Aviva: A fresh take on relationships told through dance and film
By Jenn Edwards
It’s clear from the outset that Aviva is not a conventional cinematic love story. First, right at the beginning, we are introduced to the cameras used, and learn the names of their operators. Next, a woman sitting nude on a bed explains that she is primarily a dancer and choreographer, but that she’s acting in the film because it was “more viable for dancers to pull off the acting required than vice versa.” She also acknowledges that the words she’s speaking weren’t written by her, but by a man.
She’s referring to Israeli-American Boaz Yakin, the writer and director of Aviva. The film is a significant departure from his previous work, which includes directing the sports film Remember The Titans, and writing screenplays for action movies such as The Rookie. With Aviva, Yakin takes risks in ways big-budget Hollywood pictures don’t often allow. The result is an ambitious, distinct work of art that refuses to rush and indulges in whims, but overall feels balanced and cohesive.
The plot is simple. Aviva, played by Russian dancer Zina Zinchenko, and Eden, played by Tyler Phillips, a Juilliard dance grad and Sleep No More cast member, develop a transatlantic relationship after being introduced over email by a mutual friend. Their love becomes tumultuous once Aviva moves from Paris to New York to be with Eden, and the pressures of real life begin to take hold.
The most interesting thing about the film is not the story, but how it’s told. This is decidedly a dance film, using contemporary dance as a driving narrative force in the same way that songs propel a musical. Aviva also splits each main character into two people, a feminine and a masculine part, played by two actors who swap in and out depending on what’s unfolding in the scene. Sometimes all four are present, squabbling among themselves. Sometimes only one half of a character participates while the other sulks in the corner. It’s a clever way of dramatizing the conflicts within ourselves, and the effects they can have on our relationships.
Eden’s feminine side is played by Bobbi Jene Smith, a former Batsheva Dance Company member for ten years under the direction of Ohad Naharin. Smith also choreographed the film’s dance sequences in collaboration with her partner, Or Schraiber, another former Batsheva dancer, who plays Aviva’s masculine side.
The movement vocabulary is refreshing, especially inside a feature film. Sometimes improvised dance is woven into the everyday improvisations of life — conversational gestures, walking down the street, embracing someone, fighting, flirting. In the more crafted dance sequences, Naharin’s influence is clear: the movement is grounded, percussive, primal and idiosyncratic.
Ensemble numbers show up in the places you would expect in a traditional musical: the bar during a boys’ night out, a wedding and an afternoon in the park. At times Aviva feels like a contemporary West Side Story or Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. Cinematographer Arseni Khachaturan expertly captures the dance numbers with roving camera angles orbiting around the action and weaving in between bodies. Music by Israeli singer-songwriter Asaf Avidan adds just enough rhythmic structure and emotional tone, without intruding on the movement.
In its most effective moments, the dancing physicalizes plot points in a practical, matter-of-fact way. For instance, an exquisite pas de deux between Smith and Schraiber, danced while Aviva and Eden are getting back together, plays with counterbalance, interlocking, proximity and boundaries.
It feels important to note that Aviva doesn’t shy away from nudity and sex. Unlike many mainstream films, it doesn’t skip over full frontal male nudity; each male character we meet, even secondary or tertiary characters who are never shown having sex, is introduced with a nude snapshot. This frank exposure comes across as a comment on masculine identity, blatantly displaying the kind of vulnerability we don’t often see from male characters.
Aviva’s weakest moments are its most realistic, when the characters are engaged in conventional dialogue. It’s much more captivating when relationships are established abstractly through dance, which is no surprise considering the cast is stacked with exceptional dancers who are far more experienced at moving than acting. Also, Eden and Aviva’s romantic connection is a bit shallow, and not as believable as when they relate to the conflicting parts of themselves, which is perhaps Yakin’s point.
As Aviva weaves swiftly in and out of realism, viewers are constantly reminded they are indeed watching a film. Occasionally a second camera, or a boom microphone, comes into the shot. Tongue-in-cheek monologues, spoken directly into the camera, comment on script choices. Through its meta approach, the film embraces its own flaws, resulting in a piece of work that is refreshingly raw, much like the dancing for which it is a vehicle.
