Dance Response: Hubbard Street 2

On Saturday, April 14 I attended the performance by Hubbard Street 2 in the Olmsted Theater. I’ve seen some YouTube videos of the Hubbard Street main company, but this show wasn’t actually exactly as I expected it to be. And it was both impressive and depressing, for me personally.

The first piece in the program, never did run smooth, choreographed by Gabrielle Lamb, was my least favorite. Not that it was bad by any means, I just thought parts of the choreography were a little “cute” for my taste. It simply wasn’t very exciting or moving—musically, in terms of stage elements, or choreographically. But luckily, things started to pick up pace in the next dance. Never was, by Alejandro Cerrudo, set to two very different Baroque-era musical pieces by Handel and Purcell, had more of the things I want to see at a dance performance. The piece began dramatically, but not overly so; two dancers, Emilie Leriche and Johnny McMillan, were lit by a circle of strong white light from above. Their costumes were simple almost to the point of being severe; the drum processional music by Purcell added to this severity. And, most importantly, the movement was strong and intense, with an air of being warriors. The two dancers were very sharp and precise in their movements.

My favorite piece was the third. HS2 dancer Johnny McMillan choreographed this piece with the Sami people, nomadic reindeer herders native to Norway, in mind. He used folkloric music by Sami musicians such as Pekka Lehti and Mari Boine—and this was perhaps one of my favorite elements of the piece. McMillan listened to all the intricacies of the singer’s voice and the movement corresponded to the sounds. Each movement seemed to me to be an emotional response to the singer’s raw voice, so the movement and sound were one. The use of fake fall-colored leaves onstage wasn’t totally necessary, but they were beautiful when they got swirled around by the wind from the dancer’s movement. At times, the movement was uncomfortable—raw and explicit, eliciting discomfort in the form of snorts of laughs or whispers from some audience members. That’s also one of the things I liked about it. I think it’s good to have awkward or unusual moments in choreography. If all you want to see is pretty stuff, go see a ballet. If you want to broaden your mind and feel something (other than contentedness and “wasn’t that nice, dear”), have a visceral response to what you’re seeing, then this is what you’re looking for. The choreography was fast, intense, primitive, and also beautiful. It was the type of dancing that is so impressive, I thought, “I’m not sure I could ever do that.”

The fourth piece, sad monsters, choreographed by Maurya Kerr, was not for me. It was a little too Sidra Bell. I didn’t like the “fierce” intensity and I absolutely hated the costumes (black turtlenecks and booty shorts). The last duet was pretty great, but in general I didn’t click with this piece.

PACOPEPEPLUTO, choreographed by Alejandro Cerrudo to music by Dean Martin, probably gave a bunch of Long Island old ladies very good dreams. It was a series of three male solos, again in white light, and the kicker is that all they wore was a dance belt (“costume design, Rebecca Shouse,” struck me as funny). Each of the solos was beautiful, but I did rather wish there were fewer times their backs faced downstage. Each dancer had his own very distinct movement quality, but they were all beautiful in their own respect. I was impressed mostly by their control—they way they could catch their balance and how they could move out of turns. The program talks about their being “enshrouded in dim lighting and fog,” but we didn’t get any fog. It must not have worked out in our theater. Anyway, Andrew Wright’s butt was my favorite.

The last piece, Bonobo, was more like what I expected from a Hubbard Street performance. The choreography, in this case by Penny Saunders, was most like what I thought it would be, based on what I’d seen online. This is also one instance where the description in the program matched what I thought of it. It was “inspired by the history of Vaudeville-type traveling tent shows from the 1920s and 1930s,” and “[featuring] an eclectic score ranging from hilarity to poignancy.” This one was the most theatrical of them all. It was a good one to end with.

One of the things that impressed me most was the dancers’ partnering skills. I’m always impressed by good partnering, because I know how hard it is. I wonder how many times they have to practice each lift to make them look like that. It made me wish that instead of working on choreography for our workshop piece in partnering class, we would spend more time practicing lifts until they are smooth and easy.

The other thing that impressed me also depressed me. All of the HS2 dancers are very young. In fact, two of them are my age, and still in college! It hit me kind of hard and made me feel very behind where I should be in my career. I’m nowhere near as good as these other college Seniors.

I thoroughly enjoyed the show and seeing how ballet technique can transform into so many other things, and how performing classical ballet isn’t the only possible end goal of practicing ballet technique. I hope that this impression was also made on Adelphi Dance’s newest members whose minds have yet to be opened to the possibilities.

Lar Lubovitch Dance Company at MMAC

Lar Lubovitch Dance Company performed “Histoire du Soldat” and “Crisis Variations,” accompanied by live music, at Manhattan Movement & Art Center February 11, 2012.
I was slightly surprised by the space, which struck me as being rather casual. Since non-student ticket prices ran close to $50, I guess I expected a more upscale venue.

The first piece, “Histoire du Soldat” (or “The Soldier’s Tale”) is to a 1918 score by Igor Stravinsky which the composer said was to be “read, played, and danced.” Now, I don’t know about the original script, but the modern, English version read that night is terrible. This piece could have done with a lot less reading and playing, and way more dancing. The Kindergarten-like storytelling and boring musical score made me uncomfortable. Actually, that’s an understatement. I hated the narration and couldn’t believe how painfully awful it was. But, when the dancers were actually onstage, they were wonderful and beautiful. Maybe if they had danced during the narration and music I wouldn’t have minded it so much.

Actually, the partnering in “Soldier’s Tale” tied in very nicely with what we are learning in partnering class here with Amy Marshall and Chad Levy. There was a lift in which Amy had to look completely limp. This is tricky because dead weight is hard to carry, so the person being lifted has to be able to achieve the limp look but still hold their abs. We got to witness this type of lift when “Soldier” Reid Bartelme brought out the sick “Princess” Nicole Corea, dangling under his arm.

There were a lot of partnering movements that we’re learning about in class that it was good to see executed professionally well.

Where the first piece disappointed, the second piece, “Crisis Variations,” awed and amazed. I would have seen just that for my $17. This piece actually reminded me a lot of Sylvana’s work; some of the floor work in this piece was also in Sylvana’s “May Fly.” This piece also had crazy partnering in it, as well as magical patterns, and the way they danced was fluid, as can be expected from Lubovitch’s company, but at the same time they affected limpness and flailed around wildly while maintaining impeccable technique and strength. The surprising ending was so delightful it left me giddy. This piece made me excited about dance again and gave me a new standard to strive for!

Response: The Barnard Project

Today, December 3, at 2 pm, I attended a show at New York Live Arts, formerly Dance Theater Workshop, featuring choreography by David Parker, Ivy Baldwin, Susan Rethorst, and Sidra Bell: “The Barnard Project.” It was a professional choreography showcase featuring many Barnard dance students.

The first piece, entitled “E Pluribus” and choreographed by David Parker, featured twelve dancers clad in gaudy shades of yellow. The music was an eclectic variety—including some from La Bayadere, some sacred-sounding music in Latin, an American folk song, and “Downtown” by Tony Hatch. In this piece they made a lot of sounds with their bare feet, including by tap dancing. It had its cute moments and its funny moments, but they didn’t come until later on. The beginning was honestly pretty boring. The dancers walked around, thumping the ground once in a while with a heel or their toes, doing small movements in a repetitive pattern. They didn’t walk well, though. They weren’t strong modern walks in the style of Graham or Taylor, and they weren’t ballet walks. They were some awkward kind of in-between thing, and unfortunately I don’t think it was on purpose. It just seemed like none of the dancers knew how to walk well.

Next was a piece by Ivy Baldwin, called “Howl.” I hated the costumes for this. I sort of thought they were supposed to be of a conservative, housewife, Fall-ish theme, but even that is kind of broad and doesn’t describe much of anything. This dance featured a lot of wiggling, jiggling, wagging, waving, gyrating, convulsing, percolating, and shaking. A lot of the moves looked like things I would do (actually things I probably have done at some point) for fun. I was mostly interested and entertained during this piece, although I felt it was lacking in formations, patterns, unison, and other factors that tend to bring a piece together and make it whole. And I didn’t like one of the dancers. I didn’t think she was holding her center. If I weren’t a dancer, it probably wouldn’t bother me, but I can tell, so I was bothered.

After intermission was “Jazz out of Water,” a piece by Susan Rethorst in collaboration with the dancers. Maybe collaborating with the dancers wasn’t a good idea. During this piece, I leaned over to Devon at one point and informed her that I was going to slit my wrists. The piece was mostly in silence, except for the few times a few bars of some dull jazz music played and then faded back out. I don’t remember anything cool or interesting from this piece, and in fact it was the first time I’ve ever watched a show and thought, man, I wish they would do an arabesque or a pirouette or something! It was all just slowly walking, and moving arms, and sitting on the ground, and then not sitting on the ground, and I don’t even remember because I was staring into space. I was awoken a couple times by the strobe-like stage lighting that served no other discernable purpose than to remind the audience that people were dancing. I clapped because this piece was over.

Last was Sidra Bell’s work “Mass Observation.” The dancers began by coming down the audience stairs in a line on each side. They faced the stage and moved their arms like drones. I almost got poked in the eye by a gloved finger. I wasn’t sure where to look, because there were two dancers onstage, but there were also dancers next to me, and what if I was supposed to watch them? Were they important? Leda calls this “making the audience watch a tennis match,” because your head goes back and forth from one place to another. There was a lot of that in this piece, and in the show in general. Ultimately I decided on the dancers who were on the stage, because if I turned my head to the right I was looking at a man’s shiny American Apparel copper leggings-clad butt. American Apparel should have been paying royalties to this show, for the amount of their clothes the dancers wore. (And as a side note, they should have cut the tags from the leggings. The tags gave everyone a weird lump in the middle of their backsides.)

I liked this last piece best of all of them (which isn’t saying much!), because at least they moved sometimes. There was still a lot of foot stomping, arm gesticulating, and wiggling—the theme of the show—but out of all the pieces, I felt this one had the most instances of interesting movement. I didn’t “get” it; was it about a shiny-butt fierce runway diva drone army from outer space? But I was impressed by many of the dancers and I felt that this choreography showcased them the best. For the most part, though, the mood of the piece just made me feel nervous.

The dancers who were in this show are probably great, well-trained, talented dancers, but I couldn’t tell you that for certain, because all I saw them do was meaningless movement that didn’t require much technique. Not that a lot of it wasn’t interesting, or innovative, but I think in order for me to enjoy a show, it has to be a mixture of things I recognize and things that are new and surprising and interesting. Or, maybe it can all be new and weird and different, but well-organized and executed. It’s hard to pinpoint, but whatever the golden combination is, this show was lacking part of it. When I see a dance show, I like to feel something. I like it when I have an emotional response to the dancing that lasts with me long after the show is over. I didn’t get that from The Barnard Project.