Two Luminous New York City Ballet Premieres

New York City Ballet in Justin Peck’s Mystic Familiar. Photo: Erin Baiano

It’s hard to comprehend that Mystic Familiar: A Ballet by Justin Peck is his 25th work for New York City Ballet, where he is resident choreographer. (The second part of the title reads as an imprimatur for how much clout he has artistically; it echoes “A Piece by Pina Bausch,” which followed each of her work’s titles.) It’s both a huge accomplishment to accrue so many commissions by his home company, which happens to be one of the world’s most significant troupes. On the other hand, it requires a lot of creativity and hard work to differentiate over two dozen dances on the same company.

Certain Peck dances stand out in my memory. The Times Are Racing (2017) tops that list, anchored by a hip-tappy duet originally done by Peck for himself and Robbie Fairchild (and later including women in the roles), and another duet of flashing feet and circular flip-lifts with Tiler Peck levitating up and down. Opening Ceremony’s Humberto Leon designed the playful street/athletic wear costumes worn with sneakers. And Dan Deacon’s score charged the piece with an urgency and daredevilry that Peck rode, full speed ahead. The same synergetic creative team has been gathered together to create Mystic.

Taylor Stanley with company in Mystic Familiar. Photo: Erin Baiano

Peck works in a variety of choreographic languages, but the one established in TTAR have distinguished many of his most striking dances. (Moments feel like tips of the hat to his sneaker-ballet predecessors such as Robbins, Childs, and Tharp.) The youthful, athletic vigor; the clustering, pulsing, and exploding of the corps, often singling out a central dancer; the inward, noodling phrases; the dashes of levity and community. The undeniable joie de vivre. 

Many of those elements occur in Mystic Familiar, but the heart of the piece is anomolous: a long solo for Taylor Stanley. His leonine grace and strength have made him a muse for a number of choreographers at NYCB, including Kyle Abraham and Peck. Stanley’s solo is quite expressionistic and emotionally resonant, featuring sculptural shapes that melt into soft looping phrases, or a thrusting sternum, comprising a poignant, poetic section.

Some passages evoke previous Peck dances, as you’d expect. Dancers line the stage’s apron, in silhouette; a column of bodies splits off right and left; a rapid phrase ends in an abruptly held position. Near the end, the performers trade their colorful, translucent streetwear for antiseptic white jumpsuits, adding a chill to the atmosphere. A paranoiac might read them as hazmat suits, a solemn reminder of the not-long-past pandemic. Deacon's music feels melodic and companionable, and less a soundtrack to a revolution.

Peck is now an established Broadway choreographer, with recent productions of Illinoise and Buena Vista Social Club to his credit. It feels as if Broadway has seeped into Mystic in its energetic pacing and the supporting synthesis of Eamon Ore-Giron’s dazzling geometric backdrop, and lighting by Brandon Stirling Baker, which spotlights different points of the mural, like a setting sun descending through the trees. The sum total feels like a solid work that wrings the most out of the resources given, on every production level.

Taylor Stanley and Indiana Woodward in When We Fell. Photo: Erin Baiano

Kyle Abraham also used the totality of the theater. As opposed to the maximalist approach in Mystic, his premiere of When We Fell leans toward elegant, pure, minimalism. Two pianos sat on opposite sides of the stage, which featured a stage-wide horizontal mirror perhaps a yard high, hovering just above the people on stage. The eight dancers wore Karen Young’s stunning unitards in metallic hues of copper, silver, and gold. The distantly-placed pianos (which play Morton Feldman, Jason Moran, and Nico Muhly’s music), the spacious dark void above the mirror, and the small cast in their shimmering suits compounded to create a feeling of infinity and absence, echoing the Covid era.

Abraham originally made this work as a film in the wake of the pandemic, when dances were made over Zoom with participants in far-away locations. or in collective isolation. He uses ballet steps for the most part, with expressionistic tweaks, like rippling torsos, or deeply swooping port de bras. Rapid piques, frenetic battus, and big leaps and sautés punch up the final section; Taylor Stanley and Indiana Woodward dance in a large pool of light but otherwise darkness, counterbalancing one another in an apt metaphor for codependency in a time of isolation. It's gratifying to see these two premieres by artists who are no longer brand-new choreographers at NYCB. Both dances are memorable and should crop up with regularity in seasons to come, with luck.

Some company notes... Megan Fairchild and Andrew Veyette retire from the company this season. And besides seeing the superlative Taylor Stanley in featured premiere roles, KJ Takahashi distinguished himself in crisp, bold solos in both dances, electrifying the stage.

New York Notebook, Jan/Feb 2024

Timothy Ward and Justin Lynch in De la Lumière, Entre les Lampes. Photo: Steven Pisano

Molissa Fenley, Roulette

Molissa Fenley’s program, From the Light, Between the Lamps, at Roulette was most likely not intended as a glowing source of optimism to pull us back from the looming abyss of life, but it wound up working that way on Jan 31. It comprised six dances made or revised very recently—a remarkable output given her incredible decades-long career—one that seemed in doubt after a serious knee injury in 1995. The unfettered joy and experimentation revolving around simply moving the human body felt like a salve and a return to what’s essential, in addition to the ongoing creation of work by a modern pioneer.

Fenley began presenting her work in 1977, drawing attention for her cyclonic, athletic solos and punk aesthetic. She incorporated elements such as percussion and South Asian dance influences that mostly hadn’t been seen together in a New York modern dancer. Flexed feet and hands, the latter to frame the head and upper body, and explosive jumps and spins, marked her fresh style. She made the most of the Covid-imposed rules for dance with her 2020 Joyce run of her virtuosic 1988 solo, State of Darkness, featuring seven powerhouse dancers from top modern and ballet troupes. (Three of them  guested at Roulette on later dates.)

Christiana Axelsen, Molissa Fenley, Timothy Ward in Lava Field. Photo: Art Davison

In the new program, she showed new or revised work paired with music by thought-provoking composers like John Cage, Philip Glass, and Ryuichi Sakamoto. Perhaps most surprising is that Fenley (born in 1954) performed alongside three outstanding dancers (Christiana Axelsen, Justin Lynch, Timothy Ward). Some of the movement felt softer and more organic than her earlier work. While Fenley's work is not prone to sentimentality, at times the dancers linked hands and passed under these arches, or leaned on one another tenderly. One solo gave way to another, or dancers entered in phases, or danced on three different levels. Some scores were played live, notably the Glass New Chaconne written in 2023. The intimate environs of Roulette (an old auditorium) combined with Fenley’s sui generis modernism to evoke a golden era of dance. And while it might feel halcyon relative to the chaos of today, to remember the horrors of the late 20th-century AIDS crisis might put current mayhem in perspective.

Roman Mejia, Mira Nadon, and Chun Wai Chan in Concerto for Two Pianos. Photo: Erin Baiano

New York City Ballet, Koch Theater

The same week, New York City Ballet premiered Tiler Peck’s first work for her native company, where she continues to perform as a beloved principal. She has been choreographing elsewhere for a few years, including for the Vail Festival, which has encouraged young choreographers and collaborations, unlikely as much for the scheduling involved as any artistic barriers.

For the premiere, Peck chose Poulenc’s Concerto for Two Pianos (the title for her piece), an exuberant and dramatic composition with highly modulated dynamics and heroic melodies. Her choreography has many of the qualities that distinguish her greatness as a dancer—clarity, musicality, and joy. She gave Roman Mejia a blank canvas on which to display his formidable athleticism in countless spins, jumps, and soaring leaps, at times buddy-battling with Chun Wai Chan. Besides their technical prowess, both have lots of charisma—a welcome asset in a company that can produce skilled but politely distant men. Dancing with both in turn, the elegant and glamorous Mira Nadon sported a crimson dress (by Zac Posen), which stood out among a sea of blues and browns. A gaggle of men lifted and sailed her about, placing her gently on a row of mens’ backs. India Bradley and Emma Von Enck handled allegro passages with skill and vibrancy.

Emma Von Enck and India Bradley in Concerto for Two Pianos. Photo credit: Erin Baiano

Peck is smartly immersed in the working world of the theater. The striking curtain-up moment featured seven pairs of dancers in stark silhouette, performing snappy lifts and spins. Often, a light-hued cyc provides the needed contrast for darkly-lit dancers to highlight their shapes. (This was not the case in the evening’s closer, Odesa by Alexei Ratmansky, where the mens’ black-clad legs were hardly legible against dark backgrounds. On purpose, no doubt, but very hard to see.) The company of a community is important, as are robust solos. And hopefully Peck will have the chance to choreograph more for City Ballet, where she has worked since 2005.

Concerto followed Justin Peck’s Rotunda, created in 2020 to music by Nico Muhly, and Justin’s 19th ballet for the company. He has created dances of differing styles, including elements of street and tap, but he hews to ballet here. Many of the themes that underpin his dances are present—the group, often clustered, facing in, exploding outward to seek individual paths. A childlike playfulness, the joy in moving freely, but also moving precisely.

New York City Ballet in Alexei Ratmansky’s Odesa.Photo credit: Erin Baiano

Ratmansky’s richly-hued Odesa, to music by Leonid Desyatnikov, displays the choreographer’s skill at narrative suggestion with the barest of gestures—a woman refuses to take a man’s hand, at once conjuring all sorts of questions about their relationship. A group of men circle the stage in a softly lyrical phrase, which feels refreshingly different from the more strident, powerful vocabulary often given to men. 

In a sense, this choreographic trio of Peck, Peck, and Ratmansky represents the company’s near future, with the two men in formalized positions, and given the success of Concerto for Two Pianos, almost assuredly more to come from Tiler Peck.

New York Notebook—February 2020

Rotunda. Photo: Erin Baiano

Prior to the performance including Rotunda, Justin Peck’s latest dance for New York City Ballet, Peck appeared in front of the curtain to introduce the “art series” evening which also included Jerome Robbins' In G Major and Chris Wheeldon's DGV. In casual clothes, Peck could’ve (and may have) just hopped off his skateboard on his way to the park. His relaxed demeanor extended to his colloquialisms; he repeated “you guys” numerous times, referring to us in the audience—us guys. This feeling of community, which is tangible in his choreography, perhaps emanates from the company as a tribe, now led by recent company members Jonathan Stafford and Wendy Whelan.

Foremost, Peck’s dances are sociable gatherings, occasions to play or compete—or both. They also demonstrate that his first language is ballet, and dancers are his words, to be pliantly and fluently put to use. His movement can translate “you guys” into expressive phrases that capture that amiability and freshness. As we’ve learned with each new dance he creates, there are several subgenres to his oeuvre, and Rotunda falls within the core bunch of plotless, pointe shoe ballets with a relaxed, warm feeling. The fact that it followed  Robbins’ In G Major underscored the connection between the two choreographers.

Peck’s dances continue to offer up gifts to the dancers. Rotunda gives the unassuming principal Gonzalo Garcia one of his finest, most expansive roles yet. At the piece’s start, he lies onstage alone, to be joined by 11 others wearing Bartelme/Jung’s appealing, variegated tights and tops. The group draws into a cluster, then cleaves into two rings—one led by Garcia, the other by Sara Mearns—which intersect like Venn diagrams, orbiting across the stage, and pulling toward the downstage corners as the groups collectively tendu their feet. Mearns walks as if she’s on the street, sunken into her hips, feet turned out ballerina-walk style, shoulders rolled forward slightly. Her partner in an extended duet, Gilbert Bolden III, is a larger than average, striking dramatic presence, a counterpoint to Mearns' bold demeanor.

It’s not easy to continue to innovate while continuing to create using the well-established ballet vocabulary, but small tweaks dot Peck’s largely effortless syntax: a woman’s slightly bent knee in a split lift, a man doing a split penché arabesque (showing valuable new soloist Jovani Furlan’s flexibility), quick direction shifts following deep pliés. Garcia has a riveting solo in which he repeats inside attitude triple pirouettes and flitting petit allegro variations with ease, showing us the quiet strengths which have been lurking inside of him all along.

Mercy. Photo: Julieta Cervantes

Ronald K. Brown’s Evidence: A Dance Company performed a new work alongside some old favorites at the Joyce. Grace, now 20 years old and commissioned by Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater, remains one of his finest and most consistently thrilling works. It’s one of the rare dances performed intermittently in New York by Ailey and its choreographer’s native company, giving us a chance to see it in a larger house by a shinier cast (Ailey), and closer up by a group more attuned to the nuances and rhythms of Brown’s lexicon. (Also, for the first time among many that I’ve seen it, the men did not dance shirtless in a section late in the dance, which can often elicit hoots from the audience.) There are fewer—no?—works of dance that evoke more joy than Grace, plain and simple.

The evening led off with High Life, a suite that evolves from traditional song and garb to modern, including the infectious beats of the title genre. The New York premiere of Mercy featured elegant fabric “columns” (Tsubasa Kamei) and somewhat bulky costumes by Omotayo Wunmi Olaiya (who designed all costumes for the program). To mood-shifting music by Meshell Ndegeocello, and led by the dynamic Annique Roberts wearing a dramatic mesh headpiece, the dancers ebbed and flowed across the stage, punching, slashing, spinning, their skirt and tunic panels flying. As a company, Evidence looks strong and  confident, with a luminous relative newcomer in Joyce Edwards—statuesque, silky, quick, and completely magnetic. Hard to believe this still fresh-feeling troupe celebrates 35 years of existence.

Houston Ballet, Distinguished by Solid Rep

The Letter V. Photo: Amitava Sarkar

October holds such an embarrassment of dance riches in New York that it might be easy to overlook a run by the Houston Ballet, which is in the city if not often, then at least with some regularity. But the company’s recent City Center run comprised excellent repertory by choreographers whose works are staples in NYC.

Mark Morris’ The Letter V shows his facility with ballet, but perhaps the revelation in this dance is how simple and pure the phrases are. A dancer leaning forward, arms back like wings, opens the ballet; this passage recurs until it’s familiar. Then it’s done with the men lifting the women who do basically the same phrase, but in the air. Arms straight, swinging rapidly front to back like pendulums, look jarring at first, but once you get used to them they visually amplify the music. The amiable Haydn Symphony No. 88 in G Major, played live by Orchestra of St. Luke’s, provides a satisfying structure for the movement, and Maile Okamura’s chiffon tunics layered over leotards boost the overall sunny disposition.

#MeToo, from a viewer's standpoint

Andrew Veyette and Sterling Hyltin in Everywhere We Go, by Justin Peck. Photo: Paul Kolnik

The fallout of #MeToo has been surprisingly swift, with no end in sight. It seems that there have been abuses in every field, wherever power is there to wield. The seemingly genteel world of dance has not been immune, most prominently with the resignation of Peter Martins at NYCB. Past accusations of spousal abuse are public knowledge, but the list of aggressions to dancers and students lengthens each day, not to mention the DWI's that Martins has received, including last week's.

I don't mean to diminish the charges brought to light in recent weeks, which are shocking to hear about, much less live through. But I bring up another sort of abuse of power that has simmered throughout the two decades I've been watching NYCB, and that is from a viewer's standpoint—the commandeering of resources by Martins to create new work for NYCB over the years, and the continuing imposition of that repertory on audiences despite lack of critical support. 

The company's website says he has made over 80 dances, most for NYCB, in four decades. Add up all the hours of time, and bags of money, invested in the creation and presentation of these dances, and no doubt it would be staggering. Dancers, rehearsal directors, composers, musicians, set/costume designers/fabricators, administration to support it all. But audience time as well, for not only do ticket buyers pay a premium price for their seats, but their time is valuable—especially in New York where there are dozens of dance events a week from which to choose.

A few of his dances hold up to scrutiny, including his first, Calcium Light Night. But nearly all of Martins' choreography that I've seen is unremarkable, roughly in the manner of Balanchine, but with passages of absolutely rote ballet that any competent teacher might put together in ballet class as an exercise. Some of it is truly pointless. I've often felt angry after being forced to sit through his dances if I wanted to see works by some of the other far more talented choreographers in repertory. It's like he's flaunting his power at the world—"I don't care if it's any good, or if you like it; I'm the one in power and I can do what I want." When no one stops him, why shouldn't he?

The Wind Still Brings, by Troy Schumacher. Photo: Paul Kolnik

Another kind of arrogance is seen in, perversely, his blind belief that NYCB's nonpareil dancers are able to perform too many steps, joined together clumsily, done too fast, and come out unscathed. As often as not, they fail. Why make these top-notch dancers look foolish? Is it a kind of challenge to them from Martins, like "bet you can't do this"? He himself was an accomplished principal, so perhaps he is measuring everyone against his own skills. I also recall silently cursing the ubiquitous partnering where a man lugs a woman around, flipping her in various ways. Of course Martins is not alone in this tendency, but when the choreography is so consistently tepid, these things tend to stick out even more.

With the advent of the Fashion Galas, begun in 2012, lavish costumes were created by Valentino and numerous other name designers. Certainly these galas have raised enormous amounts, but the expenses have likely been proportionately high. They have been notable events, but in a certain sense, the dance took a back seat to the fashion (although less so in recent years with the recruitment of emerging designers).

In the near past, with the emergence of such talented choreographers as Ratmansky, Wheeldon, and Peck, the number of Martins dances in season repertory has seemed to dwindle. However, he has not been above inserting an existing work of his on a program before eagerly anticipated commissions by younger choreographers, even at the last minute. You got the sense that he knew he had a captive audience that had no choice but to sit through Bal de Couture once more to see Justin Peck's latest work.

Martins had plenty of merits to be allowed to remain in his post for so long. He is to be credited for fostering the talents of the men above, as well as founding the Diamond Institute in 1992 to develop younger choreographers. Commissions have included a number of women recently, such as Annabelle Lopez Ochoa, Lauren Lovette, and Gianna Reisen. The technique has remained at a high level, with a whole new generation of accomplished principals emerging in the last decade. The company looks fantastic in repertory by Peck and Ratmansky, who craft interesting and challenging movement without making the dancers look as if they can't handle it. As a long chapter in this illustrious company comes to a close, we look forward to the future, which has in a sense already begun. 

NYCB's Fashion Gala 2017

Pulcinella Variations. Photo: Paul Kolnik

When costuming dance nowadays, rehearsal type clothes are becoming fairly common. And why not? The price is right, the dancers can move freely, and really, we usually watch for the movement or story more than anything. But New York City Ballet’s fall “fashion gala” shines the spotlight equally on the fashion designers for the premieres, in this season’s case, of four ballets. Some of the costumes succeeded wonderfully, in addition to some of the dances. The premieres were unveiled at the gala, devoid of intermission as well as Peter Martins’ Chinoiserie study, The Chairman Dances (memorable for the wrong reasons), which will precede the four premieres in repertory in the coming weeks.


With 11 ballets now in the company’s repertory, and a number for other companies, Justin Peck could be excused for running out of ideas in such a short time. But his Pulcinella Variations demonstrates further artistic growth. Other than Alex Ratmansky, there is perhaps no classical ballet choreographer making such musical, flowing phrases organic to the vocabulary. If you think of ballet as a language built of letters, words, and phrases, these are full-blown paragraphs, properly punctuated. He knows the company’s dancers in and out, as well as their capabilities. Stravinsky’s Pulcinella Variations is a delightful choice, offering seven movements in which to showcase the varied skills of his peers. Most notable are Indiana Woodward, Anthony Huxley, and Tiler Peck (dancing with Gonzalo Garcia). All dance lucidly, imaginatively, and expand and collapse time with their superb command of technique. Tsumori Chisato designed the surreal, eye-popping costumes with huge eye and floral motifs, and while these are among the most memorable couture in recent seasons of NYCB's fashion galas, the dance itself is just as notable.

The Wind Still Brings. Photo: Paul Kolnik

When young choreographers receive big commissions, it’s not a surprise that their tendency is to use all the amazing talent they have to work with in big, showy ways—kind of like flooring the Ferrari to see how fast it accelerates. But as a viewer, that can be wearying; it’s good to see Troy Schumacher taking a deep breath and infusing his new work with some contemplative moments.


Schumacher (recently promoted to soloist), with his premiere The Wind Still Brings to music by William Walton, shows artistic maturity and emotional generosity to augment his usual youthful, athletic style of movement. There are large group passages (he employs 14 dancers here) in which bodies pour on and offstage, coalescing and dispersing, with the requisite duets and solos. But it’s the dreamlike middle section that makes an impression. The dancers spread out over the stage and lie down. A woman wanders on and lies down beside another, who rises seemingly in response; the first woman then also stands. The pair moves to another pair, and thus all four are on their feet, and so on, like a message spreading steadily through whispers. It’s quiet, thoughtful, and feels like many private moments strung together. Jonathan Saunders designed the varied, striking peach and blue costumes; each design is worn by a man and a woman, including skirts and tunics, and the mens’ hair is slicked back, lending a fascinating overall feeling of androgyny.

Composer's Holiday. Photo: Paul Kolnik

The 18-year-old Gianna Reisen, an apprentice at the Ballet Semperoper Dresden and a graduate of School of American Ballet, choreographed Composer’s Holiday to music by Lukas Foss. Although 12 dancers perform, there’s an intimacy to the proceedings that makes it feel like a smaller group. There are striking pictures: a woman is carried aloft in the opening scene; a couple leaps over a line of dancers, trying to touch; another woman walks on mens’ backs like stepping stones. The classical style contains challenging flourishes and quirks (a woman is carried off, slung over a man’s shoulder fireman-carry style). Virgil Abloh designed the costumes; the womens’ tutus evoke Degas’ above the knee length skirts, the men wear dark patterned tops.

Not Our Fate. Photo: Paul Kolnik

Not Our Fate, by Lauren Lovette, features a pairing between Taylor Stanley and Preston Chamblee, in addition to eight others. All the men wear timeless white t-shirts and slim black pants, designed by Fernando Garcia and Laura Kim. The women sport fitted black jackets and voluminous white scarf skirts that show movement, but overpower their bodies and lines, in addition to feeling archaic, especially in contrast to the men. The score, by Michael Nyman, is typical of his flowing, repetitious phrasing, which after awhile feels like the relentless noise from a jackhammer down the block. Nonetheless, Lovette creates inventive formations, such as when the group forms perpendicular lines around a featured soloist, moving to each stage quadrant. And a motif is memorably repeated in the final scene, when Stanley alights on Chamblee’s shoulder. We're not quite used to seeing same-gender couples, but we're well on our way. And how refreshing is it that including a female choreographer or two is no longer newsworthy.

New York City Ballet's season runs through October 15.

NYCB's Spring 2017 Premieres

Odessa: Sterling Hyltin and Joaquin de Luz with company. Photo: Paul Kolnik

Odessa by Alexei Ratmansky

New York City Ballet's spring gala program on April 4 at the Koch Theater, while modestly celebratory, lacked the electricity generated in the company's now-annual fall fashion galas. In addition to the crowd pleasing, if super-familiar, After the Rain and Tchaikovsky Pas de Deux, the company danced Martins' Jeu de Cartes, with festive costumes but little else of interest, and the highlight of the evening—the premiere of Alexei Ratmansky's Odessa.

Odessa is among Ratmansky's "Russian dances" which employ music by Russian composers (here, Leonid Desyatnikov) and are flavored with elements of folk or indigenous dancing from the pseudonymous location. But the choreographer has been extremely busy, creating ballets for companies outside of New York, in addition to projects such as Whipped Cream for ABT, where he is resident choreographer, which has its New York premiere soon across the plaza at the Met Opera House. (At least he doesn't have to run far between company residences.)

Odessa finale. Photo: Paul Kolnik

However, his dispersed attention might be reflected in Odessa, which is handsome, passionate, and at times pops with big steps. But it surprising for its general lack of innovation and movement invention, for which Ratmansky has become reliable. It's structured around three couples: Sara Mearns/Amar Ramasar, Tiler Peck/Taylor Stanley, and Sterling Hyltin/Joaquin de Luz. The latter couple doesn't click at first; she shies away from his advances, which is a main source of narrative drama within the piece, later slapping him before they reconcile. A corps of 12 shadows the couples who trade the spotlight back and forth, providing spatial and patterned texture. Desyatnikov's music moves from bold slide trombone to tangoesque sections that provoked Ratmansky into creating some phrases of stylized tango, seemingly a rite of passage for many choreographers. Keso Dekker designed the gem-hued costumes—skater dresses for the women, slinky striped shirts for the men.

Particularly in the wake of viewing Ratmansky's Russian Seasons and Namouna by NYCB in a previous week, Odessa feels slightly formulaic. There are no oddities that mark these previous works, such as a "cigarette dance" or breaking the fourth wall. The corps is somewhat smaller in Odessa, and doesn't evince the kind of organic hivemind that we've seen in other dances by him, where 24 dancers might shimmer like water or move as one. It certainly merits revisiting, but perhaps he has spoiled us with prior strokes of brilliance and unattainable expectations.  

The Decalogue. Photo: Paul Kolnik

The Decalogue by Justin Peck

New dances by Justin Peck have been gaining in anticipation with each season since he began choreographing just a few years ago. This season's contribution, which I saw on May 12, gained added importance, being just the second brand-new work next to Odessa. They were featured in a hyped series called Here/Now which features 43 dances made for NYCB since 1988, some of which haven't been seen in a long while.

The Decalogue is Peck's second collaboration with indie/classical composer Sufjan Stevens, who here contributes a score for solo piano. Despite fears that it might not be full enough to support a 10-part dance with 10 dancers, its expressive, impressionistic passages provide ample emotional and dynamic variety. Peck mixes long-legged company stars Sara Mearns and Teresa Reichlin with dancers from all ranks, including other capable principals who often elude the brightest spotlight, such as Jared Angle and Gonzalo Garcia. In fact, Garcia is given the full ballerina treatment—he is partnered by three and five women in different sections; they support and lift him. At other times, men are guided by other dancers in the manner in which women traditionally are.

After dabbling in a heady mix of dance styles in last season's exciting premiere The Times Are Racing, Peck returns to ballet, and pointe shoes, for The Decalogue. The dancers have signature passages which are repeated in the preliminary sections, and are all tossed together in the finale. Mearns enters first, luxuriously unfurling her leg to the sky, doing a little flutter kick to punctuate a jump. In a duet, Mearns is restrained by Angle; she pulls away and seems uneasy in his embrace. Later, Rebecca Krohn moves even more slowly, extending her leg glacially as the piano notes sprinkle like raindrops.

The Decalogue: Tyler Angle and Rebecca Krohn.
Photo: Paul Kolnik

The dancers form a rosette, then peel away, as if in bloom. Other crisp tableaux are formed —a group clusters, each dancer posing at a different level; a column of dancers curves upstage, as motion passes from one dancer to the next in a chain reaction; one couple forms an arch that passes over the snaking line. Peck finds clever twists on the conventional phrases by orienting them differently, or flipping them spatially.

Stevens' score, played movingly onstage by Susan Walters, at times murmurs dreamily, courses powerfully, and skips lightly, almost like an additional character. It's clear Peck and Stevens have a strong artistic rapport. (It might have helped that it contrasted with the three works preceding it, which used early music.) Peck also designed the costumes—for the women, Balanchinean square-necked camisole leotards in subtly varying grey ombré; the men, dark unitards with pale blue yokes. That the young choreographer is also a company soloist and a talented costume designer comes as no surprise. It seems like he could do anything he sets his mind to.

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. 

Some Old Things Are New Again at FFD; NYCB's Stylish Premieres

Michael Trusnovec and company in Paul Taylor's Brandenburgs. Photo: Paul B. Goode 

Has Fall for Dance lost its steam? Or has the novelty worn off after a dozen years of mixing and matching divergent troupes?

The program I caught featured Compania Urbana de Dança of Brazil, Fang-Yi Sheu and Herman Cornejo, Houston Ballet, and Paul Taylor Dance Company. Part of the attraction of the festival is being exposed to types of dance you might not see very often. CUD's louche, fluid style (choreographed by Sonia Destri Lie) derived from street dance is at first a refreshing change from canonical techniques, as seen in Eu Danço—8 Solos No Geral. Performing against the exposed upstage wall, with striking raked lighting, emphasized the urban atmosphere. It was when the dancers began making movements most often associated with, say, ballet—a leap with spreading arms—when the vocabulary felt like a foreign language for the performers.

I'd seen Sheu and Cornejo do a beta version of her Pheromones at Works & Process last year. In its more fully fleshed out version, it carried a little more heft, but had shed some of the hungry experimental feel. If it made little lasting impact, how can one complain about seeing two of the most magnetic dancers perform together? Houston Ballet brought 10 dancers, rather than the two or three often employed by large companies at FFD as a way to participate, yet keep down costs. They performed Stanton Welch’s Maninyas (1996), to music by Ross Edwards. The dancers entered from upstage, passing under hanging fabric panels which skimmed over their upthrust fingertips. The couples, sorted by costume colors (the women, on point, notably wore split skirts which they flung about their legs like can-can dancers) performed a variety of duets, from romantic to confrontational. The movement hewed closely to the music’s rhythms to the point of predictability. But it was a substantial glimpse of a company with accomplished dancers.

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.

Pacific Northwest Ballet—A Prodigal Daughter Bids Farewell

Tide Harmonic. Carla Korbes & Joshua Grant. Photo: Angela Sterling 

This month, we bid at least temporary farewells to two outstanding ballerinas: the incomparable Wendy Whelan, at NYCB, and the luminous Carla Korbes at Pacific Northwest Ballet. Korbes' retirement is somewhat of a surprise as she's in her early 30s, about 15 years younger than Whelan. It still feels like just yesterday when she emerged within NYCB as a soloist and was given larger roles, only to cross the continent to join PNB under Peter Boal's direction, where she has flourished and certainly danced more leading roles than if she had remained in New York. 

A Justin Peck "preview performance" of Debonair, to George Antheil's score, in PNB's program at the Joyce this week featured Korbes in an extended duet with Jerome Tisserand. (The piece will "premiere" on Nov. 7 in Seattle, which presumably means it will get a fancy party.) With that in mind, I assume the rigorous vocabulary of double tours en l'air and pirouettes will only be honed by then, and Korbes' already formidable elasticity and plushness will deepen. In addition to the traditional couple, Peck has created two sections for one woman and three men in which the woman dances alone—a rarer sight than you might imagine in recent abstract ballets. 

Laser legs in Tide Harmonic. Rachel Foster and James Moore. Photo: Lindsay Thomas

Laser legs in Tide Harmonic. Rachel Foster and James Moore. Photo: Lindsay Thomas

The bill began with Chris Wheeldon's 2013 Tide Harmonic, with music by Jody Talbot, who also scored Alice's Adventures. Four women bolt onstage, circling one another, unleashing developpés whipping piqués; the men rush cross stage in deep pliés. Wheeldon excels at inventive partnering, here making ample use of the women's bare legs as weapons. (Remember laser cats? Like that, but with lasers emanating from toe shoes, not paws.) On one toe, with the other bent leg, ankle gripped by her partner, a woman is rocked menacingly, side to side. Another section features two men mirroring one another, alternating phrases, circling the stage with their arms clasped congenially around one another's back. The piece exudes daring and speed, with movement experiments fitted together like a puzzle. Talbot's music is filmic in feel, with suspenseful, rushing passages, but it can also be overly aggressive for the choreography, which itself seems amped up to match the bold dynamics. Lindsi Dec stood out for her bold lines and highly arched feet.

Alejandro Cerrudo's Memory Glow, set to a selection of moody music, showed his sinewy, organic vocabulary on these fine dancers. Ample drama came from the chiaroscuro lighting, as well as the on-stage light fixtures, two of which were dragged by their cords into place to form an arc around the dancers. Cerrudo is from the post-Forsythe sock school of choreography, which extends the softness from pliable feet into the whole body, allowing torsos and limbs to ripple and react to impulses. A fleeing woman would be caught by her ankle by a pursuing man, or even by her forehead. Once again, the women wore legless leotards while the men were completely covered in polo shirts and crinkled slate pants. Women seem to be the focus of these younger ballet choreographers, but the emphasis on their bareness pushes this tendency toward objectification, even if it's meant as a tribute.

Fashionable Premieres at New York City Ballet

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

Things have been so optimistic in the ballet world in recent years, that we can now reasonably expect to see good stuff on a New York City Ballet slate with four new works, even if three of them were generated with an eye toward the fashion angle of the season's gala.

Funérailles, a Liam Scarlett duet for newlyweds Tiler Peck and Robert Fairchild, boasted the fanciest duds, by Sarah Burton of Alexander McQueen: a navy-to-white ombre chiffon gown with a sculpted bustier for her, and a navy waistcoat for him, both with gold ornamentation. The pair emerged from the deep shadows, swooped about a bit to Liszt played by Elaine Chelton, and were re-subsumed by the dusk. Short, bittersweet, no harm done, with a whiff of romantic desperation lingering in the memory. (I'm torn over whether there should be a limit on how much this pair dances together; as wonderful as they are, it seems either too comfortable a setup, or forced.)

Teresa Reichlen and gang in Clearing Dawn. Photo: Paul Kolnik

Corps dancer Troy Schumacher (read Marina Harss' New York Times piece here) was finally invited to set a piece—Clearing Dawn—for his employer after giving it quite a successful go independently; his troupe, BalletCollective, with a focus on cross-genre collaboration, gives performances soon. Thom Browne's crisp grey and white prep school costumes—revealed after massive overcoats flew from the dancers' shoulders, to return at the end—set the schoolyard recess tone, replete with a game of tag, fisticuffs, make up hugs, contests, adrenalized romps, and the subsequent onset of fatigue. Judd Greenstein's score, laced through with coursing runs and fluttering flutes, complemented the interplay. Expect Schumacher to make more work for NYCB.

Belles-Lettres. Photo: Paul Kolnik

In a short time, Justin Peck has become the go-to guy for reliably good dances. Belles-Lettres, to César Franck, with warm-hued, oddly-mixed costumes by Mary Katrantzou, is a more serious dance than many of his previous ones, with less bright gaiety and fewer visual winks. It implements the geometries that have distinguished Peck's work, placing Anthony Huxley as the lone man/poet among four couples whose darting, hummingbird movements frequently follow the fleeting piano line played by Susan Walters. The predominant form is the couple, and the news is unusual pairings: Lauren Lovette with Jared Angle (nice to see him partnering a woman proportionate in size), Ashley Laracey and Adrian Danchig-Waring, Brittany Pollack with the exuberant Taylor Stanley, and Rebecca Krohn with Tyler Angle, both alabaster cool. The first part, with its darker lighting and minor-key mood, ends after Huxley's big solo; the light turns to gold, the music morphs into a major key. It showcased Huxley's rapidograph style, but the reliance on the traditional couple felt like a minor regression from Peck's inclusionary groups.


The big attraction was Alexei Ratmansky's Pictures at an Exhibition, to Mussgorsky's suite. As in past works by the choreographer, the sets—Kandinsky's Color Study Square parsed and tweaked in Wendall Harrington's projections—root the work in a Russian context without affecting the narrative. The 16 sections, often connected in smooth segues, feature groups and solos. Sara Mearns, mercurial, whipped out arabesque turns and slammed her palms on the stage. Wendy Whelan and Tyler Angle partnered, dancing to a pulsing melody, at moments evoking other duets which this frequent pairing danced, including a ship prow lift (Wheeldon's After the Rain) made more difficult with her feet on his torso instead of his thighs. The pair had earlier in the evening danced Wheeldon's This Bitter Earth, again made even more eloquent by virtue of Whelan's impending departure.

Gonzalo Garcia and company in Pictures at an Exhibition. Photo: Paul Kolnik

Four women who stomped inelegantly (and refreshingly) and windmilled their arms banded together in a gang. Underutilized principal Gonzalo Garcia was prominently featured in a duet with Tiler Peck; fairly matched physically, they often danced in unison. The similarly overlooked Abi Stafford paired with corps member Joseph Gordon, with Gretchen Smith, emergent from the corps. 

Because of Whelan's impending retirement, I kept wanting to read into the actions that revolved around her, including a moment when she knelt to scoop up some invisible thing on the ground as the company gathered around. As she was borne away by Amar Ramasar, Tyler Angle reached for her yearningly, looking bereft. After a false ensemble ending (another Ratmansky signature, seemingly), the company rushed downstage, the womens' movements—lifts with blossoming arms—punctuated the music like fireworks. It was a gleeful ending to another major, varied ballet by Ratmansky, now choreographing for both of New York's big companies, to our benefit.

I should add that the bill opened with Peter Martins' Morgen, a 2001 work to Strauss recostumed by Carolina Herrera. The set's gigantic columns, ostensibly meant to add classiness and provide places for the dancers to hide and mischievously emerge from, merely overwhelmed the dancers and made it difficult to light the stage adequately. All three women partnered with all three men, a disheartening fact once realized partway through the piece. Martins' fondness for complicated partnering, including a lot from the "baggage handler" school, and overly fussy steps that can vex these fine dancers, were in full view. The long evening would have been the perfect length without this piece, and Herrera's gowns could have been displayed in the lobby.