eighteenth century have changed little but they have developed
into the elaborate occasions of today (see Bland 1759). We are witnessing a
time-honoured tradition which brings diverse memories of a nation’s past.
Colours are carried by regiments of many nations today to display past battle
honours and to stand for the reputation, existence and prowess of the unit. The
 FOR QUEEN AND COUNTRY: TROOPING THE COLOUR / 261

Figure 12.2 The wide expanse of Horse Guards Parade and grandeur of adjacent buildings: saluting
base and Royal family’s view from the window above are situated on the left of the picture; other
Spectators dre in tiered seating on three sides. Stillness of men and horses at attention contrasts with the
movement-rhythm of other horses, accoutrements and helmet-plumes.
Source: Courtesy of the Guards Museum

Colours ofa regiment were first used as flags for a readily recognised rallying
point and to help maintain order in battle. Respect is always shown to the
Colours. An order of HRH The Duke of Cumberland, 15 May 1755 refers to
occasions when the Guard parades with Colours: ‘[each of the men] are to pay the
proper respect to the Colours by pulling off their hats as they pass.’ (quoted in
Gow 1988, p.17). The first reference to the Sovereign’s birthday being marked
with Trooping the Colour is in 1748. It is seen as a personal tribute of the Guards
to their Sovereign and Colonel-in-Chief. The parade when the Queen's Colour of
a guards regiment is trooped is a symbolic representation of the values embedded
in the traditional power of the monarchy protected and effected by the army.
The ceremony takes place on a specific day in time, yet it is set apart in a
traditional time-world of its own. Provided the reigning monarch is there (or, as
happened once, a fit representative) with members of the Royal family,
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Figure 12.3 Pike drill: one position of many from a book of instruction which records the patterns of
movement and timing for troops’ drill in seventeenth century Europe.
Source: Seventeenth-century drill manual. Courtesy of the Guards Museum.

high-ranking government officials (and ideally, heads of state from overseas), the
event would take place whether or not other spectators were present. It is the
official birthday, rather than the actual date, partly to allow for the vagaries of the
British weather. There is a degree of flexibility in the timing in that the date varies
from year to year, but it is always on a Saturday, selected as being the most
suitable day for organising the large public function the event has now become
(and to avoid week-day traffic). Complete cancellation is rare. Gow (1988) lists
all parades since 1895 and notes 19 years since then when the parade was not
mounted. Nature sometimes overcomes culture, bringing frustration to those
whose job and preference is to be in control. Cancellations have been due to
weather (1905, 1906, 1909, 1948); to human frailty and death — court mourning
(1910), world wars (1915-1918, 1940-1946); to human action — the general
strike (1926), the national rail strike (1955). The coronation of George V (1911)
also caused a cancellation.
 FOR QUEEN AND COUNTRY: TROOPING THE COLOUR / 263

Apart from the human element and the uncertainties of the weather, the other
obvious ‘natural’ rhythm present with influence on the timing of the event is the
horse. A trained horse may look sedate and disciplined, but there is always the
chance it may shy. One notices how the eyes shift and ears twitch. Like all hoofed
animals, the horse is designed by nature for flight. The riders have to be ready for
any changes in tempo. When the trumpeter sounds ‘trot’ for the Household
Cavalry, the horses know the signal and if their riders aren’t prepared for it, are
likely to respond before the band strikes up. Also, observant spectators may notice
that when there is an acceleration in the band’s tempo, the horses tend to surge
forward and have to be judiciously held back by the riders.
During the ceremony, the horse’s walking pace gives an impression of dignity.
The trotting of the Household Cavalry generates energy and enlivens the
proceedings. Occasionally the true nature of the animal comes through and
dominates the rhythm. In 1932 a spectator reported that HRH The Duke of
Gloucester’s charger ‘entered a rather active protest against the noise made by the
bands and the fact that it was made to wear a crupper’. The duke left the parade to
re-appear on a ‘better behaved’ mount (Gow 1988, pp.60-61). There are
anecdotes from ‘The Empty Saddle Club’ about member officers who have ‘had
the misfortune to dismount involuntarily’. One tale in particular has entered
Guards’ folklore about a battalion adjutant whose horse persisted in going
backwards the entire length of The Mall from Buckingham Palace to Admiralty
Arch. One horse in living memory is known to have bolted in the wrong
direction. But these are exceptions.
Dominance and control of time is a long and well-established feature of
official British life and planning, not least in the pattern of events and ceremonies
which mark the royal year. Attention to timing is an important feature of British
army life and discipline. Regiments and battalions of The Household Division
have to be ready to leave England for operational duty at any time. As fighting
men they are trained to be capable of organised speed and precision in action.
Furthermore, a soldier's training and schedule is strictly timed in terms of minutes,
hours, days, weeks, months, years.
The punctilious attention given to the use of time elements during the
Trooping the Colour ceremony and throughout its preparation period is essential
for its successful organisation. In this the aim of the Household Division is
assuredly achieved: ‘in their Service to the Sovereign, the aim of all members of
the Household Division is never to accept second best; but always to strive for
perfection’ (Langley, 1981). This is evident also in the appearance of the almost
motionless guards on duty throughout the year at Buckingham Palace, Windsor
Castle, in Whitehall! or during the Birthday Parade. Bystanders seem unfailingly
impressed by the fine example of the stereotypically British ‘stiff upper lip’ and by
the unflinching, held position of the men whatever the weather — on foot or on
264 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

horseback. Gow quotes The Times report of the bitterly cold 1920 ceremony
which refers to the gratitude and relief of the stoic men when the arrival of the
Queen and Princess Mary ‘gave an opportunity for brisk movements of rifle’
(1988). The stillness at attention, and the timed precision of action when the
Guards move individually or in ranks are notable features of the ceremony. These
are particular elements of the rhythm which attract favourable comment and are
valued. For instance, Major-General Sir George Jeffreys remarked with reference
to the 1924 occasion: ‘The two sentries of the Colour were particularly good,
moving and handling their arms perfectly together, and with absolute precision’
(Guards Magazine 1924).
The parade is carried out in accordance with the procedure set out in the
Standing Orders of the Household Division. The timing of the event which is, of
course, crucial, is measured precisely, and based on a ‘physical’ feature, the 30-in.
pace of those marching on foot at 116 paces per minute in quick time, and 65
paces per minute in slow time. This quick time rate is a distinguishing mark of the
Guards — it differs from the infantry’s 120 steps to the minute. (When troops from
different regiments are massed, they march at 116 steps to the minute.) The
distances between points for lining the route and between individuals
participating in the parade are also based on pace lengths. For example, the two
soldiers who act as double sentries standing on each side of the Colour, are
stationed precisely 3 paces from it and they are ordered to patrol 7 paces from the
Colour. Positions of other men and officers are similarly all determined by various
pace lengths.
When lining the route, the interval between soldiers is measured from the
centre of the heels of one soldier to the centre of the heels of the next, at the
position of attention. Distances between mounted soldiers are measured in horse
lengths. For example, throughout the royal procession it is stipulated that one
horse length is to be kept between ranks of horses. The travelling rate of the horse
is controlled by the rider who adjusts to the pace of those marching on foot.
There is no flexibility of timing within the event. The movement of the various
individuals and groups of people involved in the ceremony is co-ordinated to the
minute with all watches synchronised. A staff officer initiates the departure of Her
Majesty the Queen from Buckingham Palace, using a stop watch: at the correct
second he salutes and addresses Her Majesty: ‘Now ride out, Ma’am.’ Specific
timing for all concerned is given in the Standing Orders of the Household Division
(1972) which provides the guidelines.
The order of events (with some time references to indicate degree of detail
taken from the Standing Orders) briefly summarised:
1. From 9.20 hours the Foot Guards prepare to take up position.
10.13 hours: Left markers of all Guards report to the Adjutant of the
parade on Horse Guards parade, 8 Colour Sergeants likewise at points
 FOR QUEEN AND COUNTRY: TROOPING THE COLOUR / 265

identified along the Mall.

10.20 hours: Her Majesty the Queen Mother leaves Clarence House
for Buckingham Palace.
10.21 hours: Troops lining the route are to be in position.
The Queen Mother arrives at Buckingham Palace and the Queen's
procession forms up.
10.25 hours: The 8 troopers report (4 to the Brigade Major, north
side Queen Victoria Memorial, 4 to the Deputy Assistant
Adjutant-General, Guard Room, Buckingham Palace). Assembly in
forecourt, Buckingham palace. (A veterinary aid post is established at
Foreign Office Green by 10.25 hours.)
10.35 hours: Into formation.
10.36 hours: Bands are lined up on Horse Guards Parade.
10.40 hours: Household Cavalry, Sovereign’s Escort, is in position in
Queen's Gardens west of the Queen Victoria Memorial, facing north.
‘Departure of the Queen Mother from Buckingham Palace, procession
down The Mall, arrival at Horse Guards Parade and into a room in
Admiralty House which overlooks the Parade.
10.45 hours: Departure of the Queen from Buckingham Palace.
Household Cavalry, Sovereign’s Escort, leaves with her Majesty.
The Royal procession and mounted band proceed down The Mall and
arrive at Horse Guards Parade
11.00 hours: The Queen at the saluting base, and at the same time
precisely, the first gun of the 41-Gun Royal Salute in Green Park.
The Queen inspects the parade.
Trooping the Colour. Manoeuvres of the Guards.
The march past of the Guards and of the Household Cavalry.
11.55 hours: The old Guard, accompanied by the Corps of Drums,
leaves St James's Palace.
12.00 hours: 5 Colour Sergeants mark the points in front of
Buckingham Palace and report to the Deputy Adjutant General in
front of the Guard Room of Buckingham Palace.
Departure of the Queen, procession up The Mall and arrival at
Buckingham Palace saluting base.
10. The Guards march past, followed by the King’s troop of the Royal
Horse Artillery and the Sovereign’s Escort of the Household Cavalry.
11. The Queen enters the Palace.
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12. Preceded by a row of police at a walk, the crowd moves up The Mall
to arrive in front of the Palace.
13. 13.00 hours: appearance of the Queen and Royal family on the
balcony. RAF fly past.
In Major Sir Henry Legge-Bourke’s account, he refers to the actual Trooping the
Colour section of the ceremony as ‘the most solemn part of the parade’ (1965,
p.143). Readers will note that it is timed to take place in the central part of the
ceremony. The details of the drill and reclinical Guards’ terms are complicated to
explain, but an outline summary of the action from the trooping to the march past
is as follows.
When the entire parade is called to attention the Field Officer orders ‘troop’.
The Senior Drum Major commands the massed bands, pipes and drums to
advance in slow time towards the Colour; four paces from the Colour they
counter-march and halt. Then as they march back to their original position in
quick time, one drummer leaves the corps of drums and marches towards the
escort for the Colour. The band counter-marches, halts and stops playing. As the
single drummer begins to beat ‘Drummers’ Call’, the Captain and Lieutenant of
the escort and the Regimental Sergeant-Major take up position. The drummer
rejoins the corps. The Field Officer orders the Escort to come to attention and
shoulder arms. The band strikes up a quick march, the Escort manoeuvres into
position and marches to halt 20 paces from the Colour, the band turns away, halts
and stops playing. The Sergeant-Major marches round the Escort and the Ensign
moves with the Sergeant-Major to halt in front of the Colour. The Sergeant-Major
salutes the Colour, takes it from the Sergeant who then shoulders arms.
The Sergeant-Major brings the Colour to the Ensign who salutes it, returns his
sword, receives the Colour and faces the Escort. The Lieutenant orders the Escort
to present arms. The four non-commissioned officers at the flanks of the front and
rear ranks of the Escort, turn and lift their rifles high to bar the way to the Colour
from all directions. The Sergeant-Major salutes (with drawn sword) and the band
plays six bars of the national anthem. On ‘Shoulder arms’ the Ensign, the
Sergeant-Major and the Sergeant who formerly held the Colour move into
position, while the band turns about.
A series of impressive manoeuvres with the Colour follows, including the
famous massed ‘spin wheel’, with the band and Guards in slow time. Individuals
have to make careful adjustments in timing and pace length during the changes of
direction (known as ‘forming’) which are a notable feature of the group
movement. Next, the march past begins, first in slow time. The Colour is lowered
in salute as the Ensign passes the Queen. The march past continues in quick time;
then the Household Cavalry walk and trot past; to conclude, the band plays the
national anthem.
 FOR QUEEN AND COUNTRY: TROOPING THE COLOUR / 267

The progress of the whole event is maintained through the accumulative effect
of repetition and through contrasts in the use of tempo. This is of course
emphasised by the music of the band which considerably enlivens the
proceedings and expands the ceremony in sound, filling the wide expanse of the
parade ground. The unremitting, repetitive, precise metric beat of the marching
steps and the advancing movement of the mounted troops make an awesome
impression. But this repetition could be dauntingly relentless and tedious were it
not for the contrasts and variation in tempo. The major contrast is from slow to
quick paced marching. At the slow march the Guards’ toes press forward in a
sustained movement, crushing the gravel with a distinctive crunch (a sound which
considerably aids retention of the unison movement), and heels sharply strike
down on the beat for the quick march, which is an easier unison to achieve. A
further, different contrast in tempo is produced by the Household Cavalry horses
at the walk and at the trot. Both three-beat waltz and two-beat march tunes are
played, and so there is variation in the metric patterning of sound. There is
sometimes swift change from one metre to another, and sudden stops, even in
mid-phrase if the action demands it — to surprising and enlivening rhythmic
effect. This alerts spectators to new phases of the ceremony. There is also variation
in the duration of different phases of action. Times of stillness and pauses contrast
with the massed on-going patterns of movement. In addition, the orchestration of
the action provides variety. For instance, at times the single figure of the Queen,
the lone drummer or a Guard (e.g. sentry and officers of the Escort) contrasts with
the large groups on parade.
For spectators, the well-drilled, sharp attacking action of the presentation of
arms and salutes, emerge as predominant in the movement rhythm of the
ceremony. A significant gesture, the traditional Guards’ salute shows the
weapon-free, open hand and is a sign of respect. Rhythmically, salutes provide
accents which mark and identify honoured people and important moments. There
are salutes as the Queen Mother leaves Buckingham Palace, when the Queen
comes out of Buckingham Palace, again as she leaves the palace and as she passes
the Colour on arrival at Horse Guards Parade. During the proceedings on Horse
Guards Parade, the Queen salutes as she passes below the Queen Mother at the
window of Admiralty House. There are salutes once more when the Queen passes
the Colour on inspection of the line and again when she passes the standard on the
inspection of the Sovereign’s Escort. When the Escort takes over the Colour, when
the Colour passes (during the march past of the Guards) and when the standard
passes during the Household Cavalry rank past at the walk and the trot, there are
further salutes.
The movement of spectators rising (and sitting) also provides accents in the
time structure and marks the salute to greet the Queen Mother, to honour the
Queen at the Royal Salute, honour the Colour at the march past and during the
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national anthem. The Guards halting and coming to attention at important

moments contrast with the lively variability of horses hooves and plumes. To
summarise, the predominant features of rhythm and timing are: use of varied
phases of duration; contrasting slow/fast tempi; accents and pauses (with
stillness) in actions of the drill and salutes; extreme metricity in the marching
formations. Individual idiosyncratic use of rhythm and timing is markedly
limited; rhythmic accents are restricted to legs, arms and occasionally heads; there
is extensive group unison action and patterning in the large space. The action of
the horses and presence of spectators bring a degree of unpredictability and
spontaneity to the overall rhythm of the event.
Traditional pageantry with its spatial ordering and evidence of man’s
endurance and control (which includes mastery of the horse) are key features in
the ceremony. The contribution and central importance of rhythm and timing
aspects is evident, with precision about time-keeping seen culturally as a form of
excellence and way of honouring the monarch.
 Conclusion

All the leaps into the air, thought of together, leave room for more. (Eli Siegel
and Chaim Koppelman, title of an art work, New York 1972)
In conclusion, some ideas about possible directions for further research and
practical work. My focus on rhythm and timing in performance has included
examples from a wide range of sources with an international, cross-cultural
perspective — appreciating and celebrating difference and variety in human
action. To adopt a cross-cultural perspective provides an uncontested, continuing
basis for future studies. Also, many authors have been summoned both in support
of ideas or as innovators. | suggest that further study, to investigate their work and
to honour neglected early pioneers in the field of movement and performance, is
warranted. As contemporary director Peter Sellars remarks, ‘not to hear the voices
of your ancestors is a deafness that is not helpful ... I think it’s really important to
constantly test our own lives against the greatest wisdom that we’re inheriting’
(Delgado and Heritage (eds) 1996, p.238).
Study visits to the USA have been a particular inspiration over the years. In
acknowledgment of this, I include reference to several current developments
principally from the USA, which may also stimulate ideas for future research.
(This is of course not intended to deny the existence of interesting developments
in other countries too.)
In 1993, dance pioneers of the 1930s new dance era were the subject of a
notable New York conference (with performance), and during more recent visits I
have been interested to discover that my concern about neglect of the valuable
work of early pioneers was shared by others in the USA. For instance, Martha
Davis (who continues to be in the forefront of present-day developments in
movement research) told me that she thought important pioneers in the field of
non-verbal communication are in danger of being forgotten. I refer to some of
these in the first chapters of the book: people such as Scheflen and Birdwhistell
who, as Davis commented, explored uncharted new territory and made radical
discoveries (see reference to Davis’ earlier work, pp.28-29). Much has been done
since on how judgments are formed from observing aspects of an individual's

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movement, but these earlier researchers had a different approach and purpose,
they observed movement in more detail, and set about the labour-intensive task
of describing, analysing and investigating its significance in human interaction:
‘If lost, it would have to be discovered again, and probably not done as well’
(Davis, interview June 1997). Davis has found, as I have done, that contemporary
researchers are sometimes ignorant of the pioneers in their chosen field, or may
not give them due credit.
Pioneers in the field of performance include not only those to whom I have
referred in Part I, but many others as well. Also, there is much to learn from dance
and drama-in-education pioneers, such as Barbara Mettler (about dance in the
USA) or Peter Slade (drama in the UK), whose ideas about the use of rhythm and
timing could not be included since work in education as such was not the focus.
Perhaps this omission is particularly regrettable at a time when there has been
considerable change in UK education, with some discrediting not only of
teachers, but also of ideas from the past which did so much to stimulate creativity,
both in and outside the classroom (and which, contrary to current belief, included
reading and writing, often lots of it). Some of my North American friends relate to
this too; as New York-based choreographer Nancy Zendora remarked, ‘these days
it’s like a subversive act to be purely expressive’ (interview, June 1997). Perhaps
there is an opportunity for further investigation and research here.
In this, my last chance to offer advice to readers, I recommend oral history
resources, for vivid accounts of early work — pioneers were not necessarily adept
at writing and can often be misunderstood from the printed page. For instance,
material in Birdwhistell's books was compiled from his lectures, by students, and
we know that the translations and sundry interpretations of Laban’s work (not
least my own) cannot do full justice to his ideas. Hearing Doris Humphrey voice
her ideas in audio recordings did as much as anything to set me going on this track
(at the New York Public Library Dance Collection). It is worth hunting not only
for the voices of pioneers, but of people who worked closely with them, or knew
them.
Suggestions for further research and for practical application of ideas about
thythm and timing in the arts (that is, in drama and dance, as well as in ceremony
or ritual), have been made or implied in various chapters. For instance, reference
was made to the potential of historical research into our ancestors’ use of rhythm
and attitudes to time for insights about performance style in past centuries. In the
present, use of computers is at the forefront of new directions, especially in dance,
as mentioned with reference to the latest work of Merce Cunningham. The
production of CD-ROMs is an important development — with potential for
rhythm and timing studies. In the USA, at Ohio State University's Dance
Department (Columbus), a pioneering five-person faculty team has developed a
Multimedia Dance Prototype. This is a computerised ‘content concept and software
 CONCLUSION / 271

shell’ for creating CD-ROMs which may be applied to dance study projects. As an
example, the team has recently produced an interactive CD-ROM which profiles
the work of choreographer Victoria Uris through the perspectives of dance
history, criticism, video dance extracts, analysis and documentation. This
provides an impressive demonstration of the medium’s possibilities for movement
study — not least in relation to aspects of rhythm and timing.
Computer-assisted dance score analysis has also been explored recently. Again
at Ohio State University, Maletic and Maxwell have undertaken a pilot project, as
a preliminary to designing a computerised search for salient features in
Labanotation scores of contemporary choreography. As they acknowledge in a
paper which describes the project (1995), it was inspired by Fiigedi’s computer
search method for Labanotation signs to support the analysis of Hungarian folk
dance (1992).
Indeed, studies of various dance styles continue to be an interesting research
area in relation to use of rhythm and timing. As another example of work in dance
style, I refer again to van Zile’s work particularly since it relates to aspects of the
approach adopted in this book (see earlier reference p.105). Van Zile’s latest
tesearch is resulting in a detailed study of the dances of Korea. During
work-in-progress presentations on the history, anthropology and styles of Korean
dance (1996-1997), she has made intriguing comments about characteristic use
of breath and other aspects of rhythm and timing in the dances.
The idea that perhaps various kinds of movement events, performance genres
and styles can be distinguished, partly through their contrasting use of time
elements and rhythm, was put forward in Chapter 2. Their role and significance in
the structure and process of ceremonial and ritual events are topics to pursue. As I
have indicated, levels of intensity, complexity and the use of repetition,
punctuation (including stillness) and tempo (with acceleration and deceleration)
seem of particular interest in this context (Cole 1975; Leach 1966, p.408;
Reyman 1978; Turner 1981, pp.1—24).
Opportunities in teaching, in movement experience and in theatre
performance seem endless, not least in relation to performers’ perception of time
and rhythm. An example of one obvious application which has not been my focus
is in the area of sound, movement with sound, contemporary music and music
therapy. To see an orchestral conductor such as the late Sir Georg Solti, or a fine
musician such as the London-based Japanese master percussionist Joji Hirota, in
action, is to witness a totally centred, inspiring display of all the factors and
elements of rhythm and timing, with sound and motion inextricably linked.
Sound in the theatre too — as former Meyerhold pupil, theatre director Radlov
noted, an actor can create temporal effects through sound: ‘not only by the sound
of the voice, but also by the tread of the feet, by the clatter of objects in the actor's
hands, he lets us listen to the passing of time. A thing is not just seen, but also
272 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

sounds under the magic touch of his hand’ (1975, p.121). Another obvious
further application is in relation to the co-ordination of an actor's speech and
movement, and in study of audience response, as Davis’ and Dulicai’s paper on
Hitler's movement signature testifies: ‘The exquisitely co-ordinated interaction
between audience and speaker, the way in which applause and shouted approvals
match changes in his energy level and timing are striking’ (1992, p.156).
J am not advocating a return to the turn of the century when, as American
dance critic John Martin tells us, ‘rhythm became the catchword; it cured disease,
restored prosperity and worked every conceivable type of wonder’ (1965b,
pp.28—29). However, as another potential study topic, may I remind readers of the
importance of the sensitive use of rhythm and timing in the healing arts to which
various examples in the book have referred — for instance Donna Williams’
remarks in relation to autism in the Introduction, and some comments in the
chapter on Tai Ji. Certainly there is considerable opportunity for further work in
this field, both theoretical and practical, especially if we take the problems of
present-day stress on board. Coupled with this, we can consider how experience
of rhythm and timing in movement sessions may help people who need to
re-discover their capacity for movement and a prozac-free zest for life, possibly
during recovery from pressures of work or from the physically limiting effects of
over-exposure to computer or TV screen.
Perhaps reference may also be made to a renewal and upsurge of interest in a
related topic — the significance of movement-rhythm and timing in relation to
mother—baby interaction in the early years of a baby’s development, which is
currently leading to more research. The importance of this subject has long been
acknowledged by experts (see references to Stern and Beebe in Chapter 1). Due to
the recent evidence of brain atrophy in cases of inadequate interactive stimulation
during the first months and years of life, large-scale attention, with conferences
and wide media coverage, has now been given to the subject, particularly in the
USA.
Other current developments in the USA in the area of movement observation
suggest possibilities for further research. As an example, I here again refer to
Davis’ work, and without apology, since it is particularly relevant in relation to my
own approach to movement observation and study. (For instance, her approach,
like mine, is influenced by Laban and includes adoption of the notion of an
individual's movement signature, as in some of my work on rhythm and timing.
Also, as indicated in Chapter 1, Interaction Rhythms (Davis 1982) was an important
influential discovery at the beginning of my study.) Additionally, the progress of
Davis’ career interestingly illustrates how principles of rhythm and timing may be
seen operating in our lives, not only on a daily basis, but also through a longer
time span, as we persevere through phases, adopt changing patterns and respond
to surprises and possibilities for switching direction.
 CONCLUSION / 273

Davis’ early work in non-verbal communication and therapy is well known:

she has been drawing attention to the significance of body movement in therapy
sessions for many years, which provides, as she states, ‘a rich source of information
about fluctuations in involvement, rapport, stress, and effective quality and
intensity’ (1994, p.394). With influence primarily from Efron, Scheflen and
Laban Movement Analysis (LMA), Davis has developed several complementary
observation methods for the analysis of non-verbal behaviour in conversational
contexts, with coding systems. In recent years she has been increasingly involved
in identifying movement signature behaviour, through application of her system
of Movement Signature Analysis (MSA), such as in a comparison of Hitler's
movement signature with that of Saddam Hussein, cited above (Davis and Dulicai
1992). Her studies include fascinating work on presidential body politics, with a
focus on the performance nature of staged debates and press conferences (1995).
One turning point and change of rhythm in Davis’ research, which marked a
transition from her previous preoccupation with therapy and non-verbal
communication, was an invitation to teach in New York University’s Performing
Arts Department. A later change was initiated from an even more surprising
quarter, with unexpected interest shown in her work by a member of the New
York Police Department (NYPD) who is responsible for detectives’ training. This
led to the inclusion of Davis’ system of interview analysis in NYPD detectives’
training courses, and now to Government State Department interest and support
for her project on non-verbal communication in high-level international
negotiation. I am delighted to learn that this involves a return to the work of the
pioneers (such as Ekman, Chapple, Bitdwhistell, Scheflen, Lowen, Hall et al).
After some thirty years of research and an uncertain future for her work and for
the subject area, Davis told me: ‘This year has been a ship coming in.’ There has
been a leap forward with the aid of computer-video recording technology — a
generic event recorder (a pioneer development ftom Holland). With this
equipment it is possible to record and note multiple categories for movement
observation and analysis, and to study their significance in events. Perhaps we can
dream of studying rhythm and timing elements and other features in performance
events — drama, dance and ceremony — with the aid of this advance in technology
in the future, even in the UK.
Davis has not referred to rhythm and timing as such in her coding system, or
included more than a relatively limited reference to aspects of rhythm and timing
(in the terms I have described). However, a number of interesting movement
categories are included. Those which coincide with or relate to some of those
suggested in this book are namely: duration; frequency; onset; dynamic intensity
— use of weight, flow, time; spatial direction and gestural exaggeration;
complexity; immobility; and disorganised, fragmentary, ‘out-of-sync’ movement.
274 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

These, together with other elements of rhythm and timing to which I have
referred, warrant further attention.
Following Davis’ lead, having discussed the subject in a general way and
having provided some specific suggestions about particular factors and elements
of rhythm and timing and how we may observe these, one direction for future
research could well lie more firmly in the area of identity, meaning and
significance. Although mentioned, these topics have not been thoroughly
considered in the book. We could consider how our use of rhythm and timing
contributes to the notion of body movement as a form of intelligence, having
regard at the same time for Howard Gardner's warning:
A description of use of the body as a form of intelligence may atfirst jar. There has
been a radical disjunction in our recent cultural tradition between the activities of
reasoning, on the one hand, and the activities of the manifestly physical part of
our nature, as epitomized by our bodies, on the other. This divorce between the
mental and the physical has not infrequently been coupled with the notion that
what we do with our bodies is somehow less privileged, less special, than those
problem-solving routines carried out chiefly through the use of language, logic,
or some other relatively abstract system. (1984, p.208)

Finally, to pursue this theme a little, when it became known that I was writing
about movement rhythm and timing, reactions ranged from enthusiasm to dismay,
from a dance enthusiast who exclaimed ‘Great! Sounds as if you’ll lead us into the
whole world of movement!’ to an immediate ‘Oh, how awful!’ from a
well-respected former High Court Judge and peer of the realm, to whom
movement, let alone rhythm, is far from being a worthy or interesting topic for a
book. This, after a moment of initial shock, was my favourite reaction. First, it was
such a delightfully spontaneous, honest and lively response, and it was also a
salutary reminder of some attitudes still current, well over a century since Morgan,
writing of American Indian dance and music informed us: ‘These amusements of
our primitive inhabitants are not, in themselves, devoid of interest, although they
indicate a tendency of mind unbefitting rational men.’ (1850, pp.289-290).
Although I have taken a broad approach, and rhythm is all-pervasive, there are
many areas of movement not directly relevant in a study of rhythm. Thus the
reaction of my dancer friend, although well meaning, in fact was not so useful, at
least at that early stage when I was busy defining the field of study and taking care
to observe boundaries. However, as I write in conclusion and consider possibilities
for further research and practical work, the comment is apt, since I find now that
the focus on rhythm and timing has led me to renewed interest in a wider
perspective; indeed, into ‘the whole world of movement’. My hope is that this
book not only provides a richer understanding of the captivating energies of
movement rhythm and timing in performance, but that it will also lead readers
towards the abundant riches of that whole world of movement.
 CONCLUSION / 275

We must remember that the form of movement is not one line only; it is not an
arabesque or a curve, and also not a single broken or curved surface as we may see
ona crystallised mineral, but a cataract of forms, as ifa heap of jewels or precious
stones would be poured out vehemently, glistening, jumping, breaking. And
more than this: it is as if single forms would grow and shrink, swallow each other
or give birth to new ones, changing their shape in a continuous transformation.
(Laban, unpublished manuscript, date unknown)
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Wallbott, A. (1982) ‘Audio-visual recording.’ In K. Scherer and F. Ekman (eds) Handbook of
Methods in Non-Verbal Behaviour Research. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Wardle, I. (1982) ‘Spike Milligan and friends.’ The Times, 4 December.
Watts, A. (1957) The Way of Zen. New York: Pantheon Books.
Weaver, J. (1706) Orchesography, or the Art of Dancing. London (trans. from Feuillet).
Wells, S.Y. and Green, C. (1823) A Summary View of the Millennial Church or United Society of
Believers. Albany.
Wildeblood, J. and Brinson, P. (1965) The Polite World. London: Oxford University Press.
Williams, D. (1968) ‘The dance of the Bedu moon.’ African Arts 2, 1, 18-21.
Williams, D. (1972a) ‘Signs, symptoms and symbols.’ Journal of the Anthropological Society of
Oxford 3, 1, 24-32.
Williams, D. (1972b) ‘Social anthropology and dance.’ B. Litt. dissertation, University of
Oxford.
Williams, D. (1975) ‘The brides of Christ.’ In S. Ardener (ed) Perceiving Women. London:
Milaby Press.
290 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Williams, D. (1996) Autism — An Inside-Out Approach. London: Jessica Kingsley Publishers.

Wilson, M. (1957) Rituals of Kinship among the Nyakyusa. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Wolcott, H.F. (1995) The Art of Fieldwork. San Francisco: Altamira Press.
Wolz, C. (1971) Bugakw Japanese Court Dance. Providence, Rhode Island: Asian Music
Publications.
Wolz, C. (1977) ‘The spirit of Zen in Noh Dance.’ Dance Research Annual 8, 55-64.
Woodard, S. (1976) ‘Evidence for a grammatical structure in Javanese dance.’ Dance Research
Journal 12, 2, 10-19.
Young, M. (1974) ‘Performance in Polish villages.’ The Drama Review 18, 4 (T-64) December
5-21,
Youngerman, S. (1978) ‘The translation of a culture into choreography: a study of Doris
Humphrey's The Shakers based on Labanalysis.’ Dance Research Annual 9, 93-110.

Recordings
Humphrey, D. (1950) Class (recording) Dance Collections. New York Public Library.
Humphrey, D. (1951) Lecture (recording). New York Public Library.
Whitelaw, B. (1982) 13 December. Interview on Beckett. BBC Radio 2.

Films
Connolly, B. and Anderson, R. (directors) (1987) First Contact, Ronin Films.
Jablonko, M. (director) (1969) Maring in Motion;A Kaike Entertainment, Planting Stakes at Gai; Clan
Gathering. (Mating research films).
Sherborne, V. (1982) In Touch. Concord Films.

Resources
Concord Video and Film Council Ltd, film and video hire, 201 Felixstowe Road, Ipswich,
Suffolk IP3 9B).
Films/videos of ceremonies: see Video and Film Catalogue, Education Service (video and film
department), c/o British Museum, London WC1
CD-ROM information: Department of Dance, The Ohio State University, 1813 North High
Street, Columbus, Ohio 43210-1707, USA.
Traditional British Customs in Education: see English Folk Dance and Song Society
publications such as:
Rowe, D. and C. Robson (1993) May: an educational resource pack for the summer term on British
traditions. EFDS.
Rowe, D. and C. Robson (1994) Mid winter: an educational resource pack for the winter term on British
traditions. EFDS.
Rowe, D. and C. Robson (1995) Plough Monday to Hocktide: an educational resource pack for the
Spring term on British traditions. EFDS.
Teachers Resource Guide (1990) 4th edition. London: RAI (Roya! Anthropological Institute).
 Amy's View (Hare) 45 As You Ltke It (Shakespeare) 69
Subject Index Anastasiai (MacMillan) 147 Athabascan women dancers
Andaman island dances, Bay of 143
Bengal 102 Atlas 67
Abbots Bromley Horn Dance Anderson, Laurie 158 attitudes to use of time 74-8
79-80 Angolan boys’ initiation attraction, power of 50
abbreviations of words, to ceremonies 99 audiences
describe movement action anima 26 and applause 81, 82
88-9 animal characterisation 51 conventions of behaviour
Aborigines 87 Animal Ritual (Halprin) 92 81-3
abstract symbols of notation animus 26 and seating 81
96-8 Anlo dance drumming 150 and timing 48
acceleration 48, 97 anspannung und abspannung Ausdruckstanz (dance of
accents 100, 148-51 (tensing and releasing) expression) 127
Action Profiling, Movement 128, 135 Australia 87, 171
Pattern Analysis (Lambs) anthropology churinga 89
97 definition of 18 autism 15-16, 123
actions or performance, definition of autonomic-interactional
development of 148-63 18 rhythms 99
of legs supporting the body references to rhythm in Avvakum 139
travelling through space aesthetic judgement of Azande dancing 103
118 dance 108-9 babies, rhythm in 15, 33-4
patterns of rhythm in 25 rhythm in culture and dance Bach, Johann Sebastian 94
adaptation of performance style 102-8 Bacon, Francis 55
events to different cultural rhythm in definitions of bad timing 48-9
contexts 81 dance 99-100 Bagot family 80
Admiralty Arch 263 rhythm in observation and Balanchine, George 151
Admiralty Islands, Pacific Ocean analysis of movement in Balinese dance 26, 42, 74, 82,
46 performance 101-27 103, 114, 147, 149-50,
adrenal gland activity 29 anticipation and rhythm 51 151
Africa Centre, London 155 Apache Indian culture 152 Balkan folk dance 58
African music and dance 16, 42, Appia, Adolphe 110, 115-16, Balla, Giacomo 93
60, 81, 98, 105-8, 150, 124, 164 ballet 57, 136
153, 160 applause 81 as ethnic dance 107
agogic accent 99 duration of 157 ballroom dance 88
Alaska Archer, Kenneth 93 Bamana drama 101-2
Athabascan women dancers Arias (Bausch) 168 Barba, Eugenio 18, 123
143 Aristotle 51, 79, 84 Barbican Centre, London
Eskimo Inupiaq dance 107 Arizona 75 181-2
Albee, Edward 45 Yaqui Indian Easter Barker, Ronnie 37-8
Albery Theatre, London 174 ceremonies in 217, 219, Bartenieff, Irmgard 97
Algonquin Indians’ dance 68, 222, 227, 228 Baryshnikov, Mikhail 27
102 Art (Reza) 49 Bateson Gregory 103
allegro 159 Artaud, Antonin 76, 110, 114 Battistelli, Giorgio 25
L’Allegro, il Penseroso ed il Art of Touch, The (Davies) 149 Bausch, Pina 168
Moderato 58 Ascona summer festival, baya (wind) 42
Almeida Theatre, London 25 Switzerland 126 beating time 56
alternation and rhythm 44 Ashton, Frederick 45, 57 beats-rating system
Alvarez, AI 55 Asian Mela festival 142 (Stanislavski) 111-12
America 62, 116 Astaire, Fred 152, 167 Beauchamp, Pierre 90
American Indians 31, 68, 70-1, Astley, Philip 165 Beckett, Samuel 55-6
75, 90, 103, 107, 108, astronomical water clock 41 Belle of New York, The 152
225 asymmetry 97

291
292 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Benesh movement system 92 army 263 Cave of the Heart 165

Benin City, Nigeria 60 ceremonies 60, 154, 259-68 cave paintings 93
Bennett, Alan 55 see also Trooping the Colour CD-ROMs, dance study projects
Benny, Jack 47 culture and society 30, 157 on 270-1
Berlioz, Hector 94 dance education 117 Celebes dance 90
Bewegungskunst (movement art) seasonal events 72 celebration 66
127 sense of pace and judgement Cenotaph service, Remembrance
Bible 64, 176, 221 of speed 157 Sunday (London) 152
biological clock 28 technologiucal advance and centre of the body, moving from
biological oscillators 35 future 273 128
biological rhythms 35 theatre 78, 270 ceremony
biomechanical methodology Britannia Coconut dancers definition of 19
98, 113 (Bacup, Lancashire) 37 role of rhythm in 59-64
biophysical or ‘natural features’ Brook, Peter 75, 165, 169 Trooping the Colour 17,
of rhythm 26-30 Brown, Trisha 58 259-68
biorhythms 28 Bubus the Teacher 113 Yaqui see Yaqui Indians Easter
birth 15, 67 Buckingham Palace 260, ceremonies
Birthday Parade 263 263-7 cesta kara 26
Bismarck mountains, Papua Buddhism 14, 71-2 chance methods in composition
New Guinea 240 Buffalo and Bear dancers 121
Blithfield Hall 80 (Iroquios Indians) 102 Chapayekas 224, 225, 228,
blood cell counts 29 Bugaku 74, 162 229-37
Bluebeard (Bausch/Offenbach) Bulgarian dance 89 Chaplin, Charlie 48
168 burst rhythm patterns 98 characterisation
Blue Heart (Churchill) 163 Butcher, Rosemary 169 and motion factors (Laban)
Blue Kettle (Churchill) 163 Byers’s system for synchrony 99 131-2
Boas, Franz 103 and observation 174
Caballeros 218, 223, 224,
Bodenwieser, Gertrud 127
229-33, 236-8 and rhythm 51-2
body Charles, Prince 174
Cachucha (Elssler) 92
natural movements of 118 charts for movement and speech
cadenza 97
and space 140-8 98
Cage, John 121
temperature fluctuations 29 Chekhov, Anton 84
Calder, Alexander 156
time and rhythm in ch’i (movement-energy) 202
calendars 65, 70-3
movement of 126-36 children’s play 106
calendrical systems 70-3
tracings 98 Childs, Lucinda 91
California, Yaqui Indians in 219
Bogaku 157, 162 Calvary 224, 233 Chin, Lun 202
Bournanville (ballet) style 151 China 41, 66, 172, 214
Cameroon 18
Brahms, Johannes 58 calendar 73
Camille (Gems) 154
brain impulses 29 calligraphy 210
cantometrics 104
brain waves 29 ceremonial procession 59
Caravaggio, Michel Angelo 94
braking the rhythms 113 communism 72
Carducci, Allesandro 90
Branagh, Kenneth 75 cosmology 210
Caribbean music and dance
Brazil 60 dance 15, 143
192
Bread and Puppet Theatre 123 Five Elements 200, 210
see also West Indies
Breath (Beckett) 56 language 199
Carmelites 69
breathing 29, 118, 143 New Year 73
Carnations (Bausch) 168
together 15 theatre 82
carnival 16
breath rhythm vs. metric see also T’ai Chi Ch’uan
Camival (Schumann) 150
rhythm 118-19 Chips with Everything (Wesker) 38
Catalan dance 90
Brecht, Bertolt 145 choreography
Catholicism 223, 224, 226
Bristol University’s Drama and gestural track notation 91
Caucasian Chalk Circle, The
Department | 26 and metre 120-1
(Brecht) 145
Britain and movement 120
 SUBJECT INDEX / 293

and rhythm as basis for dance Corbett, Ronnie 37 Day Care Centre see Senior
56-9 corner-points 99 Citizens Day Care Centre
unison movement in 38 Cortes 50 DDR 102
choreometrics 104 Cosmic Great Time 68 Dead Sea Scroll script
Choreometrics Project 97 contract-release rhythm 59 (Yerushalmi) 176
Christ see Jesus Christ counter-rhythms 146 Deafman Glance (Wilson) 123
Christian church service 61, 65 country dance 80 Dean, Laura 85, 163
Christianity 61-4, 68, 69, 72, Courlander, Harold 103 Deer Dancer (Masoi) 226-7,
73, 79, 221, 223-4, 226 Coyotes 227 235, 237, 238
Chronobiology 29 Craig, Gordon 168 deity shrine rituals 60-1
Chronos 70 Cross Cultural Dance Resources Delacroix, Ferdinand 94
Churchill, Caryl 163 Centre 107 Delicate Balance, A (Albee) 45
church Mass 234 cross-cultural dance studies 107 democratisation of stage space
Church of England 65 crowds, rhythm in 38 124
churinga 89 Crucible, The (Miller) 123 Dervishes, whirling 62, 135
cinematographic analysis 98 Crucifixion (Schreyer) 95 diachrony 107
circadian rhythms 27, 29 CRWDSPCR (Cunningham) 122 Diderot, Denis 25
circle dancing 64 cultural and social factors, in divine power, dance as
Circle form of Tai Ji 200, 207, studying rhythms 30-2 expression of 135-6
209 cultural anthropology, Dr. Faustus (Marlowe) 131-2
clapping 81 definition of 18 Dr. Strangelove (Kubrick) 163
Clarence House 265 Cumberland, Duke of 261 Dodd, Ken 14
classical dance 57, 80 136 cumulative metre 153 Dogon dances (West Africa) 93
Claudel, Paul 157 Cunningham, Merce 41, 42, Djow Ba 77
clocks 41-2 110, 120-2, 124, 128, Dole, Senator Robert 157
clock-time 59, 70 270 Dore, Edna 167
vs. performer's sense of timing curing dance 106 double-headed serpent, time as
48 cutting the motion 108 66
clock towers 42, 70 Czech Republic (formerly drama 111-14
Clunis, Christopher 54 Czechoslovakia) 102, 126 role of rhythm in 49-56
Clytemnestra 165 dramatic time 69
Dahomey 108
Cohan, Robert 40 dream-like narrative structure
Dalai Lama 77
Cole’s energy-flow model 99, 84-5
Dalcroze, Emile Jacques:1 10,
101 Dream-Time Journey
115-16, 144
Colorado, Yaqui Indians in 219 (Aborigines) 87
Damballah
Colours, regimental 260-1 drill, synchrony in 38
dance
see also Trooping the Colour Duncan, Isadora 57, 110,
anthropology 90
comedy 116-17, 124
education 117
synchrony between performer Dunn, Robert 85-6
modern 117, 120
and audience 37-8 pioneers 115-22, 269-70
duration 69, 73, 148
timing in 14, 37-8, 48 of applause 157
rhythm in definitions of
commedia dell’arte 114 in ceremonies 60
99-102
computerised choreography 122 in dance and music 121
role of rhythm in 56-9,
computer technology 123 extended performance 123
114-22
concentration of movement 51 in theatre 73
dance-costume scarf 103-4
Concheros dance groups 26 dynamic accent 99
dance-dramas 127
construction, rhythmic 95 dynamic streamings 130
dance-movement 51-3
contemporary theatre dziady (Poland) 83
Dance Notation Bureau 97
developments 123-4 Dance Theatre of Alwin East Africa 38, 41, 157
Cooke, Alistair 157 Nikolais 168 Easter 72, 217-39
cool 108 Darling, Frazer 176 see also Yaqui Indian Easter
Cooper, Tommy 48 Davies, Siobhan 149 ceremonies
Copeau, Jacques 110, 114
294 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

East London Dance workshop theatre 110, 123 223 free (non-metric) forms of
145 timekeeping 152, 156 rhythm 130
Ecstasy 192 troops’ drill 262 Friedburgh, Gertrude Snell 134
Edinburgh Festival 79 Western 76, 85, 92, 152, 156 Fugue, The (Tharp) 169
effort-action (Laban) 133 Events (Cunningham) 122 Fuller, Loi 170
effort analysis 97 events, performance 19 Futurists 93
effort-recovery movement everyday movements, rhythm of Gaia 136
patterns (Laban) 133 118 Garden of Gethsemane 231,
effort-rhythm (Laban) 134 everyday time 75 232
Effort-Shape 97, 105 Ewe people (Anyakol, Ghana) Garton, Julie 54
electronic music 121 93, 155, 160 ‘Gather and scatter!’ 135
Elizabeth, Queen Mother 265, exhalation 144 Gathering 139
267 experimental theatre 120-4 Geddes, Gerda 199, 200, 206,
Elizabeth II, Queen 48, 60, Expressionism 95 212
259-61, 264-7 extension(s) Gelede masquerade ceremonies
see also Trooping the Colour to body in performance 105
Elssler, Fanny 92 142-3 Gems, Pam 154
emotions 118 in space, degree of 130, 143 gendegende (light on the feet) 108
Empty Saddle Club 263 extrovert performance 98 gender identity and Lugbara
energies and rhythm 26 dance patterns 106
fantasmata 116
energy flow model 98, 101 General Strike (1926) 262
Fariseos 223, 224, 229-38
energy system 101
feedback and constructive George V, King 262
England 79-80, 127, 263 Germany
criticism 188
Elizabethan theatre 166 dance and theatre 127, 128
female rhythms 133
modern dance 136 Gershwin, Ira 23, 24
Serefere (dancing quickly) 108
raves 191-2 gestural size 97
Feuillet’s notation system 99
Restoration theatre 84 gestural trace-form 146
First Representation of the Arms
theatre 136 gestural track notation 91
showing the Movement of the
entrainment 36 Ghana 93, 155
Wrists (Rameau) 58
environment of performance Gielgud, John 48
Five Elements, The 199-200,
event 164-73 girnya (Tiv warrior’s dance) 108
207, 209-14
environmental rhythms 28 Gtsalo ceremony (Kaluli) 82
see also T’ai Chi Ch'uan
enzyme levels 29 Glass, Philip 85
Flamenco 50
ergotropic state 70
Flight 171 Gloria celebrations 68
Eskimo dance 143 Glory Road (Loria Vo'oi) 228
floor patterns 89-90, 97, 99
Inupiaq 107 Gloucester, Duke of 263
flow 42-4, 97
Eskimo Yukon River Doll Gogol, Nikolai 113
as motion factor (Laban) 131
Festival 170 Golden Procession of the
fluctuation in energy output
ethnography, definition of 18 Assembly of Worship 77
130, 148
Eurhythmics 115 golf, timing in 45-6
focus 107, 140
Europe 96, 116 Good Friday 224, 233
folk dance 58, 88, 99
ballroom dance 88, 154 good timing 48-98, 102
folk style
Christianity 221, 224 Gorca, Federico Garca 167
in Japanese life and theatre 32
court dances, 17th-c. 89 Gore, C. 60
Fonteyn, Margot 45
early liturgical drama 234 Goorey, Howard 167
Foreman, Richard 123
early Renaissance dance 154 Government Inspector, The (Gogol)
Four Brahms Waltzes in the manner
folk dance 223, 225 113
of Isadora Duncan (Ashton)
medieval 77, 79, 223, 233 Graham, Martha 20, 59, 117,
57
modern dance 117, 136 142, 149, 150, 165
frame-by-frame analysis 98-9
mummers’ plays 83 grammar of rhythmic interplay
France 110, 127
music 92, 152 34
theatre 82, 114
pageants 17 graphs, timing 98
Franks, Julia 191
passion plays 233 Gravett, Guy 46
 SUBJECT INDEX / 295

gravity, response to 118 Holy Week 221, 228 interactional synchrony 34-5
Great Prayer Ceremony, Lhasa Hong Kong 172 interdependent food-procuring
ceremonies 82 Hopi Indians 70-1, 75, 107, cytoplasm (male rhythms)
Greece, Ancient 108 133
classical Greek drama 17 hopping 102 International Folk Music
classical writers 43, 51 hormonal function 29 Council 102
early Greek tragedy 20 Horse Guards Parade 259-61, inter-personal communication
language 42, 130 264-5 notational systems 99
metre 153-4 see also Trooping the Colour and rhythm patterns 32-9
movement 144 Household Cavalry 259, 263-7 intervals 85
Revived Greek dance 16 House music 191 in-the-round staging 166
Grotowski, Jerzy 123 Hrusbesky, William 29 introvert performance 98
ground tracks 89 Huang, Chungliang Al 200 Inupiaq dance 107
group movement interaction Humphrey, Doris 59, 110, Tre Ekiti (Nigeria) 81
128 117-20, 124, 128, 144, Ireland 146
group rhythm 119 162, 270 Iroquois Indians dance 102
group synchrony 38, 103 Hungary 102 Isaacs, Jeremy 14
group unison 146 folk dance 271 Islam 69
Guards’ Memorial 259 Hussein, Saddam 273 Italy
Gunnersbury Park, London 81 iambic accent pattern 131 Futurists 93
ha (breaking free) 53 Ibiza 191, 192 Izumo shrine ceremonial
Hackney Empire, London 172 Ibsen, Henrik 84, 145 Kagura dances 52
Haitian dance 103, 155 Igede Ogirinye (warrior Izzard, Eddie 174
Halberg, Franz 29 association) mask 157 Japan
Halprin, Anne 89 Ik, The (Brook) 169 art 75, 151, 157
Hamlet (Shakespeare) 75, 112 illness, and changes in rhythmic dance 143, 157, 162
hand-clapping applause 81 patterns 29 folk style 32
Handel, George Frederick 58 Jl Mondo, Balletto a Cavallo Imperial Court 157
Hands, Terry 47 (Carducci) 90 movement notation 95
Handsworth longsword dancers, Imago (Nikolais) 142, 168 performance practice 162
Yorkshire 50 impulse/impact pattern in rhythm and timing 271
Hare, David 45 motifs and phrases 131 theatre 14, 20, 32, 49, 51-3,
Harrison, Lou 58 Inchcolm Island, Firth of Forth 55, 73, 74-5, 79, 157
Harrison, Tony 167, 169 79 Javanese dance 95, 103-4, 147
Hawaiian dance 105 Indiana University, jazz 16
Hawk-pang, Choy 200 Bloomington Jeffreys, Major-General Sir
Hay, Deborah 27 Folklore and George 264
healing ceremonies 60 Ethnomusicology Jemez Pueblo (New Mexico) 73
heartbeat 29, 118, 143 departments 42 Jesuits 218, 221, 225, 226
Heart's Destre (Churchill) 163 India 71, 76 Jesus Christ 64, 169, 221,
Heath, Adam 191 music and dance 16, 26, 74, 223-4, 226, 228, 230-5
Henry VIII, King 152 185-9 Jewish Hasidic worship 61
Heron, Patrick 164 myths and philosophy 68, 73 Jogjanese court dance and
Hildebrandt, Gunther 30 theatre 73 music notation system 95
Hippolyte at Aricie (Rameau) 150 yoga and meditation 68 Jo (energy held in check) 53
Hirota, Joji 271 Indonesian dance 103 Jo-ha-kyu 53
historical dance 59, 99 inhalation 144 Jones, Bill T. 152
Hitler, Adolf 272, 273 initiation rituals 67 Jonson, Ben 90
Hodson, Millicent 93, 94 inner attitude 160 Jooss, Kurt 127, 128
Holland 273 inner pulse 144 Joplin, Scott 178
Holm, Hanya 117, 128 ‘inner’ rhythms of body 27 Judas Iscariot 235, 237
Holt, Claire 103 intentional rhythm 99 Judson Church, New York 86
 296 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

jumping and turning 62 Laban, Rudolf von 33, 55, 96, Loring’s notation system see
Kabuki 32, 51, 53 97, 125, 144, 151, 156, Kinesiography
Kachinas 71 158, 160, 162, 177, 270, Los Angeles 75
Kagura dances 52 272, 275 Lugbara dance patterns 106
kaiko (year-long festival) 241-2, time and rhythm in human lullabies 44
245-7 movement 126-36 lunar rhythms and cycles 27,
see also Maring (of Papua New Laban Centre 136 28, 71-3
Guinea) Laban Institute of Movement Macbeth (Shakespeare) 79
Katros 70 Studies, New York 97
McCabe, Richard 47
Kaluli people 82 Laban Movement Analysis Macedonian dance 89, 155
Kamigata-mat 52 (LMA) 97, 273
MacMillan, Kenneth 147
Kam-man, Choy 200 Labanotation see Laban’s macro-structure of performance
Kathak dance (India) 185-9 system 160-1
kegunya 101 Laban’s Movement Centre 126
Macumba (Brazil) 60
Kelly, Gene 168 Laban’s system (aka
Maestros 223, 233, 234, 236,
Kempinski, Tom 54 Kinetography;
238
Kendon and Ferber’s notation Labanotation) 92, 96-7,
Mahabbarata, The (Brook) 75,
system 99 99, 103, 105, 271
169
kera 26 Lambs, Warren 97
Maharaj, Binju 188-9
ki-hai (spirit, breath) 42 Lamentation (Graham) 142
Makbeth 169
kinesics 36 Lansley, Jackie 169
Maladie de la mort, La
Kinesiography system (Loring) Lapezon, Naomi 40
(Wilson/Duras) 123
98 Lapping, Margaret 28
male rhythms 133
kineseos taxis (ordering of largo 159
Malinchim 225
movement) 43 Larkin, Philip 69
Mall, The 259, 260, 263, 265
Kinetography see Laban’s system lasya 26
Manchester 62
Laurel, Stan 163
manis 26
King Henry V (Shakespeare) 14 leadership in performance
Manus 46
Kohtumbre (Lenten/Easter events, and timing 47
Maori haka 38
customs authority) 223, learning and teaching,
Maoris 48
224, 233, 238 application in 199-214
Marburg, University of
konj kaiko (pig festival) 241, Lebrecht, Norman 76
Institute for Ergophysiology
242, 245-7, 255, 256 Le Compte, Elizabeth 123
30
see also Maring (of Papua New Leeder, Sigurd 128
marching processions 63
Guinea) legato 159
March Past, The (Larkin) 69
Korean dance 105, 271 Legge-Bourke, Major Sir Henry
Marco, Richard de 79
kote-tlon performance 101 266
Maring (of Papua New Guinea)
Krishna 188 Lent 221
17, 72, 109, 143
Kubik’s graphs and frame Lepage, Robert 76
and konj katko (pig festival)
analysis method 99 Levine, James 38
240-58
kula 79 Lhasa (Tibet) 72, 73, 77, 82
general observations 254-6
Kundagai Maring 247, 249 Liberia 108
performance time-frame and
see also Maring (of Papua New Life and Times of Joseph Stalin, The
timing of ritual cycle
Guinea) (Wilson) 123
244-5
Kundera, Milan 158 lighting changes 123
preparation for konj katko
'Kung Bushmen 106 limitation of movement 52, 54
245-7
Kurath glyph system 92 location see environment of
sequence of events and use
Kusim Taewa (Day of the performance event
of rhythm and timing in
Crosses) 221 London 76, 259
film material
kyu (powerful sudden ending) Drug Policy Forum 192
time elements in other aspects
53 Longstock 191
of traditional Maring life
looking and seeing 176-94
256-8
Loria Vo'o (Glory Road) 228
 SUBJECT INDEX / 297

‘marking time’ 153 Miller, Arthur 123 natural environment, rhythms

Marlowe, Christopher 131 Milligan, Spike 48 of 27, 116
Mars 77 Minnesota, University of 29 ‘natural features’ of rhythm
Mary, Princess (Tudor) 152 Medical School 29 26-30
Mary, Princess Royal 264 Miserere 230 natural movements of human
Mary, Queen 264 misura 115 body 118
masks 105, 114 mixed metre 153 Navajo Indians 75
Maso see Deer Dancer modern dance 117, 120 Nazarene 231, 232, 233
Masque of Queen, A (Jonson) 90 monochromic mode 76 Nazism 38, 127
masquerade ceremonies 105 Monteverdi, Claudio 94 Ndembu, Zambia 183
masques 17 mood change and fluctuation in neuromuscular co-ordination
Mass, church 234 tempi 160 29
Matachinis 225-6, 236-8 Moon, cycle of 28 neurotransmitters 30
measured dance and free Morris, Mark 58 Nevada, Yaqui Indians in 219
movement 63 motifs 161 new dance 136
medicine and rhythm 29-230 motion factors (Laban’s) 131-3 New England 62
Mediterranean region 76 motor rhythm 118 New Guinea see Papua New
meditation 15, 68 motor time 100 Guinea
MedlIpa dance (New Guinea) 81, movement behaviour scoring New Guinea Highlanders 240
9 . method 98 New Mexico 73, 171, 225
memorisation and observation movement choirs 127, 129-30 Yaqui Indians in 219
189 Movement Notation (Eshkol and New York Police Department
Menomini Indians’ dance 102 Wachman) 98 (NYPD) 273
menstruation 29 Movement Signature Analysis New York University’s
Mermaid Theatre, London 32 (MSA) 273 Performing Arts
Merry Wives of Windsor, The movement notation 87-99 Department 273
(Shakespeare) 47 abstract symbols 96-8 Nicklaus, Jack 45-6
metaphysical time experience 68 music notation 95-6 Nigeria 60, 81, 105, 107, 108,
metra 42 pictorial representation 92-5 157
metre 42 track drawings 89-92 Nijinsky, Vaslav Fomich 93, 96
metricity, flow and structure word abbreviations 88-9 Nikolais, Alwin 117, 142, 168,
414 movement path 140 170
metric patterns 153-5 movement-personality 129 Ninagawa, Yukio 32, 181
Greek and Sanskrit 153-4 movement:space ratio 147 Nketia 160
metric rhythm vs. break rhythm movement therapy 15, 126 Noguchi 165
118-19 Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus 76, Noh theatre 14, 32, 49, 74,
Metropolitan Opera, New York 178 157
38 Multimedia Dance Prototype non-linear narrative structure
Mettler, Barbara 270 270-1 123
Mexico 66, 225 Muria Gands 71, 76 non-metric (free) forms of
Concheros dance groups 26 muscular bonding 38 rhythm 130, 155-6
wedding festivities 143 muscular exertion 29 non-verbal communication and
Yaqui Indian Easter music notation 95-6 therapy 273
ceremonies in 217-20, mutual phase locking 36 North Eastern Africa 103
222-5, 227, 235 mysticism 68-9, 136 north-west coast American
Meyerhold, V.E. 110, 112-13, Indian dance 103, 104
narrative structure, non-linear
167, 271 notation systems see movement
123
micro-structure of performance notation
National Theatre see Royal
160-1 note-taking and observation
National Theatre 167
Midsummer Night's Dream, A 189
Nativity, The (Hatrison/NT)
(Shakespeare) 32, 127 Not I (Beckett) 55, 56
167, 169
mie (still movement at a climax) Notting Hill Carnival, London
53 184
 298 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Nritta (feature of Indian Kathak anthropology of 18 Portuguese 16

dance) 189 conventions and time post-modernism 136
Nuer (Sudan) 65, 103 elements 65-86 Potala Palace, Tibet 79
Nuria Espert Company 167 definition of 18 Potter, Dennis 56
Nyakyusa burial rites 38, 41, extended duration 123 Poussin, Nicolas 94
157 space 79-80 power of attraction, and rhythm
observation of rhythm and time-frame and riming of 50
timing 174-98, 272 ritual cycle 244-5 Practice in observation 182-3
check-lists of factors in performance events 19 pranayama 68
194-8 description and classification prayer 61, 69
body and space 196 of time elements 139-73 pregnancy patterns 29
development of action 197 body and space 140 profane and sacred time 67-8
environment 198 development of action projectional quality 107
Odwira festival (Akropong, 148-63 public celebration 65
Cole) 98, 101 environment 164-73 Pueblo Indians
Ogun deity shrine rituals 60, summary 172-3 ceremonies 60, 72, 78

81 performance-frame 165 dance steps 93, 102

Oguname (water) 60 Performance Garage 169 pulse rate 29, 143
Oguneron (fire) 60 Pericles (Shakespeare) 145-6, punctuation of event 73-4
Ohen (priest) 60-1 164 Purcell, Henry 58
Ohio State University's Dance peristalsis 118, 143
Quakers 152
Department (Columbus) phatic communication 106
quantitative analysis 29, 98
270-1 photography, timing in 46
Queen Victoria Memorial 265
Okisa (amplitude) 53 phrase lengths 162
Quinn, Catherine 149
oral history resources 270 phrasing 97, 130
Quintet Project (Reitz) 91
ordering of movement/rhythm in dance structure 119
pictorial 94 Radlov, Sergei Ernestovich 271
43-4
physiological, biophysical or Rags Suite, The 177-8
oscillation 34
‘natural features’ of rhythm tain ceremonies 72
Ottawa Indians’ dance 102
26-30 Ramada 235
Palestrina, Giovanni 94 pictorial representation of Rameau, Pierre 58, 150
panchrony 107 Ramsden, Pamela 97
movement and dance 92-5
Papua New Guinea 17, 60, 72,
picture-frame stage 166 rate of movement 130
75, 76, 81, 82, 98, 143, Picture of Dorian Gray, The Ravamugi 247
240-58 rave youth dance 15, 190-2
(Wilde) 113
see also Maring (of Papua New Pilates 224, 230, 232, 233 recognition and clear
Guinea) description, in observation
Pilobolus Dance Company 168
Parc de la Villette (Schumis) 92 Pinter, Harold 84 193-4
Paris 114, 126 recording and observation 189
pioneers, dance 269-70
Parkinson's disease 29 recovery 133
planning, performance 70
Pascolas 226-8, 235-8
play, children’s 106 recurrence 100, 148
Pascua (Easter) 221 reduction, intensity through
Plays for Dancers (Yeats) 126
Pascua Pueblo, Mexico 218, 52-5
Poland 107
220 regulation of time 66
dziady 77
pattern of beats vs. tempo reigen (circle) 135
Polish Gardzienice Theatre
pattern (Stanislavski)
Association 139 Reitz, Dana 91, 95
111-12 Relative Calm (Childs) 91
political demonstration, rhythm
pauses 148, 151-2 relaxed pulsation 102
in 39
timing and 46 religious ceremony, rhythm in
Polunin, Slava 172
Paxton, Steven 46 39, 61
polychronic mode 76
Peer Gynt (Ibsen) 145 Renaissance dance principles
Polynesian dance 107
Peh Tao 7\ 115, 154-5
polyrhythm 65, 86
performance repetition
Pontius Pilate 223-4
 SUBJECT INDEX / 299

in ceremony 60, 62 Royal Procession 259 shape of performance area

in movement patterns 162-3 rubato 53, 97 168-9
repetitive working actions, Rumania 102 shared somatic states 106
rhythm in 25 Russia 110, 111-13 Sherborne, Veronica 126
reproducing nucleus (female sacred and profane time 67-8 Shintoku-Maru (Terayama) 187
thythms) 133 Sacre du Printemps, Le
Siberia, Shamanism 106
research, suggestions for further (Nijinsky/Stravinsky) 93 silence
270-1 see also Rites of Spring, The in speech 152
respiratory patterns 15 Sadler's Wells Theatre London and timing 48
Restoration, theatre in English ‘Singing in the Rain’ (Kelly)
168
84 sagher-sagher (dancing as a hen 168
restrained rhythm patterns 98 Sinhalese 175
scratches) 108
resultant curing ritual 160
St James's Palace 265
Reza, Yasmina 49
St James’s Park 259, 260
Sioux Indians 68
rheo (to flow) 42-3 skipping dance 63
Sanctum (Nikolais) 142
rbuthos (rhythm) 42 sand clocks 42
Sky (Cohan) 40
rhythm vs. time 115 Sanskrit 42
Slade, Peter 270
thythmicality 41 slee—wake cycle 29
metre 153-4
thythmic intricacy 105 Slowness (Kundera) 158
Santa Clarda Pueblo 78
rhythms in human movement Santa Fe fiesta, New Mexico
slow motion 123
23-39 slow tempi 74-5, 157
171
cultural and social factors Smith, Maggie 55
Santini, Bruno 164, 167
30-2 Snowshow 172
Schreyer, Lothar 95
inter-personal communication social anthropology, definition
Schreyer, Margaret 95
32-9 of 18
Schriftanz (Laban) 127
physiological, biophysical or social dances 114-15
Schumann, Robert
‘natural features’ of social influences on use of
Schumis, Bernard 92
rhythm 26-30 rhythm 32
seasonal rhythms 27-8, 66, 68,
rhythmic space 164 Sokolow, Anna 117
72
Richard I (Shakespeare) 166 solo dance 128
self-synchrony 29, 35
Richardson, Hugh 72 Solti, Sir George 271
Sellars, Peter (actor) 163
ring dances 63-4 Somniloquy (Nikolais) 170
Sellers, Peter (opera director)
Rio carnival 16 46, 269
Sonora, Mexico 217
Rio Grande 78 sostenato 159
semantics of dance 107
Rites of Spring, The South(ern) Africa 92, 99, 103,
Sengputa, Alpana 185, 186
(Bausch/Stravinsky) 168 106
Senior Citizens Day Care
see also Sacre du Printemps, Le South American music/dance
Centre, London 200, 201,
Ritchie Report 54 16
208
ritual 66 Southern Mozambique 16
sequential ordering 78-9
definition of 19 Sovereign's Escort of the
Seymour, Lynn 57
Riverdance 146 Household Cavalry 259
shadow movements 55
Roberts, Dave 191 space
Shakers, The (Humphrey) 119
Robey, George 48 and body 140-8
Shakers’ (United Society of
Rock-a-bye (Beckett) 56 as motion factor (Laban) 131
Believers in Christ's
rocking rhythm space-rhythms (spatial rhythm)
Second Appearing)
and autism 16 134, 135, 169
service 61-4 109
for soothing babies 15 Spain 226
Shakespeare, William 14, 56,
Rosmersholm (Ibsen) 84 Spanish dance 50
69, 127, 145, 164
Royal Amphitheatre 165 spectators and conventions of
shaking action 62
Royal Ballet 147 audience behaviour 81-3
Shamanism 106
Royal Festival Hall 171 speech/movement synchrony
Shanson, Linda 188-9
Royal National Theatre 38, 47, 34
shape flow rhythms 34, 97-8
166 167, 169 speed
 300 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

as cultural variable 76 Suzuki (Tadashi) 124 theatre

of tempi 157-8 Swan Lake (Tchaikovsky) 57 anthropology, definition of 18
and technology 158 Switzerland 115, 126 contemporary 123-4
Speed of Darkness, The (Anderson) symmetry 97 rhythm in 110~24
158 synchronised breathing 36 see also drama
Spicer, Edward 222 synchronised movement 62 Theatre of Cruelty 76
Spicer, Rosamund 222 synchrony 34-7, 107 Thatre du Vieux Columbier,
Spiral Tribe sound system 191 group 38 Paris 114
split focus 76-7 and timing 48 Thovil ceremony 73-4
split-second timing 46 syncopation 150 Through the Net (Garton) 54
spirit, moving with the 62-3 syntax 107 Tibet 72, 73,77, 79, 82
spontaneity and timing 48 time
T’ai Chi Ch’uan (aka Tai Ji) 17,
square order shuffle 63 199-214, 272 as motion factor (Laban) 131
Sri Lanka 73, 175
Takada club dance 93 vs. rhythm 115
stability/lability continuum taksu 26 time elements and performance
130, 144
tala 74 conventions 65-86
staccato 159
tandava 26 duration, punctuation, tempi
stage space, Cunningham's and attitudes to use of
tant’ien (mid-point of body) 203
approach to 122, 124 Taoism 206 time 73-8
Stalinism 111 performance vs. everyday
tap dancing 88
stamp step 102 69-70
Tarbuck, Jimmy 48
Stanislavski, Constantin 110, performance planning,
tatami mat, dancing on 52
111-12; 124, 156 timings, calendars 70-3
Taylor, Paul 58
Starlight Express 158 sacred and profane 67-9
Tchaikovsky, PI. 57
stars, movements of 73 sequential order, performance
Tea Ceremony 52, 53
Stations of the Cross procession space and adaptations
teachers, observation and
68, 224, 229, 233, 234 78-81
response in 174-5
SteindI-Rast, Brother David 70 subjective sense vs, objective
teaching and learning
Stephenson, Geraldine 126 measurement 69
applications in 199-214,
stick figures, in notation timelessness 68-9
271-2
systems 92-3 time-rhythms 134
technological advance, and
stillness in movement 152 timing 45-9
speed 158
stopping movement 151 definitions 45
television in choreography 122,
Strange Fruit dance company of events 74
123
171 role of in drama, dance and
tempo
Strindberg, August 84 ceremony 49-64
beats-per-minute measure
stroke 29 Tiv (central Nigeria) 108, 153
156
structural analysis of pattern of Tlingit ceremonial dance 143
changes in 159-60
time use and rhythm in Tokyo 75
early 1970s British culture
performance tolerance of performance length
157
event 161 75
in nightclub music and raves
subjective sense vs. objective Tomlinson, Kellom 90
192-3
Measurement, of time 68-9 Toni, Anselmo Valencia 220
of transactions in different
Sudan 65, 103 Tour, Frances de la 54
cultures 31
Sun 72, 76 track drawings of movement
Tenebrae 229
sundials 42 and dance 89-92
tension-flow rhythms 33—4, 97
sunrise and sunset 72 training in observation of
Terayama 181
surface texture of performance thythm and timing 174-98
texture 107
area 168-9 trance
of surface of performance
Surrealism 114 dance 74
area 168-9
suspense and rhythm 51 States 16, 60
Thailand 71
Su Sung 41 worship 36
Tharp, Twyla 17, 177-9
sustained rhythm patterns 98 transformation by ritual 19
 SUBJECT INDEX / 301

Trinity 231 Utah, Yaqui Indians in 219 Windsor Castle 263

Trobrian Islands (Pacific) 79 Winter's Tale, The (Shakespeare)
vaudeville-style dancing 123
trochaic accent pattern 131 169
Venda dance (Southern Africa)
Trois Reyes, Les 73 Winter Study (Humphrey) 119
92, 106
Trooping the Colour 17, With My Red Fires (Humphrey)
Venus 77
259-68 119
Vera-Ellen 152
Tsembaga Maring 241, 245, Wooster Group, New York 123
Veronese, Paolo 94
246, 248, 253-5 word abbreviations for
vibration 34, 36
see also Maring (of Papua New movement and dance 88-9
video, use of in observation 190
Guinea) working actions, rhythm in 25,
Vienna 127
tsoghtsogh (dancing with 105
Virginia, University of,
strength) 108 Wowochim 71
Charlottesville, Anthro-
Tsongan 16
pology Department 183 Yang form of Tai Ji 200-3,
Tucson, Arizona 217
Virgin Mary 221, 223, 233-4, 207, 208, 209, 211-13
Turner, Victor 183
237 Yaqui Indians Easter ceremonies
Twelfth Night (Shakespeare) 56 vrvace 159 17, 68, 109,
189
Two Ronnies, The 37
visual effects 170-2 in Arizona and Mexico
Uganda 106 vitality and rhythm 50 217-39
UK International Festival of Vivaldi, Antonio 58 rhythms though time:
contemporary music (1995) Waebma (Lent) 221 components and
25
Wagner, Richard 113
participants 222-8
Umeda (Papua New Guinea) 76 Wahgi (Papua New Guinea) .72, sequences of action 228-38
annual cycle 60, 75 245, 247, 250-2, 255
significance of Easter
undulate rhythm patterns 98 see also Maring (of Papua New ceremonies in Yaqui life
unison 62 221-2
Guinea)
United Society of Believers in Wakes’ Sunday 79, 80 Yeats, W.B. 20, 126
Christ’s Second Appearing Yeomem (The People) 217, 220
war dance 38
see Shakers Warner, Deborah 166
Yerma (Lorca) 167
United States 31, 200, 269 Yerushalmi (Dead Sea Scroll
warrior's dance 108
culture and society 30, 103 script) 176
water-clocks 41-2
dance education in 117, 270 yin/ yang interchange of vital
waves, rhythm of 116
dance ethnology in 92 energy 203
waxing and waning 135
Effort-Shape in 97 yoga 69
Way of the Cross 224, 231,
Labanotation in 96 yong chuen (‘bubbling well’
233, 234
language differences in point) 202
weight as motion factor (Laban)
99-100 Yoruban
131
modern dance 117, 118 Ogun festival 81
weight-rhythms 134
‘motor rhythm’ in 118, 272 trance states (Africa) 60
We set out early... visibility was
movement 130, 272 Yugoslavia 102
poor (Jones) 152
native Indians see America Zaire 108
Wesker, Arnold 38
Indians Zambia 183
West African dance 93, 101,
Negro dance styles in 107 Zeami 160
107, 108
thythm and timing in theatre Zendora, Nancy 155, 270
Western performance con-
110, 272 Zimmermann, Bernd Alois 76
ventions and performance
Shaker movement in 62 Zito, Jonathan 54
structure 83-6
theatre 123 Zorn’s movement system 92
West Indies 192
time system in 75-6 Zozobra, burning of 171
Wheel of Fortune 77
Yaqui Indians in 218 whirling Dervishes 62, 135
see also Yaqui Indian Easter Whitehall 259, 260, 263
ceremonies Whitelaw, Billie 56, 156
Uris, Victoria 271 Wigman, Mary 117, 127 128
Ursa Major 71 Wilson, Robert 85, 123
 Chernoff, J.M. 150 Frye, N. 56
Fgedi, J. 271
Name Index Chopra, D. 27, 28
Clarke, M. 41 Gardner, H. 274
Cohen, SJ. 69, 117, 119 Gausner and Gabrilovitch 113
Cole, H. 85, 96, 98, 101, 271 Geddes, G. 205
Agricola, G, 25 Coles, J. 50 Geertz, C. 82
Alkire, A. 117
Collin, M. 191 Gell, A. 60, 71, 72, 75, 76
Alter, J.B. 69 Condon, WS. 29, 31, 34, 35, Gellerman, J. 126
Andrews, E.D. 62, 63, 64
193 George, K. 56
Arbeau, T. 88, 114 Condon, W.S. and Ogston, Glendinning, H. 24, 149
Aristoxenus 44, 144 W.D. 34, 192
Aurobindo, S. 68 Goffman, E. 18
Connolly, B. and Anderson, R. Goldberg, R.L. 95
Baker, P. 160 240 Golden, G. 84
Bambra, A. 183 Cooper, J.C. 205 Goodridge, J. 183
Barba, E. and Savarese, N. 26, Copeland, R. and Cohen, M. Goodwin, N. 151
39, 42-3, 59, 83, 113, 107 Gow, M. 261-4
157 Cox, M. and Theilgaard, A. Graham, J.E. 171
Bartenieff, I. 51, 128, 187 15,194 Greeley, H. 63
Bartenieff, I., Davis, M. and Croce, A. 120, 177 Greenbaum, J. 35, 36, 178
Pauley, F. 69, 97 Crompton, P. 203 Grimes, R.L. 65
Bartenieff, I. and Lewis, D. 51, Csikszentmihalyi, M. 43 Gunji, M. 52, 53
97, 126 Cunningham, 120-2
Basso, K. 152 Hall, E.T. 13, 15, 28, 31, 32,
Dalcroze, EJ. 161 71, 75-6, 153, 157, 158,
Bauman, R. 18
Davie, M. 56 273
Bayer, R. 94-5
Davis, M. 15, 28, 35, 174, 184,
Beebe, B. 34, 38, 272 Halliwell, V. 14
195, 269-74 Halprin, A. 92
Behnke, E. 152
Davis, M. and Dulicai, D. 272, Halprin, L. 91
Benedict, D. 62
273 Hanna, J.L. 99-100, 101, 107
Berend, J.E. 36, 42, 136
Dean, A. 50 Harper, P. 81, 105
Birdwhistell, R.G. 30, 36, 161,
Delgado, M. and Heritage, P. Haskett, WJ. 62
184, 269, 270, 273
13, 75, 174, 269
Blacking, J. 30, 92, 106, 184 Hastrup, K. 247
Delsarte, F. 23 Hay, D. 27
Bland, H. 260
De Mille, A. 56-7, 144
Blewitt, D. 76-7 Healey, C. 240, 241, 242, 244,
Denby, E. 46, 58
Blum, O. 97, 162 247, 249, 250, 254
Devi, R. 189
Boas, F. 103, 104 Hodson, M. 93, 94
Domenico de Piacenza 115 Holt, C. 90, 103-4, 146
Branley, S. 60
Durkheim, E. 65 Hood, M. 184
Brink, J. 101-2
Brodzinsky, D.M. 181 Eliade,
M. 46, 68, 79 Hua Ching Ni 203
Brook, P. 13, 40, 82 Enders, G.L. 116 Huang, C. Al 82, 203, 207-14
Brooks, R. 75 Eshkol, N. and Wachmann, A. Hughes, C.W. 60
Browning, B. 17 98 Humphrey, D. 117-20, 139
Burns, E. 73, 84 Evans, B. and M.G. 92-3 Hui-neng 68-9
Byers, P. 34, 98, 159, 174 Evans-Pritchard, E.E. 65, 102, Hunt, V. 98, 183
103 Hutchinson Guest, A. 45, 87,
Canetti, E. 38, 66 Evers, Land Molina, F. 217, 88, 95,96 151, 190
Capra, F. 34, 68, 136
239
Caroso, F. 89 Ivanov, VJ. 113, 114
Chapple, E.D. 35, 156, 161, Feuillet, R.A. 90, 99, 114
Jablonko, A. 183, 240, 242-4,
176, 273 Fish, S.A. 54, 184
249, 251, 254, 256-8
Chapple, E.D. and Coon, C.S. Foerstel, L.S. 46
Jeffery, D. 40, 47, 57, 147, 167,
60 Fox Strangways, A.J. 153
168
Chen Kung 205 Franko, M. 115
Johnston, T.F. 16, 143
Freud, S. 194

302
 NAME INDEX / 303
Jowitt, D, 124, 178 Lomax, A. 104, 105, 243, 249, Pesovr, E. 161

Kaeppler, A. 102, 161 258 Pitcairn, T. and Schleidt, M. 98

Kafka, J.S. 183 Lomax, A., Bartenieff, I. and Plato 43-4, 51
Kagan, E. 126 Paulay, F. 104, 243 Plumer, W. 62, 63
Kane, S. 36 Loring, E. and Canna, DJ. 98 Polglaze, P. 33, 44
Kapferer, B. 160 Lossing, B,J. 61 Pradier, J.M. 39
Karkoschka, E. 96 Lowe, B. 46 Preston-Dunlop, V. 97, 126
Luce, G.G. 28-9, 30 Proca-Ciorta, V. 102
Kealiinohomoku, J. 30, 100,
107, 108, 193, 228, 235 McKenna, P. 191
Pforsich, J. 126
Keil, C. 108 McNeil,
W. 38 Radcliffe-Brown, A.R. 102-3
Kendon, A. 98 McPhee, C. 74, 147, 149, 151 Rameau, P. 114
Kendon, A. and Ferber, A. 34, Mair, M. and Kirkland, J. 181 Rappaport, R.A. 240-6, 248,
98, 99 Maletic, V. 97, 162 249, 253-5, 257
Kennedy, J. 45 Maletic, V. and Maxwell, C. Rathbun, V. 63
Kestenberg, J.S. 33-4, 38, 97, 271 Rawson, P. 93
182, 183 Malinowski, B. 106 Ray, DJ. 143
Kirstein, L. 113 Malm, W. 49 Rees, A. 185
Knox, C. 13, 15 Marshall, Lorna 106 Reyman, J.E. 60, 72, 271
Koetting, J. 96 Martin, G. and Pesovr, E. 102 Reynolds, W.C. 102
Koning, J. 184 Martin, JJ. 15, 117, 118, 128, Richardson, H. 73, 77, 79, 82
Koppelman, C. 269 144, 272 Riddle, G.E. 61
Kramer, S. 53 Mason, B.S. 90 Riemann 99, 153
Kubik, G. 98-9 Meerloo, J.A.M. 192 Roose-Evans, J. 19, 113, 114,
Kuniaki 52 Meyerhold, V.E. 139 164
Kurath, G.P. 78, 92, 102, 184, Middleton, J. 106 Rostas, S$. 26
193 Millar, J. and Schwarz, M. 93 Rowe, D. 37, 40, 80
Moore, S. 112 Royce, A.P. 99, 100, 109
Laban, R. von 126, 128-36
Moore, T. 136 Ryan, D.A. 241
Laban, R. von and Lawrence,
Morgan, LH. 274 Ryman, R.S. and Rannie, D.S.
FC. 133
Munn, N.D. 89 29, 98
La Barre, W. 36
Munro, T. 66
Ladzekpo, S.K. and Pantaleoni, Sachs, C. 191
Murdock, G.P. 104 Salmond, A. 48
H. 96
Lamb, W. 126 Naehto, J.L. 238 Scarf, M. 69
Langdon-Davies, J. 90 Nakamura,Y. 53, 160 Schechner, R. 40, 43, 73, 74,
Lange, R. 99, 100, 102, 107, Nellist, M. 176 83, 169
193 Nelson, E.W. 170 Scheflen, A.E, 189, 193, 269,
Langer, S. 56, 69-70 Neuhaus, H. 159 273
Langley, A. 263 Newtson, D. 183 Schieffelin, E.L. 82
Lapping, M. 27 Nicholls, R.W. 139, 158 Schmidt, P. 139
Lasher, M.D. 152 North, M. 126 Schwarz, E. 89, 91
Lashley, K. 34 Shanson, L. 143
O'Hanlon, M. 72, 81, 244,
Lauterer, A. 170 Shawn, T. 23
245, 250-2, 255
Leach, E. 19, 60, 67, 113, 158, Sherbourne, V. 15
Olivier, L. 55
271 Siegel, E.V. 269
Olson, S.A. 202, 206
Lee, D. 79 Siegel, E.V. and Blau, B. 15
Ortiz, A. 85
Leonard, G. 38 Siegel, M. 117, 120, 170, 179
Painter, M.T. 217, 221, 234, Silvester, V. 88, 90
Lévi-Strauss, C. 89
235 Singer, A. 102
Lewis, I.M. 106
Pantaleoni, H. 150, 152 Snyder, A.F. 85, 86
Lewis-Smith, V. 13
Lex, B. 70
Parry, R. 214 Souriau, E. 94
Litvinoff, V. 111 Payne, L. 43, 66, 87, 143 177, Spencer, P. 99, 184
219, 229, 241, 260
Liyange, K. 175
 304 / RHYTHM AND TIMING OF MOVEMENT IN PERFORMANCE

Spicer, E.H. 217, 218, 225,

226
Spicer, R.B. 217
Stanislavski, C. 110
Stern, D. 34, 154, 192, 272
Stone, R. 109, 195
Strasberg, L. 74
Strathern, A. and M. 244
Sweet, J. 126

Taylor, M. 186
Tharp, T. 169, 177
Thomas, E.L. 115
Thompson, R.F. 108
Toponkov 111
Tsui-Po 203
Turner, M. 142
Turner, V. 19, 30, 69, 70, 101,
183, 271
Ucko, P. and Rosenfeld, A. 93
Ullmann, L. 130
Vakhtangov, E. 56, 112
Van Zile, J. 105, 183, 271
Vayda, A. 241
Verger, P. 60

Wallbott, A. 195
Wardle, I. 48
Watts, A. 69
Weaver, J. 114
Wells, S.Y. and Green, C. 64
Wen Cheng-ming 204
Wildeblood, J. and Brinson, P.
152
Williams, D. 15-16, 69, 100,
102, 107, 272
Wilson, M. 19, 38, 41, 83, 157
Wolz, C. 53, 74, 143, 157
Woodard, S. 95
Young, M. 83
Youngerman, S. 126
Zeami 53
Despite the richness of the subject and the importance frequently ascribed to the
phenomena of rhythm and timing in the arts, the topic as a whole has been
neglected. Janet Goodridge writes from a practical movement background and
draws on a wide range of sources to illuminate the subject in relation to theatre,
drama, dance, ceremony, and ritual. Written for all those working in, or interested
in the expressive arts — teaching, directing and performing — arts therapies, inter-
personal communication and anthropology, the book provides a first step towards
a cross-cultural, interdisciplinary perspective.
Janet Goodridge holds a PhD in anthropology from University College, London and has other
qualifications in drama, music and education from Bristol University, Guildhall School of Music
and Drama, and in anthropology from the London School of Economics, as well as training in
movement and dance. She has had wide experience as a movement practitioner, teacher and
choreographer, and has been a Principal Lecturer in dance and related arts at various higher
education and theatre training institutions. Her current teaching extends from movement training
for actors to leading Tai Ji with older people in Community Day Care Centres.

ISBN 1~85302-548-8
ro)

Jessica Kingsley Publishers

116 Pentonville Road
London N1 9JB 9 "781853'0254
cover design by C.P.Ranger