Kuchment: How did “Vers la Flamme” come about? Clarke: I wanted to do something that was based on pure narrative. My previous work had been more abstract and imagistic, less linear in purpose. And I wanted to do something Russian, because I love Russian literature. I had read stories by Tolstoy and Dostoevsky but felt that Chekhov was the most suitable for me for the purposes of translating into movement. The stories are very atmospheric and less plot oriented. They are about emotional situations mostly, and they have a lot of ambiguity.
You’ve said that Chekhov and Scriabin are “polar opposites.” How did you decide to put them together? They are odd bedfellows, but the more I listened to Scriabin, the more I felt that it provided the perfect subtext for Chekhov’s stories. Scriabin’s music, which is romantic, mystical and at times emotionally raw and mad, somehow liberates Chekhov’s characters and reveals their hidden motives.
Where do you typically find inspiration for your work? I’ve used history, literature, music, photography, film. But though I’m fascinated by combining things that could appear to be intellectual, I’m not particularly cerebral. I’m really a romantic, and I work very intuitively and instinctually. I find a subject that I think could hold my interest and excite my imagination.
Whom do you count among your influences? I was a student of Antony Tudor, a great English choreographer and the first one, in the ’30s, to bring a psychological aspect into choreography. And I’ve been a great film devotee, so film directors have been a great influence on me also.
Which ones? Certainly the great ones [laughing]. Bergman, Fellini, Visconti. Mostly Europeans. I’m from Baltimore, but for some reason I have a great affinity for things across the Atlantic.
“Vers la Flamme,” like some of your other productions, uses full frontal nudity and has a few raunchy sex scenes. Why is sex such an important part of your work? It seems very natural. I think romance, eroticism, passion and romantic yearning are things that have occupied women’s thoughts–perhaps more than some men’s. And all the work I do is close to my own interests and obsessions.
As for the nudity aspect, I was an artist’s model for many years, and I feel the way I use nudity on the stage expresses vulnerability rather than sexual exploitation. It has to do with a truly naked soul or a naked spirit.
Are you surprised when people are offended by it? Yeah, and I’m surprised when the work is misinterpreted. But you have to live with that, it just goes with the territory.
Do you think Americans are too prudish? Yes, and I think there’s a degree of hypocrisy in it. People in America love sex, violence and sensationalism, and then they get very prudish when it comes to the front door. Europeans are more at ease with their bodies and more at ease with things that aren’t foursquare.
Now you’re directing your first Broadway show. How is that going? I’m having a wonderful time. What’s interesting about it is that I’m making decisions based on reaching a much broader audience. And though it’s art, it’s also business. When you’re doing not-for-profit work, you want it to be loved and to endure, but you don’t think of having to recoup anything.
How do you feel before an opening night? Like I need an in-flight bag. I’m always nervous, I don’t find it ever gets any easier despite the fact that I’ve been around for a long time. I’m excited and frightened. So much of the success of one’s work has to do with the a la mode moment–whether or not what you’re interested in is what the big life dynamic is interested in. You know the story of “The Little Red Hen”? I just go and plant my corn and hope it’ll come up and make me corn bread.
