All-Star Break: Kings of the Dance and Tom Gold Dance

Flying Kings: Gomes, Hallberg, Côté, Matvienko, Vasiliev. Photo: Gene Schiavone

Just as Linsanity was peaking, along came the NBA all-star break, when the top players get to show off in a different way. The New York ballet world is undergoing a sort of all-star break itself in the wake of NYCB's winter season. Of course, it's not like NYCB or ABT's dancers are lounging around eating bon bons... they tour between NY seasons, or dance with other companies, so the break, or vacuum, is really for us.

Last weekend, the 2012 Kings of the Dance—Opus 3—performed at City Center. This year’s lineup included ABT’s Marcelo Gomes and David Hallberg (also, Bolshoi), Guillaume Côté (National Ballet of Canada), Denis Matvienko (Mariinsky Ballet), and Ivan Vasiliev (Mikhailovsky Ballet, and until recently, the Bolshoi). The point of this Ardani Artists project, like many in its portfolio, is to allow ballet to fiddle around and experiment with contemporary styles, and to explore other aspects of physical and emotional expressiveness.

The main drag on this program is that the curatorial taste leaned on a certain genre of European, neurotic gesture-heavy contemporary ballet. At the end of the evening, Mauro Bigonzetti (whose work Jazzy Five comprised the first half), Marco Goecke, Patrick de Bana, and Edward Clug’s vocabularies unfortunately blended together in the mind—a mixture of twitches, cause-and-reaction limb work, and dramatically lit musculature. Even these admittedly fantastic dancers found little in this material to make memorable, although both Hallberg and Gomes worked best in their Bigonzetti solos, taking the task to heart, and Vasiliev blasted off earth in his leaps.

A nice surprise—Gomes choreographed KO’d, the appealing finale, set to a symphony composed by Guillaume Côté. Gomes basically hewed to a classical vocabulary, which seemed to relax and liberate the men. Côté exited after a group section and emerged playing the piano for a brief time. (Too bad these guys have no skills.) An easy collegiality made for an uplifting ending on a bill that could have used some more aesthetic variety.

Tyler Angle and Simone Messmer. Photo: Eugene Gologursky

On Monday night, Tom Gold Dance presented a compact program on the ultra-compact stage at Florence Gould Hall. This ex-NYCB soloist put together a ridiculously gifted cast including current principals Sara Mearns, Tyler and Jared Angle, Robert Fairchild, and Abi Stafford (all from NYCB), and the rising star soloist Simone Messmer at ABT. They performed four of Gold's dances which varied in tone and musical genre. The opening group dance, filled with coy touches, was set to Asian-like music by Alexandre Desplat. Three lovely duets to Romantic piano music (played live), danced poetically by Messmer and Tyler Angle, showed Gold's knack with creating interesting finishes. Three couples performed the more classical Mozart Variations; Stafford, of smaller build and refined features, especially shone in this close context.

The ensemble crammed onstage for Tango Fantasie, in which Fairchild showed his magnetism and cool style, and partners Tyler Angle and Sara Mearns smoldered. Of course, we want to see this caliber of performer as much as possible, but it was hard to see the dance for the dancers. No doubt the performance was meant to entice further support for future programming on a larger stage, a chance Gold certainly merits. Especially if he can assemble all-stars like this.

Ballet Arizona—the stage as artist's canvas

Ballet Arizona in Play. Photo by Kyle Froman

While it involves most of the senses, dance is very visual. So when someone like Ib Andersen choreographs, the results feel even more attentive to the entire visual experience. Andersen gained renown as a dancer with the Royal Danish Ballet and New York City Ballet, and is also a visual artist. He is now artistic director of Ballet Arizona, at the Joyce through the weekend with a program called Play, to a melange of classical music. 

As an introduction for those of us who'd never seen the company, Play began helpfully, if obviously, with rudimentary ballet steps done to the Mozart song that we know as "Twinkle Little Star" and that accompanies learning the alphabet. Pretty sparkly lights dangled up and downstage, and the dancers were cloaked in bright light (designed by Michael Korsch, who made ample use of cones of light throughout). Solos for each of the 10 dancers followed in this longish segment.

A primer of Andersen's style, each subsequent section varied in tone and complexity. In the first act, the dancers changed costumes for each of the five sections, wearing mostly some version of a leotard, augmenting a clear line. The most striking movement, to Britten, featured the 10 women in ecru leotards, linking raised hands and clustering and moving apart like an accordion. Their individual personas took a backseat to the crystalline formal arrangements vaguely reminiscent of Tudor's Monotones; the overall effect was compositionally stunning. Subsequent quartets and pairs emphasized, somewhat puzzingly, gymnastic moves, or the plasticity and dimensionality of two bodies snaking and intertwining.

The second act was a stand-alone unit of modules to Stravinsky, the dancers in bright pumpkin and teal (by Andersen, who designed all the costumes). Slightly more traditional in technique and affected gaiety, it showcased Andersen's fluency with the "connective tissue" of dance: entrances and exits and segues between phrases. 

It can't be easy for out of town companies to come to New York, where many of the finest dancers are seen regularly (paragon of perfection David Hallberg was in the audience, for crying out loud). But Andersen knows how to emphasize each dancer's strengths, and the company is extremely well rehearsed. Andersen's distinctive balletic voice created vibrant stage imagery that remains burnished in the mind.

Top Five Quibbles with Romeo + Juliet

Yes, it's a ballet listicle! • It's not like I want to pile on Peter Martins, but after seeing his 2007 Romeo + Juliet at New York City Ballet again last night, I feel compelled on behalf of the dancers, pouring their hearts out onstage (particularly Tiler Peck and Zachary Catazaro as the title pair), Prokofiev, Shakespeare, and the entire audience. The story and score are so strong that you'd think it would be difficult to fail... mmm, nope. Some reasons why:

Lazy choreography. My main objection to Martins' version is the flaccid choreography. The ballroom scene, so charged by the political situation and the pompous music, could not be more rudimentary. Literally, a bunch of six-year olds could perform it. (Actually, some six-year olds do kick it in the mandolin dance with handsprings and triple turns.) I don't mind the simplicity of MacMillan's version regularly performed in New York by ABT, but it also has an import and hauteur appropriate to the impending tragedies. And it's one thing to make it accessible and relatable, but Martins' is simply boring. (Ironic as I often feel like Martins overchoreographs, making his dancers look inept.) Steps in the many group scenes remind me of beginner ballet class combinations that you could do in your sleep: tombée, pas de bourrée, grand jété... and repeat. To squander such dance talent and the occasion of a captive audience on such blandness is depressing.

The design. Danish artist Per Kirkeby created a simple, probably relatively economical central module that serves as house, balcony, friar's lair, Juliet's bedroom, and morgue. It does none of these well, however. No doubt intentionally cartoonish (because after all, we are sitting in a posh theater), it looks more like a high school theater project, and as I've thought before, something from the Flintstones. The centerpiece sits on a dais reached by three stairs that must be the bane of all the dancers' lives. The little modules wheel apart and together noisily and awkwardly and are sometimes feebly covered by drawn curtains. The only redeeming thing about it is that it doesn't have to be completely moved offstage. The costumes, also by Kirkeby, also point out the obvious fact that it's fiction we're watching. But the hideous primary colors worn by the men look cheap, and the robes worn by the townsfolk look like they wandered in from some Kabuki opera across the plaza.

Two acts. Hey, I'm all for trimming the program length at NYCB, which usually tends to about 2:30 hours. As it is, this two-act version runs about 2:20. It may be somewhat Pavlovian (I like ABT's MacMillan three-act version, if you couldn't tell), but more likely it's that the catalyst that sets off the entire tragic ending—Tybalt's killing of Mercutio—happens after the intermission, rather than just before. It just feels bald and hasty and doesn't let that initial murder sink in properly before avalanching to the end.

Casting. For sure, principal Tiler Peck is one version of an ideal Juliet—young, fresh faced, technically astute, and emotionally expressive. And the relative unknown corps dancer Zachary Catazaro fits Romeo to a T. While his technique is less polished, he is strong and puppyish enough to be convincingly smitten; I have no quibble with his performance. It's just that within the context of the entire company, it's very odd for his wingmen Mercutio and Benvolio to be principal Andrew Veyette and soloist Adrian Danchig-Waring. Both would be completely valid Romeos, so for them to be in supporting roles must be a bit maddening. I get that one of the impetus' for Martins to create this R+J was the onslaught of young talent, besides honoring Lincoln Kirstein's 100th birthday. But the rank structure exists for a reason, and when these rare full-length lead roles come along, that seniority should be rewarded.

The slap. It's just wrong. The dancers are up there acting out sword fights, murders, marriage, not actually killing one another or getting married. An angry gesture done properly would have been fine, not the audible slap given Peck by Jock Soto. It's why we have art. Oh, maybe that's the problem here...

Don't Hate Ballet Because It's Beautiful

Altro Canto 1. But they didn't bring the candles to the Joyce... Photo by Marie-Laure Briane.

A surfeit of style in dance can be viewed as a sign that there’s a certain lack of thought or seriousness, and therefore little redeeming value. (See Lana del Rey.) Les Ballets de Monte Carlo visited the Joyce Theater last week, its first New York run in many years. At first glance, Karl Lagerfeld’s gold pleather bustiers, jeans, and bubble skirts (worn by both women and men) in Altro Canto 1 (2006) screamed “slick!” But company artistic director Jean-Christophe Maillot’s fluid, clever choreography supplied enough invention and appeal to overcome “don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.” To melodic music by Monteverdi, Marini, and Kapsberger, the mixed pairings and groupings (grounded by Bernice Coppieters) provided texture and dynamics.

The second work on the bill, Opus 40 (2000), contrasted in no small part because of its score, by Meredith Monk. Another big name, artist George Condo, designed the visuals, which included simple multi-hued dresses and a shimmery lighting that reflected on the backdrop, like the sun playing on a lake. Monk’s vocalise set a tone of childlike innocence and whimsy that at times felt forced. That the lead trio happened to be among the most seasoned members of the company buttressed the inconsistent notion that age is mostly a state of mind.

New York City Ballet presented a solid program on February 17. It led off with Balanchine’s Agon (1957), whose crisp, brief scenes—modern interpretations of a French dance manual—are like perfect little dishes that complement one another. Wendy Whelan and Teresa Reichlen brought their respective warmth and coolness, and Adrian Danchig-Waring showed his strength as a Balanchine interpreter. Jerome Robbins' Fancy Free (1944) featured Robert Fairchild, Andrew Veyette, and Daniel Ulbricht. All three can command the stage, but Fairchild does it slyly, Veyette jovially coercing, and Ulbricht by demanding it.

Balanchine’s Tschaikovsky Suite No. 3 is a confusing mashup where beauty does seem a gloss. The first three parts (done in 1970) are viewed through a washy scrim, conjuring the effect of dirty eyeglasses. In "Elégie," we see the familiar ballet trope that you can have true love unless your mate is lost in a bunch of clones. Sara Mearns, in bare feet and bubble gum pink tulle, rushes about urgently, chased by Ask La Cour. Not Mr. B’s finest, nor are the following two sections ("Valse Mélancolique" and" Scherzo"). 

But in the final section, "Tema con Variazioni" (otherwise known as Themes and Variations, a classic staple choreographed in 1947 and combined into the whole in 1970), the scrim rose; the steps were lucid, crisp, and architectural; and my heart sang. Megan Fairchild and Joaquin de Luz both possess admirably solid technique. De Luz knows just how to temper his natural flair; Fairchild is confident enough to be gaining an electricity that is beginning to match that of her frequent partner.

NYCB's winter season ends this week, which also sees Ballet Arizona at the Joyce, and the spectacle Kings of the Dance at City Center that includes prodigal son David Hallberg.

Mindhive relink: Lin, Downton Abbey, Justified

Posted yesterday, before I finished archiving my Sunday Arts blogs:
http://fullheartcleareyes.blogspot.com/2012/02/mindhive-jeremy-lin-downton-abbey.html

Meg Stuart’s BLESSED: Channelling Beckett, 1/19/12

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Meg Stuart’s BLESSED: Channelling Beckett, at NYLA.

http://www.thirteen.org/sundayarts/blog/meg-stuarts-blessed-channelling-beckett/2101/

Francisco Camacho. Photo by Ian Douglas.

BLESSED, choreographed by Meg Stuart (an ex-pat now living in Europe), was performed at New York Live Arts last week. Her work is somewhat enigmatic in part due to the rarity of her stateside performances. BLESSEDhas a particularly ambitious conceit and set (designed by ­­­­Doris Dziersk). A compact utopia—a small house, palm tree, and swan—is rendered in cardboard, inhabited by the guileless Francisco Camacho. Dressed in crisp whites and shower shoes, he exaggeratedly robo-marches around his domain, elbows and knees at perfect 90 degree angles. It begins to rain, and in alarmingly short order, the palm tree wilts, droops, and crumples to the ground. The sleigh-sized swan’s head sags sadly to one side, and the roof buckles in the center, but doesn’t give way entirely, at least for awhile.

Zombies and Blackboards, 1/12/12

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Zombies and Blackboards: Daniel Linehan and Michael Klien/Steve Valk.

http://www.thirteen.org/sundayarts/blog/zombies-and-blackboards/2080/

Salka Ardal Rosengren, Thibault Lac, and Daniel Linehan in Zombie Aporia. Photo by Ian Douglas.

I love me some ballet, but focusing away from traditional dance vocabularies, movement can be generated in many ways. Two shows I saw this past week demonstrated how artists use inventive methods as both a means and an end—Daniel Linehan’s Zombie Aporia and Michael Kliën’sChoreography for Blackboards. These were, respectively, part of theAmerican Realness (tbspMGMT) and COIL (PS 122) festivals, timed to entice the multiple eyeballs of the Association of Performing Arts Presenters (APAP) conference-goers (as well as Under the Radar).

Zombie Aporia, at the Abrons Art Center, was performed by Linehan (who studied at PARTS and is based in Brussels) with Salka Ardal Rosengren and Thibault Lac. Working with spoken and sung words as much as dance, at times they took directives from a laptop, or one another; recombining verses, moving in a naively appealing style. This childlike aura was amplified through sections that evoked games like Simon Says led by an orchestra conductor, and follow-the-bouncing-ball sing alongs. In an especially poignant section, verses scrolled on a laptop controlled by Rosengren, eyes closed. She held Lac’s hand as he acted as the human microphone, loudly speaking the words that Linehan, on tiptoe and reading from the laptop, whispered into his ear. This simple, interdependent poetry of this part contrasted with other more robust scenes, with Rosengren in particular forcefully reciting text as Lac created vibrato by squeezing her body, or whipping her forward and back. Sound and movement were inseparable, performative agents of a powerful curiosity and intelligence.