San Francisco Ballet in Margaret Jenkins's Thread. Photo by Erik
Tomasson.
Taking chances has always guided San Francisco Ballet artistic director Helgi Tomasson through two-decades-plus on the local scene, but he has rarely ventured so far from the core of his aesthetic as he did Thursday evening (April 24) at the War Memorial Opera House. In commissioning a piece for the 75th anniversary New Works Festival from veteran Bay Area postmodernist Margaret Jenkins, Tomasson may have pointed the way to a more informed, more integrated, some would say, more liberated future for ballet. Certainly, the ever-astonishing dancers who participated in this sumptuous production will probably never be the same again.
In any case, Jenkins's Thread, which opens Program C of the Festival, emerged a splendid gloss on the Ariadne-Theseus myth, and was cheered by the choreographer’s many fans in the community. The work launched the most varied bill of the week; Jenkins's unorthodox essay precedes the project’s two remaining premieres, Val Caniparoli’s agreeably old-fashioned character study, Ibsen’s House, and Jorma Elo’s deconstructionist extravaganza, Double Evil. Despite manifest attractions elsewhere in the festival (most of these dances will enter the repertory here and on tour next season), this program, which closes the season May 6, may, because of its variety, be the one to see, if you can only see one.
Thread, made for 13 dancers, can be a disorienting experience. When the curtain rises on Alexander Nichols’ handsome conceptualization of the labyrinth, it is Ariadne (Pauli Magierek, a study in charisma), rather than Theseus (Damian Smith) who is wandering in the maze at the rear of the stage. A thematically relevant Michael Palmer poem is read; Paul Dresher’s lush score boils over the orchestra pit. But, as we proceed, the piece blurs. Smith, who will journey through the labyrinth at one point, may be the darker side of Ariadne. Indeed, Jenkins seems here to propose a meta-quest, possibly a search for answers to life’s quandaries. The remaining 11 dancers serve as a kind of Greek Chorus, commenting and reflecting on the events happening around them.
Whatever. Do not expect anything ponderous here. The viewer may best be served by an immersion in the dancing itself. Jenkins, who has previously made only a single ballet, has capitalized on the instincts of these ballet-trained dancers. She has asked them to perform without conventional counts, to find a rhythm through their own breathing, to yield to the joys of improvisation within a defined structure and the performers in Beaver Bauer’s striped gray Grecian-inspired outfits have thrown caution to the wind in this dense, gestural universe that Jenkins conjures. A simple walk here assumes mythic proportions. A rapid descent to the floor and peremptory recovery (watch James Sofranko and be amazed) seems a major tour de force.
Elana Altman and Damian Smith in Jenkins's Thread. Photo by Erik
Tomasson.
Details puzzle. The corps at one point is seized with what looks like an epidemic of scratching. Elana Altman falls back dramatically into Smith’s waiting arms. Unisons form and disperse in the blink of an eye. Feet flex where ballet orthodoxy dictates they shouldn’t. The simultaneity of events keeps you alert, but Jenkins’s "choreographic direction" guides the vision. At the end, Smith seems to have supplanted Magierek in the labyrinth.
Thread seems to open portals to other possibilities. It arrives with Dresher’s downright gorgeous commissioned score for 45-piece orchestra, a career landmark for a composer who has previously worked mostly with small, electrified ensemble. I suspect this music will acquire an independent existence away from the dance stage. Martin West’s passionate conducting certainly made the best possible case for it.
Caniparoli’s Ibsen’s House delivers us to the psyches of five protagonists from the famed Norwegian playwright’s oeuvre, lavishes them with solos, introduces the men in their lives for a quintet of pas de deux, then pursues the fate of the men after the women have freed themselves from social and metaphoric shackles. Dressed in Sandra Woodall’s appealing Victorian dresses and long coats, placed within a swagged salon, the piece recalls, in its attention to character detail and reliance on back story, the best of Kenneth MacMillan.
It’s curious that Caniparoli (who remains an SFB principal character dancer) should find appeal in such a kinetically disinterested dramatist, but his choreography, here and elsewhere, betrays a wonderful adroitness in peering into the souls of the company’s dancers. I would never have thought of the tempestuous Lorena Feijoo as Hedda Gabler, but her strongly accented solo, fists clutched to breasts, rising defiantly on pointe, is certainly convincing. Molly Smolen’s fidgety Nora Helmer, Dana Genshaft’s Mrs. Alving, Courtney Elizabeth’s airy, mystical Ellida Wangel, Nicole Grand’s introverted Rebecca West provide contrasts.
Courtney Elizabeth in Val Caniparoli's Ibsen's House. Photo by Erik
Tomasson.
The five, buttoned-up males (including David Arce, Tiit Helimets, Garen Scribner, Pierre-François Vilanoba, and Anthony Spaulding) project auras of neediness, condescension and quiet despair in deft strokes during the Tudoresque duets. I have some qualms about Caniparoli’s music - three movements from Dvorák’s Piano Quintet, Op. 81 performed with less than impeccable intonation in the pit. Somehow, the work feels far too extroverted for Ibsen’s dour, sometimes mystical world. Still, this is the choreographer’s most accomplished contribution to the SFB repertoire in several years.
Elo’s calling-card in the Bay Area, the dreary Chuck Close tribute that American Ballet Theatre imported to Berkeley last year, was not auspicious. Double Evil, which attempts to question the very nature of ballet, is a far more successful introduction to the popular Finnish choreographer. The four women (Altman, Magierek, Sarah Van Patten, Vanessa Zahorian) sport stiff, elaborate tutus by Holly Hynes, the men are in blue outfits. Throughout the first part, the men (Pascal Molat, Jaime Garcia Castilla, Rory Hohenstein and the ubiquitous Vilanoba) treat their ballerinas as objects, toying with their balances, scrutinizing their limbs. Molat hoists Van Patton on his back in a way that makes you question the architecture of partnering. This is all witty and revealing, and Vladimir Martynov’s "Come In!" engages the ear.
Sarah Van Patten and Rory Hohenstein in Jorma Elo's Double Evil. Photo by Erik
Tomasson.
Invention flags in the second part, no thanks to Philip Glass’ unappealing, relentless "Concerto Fantasy for Two Timpanists and Orchestra" (which is little known for a good reason). The music accompanies one of those meticulously articulated, high energy, empty calorie ensembles, which pumps you up and leaves you hungry for genuine invention. The dancers, at least, appeared to enjoy themselves immensely. But now that SFB boasts its own Elo ballet, the company can perhaps rest on both its haunches and its laurels.
Program C of SFB’s New Works Festival will next be performed Saturday at 8 p.m. For tickets, call(415) 865-2000 or visit wwww.sfballet.org.
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