ROUGH TRADE
To get the full effect of “Rough Trade,” you have to see both the Friday and Saturday shows. On Friday Steger performs his own Bliss, and then Moore does her The Illusion of Conspiracy. On Saturday, however, Moore inhabits Steger’s work, and Steger takes on Moore’s. The result isn’t merely gender bending, it’s transgressive.
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Consider the opening of Bliss, a lip-synched dance to Yoko Ono’s “Open Your Mind.” In Steger’s hands it’s a languid lament. His face, which can be simultaneously cadaverous and clownlike, twists and contorts. His easy, fluid movements seem to beg the audience to join him. The effect is surreal, otherworldly, yet still friendly. But Moore’s interpretation of the same number is more labored–it seems self-directed, a mantra. Her face nearly covered by her long blond hair, Moore’s on her own out there, a survivor from some terrible accident or journey. Hysteria seems right below the surface, and it’s downright painful to watch.
This is of course the coda. Nothing can be utterly possessed. And, paradoxically, nothing can be completely shed. In this case the cultural baggage that drags behind Steger as a man leaves him at a disadvantage. When Moore takes this role, she’s far more dangerous than he can ever be, if for no other reason than that women are rarely allowed this kind of power.
In “Rough Trade” Moore is awesome, Steger is excellent. Both have a luminous, commanding quality. As writers both are at a critical point. Moore’s more focused than ever. Her finger’s on a trigger and it’s itchy. Steger is considering flight of some sort. He’s flexing, feeling his muscles. What they bring to “Rough Trade”–besides sheer intelligence–is an unusual and sobering courage.
