Kaatsbaan Celebrates Dance, from Tap to Genomes

Music From The Sole. Photo: Jack Baran

Kaatsbaan’s annual festival is a work in progress, this year spanning four weeks starting in September. Reliance on the uncovered outdoor Mountain Stage, with its panoramic views, in past years has meant numerous cancellations or relocating of performances due to inclement weather—rain or thunderstorms, not to mention sweltering heat and sun during performances. This year, a canopy has been added to the re-oriented stage, allowing the performers to be sheltered and some of the audience to be shaded. The festival took place later on, during cooler temps, in addition to scheduling events in the elegant, climate-controlled Black Box Theater.

Thus the New Works Bill of dance was performed inside in late September, and reminded me of why theaters are such welcoming safe havens for art, with every element controlled. Music From The Sole led off, a collective of body percussionists (with an emphasis on tap) plus a band whose members sometimes move alongside the dancers. Several tap dance islands were interspersed with platforms to hold the musicians, forming a kind of atoll, between which performers leapt playfully. The group emphasizes Brazilian music (artistic director and choreographer Leonardo Sandoval is Brazilian; Gregory Richardson and collaborators penned the music), which leans on a sunny, mellifluous kind of jazz that guarantees warm fuzzies.

As the performers filtered on, the dancers sat downstage, their backs to us, to watch as the musicians began tuning and playing. This set an amiable tone, as if we were watching a jam session in a studio and were part of the proceedings. The dancers exuded joy, visually checking one another and the musicians, often tapping in unison while moving across the stage. Sandoval is long-limbed, with a loose, playful style. Warm-toned lighting (Kathy Kaufman) complemented the overall feeling of generosity and positivity. Movement and sound-making—whether with an instrument or with the body—all blended into an ecstatic melange.

Boca Tuya. Photo: Jack Baran

Like Those Playground Kids at Midnight, by Boca Tuya, featured a duet by Omar Román De Jesús and Ian Spring. Through visceral and intricate partnering sequences, the two expressed intimacy and interdependence, both aggressive and tender. One sat on the other’s thigh, or bore the other’s weight, lifting, embracing, and resisting. At moments they seemed like one being. Jesse Scheinin composed the score, emphasizing a rhythmic flute; fog drifted onstage every now and then to add drama.

Limón Dance Company. Photo: Jack Baran

Kayla Farrish choreographed a preview of an untitled work for 13 dancers of the Limón Dance Company, sourcing inspiration from two Limón works: Redes and El Grito, with loose themes of collective work and consciousness and freedom, respectively. Sweeping passages for many dancers seemed to expand the black box stage, pushing energy beyond the walls. The company heaved as one, formed a circle several times, and morphed into a tableau that resembled the prow of a ship. The music, by Alex MacKinnon, ranged from cacophonous, squealing jazz to bass-heavy sections to soulful guitar licks. Toward the end, a woman became isolated from the group, evoking the way a victim is chosen in Rite of Spring. Farrish skillfully crafts muscular phrases, although despite the seriousness of the given themes, a little humor or break in the fervency might have offered some emotional texture.

In early October, on the newly sheltered Mountain Stage, Kaatsbaan presented Autobiography V100 & V101, by Company Wayne McGregor. Its namesake choreographer has many laurels and major commissions to his name, but I confess that the work has failed to resonate with me. He works with highly skilled dancers, creating a maximally expressive movement style that tests the pliability of the body. In Autobiography, 23 sections of movement (for the 23 pairs of chomosomes in the human genome) are ordered by algorithm, bookended by set scenes. While this certainly sounds serious and of import—and no doubt it is to McGregor and the dancers, who perform it differently at each show—it’s mostly lost on viewers. But appended to the regular production credits are a list of Ongoing Scientific Partners, providentially expanding the project's reach and financial resources.

Autobiography, photographed in Théâtre de Saint-Quentin-en-Yvelines, France (2023)
 Photo: Ravi Deepres

Music by Jlin ranges from tinkling pipes to explosive booms to electronic ephemera, peppered with shrieks and text snippets, such as “leave me alone.” The dynamics vary from energetic, space-eating phrases to intimate partnering. Some stage structures manifest in a slow walking circle on the perimeter, or two interlocking upstage lines. The dancers continually change costumes (by Aitor Throup) between sections, from smocks to tied-shirt skirts in blacks and whites to minimal bikinis in the finale.

Genome sequencing aside, the vocabulary leans on McGregor’s hyper expressionist staples such as rippling torsos, high leg extensions, and bursting leaps. The choreographer seems to constantly be searching for the body's limits, yet it elicits no emotion or reflection. The style feels external, as if it were applied and not generated from some internal impulse, in the way dances by Camille Brown or Ohad Naharin. After repeated viewing, there's little sparking curiosity or the desire to learn what kind of story or physical experiment underpins the choreography.

As for the Mountain Stage, while the canopy is welcome, without apparent added front lighting, the dancers are at times difficult to see as they're silhouetted in front of sunlit trees and sky. (Judging from the company-supplied photos from France, taken indoors, the lighting scheme is highly designed and integral to the work.) But the facility upgrade helps the viewer experience, as do chairs for some of the audience. The entire campus, with many buildings designed by Stanford White, is an idyllic destination for culture, evolving each season.