Lovette Delivers at Taylor; Alex Katz at Guggenheim; Transverse Orientation at BAM

John Harnage in Solitaire. Photo: Whitney Browne

"Taylor—A New Era" 

These simple, clear words headlined the cover of Paul Taylor Dance Company’s Playbill for its 2022 fall run at the Koch Theater. Since the later years of the founding choreographer’s life (he died in 2018), under the leadership of Artistic Director Michael Novak, the organization has been trying out different strategies for moving forward without new work by Taylor. After a confusing tango with the Paul Taylor American Modern Dance umbrella (begun by Taylor himself) under which a varied slate of American choreographers were commissioned to create new works on the Taylor dancers, things seem to have reverted back to the old PTDC moniker, or simply Taylor.

Branding aside, the programming concept has certainly evolved. The Orchestra of St. Luke’s continues to be the house band, but this time, it performed musical selections with no dance on a handful of programs. While I enjoyed hearing excerpts of Philip Glass’ The Hours by the orchestra, I couldn’t help feeling that it was a bit of a wasted opportunity to showcase the talented dancers who were backstage. Nonetheless, it highlighted the importance of live music to the company.

On a bright note, Lauren Lovette’s premiere of Solitaire is further proof of her creative talent, and that naming her resident choreographer for five years was a wise choice by Novak, if somewhat of a gamble. Substantial on many levels, Solitaire featured the crisp, elegant John Harnage in the sort of poet-on-a-journey role not unfamiliar to fans of Taylor’s oeuvre. It is set to music by Swiss composer Ernest Bloch, with dramatic string sections and a sense of gravitas and impetus. Santo Loquasto designed costumes and the set, which included an ominous diamond-shaped element that loomed like a guillotine over a serene mountainscape, descending and rising.

But what pops is Lovette’s facility with making modern phrases that flow organically, but which challenge the skilled company’s technical chops seemingly beyond what most of the repertory has until now. That’s not to say that Taylor’s vocabulary is not challenging, but Lovette’s accomplished ballet career heretofore has likely seeped into her movement—in the best way. It’s not ballet, but there’s an integrity and underlying structure that comes across. She has also found a way to convey an unspecific narrative that feels like a rich story waiting to be written. Solitaire was sandwiched between Taylor’s joyful, bittersweet Company B and Syzygy, a study in freneticism done in a completely different vocabulary, forming a satisfying slate with breadth.

Shawn Lesniak and Jada Pearman in The Green Table. Photo: Ron Thiele

Speaking of which, the season included Kurt Jooss’ The Green Table, another example of the expansion of the troupe’s artistic horizons. (It had been remounting classics of American modern dance in pre-Covid seasons, but not by international artists.) This classic 1932 work about the senselessness of war, and how it is wrought by those far from the battleground, remains timeless and gut-wrenching. It makes sense for Taylor to take on this legendary dance, with its muscular phrasing and trenchant messaging. A bonus was seeing Shawn Lesniak in the role of Death (once danced by Jooss himself), carving sharp swaths, and forming perfect, machined angles with his long limbs. In other dances, without the lavish mask, makeup and headdress, I could see Lesniak’s gifts anew, and look forward to seeing him in more and more big roles.

Madelyn Ho and Alex Clayton in Syzygy. Photo: Whitney Browne

As much as (most of) the previous generation of dancers is missed, it is a pleasure to become acquainted with the new one. The dancer who seems to now be the most cast, at least in prominent roles, is Madelyn Ho, who was in everything I saw over three programs. She counters her small size, which might be less visible to the uppermost seats, with an extra dash of verve and joy. She dances with delicacy and articulation, plus ferocity and athleticism. Arden Court showed off many of the newer men—the explosive Alex Clayton, a soaring Devon Louis, and the sheer joy of Austin Kelly.

Maria Ambrose, John Harnage, Shawn Lesniak, Jada Pearman,
Kristin Draucker in Polaris. Photo by Ani Collier

Alex Katz—Gathering, Guggenheim Museum

The season coincided with Gathering, a Guggenheim retrospective of Alex Katz’s work, who designed many works for Taylor. Two outstanding Taylor/Katz collabs from the 1970s—Polaris and Sunset—were performed on the season finale program. Both display Taylor’s varied genius. Polaris, in which the same movement is performed by two different casts, with varied music, lighting and mood, rendering two completely unique dances; and Sunset, with its lush, romantic score by Elgar (plus loons), its old world approach to flirting and courting, and the contrasting depiction of an unrequited bond between two soldiers.

Paul Taylor, by Alex Katz

Katz’s show at the Guggenheim includes a portrait of Taylor, as well as a painting of the company performing. It’s hard to say what makes Katz’s work feel so quintessentially American—the distinct light, the flat expanses, the reductive line and composition, or all of the above? The exhibition includes some of his more intrepid experiments, such as painted aluminum cutouts (he created a bunch of dogs like this for Taylor’s Diggity) and repeated images of his wife Ada within one picture. The coincidence of his retrospective with a featured spot in the Taylor season underscored the artist’s continual output in the last half century.

Transverse Orientation, BAM

BAM presented Transverse Orientation by Dmitris Pappaionnou, whose Great Tamer had been shown a few years ago. The big imprimatur for Pappaionnou was that he was the first choreographer to be commissioned by Tanztheater Wuppertal Pina Bausch after her sudden death, as well as creating the opening ceremony for the 2004 Athens Olympics. So many artists have been influenced by Bausch, but most have been careful to avoid direct quotes. But Pappaionnou took the plunge with Transverse, inserting vignettes evocative of Bausch—a woman transformed into a fountain, and a giant wall built of foam blocks which toppled forward. Somehow it felt okay, as if enough time has passed, and because he has collaborated with TWPB. Tanztheater lives, and this iteration felt like a proper homage to Bausch and another phase in the form's continuum.

I can’t say enough about the main protagonist in Transverse, a life-sized bull puppet designed by Nectarios Dionysatos. The dancers skillfully manipulated the bull’s head so as to act as how I imagine a bull would, although it was more Ferdinand than raging. Others moved his hooves and tail, also amazingly expressive. The bull served as a sort of id to man’s ego, represented in oft-naked performers. 

The piece is constructed of many scenes, most short and some quite long, that evoke a range of sensations—humor, awe, absurdity, pathos, and so on. Magically, images crystallize from thin air, as a madonna-like woman cradled in a sheaf, bearing a dripping object that turns out to be a baby. She is subsumed into the stage floor, which is torn up to reveal a lagoon. A man swabs at the pool futilely with an old mop. I thought of melting permafrost and our inability to take action in the face of an existential crisis. And then walking to the subway past the Opera House's load-in doors, where the lagoon was draining onto Ashland Place, of the magic of theater to deliver such messages.

Paul Taylor's American Modern Dance — A Platform Tilts

Michael Trusnovec and Parisa Khobdeh in Polaris. Photo: Paul B. Goode

What Paul Taylor's American Modern Dance is attempting to do—recognize gems of modern dance and commissioning new work, while staging a regular season of Taylor's dances—is still in its infancy, but this season, some strong threads emerged, at times interweaving the performed works. A nod to Martha Graham came with the Taylor dancers performing her Diversion of Angels, and essential modern vocabulary evoking her style (for which Taylor was a paradigm) popped up in rep. And the new external commissions nodded at Taylor's influence, particularly by the classic Esplanade, which was performed as well. 

It bears repeating—PTAMD's annual three-week New York season remains one of the perennial protean feats of dance. The dancers are heroic—obviously in a physical sense, performing 20 dances—but mentally, keeping all that repertory fresh and at the ready. In the city, even the country or world, perhaps only New York City Ballet and ABT can compare, breadth-wise. But those are much larger troupes, dozens and dozens of dancers, rather than a spare 16. The Orchestra of St. Lukes provided vibrant live music for much of the repertory, under the direction of Donald York, a longtime company collaborator. 

PTAMD's 2016 three-week Koch Theater season added for the company the twists of two external choreographer premieres, plus two Taylor premieres and the performance of a Graham dance. (Dayton Contemporary Dance Company also performed Donald McKayle's Rainbow 'Round My Shoulder from 1959.) Because the Elkins used vocabulary new to the company, there was most likely not enough time for the dancers to become fluent in the quirky style, which derives directly from his body. Keigwin's Rush Hour was ultimately in a more polished state, simply because Larry's style is more forgiving. This also has been demonstrated, with great success, in his dances for crowds, including non-dancers. As for the Elkins, my hope is that if—when—The Weight of Smoke is performed again by PTAMD, then Doug will spend time with the dancers in workshops and rehearsals to immerse them in his brand of movement.

Spindrift, featuring Michael Trusnovec (with a cast from a previous season, including
Michelle Fleet, Annmaria Mazzini and Rob Kleinendorst). Photo: Paul B. Goode  

Casts for Esplanade (1975) rotated within a season for the first time in memory, keeping it fresh and giving repeat viewers some added interest. George Smallwood hops with smart snap; Rob Kleinendorst takes over the spot that Michael Trusnovec has been dancing for several years, which includes a duet with the ever silky Eran Bugge in which she walks on his stomach and legs. In this season, as noted, it takes on great prominence as a source work for the external commissions, as both Keigwin and Elkins have acknowledged its influence, which can be traced through their respective premieres.

Original costumes for Mercuric Tidings (1982) have returned—hot pink and white ombre instead of royal blue, giving the devilishly difficult dance a warmer and lighter feel. They don't change the crisp pace or crystalline structure, punctuated by artful tableaux. Polaris (1976) remains one of Taylor's most conceptually intriguing dances, with its movement repeated with different music and lighting (music by York, reconceived this year; designs by Alex Katz). Is the movement in part two actually more aggressive, or is it the music and the moodier lighting making it feel so? Questions of memory and perception abound, and the way in which dancers replace one another one-by-one feels like a parable of the slowly-phasing makeup of the company.

Spindrift (1993) parallels Beloved Renegade (2008) in that Trusnovec stars as an outsider—in this case, a stranger who perhaps washed ashore, speaking a different movement language than the natives. He crawls like a footless tadpole, wending between all of the dancers' legs. For this piece, Taylor struck a particularly inventive, quirky vein; for Trusnovec, repeated crossing of limbs and pivots on the knee, for the chorus, funny frog-like jumps and leaps. The movement generally evokes the animal world, replete with its naivete and sweet curiosity. In another precursor to Renegade, Laura Halzack breezes on and off periodically, a kind of spirit keeping watch over the interloper, who is eventually welcomed into the fold.

Madelyn Ho and Michael Apuzzo in Sullivaniana. Photo: Paul B. Goode

In a solo, Trusnovec does a slow pirouette and unfolds a leg with his torso tipped back, arms in a vee. It is reminiscent of Aureole, and of Martha Graham, whose Diversion of Angels the Taylor company performed this season. The Graham is a natural fit, and these dancers feel more relaxed than the Graham company, which seems to value tension as a tool. It's also the first instance of the Taylor company dancing a classic work not by Taylor, alongside the season's two premieres by working external choreographers. But many of Taylor's dancers could step right into the Graham Company and be fine. Khobdeh, in particular, is radiant in a red gown and long hair, but it's her dynamism and gutsy tilts that are so affecting. 

Taylor's second season premiere is Sullivaniana, a nostalgic theatrical piece set inside a lit proscenium (designs by Loquasto), indicating a show-within-a-show. The women wear brightly colored flouncy dresses and character shoes, the men gaudy three-piece plaid suits and bowlers. The first part features missed meetings and lonely singles; new company member Madelyn Ho looks beyond the stage for company. (This polished, petite dancer adds another twist to potential lift choreography; she is light enough for the company's strongman, Kleinendorst, to do a one-handed press with her.) Eventually dancers pair off, which quickly leads to an impromptu (if still decorous) orgy mid-stage, before things wind down as they began, with Ho alone. It speaks to a recurring theme in Taylor's repertory, of the restless beast lurking beneath social niceties. The music, by Arthur Sullivan (of Gilbert and), comprises largely bright orchestral arrangements including some familiar, and less so, sections.

Rush Hour. Photo: Paul B. Goode

The second external commission is by Larry Keigwin, who is adept at moving large groups of people in organized, intricate ways. Rush Hour is no exception, in which all 16 dancers cross the stage with urgency, intersecting paths, spinning, and interacting with others. Running is a staple, echoing Esplanade. But the overall feel is urban modern, with gray and black leotards by Fritz Masten, and chiaroscuro, misty lighting by Clifton Taylor, to a filmic score by Adam Crystal. Unlike Elkins' quirky melange of steps, Keigwin's vocabulary is more straight forward, and looks more at ease on the Taylor dancers, who are sleek and cool in a way we've not seen before. Both of these dances also evoke a look and feel that Taylor would most likely not create, and in that sense, they work to complement the repertory. 

Profiles (1979) returned. It is unique—a quartet (Trusnovec, Halzack, Michael Novak, Bugge) that is shorter in length than most of the rep, and is thus paired in an act with a polar opposite, the vaudevillean Snow White (1985). Profile's two pairs appear heroic in the choreographer's "flat" style that resembles figures on a Greek urn. The movement is slow, deliberate, and muscular, with inhuman assisted springs by the woman to the man's shoulder and chest. Hands form fists until the final moment, when Halzack uncurls her fist and places her flat hand on Trusnovec's proferred palm. It's a heart-stopping gesture to close a quiet, powerful dance.

Trusnovec, always magnificent and stronger than ever, returned as the lead in Promethean Fire (2002), with Parisa Khobdeh. While some of the elegiac depth with which it was imbued at its premiere, shortly after 9/11, has faded with distance (as has, it should be said, our raw sensitivity to the massacre), it remains a profoundly moving work that contains a few gestural passages that remind us of its timestamp. In one, Kleinendorst hoists Bugge overhead, paralleling ascension, and in another, salvation, when Trusnovec rescues Khobdeh from a heap of bodies. This gesture takes on the specifics of a relationship, besides making a general statement of survival and rebirth. Another factor of the dance's power is the music, by JS Bach. It's seriousness and pomposity have made it fodder for satire. But paired with the velvet-clad, interweaving bodies of the dancers, and magnificent crescendos and quiet moments, it finds its match in gravitas and elegy.

Orbs. Photo: Paul B. Goode

The repertory included Orbs (1966), an oddity in form (a two-act dance) to music by Beethoven, whose first-act costumes (Alex Katz) resemble Star Trek uniforms plus suave pleated, butter-hued gowns for the women, and in act two, prim wedding garb. The dance wends its way through planetary seasons and earthly rituals, including a marriage, overseen by Sean Mahoney representing a double-faced Sun and a priest. Katz's elegant gold arc shifts positions throughout. As with so many of Taylor's dances, this feels hermetic—delineating a world of its own, with a community coming together and breaking apart.

All the major and minor shifts mean dimensional growth for the repertory and for the dancers. They handled these challenges with aplomb; one wonders how much more they could manage. Perhaps future seasons will furnish even more tests as the platform of PTAMD continues to define, and redefine, modern dance.   

Notes on PTDC's 59th Season

Eran Bugge and James Samson in 3 Epitaphs. Photo: Paul B. Goode

Notes on the 2013 Taylor season, in the books, comprising 21 dances in 3 weeks at the Koch Theater, where it apparently far surpassed last year's attendance. The process of collaboration seemed more important than ever, particularly the designs of Alex Katz, lit by Jennifer Tipton.

Strongest impressions:

• Le Sacre du Printemps (The Rehearsal): the perfect mix of styles both serious and playful; substance; and technique.
• Lost, Found and Lost: ennui + elevator music, with a vocabulary built on boredom, to brilliant, coma-inducing effect.
• Beloved Renegade (2008): perennially sublime, with crystalline performances by Michael Trusnovec, Laura Halzack, and Amy Young; on my Top 5 PT list.
• 3 Epitaphs: the best Neanderthal dance ever, and casting the 2 most lyrical women (Halzack and Heather McGinley) is hilarious, alongside the quintessentially graceful James Samson, Eran Bugge, and Francisco Graciano.
• Cascade: some simple, sublime moments of tenderness between Trusnovec and Michelle Fleet, as when their outheld arms cross. 
• Promethean Fire: the epitome of high classicism and conveying emotion through form and minimal gesture. Parisa Kobdeh shows her noble, serious side alongside Trusnovec; Samson/Young duet is affecting when they pull powerfully against one another.
• Scudorama: suits, fruit-hued unitards, mysterious blanket monsters, and sanctimony add up to a sort of Cold War, modern dance hyper-Americanism. Sean Mahoney's best role.
• Last Look: if all darkness and edges, an important collaboration in the season, with major contributions by Alex Katz's disco-house-of-horrors designs. Trusnovec's otherworldly fluidity in his Jamie Rae Walker-leaping solo underscores his utter confusion.
• Speaking in Tongues: a terrifying star turn by Trusnovec, who could easily brainwash us if he so desired.

Michael Trusnovec and Laura Halzack in Beloved Renegade. Photo: Paul B. Goode

Premieres:

• Perpetual Dawn: a lovely, romantic, serious work; the Loquasto backdrop and costumes and Tipton lighting are key to the aromatic pastoral quality
• To Make Crops Grow: another strange, memorable entry into Taylor's movement theater canon

Enduring:

• Esplanade: have stronger choreographic bones ever been made?
• Company B: easy to take for granted as it is a constant on NY stages, but perfectly captures that era in American history, and the tension between daily joys and war 
• Junction: quirky, formal, quiet, with musical hijinks
• Musical Offering: an in-depth study of a specific vocabulary, patterning, and musicality
• Brandenburgs: a solid gem with the peculiar equation of 5 women, 3 men

Containing rediscovered gems:

• The Uncommitted: remarkable invention in entrances/exits and fleeting melancholy 
• Offenbach Overtures: another sui generis work within Taylor's oeuvre, high comedy and a distinctive visual scheme by Loquasto/Tipton. Khobdeh hilarious.

Graciano, Khobdeh, and Trusnovec fly in The Uncommitted. Photo: Paul B. Goode

The Company:

• While there is no ranking system within the company, a good deal of emphasis is placed on tenure. "Survival of the fittest" applies here, so the longer you remain (and stay healthy), the more you are cast, and prominently. 
• I've run out of words to praise Trusnovec, the finest interpreter of Taylor since I've been seriously watching the company. 
• Kobdeh is daring, funny, foxy, and deeply dramatic.
• Samson, due to his size, is often typecast, but he makes the most of these paternalistic male roles, imbuing them with a kindness and amplitude, and overturning expectations with his stealthy grace
• On the flip side, Graciano is also typecast in many young roles (in fact, he plays Samson's son on more than one occasion), but can dazzle with verve
• Young, a consistent, lyrical, ideal presence, assumes many of the Amazon or independent women's roles
• McGinley not only has balletic qualities, her natural radiance consistently draws the eye
• When Halzack first joined, it is understandable why Taylor became enamored of her lovely leg extensions; they're almost like a timestamp on his choreography (see Beloved Renegade, The Uncommitted). Her private quality give her an aloofness that is a robust tonic to many of the company's extroverts.
• Eran Bugge, if she were in baseball, could be described as a "five tool player." (A good thing.)
• Michael Novak has a refinement and physique that will serve him well at PTDC.
• George Smallwood, new guy with a long resume, brings winking charm, earthiness, and Broadway chops
• Jamie Rae Walker's adds lightness, lucidity, and precision

The season was another impressive demonstration of the depth and totality of Taylor's output, and the incredible physical and mental capabilities of his company and organization. Onto the 60th.

Katz, York, Tipton, and Taylor—Timeless Collaborators

Lost, Found and Lost. Photo: Paul B. Goode

Katz, York, Tipton, and Taylor. It's not a law firm, but they have defined some reliable rules about making good dances together. I caught some during the second week of Taylor's spring season that runs through March 24. 

Lost, Found and Lost was created in 1982, but its inspiration came from material for Events 1 of 7 New Dances originally done in 1957. What's 25 or 31 years between inspirations when you're Paul Taylor? It's an appealing concept—use non-dance movement such as poses and expressions of ennui, set to elevator music by Donald York—but can it live up to its promise? It far exceeds it, aided in no small part by Alex Katz's swanky, humorously bedazzled black unitards, mesh half-veils, and one colorful shoe for each of the 10 dancers, set crisply against a vacuum of a white, augmented by Jennifer Tipton's vanilla ice cream bath.

Apart from James Samson and Parisa Kobdeh, who are at first situated like energetic poles up and down-centerstage, the dancers stand in contraposto, weight poured into one hip which supports a propped fist. Arms fold, heads droop, posture caves. The dancers walk as if going from the kitchen to the couch, and then lie down like they're watching tv. They bumble and shuffle into a neat line, and you think, aha! He's finally getting to the structured part of the dance! But then they pivot diagonally upstage to stand not just in line but on a line, probably at the DMV from their attitude, peeling off one at a time as York's soaring Muzak medley fills the air. 

Last Look. Photo: Paul B. Goode

Katz, York, and Tipton collaborated with Taylor on another revival performed last week: Last Look, from 1985. Like Lost, Found and Lost, it's another dance that demonstrates the importance of each element. Katz created a forest of mirrors, lit in shades of gloom by Tipton. He dressed the dancers (whom we first see in a big old pile) in louche, disco era, sherbet-hued satins accessorized with rhinestone bracelets and foot jewelry. To York's frenetic score, hey shake, bounce, and careen around, not connecting despite trying. Are they celebrating, or grieving? Michael Trusnovec stares in the mirror, seemingly horrified at what he sees, yet unable to tear himself away despite trying.  

These two 80s dances capture that moment of decadence and debauchery without feeling the least bit dated. Taylor has the gift of making dances that are timeless no matter what era they're depicting.