Pilobolus

Cal Performances presents
Pilobolus
Zellerbach Hall, Berkeley
Nov 30th, 2024

Moving from one month to the next is more than just turning the page on a calendar. Consider, instead, the opportunities. A chance to embrace something new. A moment to reflect on what just past. Allowing oneself to truly live and abide in the gift of liminal space. 

This past weekend, as time spanned November and December, Cal Performances presented Pilobolus, a company whose work is all about the notion of change and the in-between. Choreography and visuals take the viewer down an initial path, and then the scene quickly morphs into something phenomenally unexpected. Formed out of Dartmouth College in 1971, the troupe blends acrobatics, artistry and contemporary movement while simultaneously pushing the boundaries of shape, posture and gravity. They are currently traveling with their re:CREATION tour, though due to an injury earlier in the day, the program had to pivot on Saturday night. 

Of the four short works performed, first up was Bloodlines, an intricate due that revealed the simple power of repetition. While red confetti dripped from the rafters downstage left, dynamically and tonally varied movements unfolded: centrifugal spinning, arabesque turns, pedestrian walking and one mechanical sequence that read like the internal gears of a watch. Continuous and repeating, the motions accumulated in energy and intensity, creating a truly hypnotic atmosphere.

As dancers entered the space from either sides of the stage costumed in bright yellow unitards and baggy boxing shorts, it was evident we were in for something completely different with Walklyndon. And it was a terrific, humorous affair! With each new encounter/meeting, the cast ran into and leapt over each other, played kids’ games, climbed on one another and walked on their hands. Walklyndon had no score other than the ensemble’s own vocal sounds and body percussion, and it didn’t need one. It was a masterclass in reacting to the moment, to stimuli and to a changeable environment. Such fun!

Pilobolus in Transformation
Photo John Kane

Next up was the ingenious Transformation, my favorite work of the evening. Aptly titled, transformation was everywhere in this short duet between a company artist and a large hand. The pas de deux occurred behind a screen, setting both in shadow. At first, the interactions between the two were delicate, eventually crescendo-ing to more substantive orchestrations. The hand descended over her body, seemingly grasping her head. It turned her into a very believable pup shape, then back into a woman. The pair clasped hands, and the giant palm shifted to reveal another human being. A final animal silhouette emerged as Transformation came to a close: a plucky mule.

With a bolt of light and a loud thunderous roar, Symbiosis was off to a dramatic start, and the drama would persist throughout the duet. Symbiosis was sensual. It was primal. But it wasn’t just those things. Like all Pilobolus’ works, it was layered with multiple textures, qualities and ideas. Two performers would journey into a shape, form the shape (whether recognizable or more abstract) and then it would dissolve. Over and over, crafting unbelievable feats of physicality. Yet the most mesmerizing part was how every single movement was the epitome of elegance, control and grace. 

Pilobolus in Symbiosis
Photo Bridgid Pierce

Biography Corner 2024

Whether enthusiast or professional, scholar or die-hard fan, those steeped in the dance world likely have plenty of dance biographies and topical tomes. The cast is often very familiar though occasionally you meet someone new. Of my recent three reads, two of them delved into the well-known, and, excitedly, one tackled a dancer/choreographer that was new to me. 

First up – Rupert Christiansen’s Diaghilev’s Empire: How the Ballet Russes Enthralled the World (2022). It is impossible to ignore the contributions that Diaghilev, the Ballet Russes, Nijinsky, Massine, (and others of the time) made to ballet and its history. Though truthfully, this period hasn’t grabbed my interest all that much over the years. Having said that, Christiansen’s book is very good, and well worth the read even if the Ballet Russes isn’t your thing. It’s incredibly well-researched, thorough, and moves along at a great pace. And a comment he made in the preface grabbed me right from the get-go, and I’m sure it will for other readers as well. Paraphrasing here, he shares with the audience that he’s not trying to write a dissertation, nor converse with other published materials. Instead, he is seeking to recount a specific history and in doing so, maybe uncover why folks are pulled toward this beautiful, physical performing art. 

Over Diaghilev’s Empire’s nine chapters, there is much to enjoy. One of my favorite elements throughout the book, is Christiansen’s attention to the women of this story. Anna Pavlova, Tamara Karsavina, and many more – he demonstrates and notes their significance in this narrative, which other accounts skim over or omit altogether. Second, he also successfully and intriguingly unlocks the accomplishments, the personalities and character traits of the various players. The reader learns as they dive into Diaghilev’s Empire which individuals were never satisfied, who was a tinker-er, who was vengeful and who was obsessed with conflict and (off-stage) drama. While the attention to historical detail and chronological sojourn is beyond compare, Christiansen succeeds in peppering his writing with clever, humorous anecdotes – one ballerina’s penchant for hot champagne made me laugh out loud. The reader learns of the various productions mounted during this era, the collaborations with famed composers of the time, the development of new choreographic forms and structures and how the makeup of the ballet audience changed through the decades. And as Christiansen closes out his exploration of Diaghilev’s Empire, the lineage from the Ballet Russes to mid/late twentieth century is well underway, with George Balanchine, Lincoln Kirstein, Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo (and more!) arriving on the scene. 

As I combed through Russ Tamblyn’s Dancing on the Edge, a 2024 publication by Blackstone Publishing, I found myself fascinated with the difference between a memoir and an autobiography. Looking up the distinction between the two terms, memoirs give attention to particular eras or arcs in one’s life while autobiographies reach wider and broader in scope. While that does draw some distinction, the space between the two feels undeniably tenuous. After reading Dancing on the Edge, I feel like it could be billed as either genre. 

A commentary on the life and work of artist Russ Tamblyn, the book takes a deep dive into a talented, complicated and holistic person. From Hollywood musicals, where he would become a beloved dance lead - Riff in West Side Story and Gideon in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers – to his personal orbit of the famous (and infamous) to his penchant for dramatic non-dancing roles. Via Tamblyn’s intoxicating prose, the reader learns of the twists and turns his life and career would navigate, including finding new creative pathways and outlets, which themselves would lead to considerable changes in scenery. Themes and throughlines emerge in the book’s sixteen chapters, like experimenting with the unknown, the primal need for artistic immersion and embracing new sides of the self. 

As a lifelong fan of the big dance musical, I found the first third of Dancing on the Edge to be the most engrossing - all the backstage intrigue and behind the scenes stories that only someone who was there can impart. And equally potent were the moments of reflection. One that particularly resonated with this reader was when the author talked about confronting the misogynistic, violent story of Brides. 

And with the third biography, Ruth Page: The Woman in the Work by Joellen A. Meglin and published by Oxford University Press in 2022, I encountered someone new to me. Based on her prolific career in 1900s American ballet (specifically in the dance hub of Chicago), it seems like I should have come across Page before, but honestly I hadn’t. Over 430 pages and 16 chapters (the endnotes themselves are almost 100 pages), Meglin more than remedied that by capturing many facets of this integral, powerhouse dance artist. 

Meglin’s dissertation impressively recounted Page’s life and career: her notable colleagues and collaborators; her interest in different movement genres; the influence of jazz music on her work; the social and political realities of the times and their effect on her creative endeavors and performing career; her desire to upend artistic norms and conventions; the many dance companies and institutions that she helmed in Chicago; her major choreographic pursuits. A favorite line in chapter six captures her immersive-ness, “Page’s prime weakness lay in overcommitting her energies, whether by choice or necessity…” (p. 154). 

Like most academic work, the book is very thorough and detailed, and if that’s the kind of writing that speaks to you, this book is for you. For me, it’s quite dense. I feel like much of the discourse about Page and the artists in her world, while fascinating, could have been abridged significantly.

"Carnival of the Animals"

Stanford Live presents
Carnival of the Animals
A SOZO Production
Bing Concert Hall, Stanford
October 27th, 2024

Making my way to Stanford last weekend for SOZO Production’s Carnival of the Animals, I didn’t know what to expect. On purpose, I had read very little about the show, but I was privy to a few details. First, it was a response to the hideous January 6, 2021 insurrection. Second, it was an interdisciplinary experience performed by legendary artists. And last, the musical source material was Camille Saint-Saëns’ 1886 fantasia, Carnival of the Animals. My curiosity stemmed from the fact that as a classical trained musician, I know that Saint-Saëns famously regarded his fourteen-chapter suite as rather light fare - a fun, entertaining, even whimsical, composition. How was that going to work as a frame or container for such serious and downright frightening subject matter?

Saying it worked is indeed an understatement. What transpired over one hour at Bing Concert Hall was a powerful, post-modern, political concerto of movement, music and spoken word. Episodes of dance and evocative text would take the stage, and then the work would return to two pianists and two string players for its musical ritornello. Created and written by Marc Bamuthi Joseph, choreographed by Francesca Harper and performed by Bamuthi Joseph and Wendy Whelan, the piece asked its audience to consider January 6th as a carnival of animals. To think about that horrific day through a lens of tents, creatures, jungles and zoos. The performance was miraculous. And it completely succeeded in re-contextualizing Saint-Saëns for me. With layers, textures and shocking audio clips from that day, the music completely transformed into something haunting, sinister and at times, nefarious. The score was an active cast member, a living organism, rather than a static entity written over one hundred years ago. If you have the opportunity to see this SOZO Production, go. Immediately. 

With poetic spoken word that pierced the consciousness and soul, Bamuthi Joseph was utterly transcendent. Vulnerable, real, even occasionally humorous, it was impossible not to be affected and changed by his words. The phrase ‘that’s a lie’ kept returning throughout the script, jokingly at first, but in due course, somber and penetrating. 

Carnival of the Animals
Photo Jamie Lyons

Whelan’s movement phrases evoked the natural world at every turn – avian arms, double attitude gazelle leaps, a protruding gestural beak. Much of her gait featured coordinating, rather than oppositional motion, common of many different animals. And there was one choreographic chapter that deserves special mention. Midway through Carnival of the Animals, Whelan changed into a long, black, floor-length gown. With all the aspects of a funeral dirge, she cycled through the space, mesmerizing the viewer with equal parts specificity and grief. A mourning dance for everything that died on that day.