Tag: Modern Dance

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Race and Dance and Politics and Literature

If you haven’t already, make sure to read (and listen to) Claudia La Rocco’s excellent WNYC post containing interviews with several NYC dance artists speaking about the role of race in their work and how they view the election. She apparently came up with the idea to do the interviews after an angry back and forth between Time Out editors and readers over the fact that the magazine’s list of top 40 New Yorkers who’ve made the most impact on the city over the last decade is, as Claudia put it, rather “monochromatic.”

At least things are different in the literary world. Check out the list of recent Whiting Award recipients. Also, Galley Cat is doing a series of author interviews about the election. Here’s one with poet Douglas Kearney over harmful language used in political speeches. His upcoming projects sound very cool.

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"Don't worry; we're not in bikinis!"

“don’t worry; we’re not in bikinis!”

Originally uploaded by swan lake samba girl via mobile.


T-Mobile

Delic appetizers @ upper east-side Brazilian restaurant Buzina Pop. Chi chi atmosphere that is also very comfy. Excellent music, of course! Slightly weird service though.

Update: I’d stopped here on my way to the Guggenheim for another Works & Process, this one on composer Charles Wuorinen. It’s his 70th birthday; he’s the composer commissioned to make the upcoming opera version of Brokeback Mountain. Anyway, choreographer Sean Curran‘s modern dance troupe was performing to one of Wuorinen’s pieces. Curran’s dancers and his choreography are excellent; Wuorinen’s music interesting — very severe and unsetting… more soon…

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Daniil’s Debut and a Riveting Pillar of Fire

 

 

Last night was the New York debut of ABT‘s newest star soloist, Russian-born, Daniil Simkin. He danced the Tico-Tico section of Company B, which I wrote about here, and which is going to be a dance I can tell will grow on me each time I see it. Tico Tico is probably the solo with the most bravura theatrics, and it suited him well. He has a small, compact body and can go very high on those jumps, really sail around the floor on those barrel turns. But the solo is also jazzy, and he pulled off the softer, subtler elements as well. At the solo’s end he got huge applause from the crowd, and more whooting applause mid-dance (which rarely happens with dance crowds these days) in the very last ensemble section, when he went whizzing halfway up to the ceiling in a twisty turning jump. “That little one was sure something!” exclaimed a couple of women as we left the theater.

My only thing — and this goes for the whole cast, not just him — at the end of the male solos, each man falls to the floor. This is meant to show that they’ve died in war. It it only their spirits that are dancing; the duets are the memories of the women they’ve left behind; the solos are ghosts. So, the dance on its surface is fun and frivolity with jazzy music and pretty girls and the whole nine yards, but there’s underlying tragedy, which gives the dance its power.

 

On the way out of the theater a woman was complaining to her friend that the ABT dancers “aren’t doing it right; it’s not clear they’ve fallen,” she said. And I agree. At the end of Daniil’s solo, he raised his arms and pushed back from the waist while disappearing into the wings as if he was hit in the stomach by a bullet. But he wore the same happy carefree smile as he had throughout the whole solo (likely because the audience could tell he was finishing, the cheers were beginning to sound and he’d just finished his NYC debut), so you’d never know he’d been shot. But it wasn’t just him — others in this cast did the same. I think the first cast, and especially Herman Cornejo, gave those moments more gravity and pathos. I still don’t know if it was enough though — something tells me people missed the war leitmotif altogether — but it was more. Don’t know how much is enough, really. I’ve never seen Paul Taylor’s company perform it so it’s hard to tell the choreographer’s original intent. You definitely don’t want to overdo it or it becomes preachy. It has to be subtle.

Anyway, I will look forward to seeing Simkin again next week in the Russian ballet, Flames of Paris (Ratmansky, woo hoo!) which I’m, obviously, immensely excited about. Simkin, by the way, keeps a blog; it looks like he updates his Twitter feed more often than the posts.

Also on were Antony Tudor’s Pillar of Fire and Jiri Kylian’s Overgrown Path. This was my first time seeing Pillar and I found it absolutely riveting.

 

 

The ballet’s from 1942 and the story’s dated — girl longs for good boy, good boy’s into her sister, girl doesn’t want to grow up to be spinster like older sis, so goes for bad boy who takes her virginity and “ruins” her, so that when good boy leaves brainless sis and comes around, she’s damaged goods. This results in tragedy; she can now only have good boy in her dreams, in the moonlight. At least that was my interpretation.

The great thing about Tudor, dated as this story is, is that he’s so dramatic, his drama comes from within, within the body. You can tell his dancers have to spend so much time working out the characters, and everything is made so clear not so much by facial expressions, but by body movement and posturing and gestures — which is dance, after all. David Hallberg as the good boy (I know, immensely annoying — good boy is shiny American blonde, bad boy is big dark Brazilian Marcelo; there are also “lovers of innocence” blonde and wearing white nightgowns and “lovers of experience” dark-haired and dressed in ‘slutty’ gypsy-like attire, but we won’t go there for the time being) has this quick, rushed gait, so that he passes right by Gillian’s heroine, paying no attention whatsoever to her body, contorted and hunched-over from the waist, cramp-like, with pain. Marcelo definitely notices her, and throughout he keeps doing this thing, rubbing his hands with the flat of his palms on both sides of his groin. It’s so sexual and so sexy and so threatening. I kept bolting upright and leaning forward every time he did it, and had to keep reminding myself, this is City Center, you move a millimeter and you’re blocking every single head behind you.

Marcelo was Marcelo, perfectly in character as always, and Gillian blew me (and the audience, judging by the substantial applause) away with her inner development and tragic portrayal of heroine Hagar. Only thing lacking (apart from the stereotypical casting and costuming), and just a smidgen, was David, in the beginning. His walk was perfect (Tudor concentrated greatly on gaits as a revealer of character), but he was a bit too severe. I couldn’t really see how Gillian’s Hagar was so enthralled with him. He seemed like a jerk the way he ignored her. Then, when he comes around to her, he slows it down, but then he has his regular pointy-footed, slightly hip-swaying, rumba-esque walks. It’s quintessential sexy David, but I don’t know if it’s this character.

 

The only piece that wasn’t to my liking was Kylian’s Path. They’re putting it on this season because Kylian made it in honor of Tudor, who considered the Czech choreographer his artistic grandson, and the season is devoted to Tudor. It just seemed too one-note, too dreary, without a serious drama you could latch onto. It’s meant to evoke sadness and pathos — is set to piano music by Leos Janacek, who composed the piece (On an Overgrown Path) not long after losing his son, then daughter, and you see a set of women who seem to be mourners, heads hung down, at times reaching out into the air as if in vain, and a young woman dances several duets with a man (Jose Carreno, who, weirdly, couldn’t even save the ballet for me), then disappears into the curtains. I don’t know, maybe I wasn’t in the mood, maybe it’ll grow on me, because I’ve certainly liked other things Kylian has done.

The company has a mini-website devoted to Tudor, where you can view videos and pictures here.

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CITIZEN, World Premiere at ABT

Last night at American Ballet Theater was the world premiere of a new ballet, Citizen, by Lauri Stallings. Stallings definitely knows how to hold an audience’s attention by creating spectacle, and I’m hoping ABT sends me some photos soon, because there was a lot to see. In the meantime, I will describe.

First, big kudos to ABT for putting on something so completely contemporary, so experimental. The company has a reputation for being a bit conservative and I’m not sure you could get farther from Swan Lake or Don Quixote!

 

 

So, the curtain was raised to the sound of falling rain. The background was open — it looked like walling was removed — to reveal pipes and such. The back stage doors were fully visible to the audience, and, at points, people dressed in plainclothes walked in and out. David Hallberg was heavily made up and dressed in a bright, richly textured-looking corset, over a skin-toned mesh undershirt and skin-tight resplendent silver tights that stopped at the knees. The costumes were really brilliant (and on more than one level this dance reminded me of Jorma Elo. In terms of the movement, it reminded me of his Brake The Eyes, my favorite of his works, and in terms of the marvelous costumes, it reminded me of his Close to Chuck, his last commission for ABT.)

Blaine Hoven was dressed in hippy-style, flared-bottom silvery pants and a mesh top with a shiny white satin-looking tie. Paloma Herrera, the main ballerina, wore sequined halter top and short shorts. Of the two other ballerinas in the piece — Isabella Boylston and Nicola Curry — one wore a ratty, netted dress, and the other a ruffled white top and I think short sequined pants. Everything was in greys, silvers, and whites. The elaborate costuming (by April McCoy) — suggesting heavily made-up veneers, false masks that we all put on perhaps — made for a stark contrast with the completely open, mundane setting.

Honestly, I found the costumes so stunning, I need to see this dance again; I paid too much attention up front to the clothes and too little to the movement!

Soon, music began — stringed instruments creating an atmosphere of sad nostalgia. The dancers moved robotically, or like puppets, like they were being controlled from above, perhaps like some citizens are? Movement was intentionally awkward, arms jutted out elbow-first, legs flicked out by the knee, pelvises stuck up and out as a dancer bent over, and at points they would walk in short staccato Charlie Chaplinesque steps, with turned-out feet, like clowns. At one point, Paloma bourreed on her tip-toes toward David, resembling the doll in The Nutcracker. Not a real ballerina, a toy version. At times they’d make circular patterns above their heads with their arms, ballet-like, but the movement was anything but fluid. They were all more like dancer dolls, false replicas.

At one point, all the people working in the wings — technicians, the sound gals — came out, dressed in regular streetclothes. They just kind of stood behind the dancers, looking out at the audience. The violins stopped and the lights went on, shining out on us. But the dancers didn’t seem to be breaking “the fourth wall” — they kept going on with their thing; it was only the technicians who confronted the audience, returning our gaze. I couldn’t tell if the technicians were supposed to be participants in the actual dance, or if their presence was supposed to suggest this was a dress rehearsal — “all the world’s a stage” – like, or all the world’s a dress rehearsal, rather. Soon, the lights went down again, the techies left, people walked back out the back stage door, and the sound of raindrops resumed as before, this time with glitter falling from the sky. “The show” resumed.

Robotic as the dancers moved, they were also very human, or trying to be, struggling to seek connection. David would walk his Charlie Chaplin walks toward Paloma, but she’d dart away; he’d put his nose to her face as if trying to know her by taking in her smell, like a dog. But struggle as they did, there was never a real connection. This movement, this following one another, seeking one another out, continued to the end, when Paloma crawled away from the rest of the crowd, toward the front of the stage, and made her way practically to the edge of the orchestra pit. The curtain slowly fell, and right before it landed on her, a hand reached out and pulled her back in. So, maybe they did connect in the end.

It did make me think of the world we, as citizens, inhabit. How much our actions are controlled by others, even in a (so-called) democracy. How much of our actions and the faces we put on are false, but how we’re still fundamentally human and yearning for connection.

I’m not sure if this is what she was getting at, but I’d love to hear others’ takes! It’s showing again this weekend and next.

The program was nicely varied: in addition to the Stallings, were Tharp’s sassy, frolicking Baker’s Dozen, Tudor’s sadly beautiful Leaves are Fading, and Theme and Variations, Balanchine’s super-charged homage to Imperial Russia replete with majestic Tchaikovsky, glittery tutus and tiaras, and brilliant, high-jumping twisty turns.

If anyone sees the Stallings, let me know what you think.

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Guardian Angel, Chase Brock Experience, Three Movements, San Francisco Ballet, Cynthia Gregory, Doctor Atomic

 

 

Blah! I had a very strange dream last night in which this one basically told me in his own sweet way that I need to calm down and not stress over blogging like a mad fiend. I have no idea why Angel Corella was on my mind since, although my favorite ballet company begins their City Center season tonight, he, for the second CC season in a row now, is not participating (likely to work on his own company, in Spain). Which is probably why he invaded my dreams — I’ll be missing him badly these next two weeks.

I do know why blogging like a crazed nutter was on my mind. I’m trying to juggle way too much. I’m like a rabbit on speed these days. While I love blogging about dance, sadly, it doesn’t pay and I need to spend less time writing ridiculously long reviews (which I don’t think people appreciate anyway) and more time on paying work (and on writing the two novels I’m currently working on simultaneously, as well as revising my first, and on legal CLE courses so I can keep my license). I honestly think I was less busy when I was practicing law full time.

So, in the interest of shorter reviews (there will be a couple of longer ones in other publications, and I’ll link when they’re up), here goes my last, insane, week:

1) Chase Brock Experience:

 

Went to this last night. Was supposed to see Danny Tidwell perform as a guest artist but he didn’t show, nor did Neil Haskell. Edwaard Liang did, and he and Elizabeth Parkinson (Tony-nominated star of Tharp / Billy Joel project, Movin’ Out, pictured above in John Bradley photo, taken from here) were, by far, the highlights. Parkinson, in specific, showed me how a great dancer can make any choreographer look good. Everything she did had meaning, even basic choreography (and Brock’s choreography is very basic) like rising to the balls of her feet. The way she went on releve was heavenly.

I hadn’t heard of Brock, but he’s a 25-year-old choreographer who makes theater, modern, and ballet (non-pointe) dances. His modern and ballet were lacking — choreography was very basic, very unoriginal. It was like he was a Larry Keigwin but without the ingeniousness, originality, and sophisticated sense of humor. He’s young though, and can learn a lot by watching other, more sophisticated artists.

2) Three Movements

This is an off-off-Broadway play on Theater Row I saw on Sunday, about the Balanchine, Tanaquil LeClerq, Suzanne Farrell true-story melodrama. The characters were given different names, but playwright Martin Zimmerman made clear it was based the Balanchine story.

First, I finally got to meet (NYTimes writer and now blogger) Claudia La Rocco, in the elevator of all places! Fun fun – -by far the best part of the afternoon, as well as hanging out with my ballroom friend, Mika.

If you’re not a balletomane, story is basically this: Balanchine, the Russian / American choreographer, could only work, and could only fall in love (non-sexually, as many contend he was a closeted gay man) with ballerinas who could be his muse. He often married his muses, but of course, no sex. He married his muses, then obsessed over their bodies, every little flaw, and starved them (in the documentary Ballets Russes, many of the dancers remember him taking food away from his wife Maria Tallchief, because she was too “fat” — ie: large-boned; their marriage lasted approximately 5 minutes, because Tallchief had a brain). Is it obvious yet how much I like Balanchine as a person?

So, he married Tanaquil LeClerq, up-and-coming ballerina extraordinaire, his main muse, and therefore star of all of his ballets. After driving her hard in rehearsal — the choreographer comes across here as completely impossible to please — she collapses, tragically stricken with polio, unable ever to walk again. I don’t know why more writers don’t focus on her — her story seems the most awful, the most pathetic, the most heart-wrenching. Because she can no longer be his muse, he falls out of love with her. He must look for a new one, which he finds in 18-year-old Suzanne Farrell. Of course he falls in love with her, dumps bedridden LeClerq, and proposes to Farrell (he’s 60, mind you, and is dumbfounded when she doesn’t accept). But Farrell is in love with a male ballet dancer in the troupe, Paul Mejia. In a jealous rage, Balanchine fires Mejia (yes, the man is a walking advertisement for the need for sexual harassment law), fires Farrell, and threatens she’ll never be anything without him, etc. etc.

It’s very hard to make Balanchine likeable. Here, I could tell there were many in the audience who knew nothing about him, judging by all the snickers and harrumphs when the actor (Mike Timoney) recited his more misogynistic fare (telling Farrell her tiny thighs were too fat — which the dancer recounts at the beginning of her autobiography, so it’s not untrue — and screaming at her later when she tries to leave him, telling her he didn’t teach her, but “created” her — the man had a major God complex, to put it mildly). To me, this play did nothing to make me feel any sympathy toward Balanchine whatsoever. Nor did I feel what it was about him that made his work genius. But, then, I already knew the story and had preconceived notions of how I’d feel upon seeing it dramatized. Perhaps someone who didn’t already know the story is a better judge here?

It’s no mystery why writers choose to re-tell this story. It makes for great drama. Of the fictionalized accounts I’ve read though, I like Adrienne Sharp’s the most, and recommend it, particularly if you don’t know the story (it’s a short story contained in this collection, all about dancers). She most softened Balanchine’s edges, making him human, vulnerable, and to some extent, even forgivable.

The play runs through October 26th and tix are $18.

3) San Francisco Ballet

 

 

Went back for more on Saturday, and loved them again. Dancer-wise, they are one of the best companies in the world. Everyone, down to the most recently-hired corps member, is just flawless. Standing out to me again were the same ones as before — Lorena Feijoo, Davit Karapetyan, Pascal Molat (their bravura dancer), and the newbie Cuban guy Taras Domitro — probably because I was looking for them; they also had main roles though.

As far as the dances go, my favorites (I saw two out of three programs) were Concerto Grosso and On a Theme of Paganini, both by the company’s artistic director, Helgi Tomasson; Ibsen’s House, by Val Caniparoli, whose work I’d never seen before; and Balanchine’s The Four Temperaments. Sir Alastair did not like anything on that list besides the last and, though I disagree with him, I can see his point. Tomasson’s choreography is very basic, very classical ballet, nothing out of the traditional vocabulary, and nothing like the richness, the variety, the suspenseful development, and the engrossing intricacies of Balanchine. Seeing the Balanchine next to Tomasson makes you realize Balanchine’s genius (the way a play about him likely never could).

But what I like about Tomasson is that he knows how near-perfect his dancers are, and he showcases that to maximum, brilliant, spectacular effect. Concerto Grosso is basically a male ballet class, beginning with simple tendus, all the way up to the super-advanced ginormous leaps, barrell turns, and twisty, impossible-looking corkscrew jumps. These men are such excellence personified, I could sit there and watch that ballet repeat all day long. In fact, I recommend to anyone seriously trying to learn ballet to see this company, and watch very closely. The dancers are not only perfectly precise, every movement perfectly, fully executed, but they somehow add so much character and passion to every little thing they do. Even non-story ballets grow to have little narratives with this lot.

Which is why I liked Ibsen too. This is not so much a rendition of any of Ibsen’s plays as a kind of an expressionistic work of Ibsen’s universe. Women wearing richly hued fabrics in 19th Century designs, dance in solo, in units, and with their men, all of their stories fraught with drama, with anger, conflict, love. I didn’t know what exactly was going on in each little segment, and I don’t think the choreographer meant for you to, but watching the dancers lament, cherish, struggle both internally (which, brilliantly, could be read on both face in movement of the body, particularly with Feijoo) and with each other, was deeply engaging. And made me want to read up on my Ibsen!

Philip has some more great pictures of the company on his blog, here and here.

4) Cynthia Gregory at Barnes & Noble

 

On Friday night, I went to see the legendary ballerina give a talk with writer Joel Lobenthal at the B&N at Lincoln Center, basically to promote her new DVD, of her dancing with equally legendary Fernando Bujones (now deceased). We saw some clips of that DVD, particularly of her dancing Strindberg’s Miss Julie (had no idea there was a ballet made from that play!) and excerpts of her dancing Sleeping Beauty. She was a truly gorgeous dancer, moved with a great deal of emotion and purpose and fluidity, and with her size, seemed to devour the stage (kind of like a Veronika Part). And she was very dramatic, very expressive — would have been my kind of dancer, and I can see why Apollinaire loves her. Apollinaire’s also right about Bujones: he does resemble my favorite!

Gregory has a sweet, very charming personality. She talked about dancing with Bujones, and her various other partners, including Erik Bruhn, and Nureyev, whom she characterizes (unlike many who’ve worked with him) as very sweet and mild-tempered, albeit passionate, and said she was thinking of writing a book about all of her male partners — she danced with basically everyone who was anyone in the 70s and 80s. She was greatly encouraged to do so (write the book, that is) by the crowd (which pretty much packed the reading room).
One thing I found interesting, she said Bruhn taught her how to make up words to her movements and her miming gestures, which helped a great deal with her acting. Brilliant, Erik Bruhn! So, inside, she was singing words to herself while dancing. I think all dancers should do this, so they know what they’re trying to do, all the better to show us.

She talked about what she learned from other female dancers of her day, Carla Fracci (how to imbue her roles with humanity), Natalia Makarova (making the most of slow, dramatic developpes), how she coaches today, what it was like to work with big choreographers like Ashton, Tudor, and Balanchine (only worked with the latter once), traveling with the company, and just her life in general. She also mentioned she’s taken up painting and there will be a showing of her work in December at the Vartali Salon (yes her hair salon!), in NY.

5) Doctor Atomic

 

 

I saw this opera at the beginning of last week at the Met. It tells the true story of J. Robert Oppenheimer and his work in creating the world’s first atomic bomb, which we of course dropped over Hiroshima and Nagasaki, during WWII. The opera takes place before we bombed Japan, though, in July 1945 when Oppenheimer and his crew were testing it in New Mexico. It deals with the different personalities involved — Oppenheimer and his wife, his co-workers, the demanding military man who oversaw production — and each person’s internal conflicts and power struggles with the others.

Because I am tired and hungry — I started this post nearly 4 hours ago — I’m just going to refer you to Anthony Tommasini’s review for description, to scenes of the opera on the Times website, to the Met’s mini-site, and to Alex Ross’s blog where you can listen to one of the best arias in the work.

As I said before, I don’t have a lot of opera-going experience, but I liked this and think it’s definitely worth waiting in line for one of those $30 tickets, as I did. In particular, I liked: the sets — the mobile art-work suggesting pieces of debris hanging from the ceiling, the enormous bomb itself (anatomically correct, as the artist worked from a model), the cubicle-d office the physicists worked in, the posters of the actual people involved posted at times over the cubicle holes in place of their bodies, the gorgeous Native American katchina-like statues that at one point stand atop the the cubicles in warning; some of the choreographed movement — at one point singers are contorted in their cubicles, limbs askew, doing a prolonged handstand, their legs and feet bent awkwardly, shoved up against one side — in synecdoche of the effects of the blast; the libretto, comprised of actual documents from that period, writings and speeches of Oppenheimer, and the poetry of Baudelaire, John Donne, and Muriel Rukeyser, beloved by Oppenheimer; and of course the John Adams score itself, creating the whole atmosphere of horror, conflict, fear, and at the end, right before the blast, the drums just beat through your body — I was actually shaking — and this is followed by the voice of a Japanese woman searching for loved ones, for water, asking for help. The whole thing is spectacular, chilling, haunting.

Okay, I don’t know how well I obeyed, Angel, but it’s time to stop, time for my poached eggs & croissant 🙂

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Danny Tidwell and Edwaard Liang to Perform Monday Night at Chase Brock Benefit

For all you Danny Tidwell fans, I received word yesterday that he will be performing at the Chase Brock Benefit this Monday night, October 20th, 8 p.m. at the Florence Gould Hall.

Apparently Neil Haskell (also of So You Thin You Can Dance, of course) was originally scheduled to perform, but according to their latest press release Danny will be performing instead.

Additionally, Edwaard Liang (choreographer and dancer with Morphoses, formerly with New York City Ballet) will perform.

Other performers include Elizabeth Parkinson (of Broadway’s Movin’ Out), singer / songwriter Nellie McKay, and a slew of other Broadway performers, and of course the Chase Brock Experience dancers. This is a one-night only show. Regular tickets are $45 and can be purchased through Ticket Master. Premium seating is $100 and there are also $250 VIP tickets that get you into guest parties and pre-performance cocktails the night before and all that jazz. Go here for more information and all the ways to purchase tix.

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Juliette Binoche and Akram Khan in London

 

Oh, I am so jealous of anyone who’s in London right now. I went to the bookstore yesterday in search of the new issue of Movmnt magazine. Couldn’t find it but found an article in Dance International magazine about a new performance at the National in London, a collaboration between my favorite actress and Akram Khan, an intriguing dancer and choreographer whom I’d seen here last year and who I wrote about here.

Here is critic Judith Mackrell’s review of the evening (she thought Khan brilliant and lauds Binoche for continual self-reinvention but found her dance range too limited to sustain an entire performance, which, as much as I love Binoche as an actor, is unsurprising to me given the difficulty of learning to dance in adulthood). I’d still love to see it though. Here are some photos, and here’s an interview with Binoche. If anyone is in London and sees this, please do let me know.

 

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Fall For Dance Finale

 

So, Fall For Dance wrapped up nicely; there were really no pieces on the last night’s program that I didn’t like. First on was the Aspen Santa Fe Ballet’s production of a Twyla Tharp dance I’d never seen, SWEET FIELDS, from 1996, which seemed to me a bit unlike her usual fare. It was joyous, spiritual, very lyrical, with dancers dressed in white flowing cloth, moving to Shaker hymnals. The one section that was very ‘Tharp-y’ was filled with breathtaking group lifts: at one point a group of men held one man up high above their heads, they suddenly released him and he rolled down, falling almost bungie-jump-like nearly to the floor, until they caught him at the very last second. The audience collectively gasped then applauded wildly.

 

Second on was San Francisco Ballet dancing Jerome Robbins’ lovely, ballroom-y IN THE NIGHT set to melodious Chopin played by an onstage pianist. The dance consists of three duets performed by three different couples — one the wondrous Yuan Yuan Tan (whom I’ve heard so much about; and she definitely lived up to her reputation!) with Ruben Martin; the second by Sofiane Sylve (who used to dance with New York City Ballet) and Tiit Helimets; and the third by the celebrated Cuban dancer Lorena Feijoo and Pierre-Francois Vilanoba. Tan and Martin represented a more mature, in love couple, their dancing very flowing and elegant, Sylve and Helimets I wasn’t sure about because to be honest I didn’t feel all that much from their dancing, and Feijoo (who’s a real firecracker) and Vilanoba (who kind of played her straight man, appearing humorously unable to figure her out, to foresee her antics, her wild jumps into his arms) the fun, young couple whose relationship centered around rather cutely played out sexual angst. The audience had a lot of fun, giggling throughout, particularly at Feijoo and Vilanoba.

I have to say, San Francisco Ballet, who are currently celebrating their 75th Anniversary, was a lovely company; they brought Robbins to life for me in a way I’ve seldom seen, and I look forward to seeing more of them at City Center later in the season.

 

Third was popular Spanish choreographer Nacho Duato’s Compania Nacional De Danza performing his COR PERDUT, a Gypsy-esque male / female duet between two likely lovers, each often running after the other playfully, then turning more serious, the man eventually picking up the woman, sweeping her off the ground, twirling her about. Very sweet theme, and the music — Turkish and sung in Catalan — was gorgeous.

 

And closing out the festival was Paul Taylor Dance Company’s popular ESPLANADE, set to Bach and choreographed by Taylor in 1975. This was a lot of fun; as dancers ran around stage, whizzing about narrowly missing each other, played hopscotch with each other’s bodies laid out on the floor log-like, and finally flew across stage taking a flying leap into each other’s arms, the crowd went nuts with applause, giving a standing ovation.

Fun, but very tiring, 10 days…

Here is Claudia La Rocco’s review of the last program in the Times.

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Intriguing Work at Joyce SoHo That Perhaps Tests One’s Ability to Sense and Intellectualize Simultaneously

 

 

Last week I was invited along with a couple other bloggers to a rehearsal of an upcoming modern dance piece at the Joyce SoHo, called A LIGHT CONVERSATION, a collaboration between dance artists Wally Cardona (from the US) and Rahel Vonmoos (from the UK).

What was interesting and original about this is that the dancers moved not to music but to spoken word — and not poetry or a rhythmic kind of spoken word, but to a BBC radio-show discussion of Existentialist philosopher Soren Kierkegaard, mainly his work and his thought and how it differed or took from Hegel, Socrates, and Kant, and a small bit up front on his personal life.

Well, I had the absolute hardest time focusing both on the visual movement and the words playing over the speakers. I realized about myself that when I concentrate hard on an idea, perhaps when I really use my intellect over my more physical senses (are they two different things?), or my left brain over right (to the extent they don’t work in tandem?), my eyes just naturally veer up and to the right. I guess many people’s do — maybe to varying sides depending on whether one is right- or left-handed. So, I caught myself several times looking up and off and not at the dancers! And, unless someone made a big, sweeping movement (Cardona did a few times, more often than Vonmoos, whose actions were generally much smaller), I had a really hard time focusing on the stage. And then when I tried to concentrate more on the movement, or when I tried to determine whether the movement informed the words or vice versa, I lost the intricacies of thought being spoken about.

At times they, smartly, either turned off the sound, interrupted it with silences so that you couldn’t hear a large part of the text, or placed another sound over the words, such as loud, booming drums. Then, I concentrated more on the dancers, and when I did noticed that Vonmoos’s actions, small as they often were, were rather mesmerizing in their detail.

But then at points, I’d still find myself trying to concentrate on what words were being left out or negated by the drums, whether that had any meaning in itself, whether I could fill in the blanks myself, etc., rather than the movement.

Perhaps part of my problem was that I took a lot of political philosophy in college and law school and I think I got carried away with trying to remember things, getting angry at myself for forgetting, etc. In any event, I found the whole concept intriguing and original.

Afterward the dancers talked a bit, and Cardona said they were really moving to the rhythms of the words; that he sometimes had a harder time hearing the rhythm of the woman commentator’s voice because it was softer and made such a marked tonal difference between the mens’. Vonmoos was less talkative but seemed to say the ideas expressed were important as well, not only the rhythms. I feel like this is a piece I’d need to see many times to more fully comprehend.

I’d love to hear what others think if anyone is able to go. Performances are next week, September 30-October 5. Tickets are $20. Read Philip’s review here, Taylor’s here (both concentrated more on the movement, so didn’t seem to have the same problems as I), and go here for more info. on the show.

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At molyvos awaiting fall for dance

At molyvos awaiting fall for dance

Originally uploaded by swan lake samba girl via mobile.


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What kind of person orders a second glass of wine during a Recession?

Anyway, FFD was good / decent tonight. I especially liked: Houston Ballet’s production of Tchaikovsky Pas De Deux — wonderfully lively dancers (Sara Webb and Connor Walsh) who brilliantly brought both Balanchine and Tchaikovsky to life; BeijingDance/LDTX’s Cold Dagger, which I found nicely enigmatic and visually arresting in places; and The New 45 by Richard Siegal / The Bakery, a company I will most definitely be looking up the next time I am in Berlin. Full review coming soon…

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Just Say "No" To Minimalism, Please!

 

So, last night I went to the Guggenheim primarily to see this Works & Process combination dance / fashion program, “A Two Part Affair — Ballet and Modern Meet Uptown.” I was really looking forward to it because, unlike the other W & P programs, which are more of a preview of an upcoming show, this was a performance only to be shown at the museum. Two choreographers — one, Pam Tanowitz, from the Modern world; the other, Brian Reeder, from Ballet — collaborated to form a kind of hybrid dance form.

Also exciting was that Jillian Lewis, from Project Runway, did the costumes. She, along with Tanowitz and Reeder, spoke about the production on a panel moderated by dance writer Robert Greskovic (who is actually a pretty funny guy — who knew! — cracking jokes right and left, making fun of himself for being so out of it as to not know who Lewis was 🙂 I probably shouldn’t admit it but neither did I :S — I just don’t watch enough TV…)

Anyway, the program, as its name implied, consisted of two parts: the first danced to Renaissance music; the second to modern composers like Charles Wuorinen (creator of the upcoming operatic version of Brokeback Mountain), Philip Glass, and Lou Harrison. This second part, I far preferred to the first, though to be honest, I thought most of it was pretty eh… pretty, but just nothing that really blew me away, either costume- or choreography-wise.

I feel like we’re currently in the midst of a rather unfortunate period of Minimalism. Choreography consisted mainly of ballerinas tip-toe-ing around, taking very small steps, men and the sole female Modern dancer doing these small side-sweeping steps, sometimes with flexed feet, sometimes pointed. Once in a while there’d be a leg slightly raised and a very small waist-high lift, but overall there was nothing spectacular, nothing the least bit dramatic about the movement. I think choreographers still need to tell a kind of story with the movement, even if it’s not a full narrative but of the Balanchine (“whenever a man and woman are onstage together, there’s a story) variety. I just didn’t see that here — dancers kind of partnered at random with one another, broke into a short solo, but there didn’t seem to be anything to it that you could hook onto.
And the costumes — well, here are some more pictures so you can see for yourselves:

 

 

 

 

So, as you can see, all of the men’s costumes consisted of pink or blue diaphanous t-shirts and tights with cut-outs that were also see-through in places. The female dancers all wore leotards with exterior underwire bra; the two ballerinas sassy little striped tutus and the Modern woman a lacey thing that wrapped around her neckline feather boa-like. But the tutus and boa were worn only in the first, Renaissance section; they were taken off for the modern.

I mean, Lewis was likely going for sexy– she said she wanted to focus on the body, highlight the human form — but to me, I guess that’s just been done before. Plus, she used such light colors and mundane-looking fabrics, the costumes just kind of almost weren’t even there. And, even including tutus and boa, they just didn’t seem to fit at all in the context of the Renaissance. I then remembered seeing David Hallberg dance earlier at the Guggenheim in a fabulous Christian Lacroix. He left out the delicious candy-apple velvet jacket, but here are some pics he took of himself in the tights. I mean, hello — THIS is what we need to spice up Ballet, I say! I say away with minimalism; bring back Lacroix!

Anyway, I really did appreciate the concept of this program; I think collaborations can be very fruitful and lead to innovation and creativity. Back to the dancing for a moment, I really just think the choreographers needed some more time. There was one point during the second, modern, part where Roman Zhurbin (center, in the bottom picture) held his arms out and each ballerina grabbed on. He lifted, walked slowly around stage carrying the two of them. To me, it was beautifully reminiscent of Balanchine’s Apollo. At center stage was one of the male modern dancers in a kind of Martha Graham-esque pose, body bent over forward, foot flexed back, seeming to carry a non-existent world atop his arched-over shoulders. So, also Apollo-like, yet fundamentally Modern in form. It was like a double-sided Apollo. I feel like they should have gotten rid of everything else, used this stunning moment as a starting point.

I think the rest of it was kind of too hybrid. They didn’t use the Ballet dancers to show the beauty and poetry of the dance form; ballerinas were going on pointe and Zhurbin would point instead of flex his foot at times, but that doesn’t really mean anything. It just looked like a very watered-down form of Ballet. And then both Zhurbin and the female ballet dancers had these very muscular bodies — particularly Zhurbin (aka Ballet god! — never noticed that before; ABT is really under-using him…), and the Modern dancers were more thin, almost a bit scrawny in comparison. But of course there’s a reason for that — Ballet requires great use of the legs, the thigh muscles for those huge jumps and the calves for pointe work. And the upper body is so developed for spectacular overhead lifting. If you don’t show some of that difference in the movement, I think the bodies end up looking a little weirdly unbalanced…

One final thing: writer Claudia La Rocco didn’t see the program, unfortunately, but here’s an interesting discussion she and her commenters started about Ballet’s current kind of identity crisis and how costuming fits into that.

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Fall For Dance Program 1

I have hardly any time to blog since I’m leaving early tomorrow morning for North Carolina (for a cousin’s wedding), and as usual have left myself far too little time to pack. I’ll probably write a more formal review for Explore Dance as well.

Rundown of program one: 1) excerpts from Shen Wei’s “Map.” Shen was the choreographer the Beijing Olympics’ Opening Night ceremony, which hopefully some of you caught, but I, stupidly missed.

I liked this better on my second viewing. It’s set to music by Steve Reich that nicely, at times hauntingly, combined techno-industrial sound with chorals. The dancers began all on the ground, rolling in a row, propelling themselves around the floor by helicoptering their arms, then legs. At times, both when supine and standing, they appeared to be in flight, at one with the air around them. Their costumes were gray/blue with small red lines snaking up the outer edge of the leg, and their tops containing a darker back area, like a parachuter’s jacket. On a back wall were painted mathematical formulas, the mid-section resembling a diagram of an aircraft with a complicated configuration of flight patterns. The dance was intriguing, and I liked how it began. It seemed to go on a bit too long to me, losing steam in the middle.

2) I loved Pichet Klunchun’s “Chui Chai” as did the audience, who clapped happily when the curtain rose to reveal several female dancers in traditional Thai costumes, with gilded headwear, moving in extreme slow motion, their wrists and fingers bent miraculously to make the most stunningly beautiful lines. I wrote about his work earlier here, and the meaning of the bent wrists and fingers. The program notes tell us the title stands for “transformation” and the dance tells the story of the princess transforming herself into the king’s enemy’s queen. About mid-way through Mr. Klunchun appears, making a stark contrast to the women with both his modern garb (black t-shirt and jeans) and his more modern movement. It still had the Thai feel, with the hyper-flexed wrists and toes, but his faster movements, his throwing himself into a bend or a kick, resembled more of the western modern dance tradition. I didn’t really see the story flesh itself out, but I loved the movement so much I didn’t care. At the end, when the dancers took their bows, the lay all the way down on the ground, completely prostrate to us. The audience applauded like crazy, some even giving a standing ovation.

3) Third was Keigwin + Company’s “Fire” — one of the middle sections of his larger work, “Elements,” which I wrote about here. “Fire” hadn’t been my favorite of the “Elements,” but tonight it really grew on me, partly I think because two of the three dancers were different from before. Keigwin is good at juxtaposing dancers with different physicalities against each other to hilarious effect (ie: a large-boned woman with a tiny guy), and with physiques that don’t seem to fit the music or attitude of the dance. This piece ends with a hip hop number, and the male dancer who performed last night and tonight was a small, cute, innocent-looking white guy, Julian Barnett, and his well-acted attempts at playing it cool, at getting the hip hop attitude down, were downright hilarious. They got the biggest applause of the evening.

4) and finally, my overall favorite, was the National Ballet of Canada’s rendition of Czech choreographer Jiri Kylian’s “Soldiers’ Mass,” a sorrowful, poignant poetic elegy to men on the battlefield.

 

Okay, that’s all I have time for right now. Here is Philip’s review of program one.

Happy weekend, everyone!