Watching City Hall #347, (2-27-05)

“Keith Hennessy is hung like a horse."

(Rachel, Eileen’s successor)

There was no denying it; she was right. It was (ahem) semi-hard to miss since that was the reality of the situation as the impresario did his final dance of the first act in a raw & exposed vein-pulsing nudity; draped only in the generous streams of body hair that ran from the nape of his neck to his big toes. Hair that glistened from a combination of his own righteous perspiration and handfuls of saliva collected from a half dozen or so volunteers in the audience for which he vaulted nimbly around, collected, and rubbed vigorously … all over. Hey, you bond with your fans, your way … he’s got a right to bond his way.

The show is called ‘Chosen Mercy’ and it comes to you from San Francisco’s own Circo Zero, which itself is: “a core project of CounterPULSE, formerly 848 Community Space. It is at Dance Mission Theater at 24th & Mission (3316 24th – above Café La Boheme). Performances are at 8pm and admission is $15 except for this Thursday when the audience will be asked to contribute whatever they’re able. Remaining performances are tonite (Sunday), then, a skip to Thursday thru Sunday shows. You gotta see this show, campers.

The show is a Keith Hennessy masterpiece. As Charles Kalish, who finagled invitations for he and I from Dance Mission’s Krissy Keefer wrote: “It’s like Dante meets Cirque De Soleil.” And more (like rigid nipples, for instance – like, I’m gonna like, act like I never saw em?).

Take your friends on welfare out during the last days before the 15th and 1st of the month, kids. We’re always broke by then. Real friends know this kind of shit. That’s what Krissy Keefer was thinking when I ran into her crossing the Powell Street cable car turnaround.

“I know you don’t have any money, so I’ll buy you a couple of drinks and get you into the show as a guest.” Now, that’s gotta be the second best thing a guy could hope to hear from a beautiful woman. I promised to write a review and didn’t bother to mention that most of my readers are raving political junkies who often have even less money than me.

Lemme tell you about the show

I arrived early and was sitting with Krissy and Kalish at one of those cute little round tables on the sidewalk in front of the café’ when a stream of people began coming down the stairs next door and started picking spots in the alley that adjoins the café. It was beginning to rain lightly. “The show starts in the alley.”, Krissy explained (which is, coincidentally, the BEST thing a guy could hope to hear …etc.). Oh, never mind.

The alley was the best place to describe the politics of imperialism and oppression and greed. The tall, fluid Hennessy, looking 10 years younger than the 47 year old marker he worked into a the opening soliloquy, made his way through the crowd wearing a full-length, strapless, white wedding gown (which the program credits as having been altered by ‘Jack Davis’? – hmmm)

The artist first untied and lowered the fire escape stairs which he ascended until he had a good view of us all plus the busy Latino street with the Bart station beyond. I didn’t quite understand quite why, but as he performed, he drank gulps from a bottle that I think he said was a mixture of vinegar and something.

The result was a rambling Ginsbergian rant, the likes of which is why I came to San Francisco in the first place. It was as fine a protest poem as I’ve heard in the last 30 years and Hennessy made it multi-affective by adding the wedding dress mixed with lots of wincing and gagging and spitting. (There was a lot of saliva in this show.)

So, there we are and the show just started and there’s this big hairy guy in a wedding dress standing on a fire escape in an alley in the Mission in the rain drinking vinegar. Damned show had barely started and Kalish, he turns to me and he cups his hand and whispers: “This thing could play New York.”

Consider Jade-Blue Eclipse

“Jade-blue Eclipse, born in Nagasaki, Japan, learned her survival and performance skills in San Francisco’s seedy strip joints, hip night clubs and alternative performance venues. Instead of engaging in violence and drug use she studies Chinese acrobatics at the SF Circus Center with Mr. Lu Yi, a master trainer from the Nanjing Acrobatic Troupe. Specializing in hand balancing and contortion allows Jade to focus her masochistic tendencies into fierce and uncompromising performance.”

That’s from the program and, you can say that again! Lord, lord, lord is this woman strong. And, erotic? The smooth, supple muscles of a champion gymnast. The branching, dark serpentine tattoo reaching up her back, balanced in front by the slashing black straps of her, essentially topless leotard that really covered nothing. Thank you, Buddah.

Slithering up and down the wide velvet rope, warmed by Hennessy in the first act, rising from the floor so slowly, like an early Spring lily, to pose like sculpture in handstands that lasted minute after brutal minute. Oooohhh!! It hurts so good.

Let me just say that I love Cirque De Soleil, but this troupe blew them away. With up to five dancers at a time moving fluidly while ringed or suspended … so, so political ..so, so, erotic. … Believe me, you’ll be stiff and cramped from all the involuntary sympathetic muscle contractions you’ll have done from head to toe over the hour and a half or so that the show runs. … That’s enough, you go see them. After you do, you don’t have to thank me. Just buy me a beer the next time you see me.

I let Krissy and Charles tow me down the street to Majul, a Middle Eastern place on Mission. Place looks like ‘Rick’s Bar’ in ‘Casablanca’. They assure me that the rest of San Francisco already knows about this place when I ask why I haven’t heard of it. We all dry out as we relax against the comfortable cushions and drink and they complement the food. We talk international politics and the coming Board of supes hearings on Press passes and Pot Clubs, matters dear to my heart. Krissy talks about a piece on Cuba and Fidel she’s working on for her own troupe. We drink exotic drinks and ponder the ways of the inscrutable Gonzalez.

We reentered the rain at the witching hour and parted at the corner. Charles put a plastic shopping bag over the soggy seat of his bike and backtracked toward his Potrero Hill hideaway. Krissy had been joined by her 13 year old daughter and a friend and they headed East a half block to their place.

I jogged and walked directly down Mission passing lines of hot young San Franciscans waiting to get inside various nite spots to shake their booties. The largest group was at Otis Street and I slowed to walk by them. It was the ‘Power Exchange’ gang-bang club or whatever. It was the first time I’d seen patrons around the place and it made my heart proud. I guess they were kind of like, waiting for a table. Heavy makeup on smiling faces ran in the rain. I remembered that I’d emailed invites to Christopher Caen & Mark Morford for a rave that was beginning about then at the Blue Cube. They hadn’t responded and I was both broke and drugless, so I decided to give it up. You aren’t supposed to have all of the fun on a Saturday nite. Leave a little out there your neighbors.

City Hall tomorrow 1pm – Cops depress da press

Are we there yet? …