Sara E. Love, Ildiko Polony, Alexandra Bradshaw, Risa Larsen. Photo by Susan Scherrman.
You have to admire any choreographer who attempts an overt autobiography in movement. These affairs can be embarrassingly personal, if the dancemaker veers from the artistic sphere and addresses more personal matters. Which is not what happens in Todd Courage’s Pinpoint, premiered by the Courage Group Friday evening (Sept. 12) at San Francisco’s Project Artaud Theater. This was the last of the program’s three premieres and, by far, the most intriguing of the trio.
The piece begins by channeling A Chorus Line. Courage’s recorded voice marshals the nine dancers who enter and follow his barked rehearsal instructions. The participants include a solo pair, Melanie King and Caleb Mitchell, and seven supporting women. It’s a situation fraught with possibilities, and a long half-hour later, the piece ends where it began. In the middle, the piece falters somewhat. Courage tells us of his panic on reaching 50 and airs his doubts on his worth as a choreographer. It could not have been easy to devise choreography that reflects or contradicts the fretful narration, delivered in a world-weary narration.
Much of what one saw in the dancing could have been about anything, though I appreciated the muscular intelligence that King and Mitchell brought to their duets, which roll on the floor and soar aloft. Yet, much of the time was wasted on interminable, generic ensembles for the other women. The group dynamic compelled attention, but the steps lacked direction. The recorded music, drawn from 10 or 11 different sources, was disorienting, but not in an artistically persuasive manner. I can applaud Courage’s birthday package for himself, while wishing he had stuffed it with more valuable material. The piece might be saved with some judicious editing.
The program also included Infinite Mercy, a duet for Isabel Gotzkowsky and Jon Zimmerman. It probed moods both contemplative and aggressive in a stop-and-start manner that defused tension. The opening work, Handelability, was as awkward as its title suggests; this is a dance one should show only to very close friends in the dead of night.
This is a week in which you must verify your dance critic credentials by offering a comment on the hiring of Alexei Ratmansky as artistic associate at American Ballet Theatre after New York City Ballet’s failed courtship of the choreographer a few months ago.
So, here goes. This is the start of what may be a fruitful relationship, no doubt about it. ABT can boast a short list of distinguished choreographers—Antony Tudor, Kenneth MacMillan, Twyla Tharp heading the list—who have enjoyed special relationships with the company, and even if you don’t think Ratmansky can (as yet) match their artistry, it is easy to understand why artistic director Kevin McKenzie (who is not impervious to criticism of ABT’s recent commissions) is willing to invest in a five-year contract with the former artistic director of the Bolshoi Ballet. Ratmansky’s first ABT commission will, reportedly, be unveiled during the company’s Met season next spring, and expectations are high.
Still, speculation reigns. Why was Ratmansky willing to discuss the appointment with the New York Times only in the presence of McKenzie and ABT executive director Rachel Moore? Who wasn’t trusting whom in this relationship? It’s odd but not something we need dwell on for long.
There’s more guesswork about the reasons for the rebuff of NYC Ballet, a company for which Ratmansky has already made critically acclaimed dances. Who knows why? Perhaps, ABT’s New York schedule (three autumn weeks at City Center; eight weeks at the Met in May-July) suited Ratmansky’s own agenda more conveniently. Maybe, he feels particularly stimulated by ABT’s more polyglot dancer roster. Maybe, he feels his work will stand out more strikingly in a company that does not boast NYC Ballet’s priceless legacy of Balanchine and Robbins dances. Maybe he feels ABT’s lineage to Russian ballet is more distinct. Maybe, the financial arrangements were more attractive at ABT (Ratmansky has a family to support).
I will suggest another reason for accepting the invitation. At NYC Ballet, Ratmansky would be restricted to working in the one-act, plotless format. At ABT, he will both have that opportunity and a chance to choreograph full-evening narratives, at which he has already proven adept at the Bolshoi and previously at the Royal Danish Ballet (Ratmansky’s Bolshoi reworking of The Bright Stream offers proof of that assertion). This is the area in which ABT’s repertoire is most in need of refurbishment. Neither of their last two Cinderellas (by Ben Stevenson and James Kudelka) generated critical raves, and the Kirkland-McKenzie Sleeping Beauty, in spite of all the alterations, isn’t cheering a lot of ballet fans. Even the aficionados may be tiring of the same old, same old policy at the Met (I mean, there is no artistic excuse for retaining Ronald Hynd’s busy, mirthless Merry Widow in the rep, as if it were a family jewel).
Considering how infrequently we see ABT in the Bay Area, these musings seem somewhat academic. But the company does dance once or twice a year in Southern California at Los Angeles’ Music Center (MacMillan’s Romeo and Juliet is coming July 16-19) and at the Orange County Performing Arts Center. Note, also, that Ratmansky’s acclaimed NYC Ballet commission, Russian Seasons, enters the San Francisco Ballet’s repertoire next April on the final program of the rep season.
They’re ba-a-a-ck and they’re worse than ever. I am referring to the folks who insist on talking through dance performances, insulting the artists and contributing to the misery they are inflicting on us, more taciturn observers. Last Thursday’s visit to Liss Fain Dance at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts’ Novellus Theater was made wretched by these blabbermouths, who could not be silenced by any amount of increasingly intense requests to keep quiet. Nor am I enamored of seat mates who must put heads together to whisper constantly during a performance, especially when I am seated directly behind them. Who are these inconsiderate wretches?
On Thursday, I did notice that these murderers of silence spoke with an accent. So, maybe, there’s a cultural disconnect at work, but, out of respect for the performers, we don’t talk during dance concerts.
One suggestion: include in the program the phrase, “Shut Up!” in several languages. Another suggestion: take along a roll of duct tape and feel free to use it where it counts.
A better suggestion: the perfunctory precurtain announcements reminding us to switch off cell phones and pagers might be expanded to plead for closed mouths, too (even some movie theaters do this now).
I did, however, discern a pattern on Thursday. Patrons seem less willing to converse during a dance concert if the company features live musical accompaniment, which was not the case here. I don’t know a better reason for shunning recordings at dance concerts.
For more information:
Do you think there is too much talking during dance performances? Comment below!
Did you see one of the shows? Write your own review in our new forum
Read more of Allan Ulrich's reviews in his archives
*Disclaimer: The views of Allan Ulrich are not necessarily the views of Voice of Dance
.jpg)
