Trajal Harrell / Zürich Dance Ensemble: Monkey Off My Back or The Cat’s Meow

Park Avenue Armory, New York City
September 11, 2025

While there will always be a metaphorical monkey on your back, in Monkey Off My Back or The Cat’s Meow, Trajal Harrell attempts to remind people of their natural inclination to want to throw it off, to question, to evolve and to be independent.

In doing so, he draws on multiple art forms, the show being at least as much about fashion, visuals and music as the choreography; perhaps more so. Along the way there’s also a recital of the American Declaration of Independence as a sort of reminder to explore what it means to be really free and to pursue our individual and collective cat’s meow.

When he made the piece back in 2021, Harrell’s idea was that there should be no theme and no subject. It should be an evening shaped by nothing. But, like freedom, is that actually possible? Freedom is a relative concept. Absolute freedom does not exist. No matter who you are, you are always bound by something. And we are all who we are. We do not and have never lived in a vacuum. We are all bound by our histories and our pasts, proverbial monkeys on our backs that have and continue to shape us how ever much we might try to throw them off. Added to which, the audience bring along their own monkeys too, of course, which shapes how works are seen and perceived.

But enough philosophising. Right from the off, Monkey Off My Back or The Cat’s Meow is undoubtedly an homage to art, to the imagination and to play. The cavernous Wade Thompson Drill Hall at the Park Avenue Armory is in many ways the ideal space for it because it needs space. A lot of space.

It all takes place in a fashion runway-like setting, the roughly 50×12-metre ‘stage’ flanked on either side by nine rows of about fifty seats each. That stage floor is full of coloured blocks like a giant Piet Mondrian painting. On it are two huge white sofas either side of a white table in the centre. Under the table is an assortment of toys, although they are not used.

It opens, appropriately, with a fashion show. The cast come on one by one, mostly in extravagant costumes, by Harrell himself. Some wouldn’t look out of place on a real fashion catwalk. Some look more like some of the weaker efforts from The Great British Sewing Bee; the ones where the contestant didn’t follow the brief, went badly wrong and ran out of time. And then there’s the one that just didn’t bother, Christopher Matthews in dressing gown and slippers looking like he had just struggled out of bed.

As they parade to an eclectic soundtrack again constructed by Harrell, a very particular motif is immediately apparent: walking on tiptoe as if wearing stilettos. It’s a long way from the strong precise, almost automaton-like movement of Sharon Eyal, however. Although they move with assurance, there are also moments of vulnerability. The performers slip, slide, lean and teeter in a very human way. They also establish an immediate connection with those watching, making eye contact every time they pause and pose.

Harrell takes his time. Monkey Off My Back or The Cat’s Meow runs almost two hours without a break. But things do slowly develop. Those coloured blocks on the floor become mini stages for individual solos, the styles as varied as the music. Later, they link arms for an Eastern Mediterranean-inspired folk dance. At one point, the American Declaration of Independence is recited.

Back to vulnerability, one of the highlights comes in an emotionally-laden solo by Harrell to Joan Armatrading’s ‘The Weakness in Me.’ Very different is a terrifically playful section that has the cast running around, including over the furniture like a bunch of young children. But while the movement suggested joy and freedom, only now and again was that also seen in faces. Smiles and happy looks were relatively few. Did they realised they could never be truly free? Or is that overthinking it?

Monkey Off My Back or The Cat’s Meow is certainly an experience. An event as much as a performance. There are interesting moments. There are beautiful moments. There are some very theatrical moments. There are those emotional moments. But it does start to lose its pull once you’ve worked out it’s not actually going anywhere, or even saying much as a whole. Indeed, it’s been a while since I’ve seen quite so many people leave early.

It ends with another moment of connection: an extended bow in which the performers enter one by one, walking around the space, pausing, bowing, their gaze meeting that of those watching. In a way, it’s a sort of return to the idea of vulnerability, and another reminder that we are all individuals; and that connection, togetherness, between audience and performer is essential.