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Scene & Heard
Odell Johnson Theater,
Oakland
June 2nd,
2018
The phrase ‘story
ballet’ tends to evoke largess; grand productions where an elaborate plot
unfolds over the course of an entire evening. But just as stories come in many forms,
so too is the relationship between story and ballet diverse. Of course, there
are many examples of the epic two/three-act ballet, but shorter movement essays,
poems and novels are just as prolific in the canon. And I often find shorter
dances to be more successful in communicating their narrative; the brevity
breeding a clarity and succinctness that gets somewhat lost in larger works.
Oakland Ballet Company
marked the transition from May to June with Scene
& Heard, a selection of work dedicated to the breadth and range of
story in ballet. For this program, Artistic Director Graham Lustig charged six
choreographers with the task of creating short narrative ballets. The resulting
commissions (three from within the OBC family and three from local
choreographers) made for a terrific afternoon of choreography, danced by a
company that is looking impressively strong.
Kicking things off was Itchy Bot Bot (A Family Portrait),
choreographed by Danielle Rowe, SFDanceworks’ new Associate Artistic Director.
Here was a work about the space between perception and reality, told through
familial dynamics. With arms hanging forward and feet stamping abstractly through
her pointe shoes, Ramona Kelley’s daughter character was at first sullen and
pouty. In contrast, on the other side of the stage, Emily Kerr and Richard Link
beamed from ear to ear, proud parents of their graduate son Landes Dixon. Darwin
Black, as the photographer character, wandered throughout the scene, snapping
pictures of the happy family (the daughter’s moody quality gradually softening
to play the part of the dutiful child). But what lay beneath these frozen
images? Itchy Bot Bot (A Family Portrait)’s
choreography suggested much was percolating right under the surface. In a
series of solos and duets for all five, unexpected positions permeated the
space, like piqué turns with the leg out in 2nd position. As did an
abundance of flexed feet, abruptly breaking the line of the leg in
unanticipated ways. What was illusion? What was façade? When might the pretense
shatter? Rowe posited the questions, but cleverly left them unanswered.
Walk through any art gallery and listen as folks chat about what they ‘see’ in a certain painting. Chances are the opinions and perspectives range significantly. The same is true for dance that mines a specific visual art work – it is apt to generate a multitude of interpretations, including those that differ from the original intent. After reading the notes for Michael Lowe’s Kimono Wednesdays,
“…inspired
by the work of French impressionist painter Claude Monet, in particular his
1876 painting title “La Japonaise”.
The image depicted in this painting is of his wife Camille donning a blonde wig
and red kimono holding a Japanese hand fan emblazoned with the colors of the
French flag…”
I had a pretty clear
sense of what the ballet was about, but I still had some differing
observations. That’s not a criticism at all, it’s the result of dance and
visual art conversing together in a creative container.
Samantha Bell and Coral
Martin opened Kimono Wednesdays, both
holding gilded picture frames. In the program they were listed as ‘agitators
disguised as portraits’, but I saw something else. As they extended their arms
and legs through the empty squares, they blurred the boundary between art and
life. It was like they were entering Monet’s painting and in turn, leading us
inside as well to experience its internal themes. Lowe unpacked these themes through
three striking pas de deux. Vincent Chavez (presumably as Claude Monet)
partnered Sharon Kung as the Japanese Spirit, Kelley as the French Spirit and
Kerr as Camille Monet. But to me, the three women read as three distinct aspects
of Camille’s persona. Kung contributing playfulness, Kelley adding speed and
allure and Kerr, a skillful, mature game of flirtation.
With arms sculpting the
space and the most amazing penchée, Martin invited the audience into the world
of Giggling Flame and Roaring Waves,
choreographed by Antoine Hunter. A narratively-rich work comprised of four
brief episodes, the notes say that the piece “…explores the journey to
Deafhood…”. With Giggling Flame and
Roaring Waves, Hunter, who is deaf, has crafted a powerful statement that
disrupts assumptions with every chapter. But the narrative isn’t the only thing
that makes the dance special. The movement itself, a new kind of fusion between
ballet and jazz, impressed with its innovation and specificity of position.
The first group sequence
brought a number of themes to the table – isolation as dancers were left out of
groups; learning as gestures were repeated and honed; even some camaraderie as
hands were extended in belonging (that feeling would certainly intensify as the
dance went on). A slow, deliberate series of cluster shapes made up Giggling Flame and Roaring Waves’ second
segment, the cast working together to create the picturesque landscapes. I was
particularly intrigued by how the facing of the clusters changed a little bit
each time, like the ensemble was mirroring a clock on the surface of the stage.
Perhaps a comment about how a community grows stronger and stronger as they log
more time together. Part three brought a short solo movement improv, steps and
phrases emerging from text prompts. And the final sequence saw the entire
ensemble return to the stage – a community of individuals engaging and
celebrating together in full-throttle physicality.
Chavez and Kelley’s La Llorona had a solid start, another
work steeped in family dynamics. In this story, spontaneity was juxtaposed
against inflexibility, and as the ballet unfolded, questions of rigidity and
cost were asked. What relationships and experiences are lost by an inability to
bend and adjust? According to the synopsis provided, La Llorona’s story takes a dark and tragic turn in its second half.
This is the point where the narrative thread got a little fuzzy onstage - if I
hadn’t read the program, I likely wouldn’t have known what was happening. A
number of events and dramatic moments need to play out (and they did), it just all
happened too fast. I’m usually a huge advocate for editing and shortening
works, but I think this is the one ballet on the bill that needed to be a bit
longer in order to really capture and communicate the whole story through
movement.
Ramona Kelley, Christopher Dunn and Samantha Bell in Bat Abbit's The Sound of Snow Photo John Hefti |
Lustig’s Heartbreak Hotel closed the Scene & Heard program, a suite of
dance vignettes set to Elvis Presley-era music. Within this retro frame, Heartbreak Hotel took a humorous romp
into twenty-first century dating culture. There was speed dating, a duet about
infatuation and new love, a pas de trois where a past relationship bled into a
current one, and a nod to the excessively eager date, who had been paired with
someone clearly not interested. It was a super fun finale to the afternoon. But
it was missing one important thing. All of Heartbreak
Hotel’s couples were male/female. Without changing any of the choreography
or staging, it would have been easy to make some of the pairs female/female or
male/male.
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