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(June 30, 20110) Over the past few years, audiences at Jacob’s Pillow and around the world have seen a number of artists whose names are tied to Ohad Naharin, Artistic Director of Israel’s Batsheva Dance Company—artists such as Hofesh Shechter, Andrea Miller, Barak Marshall, and, perhaps newest to Pillow audiences, Sharon Eyal. Eyal, a longtime dancer with Batsheva and current House Choreographer for the company, creates insightful, sensual, and highly physical works, as demonstrated in a powerful and beautifully performed evening of works in the U.S. debut of Carte Blanche, Norway’s national contemporary dance ensemble.

Killer Pig begins in the dark. A low drone rings out once, then again, and a spotlight is illuminated to reveal six women who appear whitewashed. The light flickers as the tableau shifts, the dancers breaking into movements with the percussive rhythm that will drive the entirety of the piece. They march on the balls of their feet and jut their shoulders forward in a swagger that is at once aggressive and alluring. They move in unison, beginning to stagger and break away from this controlled timing as their movements expand into a broader palette of idiosyncratic gestures and phrases. They flick up and grab a foot, hinge at the waist with arms contorted, and jump in the established rhythm, interspersing these motions every so often with a yell that conveys not only a desire for communication with each other, but a declaration of their humanity. These women, while they look absolutely otherworldly, are human, and this dancing reflects in many ways instinctual behaviors and desires.

Throughout the piece, ensemble sections—which are alternately in and out of unison, but consistently connected in their tone and rhythmic focus—are interspersed with solos, duets, and smaller group sequences.  Often a group stands and watches a main event, and their onstage observation illuminates for the offstage audience elements of Eyal’s choreography, which is perhaps most reminiscent of Naharin’s in her ensemble sections, when the dancers explode from tautly executed stomps into deeply weighted lunges and dynamic leaps with legs and arms wildly extended. She draws on older traditions as well in a solo colored by classical ballet turns and leaps, executed with the same ease and strength as her more contemporary phrases.

Unusual and hypnotic in its intensely honed simplicity is a section in which the dancers join hands with their arms raised over their heads and, recalling a painting of Grecian princesses, slowly parade in a circle on tiptoe before breaking off again into the weighted, aggressive movement we’ve come to expect from Eyal. After this, the piece almost appears to retrograde, the dancers re-congregating in familiar formations. The lighting design, powerful throughout, shifts dramatically here: in the end, the dancers are silhouetted in a moving tableau by a row of lights on the floor upstage. It’s quite literally a different perspective on them, and evokes the theme of duality that this work has raised; the contrasts between femininity and strength or aggression, between what is natural or organic and what is manmade or fabricated.

Love, which was originally commissioned for the dancers of Batsheva, opens suddenly in media res with twelve black-clad dancers brightly lit against a red floor. Already in motion, these men and women are recognizably more human than the eerie “characters” of the preceding work, without the coating of white powder and white garments that bestowed an alien pallor on the all-female cast of Killer Pig. There’s not much variation here in the vocabularies for the male and female dancers of the company; the contrast is instead between two movement themes, which are each executed (excellently) by both genders. The established muscular, stomping, sharp aggressiveness that dominated Pig recurs here, with more attention to thrusting and jumping. This is complemented by a slow, sinuous quality and expansive, indulgent phrases that recall a ballet adagio.

There is so much contrast and so much excellent dancing in Love that the stage seems, at times, occupied by more than the dozen members of Carte Blanche. Eyal’s visual eye keeps the dancers oriented in tableaux which, even if occurring only for a second, are consistently striking, and this keeps the piece from becoming overwhelming. However, it is not until the six women are once again alone on the stage that the piece really seems to settle into itself. The music shifts to a ballad by Lisa Germano, and each dancer executes a solo, unique yet un-disparate. The others watch intently and respectfully, as if listening to a declaration. After the last solo the stage empties, music playing on for a few moments. When the lights go dark they leave us conflicted and longing for more—we’ve had the closure we sought, but what a sweet experience to let go of.

(June 24, 2011) – It is not uncommon to leave a theater after a contemporary dance performance and overhear one patron say to another, “I didn’t get it.” As dance has become more experimental, it has in some ways become less accessible. But one contemporary choreographer who is unlikely to be accused of being vague or indecipherable is Larry Keigwin, as displayed in a program of four remarkably clear dances last night at Jacob’s Pillow.

The evening opened with Megalopolis, a work for a dozen dancers in black and silver spandex bodysuits with glitter accents. They wiggle, strut, and thrust their way across the stage in synchronized phrases evocative of a wacky Tim Burton-esque corps de ballet. Dancers split off in solos, duets, and trios, and we see an exploration of group dynamics as individual presences peek out and then are reabsorbed. Twice the music shifts from Steve Reich’s hypnotic “Sextet-Six Marimbas” to tracks by hip-hop artist M.I.A., and with each shift comes a surge of energy and a choreographic foray into hip-hop influenced movement. While somewhat predictable, Megalopolis was a rousing starting point and an excellent means by which to showcase the commendable versatility of the dancers of Keigwin + Company.

A work in four sections set to “Symphony No. 6 in D Major” by Haydn, Bird Watching features three men and two women of the company, all of whom are in bespangled tutus as the lights come up. Here is Keigwin at his campiest, his most affectionately mocking: watching and visibly aware of being watched, the dancers preen, strut, and flutter their arms as if dancing Swan Lake. Indeed, there is much ballet referenced here. Ashley Browne and Aaron Carr stand out as particularly well suited to this distilled classicism, but each dancer is strong.

After an intermission, the program resumes with Love Songs, a suite of six brief duets set to classic romantic ballads. Emily Schoen and Aaron Carr dance the first and last duets to Roy Orbison, and do so excellently. Schoen, who stood out for her calm yet commanding presence inMegalopolis, is a compellingly honest performer, particularly in the very last duet. Also well matched are Browne and Gary Schaufeld in two duets to Nina Simone. Their timing is the most unexpected and interesting, and their partnering is the most inventive; in a duet to Simone’s “I Put a Spell on You,” they physically manipulate each others’ movements in a clever interpretation of the lyrics. The partnering is strong too in Kristina Hanna and Matt Baker’s duet to Aretha Franklin’s “I Never Loved a Man (The Way I Love You)”:  Hanna is a dominant figure, a feisty force to be reckoned with as she pushes Baker around, seduces him, and finally carries him off the stage.

Closing the program is Keigwin’s fashion industry commentary RunawayRunaway begins while the house lights are up, as dancers begin to wander the stage, dressing and primping. With the men in suits and the women in short bright dresses with voluminous wigs, we immediately understand the world in which the piece will take place. With lighting that creates catwalk paths, a runway extending into the audience, and an (excellent) electronic score by Jonathan Melville Pratt, the theme is firmly solidified. So when the dancers begin marching robotically in grids, breaking sporadically into wild bouts of movement, we’re left once again with little doubt and little to ponder. Luckily, this piece has some of the strongest choreography of the evening, with eye-catching spatial patterns and exciting weight shifts. But there’s still a twinge of regret that Keigwin did not set out to challenge himself, his dancers, and his audience just a little bit more by giving out just a little bit less.

(This story first appeared on The Rogovoy Report.)

(June 23, 2011) – The curtain rose on the U.S. premiere of Joelle Bouvier’s Romeo and Juliet last night in the Ted Shawn Theatre at Jacob’s Pillow to reveal a single figure. A man, tall and bare-chested in a floor-length black skirt, began to turn in a circle around himself, grazing the floor of the stage with the end of a long pole which he slowly raised over his head. Did his circular arc of movement represent the nature of life, with its cycles of birth, growth, and death? Perhaps, but it was certainly evocative of the way in which Shakespeare’s classic tale of lovers torn apart by obstinately and arbitrarily warring families continues and will continue to be applicable throughout the years. It was a transfixing image, one that immediately established the power of what was to come: a mesmerizing reconfiguration of one of the world’s oldest tales of love and loss.

Ballet du Grand Théâtre de Genève, more commonly and simply referred to as Ballet Genève, is comprised of 22 dancers, each unique, all delightful in their simultaneous fluidity and precision. Throughout the evening-length work, ensemble sequences flourished, working with a vocabulary not only of jumps and turns, but also of subtle shifts of weight which influenced the extension of an arm or the step of a foot. This sequential way of moving looked beautifully natural on these dancers, whose classical training is never forgotten, merely utilized differently.

The inter-family conflict in this work is portrayed through elegant yet decidedly combative partnering, first between the men and women of the company. The women leap into the air, are caught by the men, and slip to the ground in defeat. Later, Mercutio and Tybalt (Nathanaël Marie and Loris Bonani) face off in a phenomenal duel combining elements of actual pantomimed fighting, competitive street dance, and intensely physical partnering reminiscent of contact improvisation. The dancers, always beautiful, become fearsome. Fearsome, too, is a haunting scene early on in the work where Romeo (Damiano Artale) and Juliet (Madeline Wong) are manipulated to and fro across the stage by the company (representing their respective families). The pushing and pulling of their bodies symbolizes not only Shakespeare’s scripted struggle of love versus familial obligation, but also the struggles that individuals continue to face in reconciling the decisions and preferences of their loved ones with their own beliefs and ideals.

In the way that a dramatic actress playing the role of Juliet would make choices to develop her character over the course of the play, Wong shapes an arc of emotional range in her dancing of Juliet. In her first solo she is absolutely buoyant, airborne in a series of leaps and suspended, floating balances. In the lovers’ first pas de deux, her airiness is subdued slightly, affected by the gravity and importance of the situation. She and Artale — an excellent pairing — are sensitive to each others’ touch and timing, delicate in their handlings. In the pas de deux after Tybalt’s death, her internal opposition manifests itself as she repeatedly throws herself into Artale’s arms, climbs up his body, and pushes herself off of his shoulders. Both have found a new weight to their movements, and their grief is palpable.

Wong, surrounded by women in black, enters the tomb where her life will end, and they bourrée and float their arms together, reminiscent of the Wilis in Giselle. The women leave and she dances alone, without any of the innocent, youthful vigor of her first solo. Artale enters to find her prone body and lifts her as he has previously done, without response. The pas de deux between the lovers after Juliet’s feigned death is touching in its tenderness and surprising in Wong’s ability to hold her body at once limp and poised. After Artale softly collapses to the floor, Wong stands and looks at him for several moments before sitting down again. She does not go to him, or dance a “second” suicide, but we understand immediately that this is the end.

What Bouvier has essentially created with this new Romeo and Juliet is a story ballet, but without the story as we know it — and without much conventional ballet. Sections of the familiar narrative are absent (what happened to Juliet’s arranged engagement to Paris?) and several of Shakespeare’s characters never materialize (the heads of the two families are Mercutio and Tybalt rather than the lovers’ parents, and there is no Friar Tuck to perform a wedding ceremony). Bouvier has stripped everything down, creating movement which, while technically challenging, innovative, and incredibly beautiful, never feels forced, and a plot consisting of only the most integral events. It is as if she were leaving it up to the viewer to decide the specifics of who these two people are, what defines them, and what draws them simultaneously together and apart; and, of course, these are the questions which make this story timelessly relevant.

(This story first appeared in The Rogovoy Report)

(June 20, 2011) The Jacob’s Pillow Season Opening Gala is unique and surprising in the broad scope of work represented in one evening of performances. And yet how could it be otherwise? How else to represent the dynamic range of programming that Executive Director Ella Baff is so well known for? This summer at the Pillow, audiences will see some of the finest artists in contemporary ballet, modern, tango, and dance theater. Saturday evening’s gala, an eclectic and extraordinary collection of choreography and performances, was indicative of another strong season.

The evening opened (after a quick pass through Blake’s Barn to glance at the extensive Annie Leibovitz photography exhibit, which surely warrants a second visit) with an untitled world premiere by Stanton Welch, impressively choreographed in four days for the students of the Ballet Program of The School at Jacob’s Pillow. Impressive also was the technical prowess of these 22 students, who hail from institutions and companies such as the Joffrey Ballet, Instituto Superior de Arte del Teatro Colon, the Dance Theatre of Harlem training program, and Indiana University. Welch’s choreography, which interspersed solos, duets, groups of duets, and ensemble sections, was light and lovely, and displayed the proficiency of its dancers. While some transitions seemed cluttered and a couple ensemble sections were unclear in terms of focus, it was a successful piece overall. I look forward to watching these dancers again next Saturday on the newly reconstructed Inside/Out stage.

Following the presentation of the Jacob’s Pillow Dance Award to Crytal Pite was “Silhouettes”, a duet by Mark Morris, performed endearingly and without pretension by Samuel Black and Dallas McMurray. The duet, a series of five vignettes set to Richard Cumming’s “Silhouettes—Five Pieces for Piano” played live by Yegor Shevtsov, was a believable exploration of enjoyable movement, from classical to casual to goofy. Black and McMurray were refreshingly unaffected, allowing impulse and imperfection to be a part of their performances.

(Note: after “Silhouettes” was a solo performance by Philip Glass of his 2006 composition “Dreaming Awake”. I know too little about music to make any educated assessment of his playing, but suffice it to say that merely to be in the same room as this master composer was a surreal experience.)

The second duet on the program, “Closer”, was choreographed by Benjamin Millepied and danced by Sarawanee Tanatanit and Jocelyn-Nathanaël Marie of Ballet du Grand Théâtre de Genève. Ballet Genève begins the regular season this Wednesday in the Ted Shawn Theatre with Romeo and Juliet, and if these dancers were any indication, it will be a mesmerizing performance. Tanatanit and Marie were luxurious in their delicacy and fluidity, neatly articulating Millipied’s sensual choreography while imbuing it with a natural sense of timing and weight.

In contrast to these three classically-influenced dances was David Neumann’s “Tough the Tough (redux)”.  Neumann, an incredibly sensitive, embodied, and present performer, was transfixing, even in the slightest of movements. He carried a chair, then many, onto the stage. He adjusted his shirt, looked for something dropped on the floor, and collapsed into beautiful release-technique infused movement sequences a la Trisha Brown. A voice (text by Will Eno, read by DJ Mendel) narrated much of his activity, breaking at one point to reassure the audience that it was “not meant as a distraction…we’re all people here.” This multi-disciplinary, theatrical approach to making dance has become increasingly prevalent in recent years, and Neumann exemplified a fully realized potential of this idea.

Ending the evening’s performances with a flourish was Larry Keigwin’s Keigwin + Company in “Runaway”, set to a driving score by Jonathan Melville Pratt. Exploring the weird world of high fashion, the dancers (as runway models) traversed invisible catwalks with a robotic strut that broke into frantic running. These dancers hold little back, attacking Keigwin’s sharp, physical choreography with vigor.

In true Jacob’s Pillow fashion, the night ended (after dinner and a live auction to raise money for Inside/Out performances, live music, and scholarships for the programs of The School) with dancing under the tent. But, as luck would have it, the real dancing is just beginning.