‘Hearts of Cranes’ Feels Paper Thin (Review)

(NoPro NYC correspondent Allie Marrotta worked on this experience. She has not had editorial input, nor has she been privy to the contents of this review before publication.

The following also contains minor spoilers for the experience.)

In Hearts of Cranes, co-creator Manatsu Tanaka plays Saki, who guides a solo participant through the act of folding an origami paper crane over Zoom. (Saki uses they/them pronouns).

During this short 1:1 interactive piece, Saki asks the attendee to think of a wish and write it inside their origami paper. Saki and the participant also share their wishes with one another. Saki then asks the audience member to help them select a piece of paper to fold their own bird, while helping them prepare to make their own paper crane.

I must admit: my sad piece of stark, white printer paper felt plain and ordinary in comparison to Saki’s gorgeous flower blossom-emblazoned print. I did my best to keep up with their instructions as I dutifully cut my piece of printer paper into a perfect square; I soon began folding under their watchful eye. (It must be said that Saki is an excellent instructor in helping someone fold a paper crane; I felt all of their attention focused upon me, supporting me in this activity.)

But, despite some clever camera work and thematically appropriate costume and decor in Hearts of Cranes, I felt disconnected from Saki as we worked together to fold our two separate origami birds. I must also admit, I have folded many of these paper cranes as a child, so my muscle memory did return somewhat quickly to my fingers after a few minutes of instruction. Even so, I struggled to display my work-in-progress to Saki in Zoom against a virtual background. My chosen backdrop unfortunately hid my paper crane from them multiple times. I also suffered some latency issues as Saki’s words stuttered and the picture occasionally hung. On occasion, I found myself trying to catch up to an already-in-progress monologue. As I forced myself to concentrate, I soon felt distracted by these Internet issues and more.

Looking back, I also find that I simply struggled to identify any emotional stakes in what we were doing together in Hearts of Cranes. I thought perhaps I might find a shocking secret to be revealed or an unusual risk I might be asked to take. The experience attempts to ascribe some symbolism in the act but it feels lost on me. And, try as I might, the big “reveals” in the show felt small and insignificant in the grand scheme of things. The revelations in the plot did nothing to draw me into a story even as Saki confided their “secret” goal to me: to make a Senbazuru with a thousand paper cranes in light of, well, everything that’s happening right now with COVID-19 around the world. (This practice dates back to ancient Japanese culture in which a historical legend claims the folder of the Senbazuru will be granted a wish from the gods.) And Saki’s unique twist on the Senbazuru would be art to help heal the world.

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The idea to “heal the world” through the folding of a thousand paper cranes (with Saki’s modern take on the practice) strikes me as asking for a level of suspension of disbelief that felt, well, unearned by my experience in Hearts of Cranes. I still was quite aware that I was stuck in my apartment, sitting at my kitchen table. I am trapped at home except for brief excursions to walk the dog or pick up groceries while dodging unmasked strangers, as a highly communicable disease continues to rage in the United States and my university continues to hold most of its courses online through the end of the school year.

Hearts of Cranes hints at the dangers lurking outside our collective windows but darts for cover at the slightest sign of serious matters, choosing not to really engage or unpack much. And Saki is described by the creators as being “wise” and “otherworldly,” but they merely seemed like an everyday young person to me. And the character lacked the vulnerability that creates intimacy in the best one-on-ones I’ve experienced. Myself, I tried not to dwell on just how much older I felt in comparison to the person who I saw on the other side of the Zoom.

Because the piece didn’t take any emotional risks and also didn’t ask me to take real emotional risks with Saki, I felt no investment in Saki’s story or their goals. In retrospect, I wasn’t sure of my purpose in folding a paper crane, either. Was I expected to eventually give Saki mine as well, to add to the eventual one thousand paper cranes? What was the connection? Why am I here, what’s my role in all this? I felt as if I was waiting for something else — the real action — to start as I was just one of many strangers passing through Saki’s life, rather than being taken from beginning to end on an emotional journey with a character.

Instead, my thoughts began to wander as we finished our paper cranes at the end of Hearts of Cranes and showed them to each other. I thought of brave friends who have volunteered to participate in the clinical trials for the various vaccine candidates. I thought of other friends who now have life-long side effects after getting sick and how much they need aid, real aid from our government. I thought of those who are taking care of elderly family members or members of other vulnerable populations. I thought of another friend, a courageous emergency room doctor in San Francisco, and all he has been through this year. I counted the days since I have seen my classmates and professors in person in Los Angeles. And I thought of my friend who died of COVID-19 in April.

I did not think much about paper cranes.

Hearts of Cranes continues through December 29. Tickets are pay what you can.

Discover the latest immersive events, festivals, workshops, and more at our new site EVERYTHING IMMERSIVE, the new home of NoPro’s show listings.

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