Opus Jazz

We spend four nights in a gutted building in Red Hook, Brooklyn filming “Statics,” the second movement of “Opus Jazz.” We’re on the sixth floor of a building with no walls and a 360-degree view. The Manhattan skyline stretches in the distance, the sun sets behind Statue of Liberty. Meant to be renovated but postponed, the building remains empty, its history, a mystery.

When it is dark and we’re ready to shoot, Robert Prince’s jazzy score echoes and the skyline twinkles in the background of the floating steadicam shot, as six dancers perform Jerome Robbins’ original choreography between large concrete pillars. They leap, slide and roll, kicking up dust and debris—over and over—my feet hurt just standing.

I’m impressed how well the choreography holds up over time. Despite being conceived decades ago, it still seems modern and new.

I’m surprised at all the traffic on the BQE in the morning on my way home, and there is gray dirt caked to my ankles in a perfect semi-circle around my sneaker. I’m too tired to shower before going to bed and am asleep moments after my head hits the pillow.

We spend three days in an old middle-school gym in Carroll Gardens filming “Improvisations,” the third movement. Sunlight bursts through large windows, a beat-up basketball rests in the corner. Sixteen dancers perform an upbeat number from many different angles.

Though we are extremely busy, my mind has time to twirl dusty memories of my own middle-school experiences. We play basketball, embarrassingly (though enjoyably), in the morning and after lunch.

We spend three days in an empty McCarran pool in Williamsburg, filming “Entrances,” the first movement. It’s the first of our main locations that I’ve been to before, having spent many Sunday afternoons last summer at pool parties.

Then, the pool was full of life, not water (it’s been years since it’s been a functioning pool) but packed to the brim with hip-dressed young people from the neighborhood. Now, with the exception of our crew, it’s completely empty. Then, it was divided into sections and felt as if it went on forever. Now, it feels surprisingly small.

It’s a 10-minute walk from my house and by far the most convenient location for me. I enjoy walking to work in the morning and home at the end of the day.

The pool is enormous and covered in graffiti. It’s about to be renovated and we are, perhaps, the last film to capture it in its present state. During a particularly long lull in shooting, I imagine lazy Sundays when it was a fully functioning pool.

I turn 26 on a lazy Saturday, my first day off in quite some time. That night, there’s a joint party for me and a friend; we share the same birthday.

It’s the last week of shooting and I currently sit in the lobby of an old theater in Jersey City, NJ where we are shooting the final movement. It’s very old and slightly run down but completely impressive, with high ceilings and elaborate molding. Faded red carpet twists around on staircases and a seatless balcony overlooks a large stage.

I explore areas where we aren’t shooting: grand bathrooms, box seats and a backstage that goes on forever. First fearlessly and then, after catching a quick glimpse of an unknown shadow moving across the wall, my pace becomes slower and I move with trepidation.

Standing center stage and looking up into the bright lights, I think about how fast the shoot has gone, how fast this past year has gone. It seems like just last week I was writing about my 25th birthday.

In both cases, it’s not a new feeling—but it always surprises me.