The Schlitz Stock-House occupies a long stretch on Martin Luther King Jr. Drive from Cherry to Galena streets. On the fifth floor of this monumental warehouse, audience members strolled past tall windows, examining views of the nighttime city before taking seats for the new Wild Space Dance Company production, Brew City Dreams. Outside, the modern skyline and nicely rehabbed buildings offer little sense of the past. Inside, it’s another story. The ceiling beams and rows of thick pillars in this immense room are covered in burn marks (from kerosene lamps?) and ugly stains, with seriously peeling paint on the pillars and walls, and gaps in the concrete that still covers most of a brown brick floor. Darkly lighted, as it was when we arrived in small groups via elevator, this could be the setting for a horror movie. Instead, choreographer Debra Loewen turned it into a kind of temple, an ancient Stonehenge with those imposing pillars in place of giant stones. The six women dancers were priestesses directing our ever-shifting gaze with mysterious signals.
The audience, many as young as the dancers, sat at one end of the room. Dressed identically in sleeveless white shirts, flowing beige pants and brown sneakers, the dancers emerged: acolytes carrying glowing white paper sacks lighted from within. The sacks were placed on the floor before the looming pillars, heightening their presence. Pillars blocked sightlines, giving each audience member a different view. Dancers moved in and out of sight, dancing in isolation or in groups; in unison or sequentially; with gestures that hinted at meaning but remained elusive; most often distant but occasionally, wonderfully, close. They danced with intense inner focus as though each moment mattered. In the end, they led the audience to the center of the room and into a circle delineated by the glowing sacks. We were a tribe that had shared a provocative dream. We could see one another and feel the communal energy. The dancers were people like us; and like us, vulnerable, a little afraid. Hope was in the air. Then it ended.
Stay on top of the news of the day
Subscribe to our free, daily e-newsletter to get Milwaukee's latest local news, restaurants, music, arts and entertainment and events delivered right to your inbox every weekday, plus a bonus Week in Review email on Saturdays.
Every magical sound from Tim Russell’s endlessly inventive score for beer bottles and drumsticks and every change in Phil Cruise Warren’s panoramic lighting was a gift. I was always aware of the challenges presented by this space to the choreographer and dancers, yet I was taken to a holy place. “The Beer That Made Milwaukee Famous,” indeed.
