Riding the Amazonian Whitewaters

Marzia Memoli, Oliver Greene-Cramer, Daisy Jacobson, Miriam Gittens,
Renan Cerdeiro, and Nicole Morris in Diabelli. Photo by Christopher Duggan

New York dance audiences are truly spoiled with a panoply of genres, the best dancers and choreographers, and incredible choice pretty much year-round. Resident companies such as New York City Ballet, ABT, Alvin Ailey, Paul Taylor, Dance Theater of Harlem, Martha Graham, and many more give annual seasons that are by now a given, and to some extent taken for granted. That’s not to say that it’s ever easy to mount a season, especially with the high costs associated with developing and producing a run. These steadfast beacons have become the tentpoles of an environment absolutely rich with dance; you have to wonder how much of the available pool of resources they absorb, along the way possibly attracting dollars that might go to less-known groups. Always debatable.

I speak of the impermanent groups led by legends of modern dance, prominent among them Twyla Tharp, who has been a semi-regular on New York City Center’s calendar over the years. This year’s program felt particularly robust and lush: Diabelli (1998) in its NY premiere, and this year’s Slacktide, with Philip Glass’ mesmerizing score played live by Third Coast Percussion. There were no featured big-name guest dancers, only gifted and hard-working individuals (some Tharp veterans) with peak technique and presence, and the flexibility to rehearse sufficiently to meet the rigorous demands of the performances.

It is surprising at first that New York has never seen Diabelli, but consider the heavy lift—it’s one hour long, with 10 dancers flying on and offstage in myriad combinations of Tharp’s demanding modern ballet and partnering sections. It’s a prime showcase of dancers’ superb intellects and the ability to memorize the material: the counts, musical sections, and the steps in three dimensions and countless recombinants of all body parts. Geoffrey Beene’s clever, unisex tuxedo tank unitards lend an air of sporty formality, and Diabelli’s 33 Variations on a Waltz provide a lively sonic background, played live by Vladimir Rumyantsev.

The dance feels organized around societal structures—military-like strides, social engagements observed by others, goading and friendly interactions. There’s a perpetual showiness about the dance, a tacit understanding that the performers will entertain the audience, which in turn must pay attention and dispense kudos. It’s Tharp at her finest, demanding balletic finesse, with dashes of ease and humor, all set in a crystalline structure supported by well-chosen music.

Alexander Peters and Miriam Gittens in Slacktide. Photo by Christopher Duggan

Slacktide is meant in part as a coda to In the Upper Room, one of Tharp’s masterworks. At the start, a fist is spotlit, connecting it to the finale of Upper Room. But in contrast to that work’s heavenly allusions, with its blazing lighting and cumulus fog, Slacktide swims in murky depths, all inky blues and blacks, with Victoria Bek’s sly, black, naval side-buttoned duds outfitting the cast of a dozen.

Third Coast Percussion plays Glass’ haunting Aguas da Amazonia live in the pit. Glass may be a household name, but he’s still underappreciated. This score brings many gifts to the table—of course, the driving rhythms, a contained ferocity, but also a witchy breathiness in the flutes and xylophones, and a jam-like looseness to the melodies. Tharp relies on her modern ballet lexicon, veering into lush organic ovals and swooping limbs. In a passage toward the end, six dancers, arranged in two vees, slip, fold, and eddy through hypnotic variations to a kindred musical passage—like rapids running the Amazon. I wanted it to go on and on.

Tharp has been briefly affiliated with large companies, notably with ABT, where she created a number of iconic dances. Her restless intellect and curiosity in exploring myriad other forms have led her to some remarkable milestones, including on Broadway, film, books, TV, and more. But she continually returns to the proscenium stage with her ambitious dances, and we must pay well-deserved attention.

Forces of Nature—Huppert, and One-Upping Nature's Wintry Sky

Isabelle Huppert in Mary Said What She Said. Photo: Lucie Jansch

In Robert Wilson’s production of Mary Said What She Said at NYU Skirball, Isabelle Huppert commands the stage with a 90-minute monologue in French, spoken so rapidly at times that I could barely read the projected English titles. The text (by Darryl Pinckney) recounts Mary Queen of Scots’ life's musings on betrothal, marriage, arrest, imprisonment and exile, and her relationships to the other Marys and men in general. Huppert’s stamina and focus are superhuman and essential to draw us in and hold tight, no simple task in this minimalistic production.

That said, “minimalistic” is misleading when referring to Wilson’s work. We’ve seen him go maximalist in epics such as Einstein on the Beach, Black Rider, Time Rocker, and other ambitious operas with songs, large casts, and multiple dream-like sets. Mary Said is a historically-based, stream-of-consciousness monologue to showcase a 71-year-old star deploying all her powers (plus a silhouette double, seen briefly). Letter to a Man, about Nijinsky’s descent into madness, was a similar tour-de-force featuring another star, Mikhail Baryshnikov, with a blazing lighting scheme and a few striking props, but mainly driven by the physical presence and loaded personality of the performer.

As I write, it's early March, and in the Hudson Valley, a pale pewter cloud bank sits heavily over a luminous white horizon; the sun battling with the remnants of an icy winter. It resembles a version of Wilson's lighting scheme for parts of Mary Said, if dialed way down. Mary Said carries many of the elements that unmistakably mark a Wilson show: the otherworldly Arctic lighting that sears your eyeballs. The hyper formal poses and white pancake makeup. Costumes, often evoking a past (or future) era, immaculately tailored to carve dramatic silhouettes against the light. The frozen, awkwardly articulated poses held for long spells, alternating with frenetic gestures and repetitive pacing. A lone sculpted white shoe popping up on its own little platform, and disappearing just as mysteriously. These all amount to a crash course in Wilson’s microcosm.

Isabelle Huppert in Mary Said What She Said. Photo: Lucie Jansch

At the start, Mary stands stock still in shadow, arms locked in rigid poses, while she begins her recitation. She is a tired soul trapped in a life not of her own choosing, and yet she’s made to bear the consequences of actions she may or may not have caused, including murdering her second husband, Henry Stuart. Outwardly, she appears perfectly poised and groomed. She was as loaded a symbol as could be, Queen of Scots, briefly Queen of France, and yet in the end, simply a woman.

As the monologue unspools, Huppert moves more broadly, venturing downstage in small increments, sussing out her true self buried beneath layers of stiff brocade and make-up. As if possessed, in the denouement she spits out repeated phrases while briskly walking downstage and retracing her steps backward, again and again, in a cathartic rant. (After this frenetic scene, Huppert’s breathing is barely visible—a display of her remarkable training and ability.) Nearing death, her soul is freed from the confines of societal expectations, and yet bound within Jacques Reynaud’s rigid gown and Wilson’s inescapable spotlight, which she can never truly escape.

Mary Said is part of NYU Skirball’s Winter/Spring season under the direction of Jay Wegman. It’s a notably strong, dance-heavy lineup with many participants from abroad. The production has support from Dance Reflections by Van Cleef & Arpels, which has become a major benefactor of the arts in recent seasons. 

A New Paquita by Ratmansky

Sara Mearns and Chun Wai Chan and company in the Grand Pas in Alexei Ratmansky’s Paquita. Photo: Erin Baiano

Alexei Ratmansky’s new Paquita, premiering at New York City Ballet on February 6, at the outset feels formal and a bit dry. There’s no set or projection, unusual for new productions, but evocative of many of Balanchine’s ballets where dance is the sole focus. David Gabriel partners Erica Pereira and Emma Von Enck in the first part, the Minkus Pas de Trois by Balanchine, breaking apart for duets and solos. They hit their marks in the demanding phrases, dotted with moves proving their technical chops (particularly Gabriel, dealt a long chain of double tours en l’air plus pirouettes, and later cabrioles landing on one leg and held). I warmed to the dancers, shaking off some residual resistance to the Grand Prix competition feel of the start.

The second part, the Grand Pas, begins, with groups of women in Jérôme Kaplan’s lovely black tutus with gold satin chest bands and yellow and rose-hued underlayers; eventually 15 join forces in varying groups or solos. Sara Mearns enters, set apart by a white satin camisole band. Of course the dancing is luscious and indulgent—it’s Mearns. (There are two others who perform the role on other nights.) But we really understand that she’s The Ballerina when Chun Wai Chan strides on, his noble carriage and laser-like focus on Mearns revealing his purpose. Until that moment, the dance seemed to be primarily a technical showcase. Now, it’s a romance with passion and intrigue waiting to unfold.

Indiana Woodward in Paquita. Photo: Erin Baiano

With NYCB since 2021, Chan has been a wonderful addition. In general, NYCB’s men are shadows of the women, in part because Balanchine’s work (and ballet in general) revolves around the ballerina, but also in terms of self-regard and presentation. It’s as if men have never been completely encouraged to carry themselves with authority, demanding to be seen; it’s likely subliminal. (Again, I’m generalizing; there are exceptions.) It’s not a bad thing, more of a company philosophy. But because Chan came from Houston Ballet, and before that Guangzhou Art School, modesty doesn’t seem to be an entrained trait. He is bold and assertive even while simply walking, expressed in his confident stride and proud carriage. It’s more the bold attitude of an entitled prince than a support character. And a captivating, and physically daring, dancer like Mearns requires an equally magnetic partner such as Chan. He’s strong as well, smoothly pressing her overhead in numerous lifts. Mearns catches at the heart with her vulnerability and physical daring, nearly always nailing a dramatic rendition. Ambition, daredevilry, drama, and skill.

Back to the women in Paquita. There are six variations following the pas de deux, each dynamically and emotionally different. And each is danced by a principal or soloist, infusing the entire final third of the ballet with a sparkle and snap. Indiana Woodward could barely contain her elation, hitting each beat with precision. Olivia MacKinnon, a lovely dancer now in major roles with regularity; Emily Kikta, with a velvety precision and riveting presence. Unity Phelan, who merits an Iron Woman award for dancing lead roles in the evening’s three dances. Plus the ensemble, who impart the challenging sections with confidence and brio.

Erica Pereira, David Gabriel and Emma Von Enck in Balanchine’s Minkus Pas de Trois from
Alexei Ratmansky’s Paquita. Photo: Erin Baiano

Paquita allows Ratmansky to indulge his wonkery, plunging into historical documents and ballet’s long history, and making it anew. But is it what audiences want to see? Given his success at City Ballet with new works, viewers are eager to sample whatever he offers in his prodigal return to the fold. In any case, the dancers are primed for works like this, even if it could benefit from more rehearsal and finesse. Let’s see what Ratmansky presents next.

New York Notebook, January 2025

Justin Faircloth, Evelyn Lilian Sanchez Narvaez, Wendell Gray II, Jay Carlon. Courtesy New York Live Arts. Photo: Maria Baranova

Super Nothing

Miguel Gutierrez
New York Live Arts, Jan 12-18, 2025

Miguel Gutierrez has, over decades, been predictably unpredictable. He has woven into performances sections of spoken text, multimedia, performance, and dance. In Super Nothing, at New York Live Arts, perhaps what’s most surprising is that nearly the entire 70-minute piece comprises abstract and gestural movement. Also, that movement is set to music (by Rosana Cabán), wide-ranging in style and dynamic, thoughout the work. As Gutierrez says in his program note, his main emotion of late is grief, primarily about the state of politics here and abroad.

And so in the face of what feels like shouting into the wind and being blown backward, he turns to the dancer’s tool kit, the body. He has set the work on four remarkable performers: Evelyn Lilian Sanchez Narvaez, Wendell Gray II, Justin Faircloth, and Jay Carlon. For about an hour, with little apparent repetition, each one moves continuously — thousands of small movements strung together, some gestural and deeply evocative, others freeform, expressing a palette of emotions, or simply conveying joy or sorrow. Carolina Ortiz designed the gorgeous variegated lighting, including a costume change interlude when the lights came to life and took over as the focus.

From my notes on the movement: free, expressive, playful, twitching, arm paddling, staggering around perimeter, spasming, bracelet shaking while ascending stairs, seal flippers pushing forward, whipping attitude turns, self-conscious voguing, fake phone call, tending to an ailing friend. Dancers exit, and the lighting takes over as fog rolls in—the omnipresent kite above, lit hues of white from warm to cool, red/yellow projected discs, flat rectangles, banks of warm sidelights brightening and dimming, with the temperature rising and falling on our eager faces. It almost felt as if the building had come alive irrespective of our presence.

Jay Carlon, Wendell Gray II, Evelyn Lilian Sanchez Narvaez, Justin Faircloth. Courtesy New York Live Arts. Photo: Maria Baranova

The performers return, having changed from black & white slashed pieces to neon yellow and black garments. After another spell of dashed off gestures and freeform moves, they unite centerstage in a square, and begin a multi-measure section that feels much more purposeful and structured. They repeat it facing different directions, snapping into a line, and reclustering. Toward the end, they move as close to us as possible, intensely repeating individual phrases manically, then retreat upstage and trickle off. They’ve left it all on the stage, moving us with their stamina, dedication, and intellect. Lunatics might be running the asylum, but these artists are in full control of their bodies.

Ronald K. Brown / Evidence

Joyce Theater, Jan 14-19, 2025

Ronald K. Brown / Evidence celebrates 40 years this season, believe it or not. There is still nothing like Brown’s work—so ecstatic, full of faith, incorporating challenging techniques and rhythms, and largely presented in proscenium dance venues, with impressive production elements. But it’s mainly the ecstasy and elation, generated through an explosive vocabulary unspooled effortlessly by his dancers and mixed with pensive moments.

Demetrius Burns and
Shaylin D. Watson.
Photo by Whitney Brown

Grace (1999/2003), commissioned by Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre, remains Brown’s most resonant work, and among the great modern dances. The music, by Duke Ellington, Roy Davis, Jr., and Fela Kuti, with guest singer Gordon Chambers, undergirds and propels the many movements—a harmonious artistic creation that feels like the kinetic manifestation of the title. And while it’s difficult to match the athletic prowess of the Ailey company’s dancers, Evidence delivers a more humanistic interpretation, while having the advantage of being closer to us in a smaller house.

Ailey also commissioned Serving Nia (2001); the Joyce performance was Evidence’s company premiere. On the shorter side at about 15 minutes, the piece is set in front of a striking backdrop depicting—depending on your mood—either a cliff face or a wall at a sharp angle, tucked into a corner and evocative of Ed Ruscha’s geometric compositions. Brown’s dancers often face to the side, signifying a private communication with an unseen being, and also favors a diagonal movement path. Sadly, when the lighting shifted to a deep red, I could only think of the LA fires.

In Order My Steps (2005), Kevin Boseman guests as a dancer and speaker. The work began as a collaboration between Brown and Kevin’s late brother, actor Chadwick. Themes of war and addiction emerge in the music and long monologue delivered by Boseman. This piece felt different than Brown’s usual music-driven style, including the more relaxed jazz music (Terry Riley, Bob Marley, David Ivey) and partitioning the stage area with the dancers at left in two lines, and Boseman at right. There was less of the joyful unleashing of energy so prominent in much of his other work, in particular Grace, but it did showcase Boseman’s breadth of talent and Brown’s willingness to experiment.

Nick Cave at Shainman Gallery. Photo: Susan Yung

Nick Cave, Amalgams and Graphts

Jack Shainman Gallery, 46 Lafayette St, to Mar 15

The New York gallery scene surely reflects the real estate market in the city. The mass has shifted innumerable times, mostly involving varying gallery densities in Manhattan’s East Village, UES, Soho, Noho, Chelsea, LES, Tribeca, and Lower Manhattan, among others. It seems that the latest notable shift is onto Broadway below Canal (and a handful of blocks south, east, and west), where huge storefronts that not long ago housed cheap clothing and shoe stores are now galleries.

Marian Goodman now has an entire building at 385 Broadway near Walker. But the other big headline is another satellite of Jack Shainman Gallery in the Clocktower Building designed by McKim, Mead & White, from 1898, and originally the home of New York Life Insurance. It has nearly 30-foot high ceilings, with original marble columns and a massive bank vault door; stand-alone office cubicles dot the mezzanine. 

The space’s inaugural show, work by Nick Cave, seems to have demanded the new outpost’s acquisition; it includes Amalgam (Origin), a 26-foot high bronze casting that echoes his Soundsuit series. Related Amalgam sculptures created on a human scale are also on view, as well as an extensive series of Graphts—wall pieces composed of floral and souvenir map serving tray fragments, needlepoint portraits (including of Cave), and floral elements intricately collaged together by screws. Cave’s work is charged with many levels of meaning and symbolism, and the craftsmanship nears perfection. These latter-day treasures have found a proper temporary home in an architectural manifestation of capitalism. Shainman adds this to a portfolio of reclaimed spaces, which includes The School in Kinderhook, NY.

Favorite Books, 2024

Our Evenings, Alan Hollinghurst

Roman Year, Andre Aciman

Intermezzo, Sally Rooney

Colored Television, Danzy Senna

The God of the Woods, Liz Moore

Real Americans, Rachel Khong

The Editor, Sara Franklin

Table for Two, Amor Towles

Lucky, Jane Smiley

James, Percival Everett

After Annie, Anna Quindlen

Prophet Song, Paul Lynch

Playground, Richard Powers

The Work of Art, Adam Moss

Paul Taylor's Family Tree Grows

Jessica Ferretti in Vive La Loie!. Photo: Whitney Browne

Legacy in modern dance has been a subject of perpetual interest for me, and the advent of the 2024 Paul Taylor season adds even more intrigue. Lauren Lovette was named a Resident Choreographer last year; she created two new works for this season. And intriguingly, Robert Battle was just named as another Resident Choreographer; he created a solo tribute to revered alumna Carolyn Adams, now Director of Education for Taylor. I caught four programs in November.

Lovette’s appointment was a leap of faith by Artistic Director Michael Novak, but it has proved to be mostly sound despite a small choreographic output on which to base the decision. I saw Recess, a season premiere by her, which forefronts the playful and upbeat aspects of dance. The opening tableau featured the five dancers in silhouette, arranged in a sculptural human bridge, and surrounded by Libby Stadstad’s ethereal set of multi-colored panels framing the proscenium (and evocative of Adrianne Lobel’s design for Mark Morris’ L’Allegro). The size-graduated panels compressed the vast proscenium space, making the small cast seem larger. Mark Eric’s costumes, elevated takes on athleisure, echoed the colorful set’s hues. Unfortunately, many of the stop-start gestures and exchanges between the dancers didn’t project, even if their competitive, playful, and athletic interactions carried the dance. 

Jada Pearman, Alex Clayton in Recess. Photo: Whitney Browne

Vive La Loie!, a tribute to Loie Fuller by Jody Sperling, dazzled in a way that Fuller’s original dances might have. Jessica Ferretti stood atop a tall plinth, draped in swaths of white silky fabric, with long wings guided by flexible poles. She fluttered, swirled, and rippled the fabric to mesmerizing effect; I did not expect to be so riveted. At moments, it recalled a grand-scale Symphonie Fantastique by Basil Twist—fabric given bewitching life. A second Fuller-inspired work by Sperling, Clair de Lune, was performed on another program. Emmy Wildermuth worked on the floor, skimming her wings just above it into eddying cascades and lily-shaped flutes. These certainly piqued interest in a modern dance figure that has been more museum artifact than flesh-and-blood artist. 

Several years after Taylor’s death, it might be easy to forget that he made some klunkers. With so many good and great dances by Taylor to choose from, it certainly makes curatorial sense to avoid the lesser ones, some of which may never see a footlight again. But a side effect of seeing highly cherry-picked and curated dances by Taylor, juxtaposed with commissions by less experienced choreographers, can seem unfair to the current generation. 

Devon Louis in Aureole. Photo: Whitney Browne

Taylor’s Aureole (1962) remains one of his early and timeless masterpieces of concision, gentle poetry, and explosive athleticism—a précis of the man himself. Devon Louis danced Taylor's famous solo, a silhouette of which now forms the company's logo. Louis, a very special dancer with the physique of a tight end, moves with a plush grace and delicacy, and leaps so space-eating that he must often rein them in.  

Gabrielle Barnes, John Harnage, Maria Ambrose, Elizabeth Chapa in Funny Papers. 
Photo: Whitney Browne

Funny Papers’ (1994) choreography is now credited to six company members from the original cast, “amended and combined by Paul Taylor.” I don’t recall how it has been billed in the past, but this felt like an admirable elucidation as so often the dancers contribute to the choreography with modest credit. And funny it was indeed, especially the high camp of “I Am Woman” and the dedication of the dancers (especially John Harnage) while thrusting their fists in cheerleader positions and pompous saltes. It’s the kind of piece that might fall flat without absolute buy-ins by the dancers. The audience loved it.

Lost, Found and Lost. Photo: Whitney Browne

Lost, Found and Lost (1982) and The Word (1998) are two other sui generis dances in the company’s rep. The first dance encapsulates ennui with movements normally spied in restroom queues and by water coolers, set to Donald York's symphonic elevator muzak. The dance is elevated by Alex Katz's elegant bedazzled black unitards, veils, and neon jazz shoes and, again, the cast's total commitment to indifference. The Word, by contrast, portrays the insidious and inexorable infection of a virus (danced by the indispensable Madelyn Ho), be it religious or political. Santo Loquasto's prep school uniforms, the same for all, brilliantly encapsulate the brainwashed ranks, who dance as if possessed.  

The Word. Photo: Ron Thiele

Back to Robert Battle being welcomed into the fold… he departed abruptly as nine-year artistic director of Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater on the eve of that company’s big City Center season last year. His resurfacing at Taylor makes some lineage sense in that Battle was an important leader and choreographer at David Parsons' company before branching out on his own, where he created some very strong works, including some performed by Ailey.  Parsons was once a star at the Taylor company, and so there is some shared movement DNA between the three, if faint. Alicia Graf Mack, once a memorable Ailey company member, will become artistic director at Ailey, another strong limb on that company’s family tree. The two respective trees of Taylor and Ailey now share some roots if they hadn't before. 

(Please excuse odd formatting in this post; Blogger is haunted by gremlins...)

Wishing For More Than New

La Boutique. Photo: Kyle Froman.

Watching La Boutique, a new work by Gemma Bond for ABT's 2024 fall season, I pondered the purpose of ballet commissions. Are they simply to stay alive, in some respects, like a shark needing to swim to keep going? To identify new choreographic voices, and in the case of Bond, an ABT alum who carries the troupe’s DNA? To challenge the dancers, who can mix some new dances into their warhorse-heavy repertory? To provide the audiences with reasons to buy tickets if another Swan Lake isn’t enough? Likely all of these things, and ultimately to produce a good dance that pushes all involved—craft-wise, artistically, genre-wise.

Isabella Boylston and Thomas Forster in La Boutique. Photo: Kyle Froman.

And while La Boutique does pose technical challenges for the dancers, it falls short of challenging genre norms and audiences. Its music, La Boutique Fantasque by Ottorino Resphighi after Gioachino Rossini, provides a dynamic background of swooping orchestral music. Jean-Marc Puissant’s costumes tweak the standard tutu and tunic with bold geometric accents. Leading the 26-member cast through brisk balletic passages dotted with modern touches such as layouts, Isabella Boylston and Thomas Forster performed a grand, romantic duet. (The complex patterns woven by the dancers’ paths were interrupted by two men crashing together at one point, revealing the need for more rehearsal.) Clifton Taylor’s lighting, in one scene, drenched the stage in blue so that it appeared to be a sea. But in the end, La Boutique didn’t make enough of an impression to demand being reseen.

Léa Fleytoux and Skylar Brandt in Mercurial Son. Photo: Kyle Froman.

In contrast, Mercurial Son, a premiere by Kyle Abraham, piqued interest with its contemporary electronic score by Grischa Lichtenberger, and metallic-hued costumes by Karen Young that at moments whipped frothily around spinning bodies. Abraham manages to make his cast of seven feel like many more. Each dancer, and in one case a pair, carved out individual styles and motifs in solo stage crossings. Balletic moves mixed with Abraham’s sui generis hip-hop flow and fractured lines. Super fast spins alternate with luxuriant posés. Calvin Royal, carved elegant shapes and collapsed in a winking dying swan quote. I look forward to seeing this again to catch more details I may have missed.

Melvin Lawovi in Mercurial Son. Photo: Kyle Froman.

The slate finished with Harald Lander’s Études, set to Carl Czerny’s score, which premiered in 1948 by the Royal Danish Ballet. This treatise, demonstrating the building blocks of ballet through a highly stylized class, while long, is gratifying and instructive viewing if a bit like homework. Devon Teuscher’s superb line, and Jarod Curley and Andrew Robare’s top-like pirouettes, all contributed to this précis of the balletic language. But the friction between this museum piece and Abraham's au courant Mercurial Son raised questions about ABT's direction, or at least curatorial eye.