The Most Incredible Thing—Abundantly Stuffed

Sterling Hyltin and Taylor Stanley lead the company in The Most Incredible Thing. Photo: Paul Kolnik

With The Most Incredible Thing, Justin Peck has been given the opportunity by New York City Ballet to push himself far beyond what he's accomplished thus far in his still young choreographic career. This 45-minute ballet, based on a Hans Christian Andersen fable, is his first attempt at narrative. It has a widely rambling score by the National's Bryce Dessner, and visuals and costumes by Marcel Dzama, and a cast of 56.

If it sounds like a lot to keep organized, it is, and that is one of the main issues with this ballet. The format—12 short sections, in accordance with the hours of a clock—are bookended by scenes depicting a competition between the Creator (Taylor Stanley) and the Destroyer (Amar Ramasar) for the Princess' (Sterling Hyltin) hand. As you might guess, each of the 12 dances is (mostly) populated by an according number of dancers; it begins to feel like sitting through the carol "The Twelve Days of Christmas," a checklist of tasks that need to happen for us to reach the end.

Rebecca Krohn and Adrian Danchig-Waring as Eve & Adam. Photo: Paul Kolnik

This isn't to deny observed degrees of invention. Dzama's costumes look rich—creatively, but also cost-wise—with lavish attention to detail. The two-man king walks as if in a three-legged sack race, but then splits in half like a gate to safeguard, or release, the princess. The Cuckoo's wings look like actual feathered wings, although this elaborate costume may have weighed down the spritely and typically steadfast Megan Fairchild (in the cast I saw) as she hammered through the too-rapid allegro steps, at one point slipping. Even birds fall.

The most dazzling and effective costumes were given to the Nine Muses—tutus with black spirals, and The Seven Deadly Sins or The Seven Days of the week (the name/s alone indicate the kitchen sink ethos), who wore flame-hued, patterned unitards. Poor Daniel Ulbricht, as The Gambler, was outfitted in a domino-patterned horizontal tablecloth and bare legs. Adam and Eve (Adrian Danchig-Waring and Rebecca Krohn) pulled off flesh-toned unitards scattered with leaves, and danced one of the more stately and fluid duets, ending with a bite of forbidden fruit. Three Kings were the unrecognizable Jared Angle, Daniel Applebaum, and Gonzalo Garcia, under samurai-like metallic armor. And 11 adorable children sported Hershey Kiss-shaped tunics and silver leather shoes. (As they tossed silver confetti in the air, I could only think that it might have reminded fellow audience member Mark Morris about his own Waltz of the Snowflakes in The Hard Nut.)

The Seven Deadly Sins, or The Seven Days of the Week. Photo: Paul Kolnik

Oh, about the dance itself, which feels like an afterthought—one of the problems with such an encrusted production. Stanley is perfectly cast, a valiant prince worthy of his dashing red cape, moving with a proud athleticism, sternum forward at all times. As he contracts slightly, his arms cushion pillows of air; he whips his leg in slashing arcs, eating up space. Hyltin's role isn't very memorable, but she pairs well with Stanley. Ramasar, who only appears at the end, has fun with his club, cartoonishly whacking and stabbing any nearby dancer. The three kings carry horse-headed staffs and incorporate them in various moves.

The carnivalesque atmosphere is enhanced by two slides—like you'd find at a playground—down which several dancers enter throughout the ballet. Dzama's painted flats evoke a kind of Weimar-era garish noir; his art is also installed in the Koch's grand atrium, giving the Park Avenue Armory's jarring installations some competition.

In recent years, Dessner has experimented beyond his rock band roots into classical and opera-esque evenings, but in Most Incredible Thing, it feels as if he deferred heavily to the movement and visuals. Surging chords and xylophones, medieval clarinet lines, mellow, lyrical swells, Glass-ian shimmers, and propulsive beats are thrown in the overwhelming mix. It didn't help that the premiere capped an already long evening of last year's fashion gala premieres plus Chris Wheeldon's 2010 Estancia, as much musical-theater as dance, and indicative of his now proven sure hand at Broadway. 

Arvo Pärt, Celebrated with Music, Dance, and Crickets

Rebecca Krohn and Amar Ramasar in Christopher Wheeldon's Liturgy. Photo by Kelley McGuire

Of all the esteemed professionals on staff at the Met Museum, perhaps the one most needed at Sept 11th's Arvo Pärt tribute was an exterminator. No offense to crickets in general, but a cheerful and persistent representation of that species had a little too much fun alongside a string quartet, pianist, and singers, serenading a packed audience in the Temple of Dendur as part of Met Museum Presents. The chirping, I'm told, could even be heard on the live simulcast.

And why wouldn't the crickets celebrate since the event—featuring members of the New Juilliard Ensemble (directed by Joel Sachs) in chamber pieces by Pärt—honored his 80th birthday. It happened to coincide with the 14th anniversary of 9/11, which imbued the mostly delicate, elegiac pieces with perhaps more gravitas and emotion than usual. A number of them have been used in choreography, and in fact the program's finale featured New York City Ballet principals Rebecca Krohn and Amar Ramasar dancing Chris Wheeldon's Liturgy (created in 2003 on Wendy Whelan and Jock Soto), which is accompanied by Pärt's Fratres for violin and piano. Krohn's elegant, long line and Ramasar's sure partnering and warm presence maximized the impact of this lovely architectural duet by the recent Tony winner.

A string quartet version of Fratres began the evening, before the crickets were really warmed up. It was followed by hypnotic, and at times sweet piano pieces played by Robert Fleitz and Mika Sasaki with great sensitivity, in which solitary notes hung suspended (when the crickets were resting). Less familiar to dance-goers were works with a solo baritone or mezzo voice, engaging in their pensiveness and wonder, humanizing the solitude and spaciousness that can make Part's music so wondrous.

The temple is of course not the ideal hall for such a concert, nor for a ballet performance, what with a hollow platform amplifying the light-footed Krohn's pointe shoe steps, and the rear spotlights often obscuring the dancers from our view. But taken as a whole, on the anniversary of 9/11, it was a solemn and moving experience. Through the massive window wall facing Central Park, I observed bats flitting over the trees at dusk, and after sunset, dozens of airplanes heading in every direction. The water in the moat in front of the stage rippled every now and then, and the crickets chirped happily—a recreated, yet real natural setting for this temple—witness to ancient rites, now host to contemporary resonances.

Beamish and Bouder in the Joyce's Ballet Festival

Sterling Baca. Photo: Jade Young

The Joyce is on to something with its Ballet Festival, in which six companies share the theater for two weeks in the previously sleepy ballet month of August. It's a bit like many of the other summer festivals with dance, like the Fringe, DanceNow, River2River, in that variety is key, but it's all grounded in the lexicon of ballet. Another distinguishing feature is the inclusion of many outstanding dancers who are moonlighting from ABT, NYCB, or other large troupes.

I caught two companies in the first week. Josh Beamish's move: thecompany began its program with the choreographer performing solo in the first part of Pierced, to music by David Lang. Beamish is more muscular than most male ballet dancers, particularly his legs, and this gives his movement the sense of being slightly arduous and rooted, notably when he suspends on relevé and drops his weight solidly. There's tension within his body that emanates drama. The second part of the piece featured ABT's Luciana Paris and Sterling Baca, who, with a sleek fluidity and eagerness, embodied Beamish's style best among the men. 

Of the women, Stephanie Williams, an Aussie who distinguished herself in ABT's recent Met season, was especially luminous; she danced Stay with Dimitri Kleioris (a magnetic fellow  Australian who will appear in Flesh and Bone on Starz network). Williams is the kind of dancer who may not knock you out at first, but eventually you notice her ability to adapt to any style, as well as her remarkable strength as seen in a devilish backbend with the front leg extended, steadied by him. Their duet had tender moments—embraces, a swift leap onto his shoulder, she supporting his full weight while leaning against her. 

The program served as a kind of primer of Beamish's movement, beginning with a solo packed with contained energy, building through a duet in which a dialogue seemed to be taking place along with an urgency and strong directional pulls, followed by the more romantic Stay. It culminated in the premiere of Surface Properties, an ambitious dance for 10 with busy, witty video by Matt Keegan, and Janie Taylor's sleek black and mint costumes. The groupings and duets moved with an adrenalized, urban feel; exit and entrance walks were done with a louche, street-wise attitude. Roman Zhurbin is ABT's reigning character dancer, so good at acting that it's easy to forget he's a terrific dancer; he partnered with Isadora Loyola in a charming duet section in front of a pong-like video, which distracted slightly. Zhong-Jing Fang led a "femme" section with verve, and Baca looked in the zone during the finale.

Ashley Bouder is one of the fleetest, most athletic dancers at NYCB, but she can be cast in roles that skew cute. In her own vehicle, the Ashley Bouder Project, performing with fellow NYCB dancers, she immediately defied that image, with gratifying results. Adriana Pierce's Unsaid is a duet for Bouder and Preston Chamblee; they sport chic, sheer overcoats designed by Reid and Harriet. The coats, along with lit squares (Jimmy Lawlor) and spatial arrangements connote interior and exterior, intimacy and emotional distance, to music by Grieg played live. Pierce, a dancer with Miami City Ballet, makes expressive phrases, building upon a pirouette, to preparation, to a double pirouette, increasing in intensity. Best of all, there was no cute in sight.

In Passing is a filmed ballet, something we've seen in Pontus Lidberg's work, and in ambitious projects such as NY Export: Opus Jazz. While we don't have the pleasures and risks of live performance, Andrea Schermoly's direction takes us to varied locations—a theater house, a tunnel, a chic bedroom, a studio being painted. Jumpy cuts and fast-motion alter time, sometimes to comical effect. The setting moves from dreamy to impatient, tracking the moves of Bouder, Amar Ramasar, Indiana Woodward, and Antonio Carmena. It's a different, intriguing way of experiencing ballet and one person's aesthetic, and the quality of the recording, and the way it entirely filled the screen, was appreciated.

Amar Ramasar and Ashley Bouder in Rouge et Noir. Photo: Alexis Ziemsk

Beamish contributed Rouge et Noir, once again a larger-scale production with six dancers set in front of an abstract, colorful painted backdrop by Mark Howard. This, plus Shostakovich's spiky score, and the sculptural, luxuriant key duet with Bouder and Ramasar evoked some of Balanchine's modernist moves. Slender corps dancers Sebastian Villarini-Velez and Peter Walker added their own interpretations to the style, though Alexa Maxwell and Woodward were given less to do, with one awkwardly holding a skirt train in the final scene without using it. (The otherwise fine costumes—leotards with wispy cutouts in color schemes keying off of the mural, including, yes, rouge et noir—were designed by B Michael.) 

But the most memorable moments are of Bouder on relevé, being held or spun by Ramasar, in various poses and levels of tension and repose. It was a quenching dose of ballet by some of the art's top dancers, and alongside the two other works, notably by young women, showed a conceptual curiosity that also refreshed.

Justin Peck's Rodeo

Rodeo. Photo: Paul Kolnik

These days, a New York City Ballet premiere by Justin Peck is big news, and Rodeo: Four Dance Episodes (sans the editor's nightmare of diacriticals) certainly adds to his rapidly growing stock of lively, thrilling ballets. Also of interest is the dance's context; it followed Ratmansky's recent Pictures at an Exhibition, and preceded Wheeldon's Mercurial Manoeuvres. There are links and degrees of influence among these guys, who are among the top ballet choreographers in demand.

This new four-section work to Copland's score contains broad themes of energy, weather, and nature. Peck breaks the fourth wall, like Ratmansky often has, most notably in Namouna. In Rodeo, which comprises 15 men and Tiler Peck, some of the men sit on the stage's edge, feet dangling over the orchestra pit, or reach toward the audience like the ham-handed effects in a 3D movie. They break poses and relax midstage as if in rehearsal, lost in thought. It's a device that invites us into their lofty realm, parlayed into a sublime heaven-on-earth by Brandon Stirling Baker's warm-hued lighting that evokes the smell of toast and hot chocolate, and shows us how spacious the Koch stage is.


The dance's sporty mood, set by athletic wear costumes by Reid Bartelme, Harriet Jung, and Peck, begins with the line of men "in the blocks" at the left, who then sprint across the stage. Daniel Ulbricht does what he does, which is spin, leap, and fly. The group of men fracture into small groups, supporting one in suspended or poses, or lifting one like a slow-motion carousel pony. Tiler Peck and Amar Ramasar, in an extended duet, move eloquently, unfurling into striking poses, including a lift in which Peck vamps like a bathing suit model, flaunting her bare legs. Ramasar bends down to pull a cord, like starting a lawn mower, as the percussionist makes a similar noise. Gonzalo Garcia—like Ulbricht, an underutilized principal—is featured in the fourth movement. The group huddles and blossoms opens to reveal a soloist, like unwrapping a present. The eye is constantly fed, and there's plenty left to see in repeated viewings.

Pictures at an Exhibition. Photo: Paul Kolnik

There's a collegiality in Peck's dances that can only be enhanced by his position as a dancer. The new film Ballet 422, by Jody Lee Lipes, focuses on Peck's creation of another NYCB commission, Paz de la Jolla. Free of talking heads, it trails Peck as a dancer—in class, putting on makeup, backstage pre-show; and as a choreographer—in the studio alone with only his iPhone to record his own movement experiments, with Tiler Peck and Ramasar, in meetings with the lighting and costume designers, working at home. It is remarkable how self-possessed and focused he is for a 25-year-old (it was largely shot three years ago). Seeing the premiere of Rodeo just after watching Ballet 422 only multiplies the amount of respect I have for this young artist, who has already contributed some major ballets to the company's rich holdings.

New to roles—Pictures: Georgina Pascoguin (Sara Mearns' role), extraordinarily dramatic and risk-taking; wonderful to see this veteran soloist in featured roles which show her full dancing potential (we already know she's a fantastic dramatic artist). Sterling Hyltin (Wendy Whelan's role) conveys a similar clarity and deftness to Whelan, but has yet to gain the depth that may simply come with experience. Mercurial—the apprentice Preston Chambliss, with endless legs and ballon, a gifted young dancer in a state of emergence. Russell Janzen, a new soloist, partnering Sara Mearns; they are wonderfully proportioned together, and his coolness complements her fire.

NYCB—Balanchine + Tchaikovsky FTW

Sara Mearns in Swan Lake. Photo: Paul Kolnik

New York City Ballet's Tchaikovsky festival has been a crash refresher on Balanchine's choreography to the composer's music, and their interconnectedness. Seven works over two recent programs show Balanchine's varied approaches. One dance in itself—Tchaikovsky Suite No. 3—includes excellent and mediocre Balanchine, a sort of Frankenstein of a ballet that pushes together 1970s sections (marked by a distracting scrim, bare feet, long hair, and longer skirts) with Themes and Variations, a hallmark of Mr. B's classic period from 1947. When the scrim is removed for the finale, it's like a veil is snatched from our eyes, eliciting the desired effect of clarity.

Mearns with Ask La Cour in Diamonds. Photo: Paul Kolnik

The house is always more electric whenever Sara Mearns takes the stage, and in these two programs she led the casts of Swan Lake (1951) and Diamonds (1967). Both of these roles are big enough for Mearns, who faces the odd problem of having too much magnetism for some ensemble works. But as the sole white swan in Balanchine's strange one-acter, she is pretty much the sole focus, alongside her swain in the form of Jared Angle. This version excerpts selections, a "best hits" medley of the full ballet, except that it excludes the black swan variations. Without the Odette/Odile duality, the full drama can only be hinted at. It does display Mearns' pliant back attitude, which slashes high at an angle, rather than creating the 90º geometrical structure that usually gives this position an aura of reliable rationality, rather than danger. It's a small example of why Mearns is so riveting—always choosing the dramatic over the safe.

Diamonds offers fewer moments for big drama, with its staid pace and conservative vocabulary. When paired with Emeralds and Rubies, it is the boring section of repose and dignity. Mearns was partnered by Ask la Cour, who framed her capably and never quite drew attention to himself, as is his wont. She plunged into arabesques and tossed her gaze high into the rafters when given the chance, rising to glitter like the pseudonymous gem.

Robert Fairchild and Tiler Peck in Divertimento. Photo: Paul Kolnik

Tiler Peck and Robert Fairchild performed Divertimento from "Le Baiser de la Fée." Peck comes closest to the perfect combination of precision and artistry in the current company's women, and she has an omnipresent natural radiance and sheer joyousness. In previous years it could have been mistaken for youth, but as she matures this sense of pleasure is expanding. Fairchild dances with a fetching, jazzy musicality; he's a dashing cavalier, but his line is less than exemplary. Still, he is fun to watch.

Speaking of exemplary line, Chase Finlay, rocketing through major roles, debuted in the Tchaikovsky Pas de Deux with Ashley Bouder. A daring bit of casting by Mr. Martins, for sure, as Finlay has proved himself in roles with less traditional partnering required. But other than some jitters and a few small bobbles, he fared well. Granted, Bouder could literally partner herself, one of several NYCB women of great independent strength. I hope she relaxes a bit more and plays with the extra time she creates by being on top of steps, ahead of time, rather than freezing in poses on relévé. Or watch Tiler Peck a little more closely as she, equally facile with her steps, elongates or expands on the lushness within ballet's shapes.

Ashley Bouder and Chase Finlay in Tchai Pas. Photo: Paul Kolnik

Martin's Bal du Couture was the sole contribution by the choreographer, a gala confection created to acknowledge fashion designer Valentino and showcase his costume designs. Studded with 20 principals and soloists, it is less about the dance and a lot about style and runway attitude. Most of the women wear leg-hiding, calf-length black and white gowns with a frisson of red tulle underskirting flashing now and then, and pink or red toe shoes. The  three "sprites" (Bouder, Megan Fairchild, and Peck, in the sole red costume) wear bagel-shaped tutus. All are strangely unflattering. However, the men, in fitted tuxedos with tapered legs, look dashing. Even among these beautiful people, Finlay stood out with his Abercrombie appeal, elegant line, and pristine posture in the ballroom waltz as he swirled with Peck.

Megan Fairchild and Amar Ramasar danced Allegro Brillante (1956). I haven't seen Ramasar featured prominently as a partner (he replaced Andrew Veyette), and while, in my mind, he is less a technician than a memorable dramatic presence, they were surprisingly well matched. Fairchild is another woman who's strong on her own, and not strictly reliant on her partner. She fits comfortably into Balanchine's repertory, giving reliably textbook performances that have yet to ignite great passion. Next up: Justin Peck's second major commission.