ABT's Fall Season Wrap-Up

Marcelo Gomes, Cory Stearsn, and Herman Cornejo in Fancy Free. Photo: Marty Sohl

ABT's two-week fall rep season at the Koch included a production premiere of Raymonda Divertissements, choreographed by Petipa with staging by Irina Kolpakova and Artistic Director Kevin McKenzie. Hee Seo and James Whiteside danced the leads, interesting complements of cool and hot, both with crisp, taut lines. The duo of Misty Copeland and Sarah Lane were warmly energetic and well-matched. Corps member Skylar Brandt danced a solo with lucidity, and soloist Christine Shevchenko once again demonstrated her burnished technique that has garnered her more and more roles. 

One thing that struck me immediately was how big the larger group of four corps men looked on the Koch stage (as exemplified by Alex Hammoudi); this is New York City Ballet's house, and the men are generally smaller in stature. Although ABT's ensemble men looked as if they could use another week of rehearsal, all nine couples performed shoulder lifts smoothly. The ballet is a reliable, classical confection and repertory staple, if a tad dry, to hummable music by Glazounov, costumed in hues of vanilla cream frosting by Barbara Matera.

How is it possible to distinguish Fancy Free, that 1944 Jerome Robbins staple to Leonard Bernstein (here staged by NYCB's Jean-Pierre Frohlich), performed with clockwork regularity in New York? How about Cornejo's triple tours en l'air into splits, and Marcelo Gomes' unfettered goofiness? Add in an aw-shucks sweetness by Cory Stearns, and welcome appearances by Stella Abrera and Gillian Murphy, and you have a rejuvenated vehicle with sparkle and pyrotechnics.  

James Whiteside and Misty Copeland in With a Chance of Rain. Photo: Marty Sohl

Frederick Ashton's Jardin aux Lilas was staged for the company by Amanda McKerrow and John Gardner. In the ballet's few years' absence from the rep, I'd forgotten how succinct and probing Ashton's choreography can be. Simple head turns, body direction changes, and lifted hands speak volumes about the players' psychological states. Two couples in love with the others' partners arrange furtive trysts in the sylvan moonlight, wary of being caught. Its simplicity and humanity makes you yearn for more Ashton. Chris Wheeldon's Thirteen Diversions (2011), to Britten, is a handsome, elegant dance for 24. Bob Crowley's silver and black costumes, and Brad Field's at times retina-searing lighting, underscore the ambition of the dance. But it hints at a weakness for the ubiquitous Wheeldon, in that apart from narrative ballets and icons such as After the Rain, he creates lovely, flowing dances that can be indistinguishable. However, it did match Boylston with Stearns, another unexpected, satisfying pairing.

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. 

Crystalline Structure and Lush Romanticism

Tanowitz's Heaven on One's Head. Photo: Yi-Chun Wu

This week brought three engaging dance premieres. Two were by Pam Tanowitz in her debut at the Joyce; the other by Liam Scarlett for NYCB. Passagen, by Tanowitz, is a short work for Maggie Cloud and Melissa Toogood that references numerous female duets that have popped up throughout Tanowitz's long-form oeuvre. The title is taken from the musical composition by John Zorn, played by violinist Pauline Kim Harris, who triangulates between three onstage music stands, and off of whom the dancers play. The duo often performs in tandem, underscoring not only their precision and awareness, but a double articulation of the fascinating shapes. Their elegant slate and brocade tunics are designed by Reid Bartelme. 

Tanowitz fully inhabits every venue her company performs at, often transforming it, and this held true for the Joyce. Heaven on One's Head was danced by nine, clad in red velvet shorts and tops (by Bartelme) that match the Joyce's proscenium curtain, which at first was raised halfway. The upstage brick wall of the Joyce's stage was exposed, its ruggedness and rectangular floating niche lit boldly by Davison Scandrett, who flooded the stage with sun-strong light and splashes of red. The four members of the FLUX Quartet sit in the pit playing Colin Noncarrow's score, from strident to pensive.
 

Melissa Toogood and Maggie Cloud in Tanowitz's Passagen. Photo: Yi-Chun Wu

Tanowitz's dancers have performed in pointe shoes in the past; here, they are barefoot, the better to firmly feel the floor and press against it. (Two members of her company—Toogood and Dylan Crossman—are Cunningham alum, and if you saw Merce's company, you've seen the world's strongest human feet, like tree roots). Ballet is the basic language, but it's accented with the angular modernism of Cunningham, as well as quirks that are often the result of recombinants, like a game of Exquisite Corpse, but with dance—a contracted torso above diamond-shaped legs, an oddly canted head, arms in low fifth behind the body rather than in front. 

We see bird-like imagery in the upright carriages, darting movements, and still poses with forced-arch feet or extended limbs. Every position is crisp and intentional, and the overall exactitude amplifies the larger, space-eating phrases to feel that much more dramatic. Tanowitz plays with the curtain legs, placing dancers half exposed, or looping onstage briefly. Late in the work, Toogood dances on a small thrust built downstage of the curtain, which lowers to show only the other dancers' busy feet. She looks toward the curtain with some wistfulness, and rejoins for the finale.

Sara Mearns and Adrian Danchig-Waring in Scarlett's Acheron. Photo: Paul Kolnik

British choreographer Liam Scarlett's Acheron, a commission for New York City Ballet, premiered at the Koch Theater. In contrast to Tanowitz's formal, crystalline movement patterns, Acheron is more about being submerged in the impressionistic reverie of romance. An aggressive Poulenc organ line, played by Michael Hey, charges the opening atmosphere with drama and urgency; it cedes to symphonic sections, and ebbs to a softer, lustrous tone. At the start, the large group of dancers walks backward toward us; the corps is variously deployed to evoke waves sweeping across the stage, depositing one or two dancers to perform Scarlett's physical regimen of ballet. 

The women wear calf length dresses with purple bodices; the men, purple ombre cutoff tights (designed by Scarlett). Their torsos' musculature is emphasized in the many lifts that become an essential tool throughout the dance, and also underscores the high tone of romance, the equation of strength and vulnerability, of being swept off one's feet. Mark Stanley's dark lighting scheme abets the sense of mystery and impressionism. Antonio Carmena plays the lone man, free to leap and hurtle speedily across the stage, while three main pairs focus inward. There's a pliancy and airiness to Robert Fairchild and Tiler Peck's lifts, and she wends around him like a sleek cat. Megan Fairchild and Gonzalo Garcia dance a section with great propulsion and forceful partnering, and Andrew Veyette curves his body protectively around Sara Adams. While Scarlett doesn't set forth any radical new structure, there is a lush fervor and muscularity to his romantic vision.