Derivative Dance

He is wearing just sneakers, a wig and a hat. So revealing is this tour de force solo that by the end, he may as well have stripped off his skin too. In this nearly nude state, to blasting pop music, Gutierrez proceeds to haul onstage and hook up a TV, VCR, and sound box. (Just the fact that he does this quickly in full view of a rapt audience is pretty impressive by itself, especially to those lacking in practical skills.)
He putters around the stage, curling dumbells and sliding on a well-worn t-shirt and sweatpants.

He gets the audience to repeat, “I am Miguel Gutierrez,” a phrase which we are to encounter again. We‘re unsure of his self-seriousness, disoriented by the anti-performative structure so far. But when he plays a video taken of himself in a Q&A session at Jacob’s Pillow, parroting himself, we laugh with him at his verbal tics and over-analysis. Another video shows hot stuff teen Miguel, the lone boy among a troupe of girls, performing a jazz routine with absolute confidence.
Little of that slickness is currently evi­dent until Gutierrez launches into his “derivative dance,” a skilful, kinetic concatenation of quotes by dozens of predecessors and peers who are dutifully ...