I was worried that I had run out of things to say about Mark Morris. When you’ve seen one choreographer’s work multiple times and perhaps even the same piece more than once, it can be difficult to have a fresh perspective. Yes, one could comment over and over again about his musicality, genius casting and whimsical imagination but that’s a bit boring. Thankfully, San Francisco Ballet’s evening of Mark Morris brought to light something that I rarely notice in his work: an overwhelming sense of stability and security. This thread wove through A Garden, Joyride and Sandpaper Ballet embellishing the joy and fun of Morris’ ballets with a sense of calm, a feeling of safety and a gentle protective force.
The first offering, A Garden, was like watching a ballet class with its technical feats and dynamic physicality. But what I noticed most in the piece was the dancers’ continual return to 1st position while their palms reached towards the ground. This simple shape indicated the stability that comes from beginnings. In ballet, standing in 1st position is the absolute foundation. Morris developed very complicated and technical choreography throughout the ballet, which all culminated in the dancers returning to this moment of stillness in 1st position. Everything in dance comes from these opening positions. Dancers, teachers and choreographers tend to forget that their stability rests in where they began.
The middle piece, Joyride, was one of the new works commissioned last year for SF Ballet’s 75th anniversary season. This piece was ripe with numerous types of movement: robotic, angular, fluid, staccato, serpentine, all with a splattering of martial arts mixed in. It was a very interesting mixture of many different movement styles, but again, it was the recurring statuesque moment that is seared into my memory. For Joyride, the dancer stood with one foot pointed and crossed in front of the other, while one hand was gently placed on the hip. This very quiet and peaceful pose evolved out of incredibly difficult and sometimes wild movement sequences. Not only did this position provide a cadential break in the movement, but also it showed the absolute control and stability of the dancers. They could be moving at 100 miles per hour and then morph into a statue of calm in an instant.
The final piece of the evening, Sandpaper Ballet, is my favorite Morris work. It simply celebrates movement in space, while reminding us that dance is a community of individuals who work together to create art. Dance artists sometimes forget that. During Sandpaper Ballet, all of the dancers return to a squared matrix on the floor after each section; a most blatant moment of clarity. Morris’ ingenious concept for all the dancers to work together to create a formation on the stage illustrates the security and strength of that community. Each dancer returns to that square, whether they were in the preceding section or if they are to perform in the proceeding section. The ballet really becomes about the large collective, not small couplets or individuals. It is a community effort.
It isn’t very often that I leave the ballet comforted by what I’ve seen. But, these tranquil, yet very tangible moments that Mark Morris choose to inject into his work really created this safe feeling, a welcome surprise.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
San Francisco Ballet-War Memorial Opera House
Swan Lake rarely disappoints. Yes, some dancers are better than others in the main roles, but in the end, it is still Swan Lake. It’s hard to go wrong with this classical staple, but it’s also hard to update a piece that is so deeply entrenched in ballet history. The recently premiered full-length Swan Lake for the San Francisco Ballet is a must-see; the best balancing of old and new in a long time. Tomasson managed to be imaginative and challenging while still remaining mindful of the story’s ancestry and integrity. There was no change for the sake of change; he successfully blended tradition and innovation. The result being a truly revolutionized and reinvented Swan Lake.
One of the much-discussed aspects prior to Saturday’s premiere was Tomasson’s inclusion of a prologue. The scene details how ‘Odette the woman’ is transformed into ‘Odette the swan’ through her doomed encounter with the evil Von Rothbart. This very brief addition was not only extremely original, but also incredibly effective. It is a far-fetched notion that a woman be turned into a swan; however, showing it occur in the beginning of the ballet made the whole idea more plausible. The prologue also allowed the audience to really see and identify ‘Odette the woman’, which makes the subsequent love story between her and Prince Siegfried also more convincing. All other versions (without this opening) force the audience to simply believe that she was once human and has since been morphed into a bird. Here, we learn that no matter how trite, ‘seeing is believing’.
Jennifer Tipton’s lighting design, especially during the prologue, was phenomenal. Odette, played by Lorena Feijoo, disappears behind the scrim when Von Rothbart casts his spell on her. She collapses in a heap, and is shadowed on the curtain. Then the shadow of her body slowly grows into the shadow of a swan. The bird then takes off and flies across the curtain. The elated gasps in the audience were astonished sounds of surprise and delight at this vision.
The company’s theatrical ability is yet another outstanding force in this ballet. In Swan Lake, there are two very large and lengthy groups scenes: the first being outside the palace and the second at the palace ball. So many companies have amazing dancers performing brilliant choreography, but their acting is sketchy. One of two extremes tends to happen: the cast either looks bored and blankly watches the action in the middle of the stage or their acting is so melodramatically overdone that all the audience sees is fake enthusiasm. Acting while dancing, and acting while not dancing is an imperative skill with large-scale narrative ballets. The company must be able to translate the story through the choreography and the non-choreography. San Francisco Ballet, under Tomasson’s direction, is an example to all ballet companies. They don’t overact; they don’t underact. They don’t stop acting to dance and then resume acting when they are finished. Being on stage for this company is a complete experience for them. Their theatrical technique should be studied.
The work of the corps de ballet in Act II was extraordinary; maybe the best corps work I have ever seen. One comes to expect technical superiority from the SF Ballet, and the women in Act II did not disappoint. Their synchronicity was thrilling. The unison was perfect and the architectural design of the dance shone because of the meticulous attention to detail. The variation of the four swan cygnets is extremely famous, so if it is even slightly out of sync, it is a disaster. The four cygnets on Sunday afternoon (Clara Blanco, Bryn Gilbert, Margaret Karl and Patricia Perez) were stunning. I would even go so far as to say that they were the highlight of the entire ballet.
The beautiful work of the corps women in Act II unfortunately brought to light some less than perfect corps and soloist work in Act I and Act III. The attention to line and spacing that shone in the Swan chorus was definitely missing during the peasant dances of Act I. The steps were interesting and creative, but the timing and spacing was off. In Act III, the Spanish pas de trois was again out of sync, and the Russian princesses collided during a promenade in attitude derrière. I’m not sure if they were just too close together or if the rate of turn was not the same, but, whichever, it needed to gel a bit more. At the same time, this was the second performance ever of this ballet, so I imagine that some of the bugs will get worked out over the next few evenings.
Helgi Tomasson’s production is not your grandmother’s Swan Lake. It is fresh, creative and theatrical yet every aspect was constructed with diligence and respect to Swan Lake’s history. Every time this production is mounted, you should be there to see it.
One of the much-discussed aspects prior to Saturday’s premiere was Tomasson’s inclusion of a prologue. The scene details how ‘Odette the woman’ is transformed into ‘Odette the swan’ through her doomed encounter with the evil Von Rothbart. This very brief addition was not only extremely original, but also incredibly effective. It is a far-fetched notion that a woman be turned into a swan; however, showing it occur in the beginning of the ballet made the whole idea more plausible. The prologue also allowed the audience to really see and identify ‘Odette the woman’, which makes the subsequent love story between her and Prince Siegfried also more convincing. All other versions (without this opening) force the audience to simply believe that she was once human and has since been morphed into a bird. Here, we learn that no matter how trite, ‘seeing is believing’.
Jennifer Tipton’s lighting design, especially during the prologue, was phenomenal. Odette, played by Lorena Feijoo, disappears behind the scrim when Von Rothbart casts his spell on her. She collapses in a heap, and is shadowed on the curtain. Then the shadow of her body slowly grows into the shadow of a swan. The bird then takes off and flies across the curtain. The elated gasps in the audience were astonished sounds of surprise and delight at this vision.
The company’s theatrical ability is yet another outstanding force in this ballet. In Swan Lake, there are two very large and lengthy groups scenes: the first being outside the palace and the second at the palace ball. So many companies have amazing dancers performing brilliant choreography, but their acting is sketchy. One of two extremes tends to happen: the cast either looks bored and blankly watches the action in the middle of the stage or their acting is so melodramatically overdone that all the audience sees is fake enthusiasm. Acting while dancing, and acting while not dancing is an imperative skill with large-scale narrative ballets. The company must be able to translate the story through the choreography and the non-choreography. San Francisco Ballet, under Tomasson’s direction, is an example to all ballet companies. They don’t overact; they don’t underact. They don’t stop acting to dance and then resume acting when they are finished. Being on stage for this company is a complete experience for them. Their theatrical technique should be studied.
The work of the corps de ballet in Act II was extraordinary; maybe the best corps work I have ever seen. One comes to expect technical superiority from the SF Ballet, and the women in Act II did not disappoint. Their synchronicity was thrilling. The unison was perfect and the architectural design of the dance shone because of the meticulous attention to detail. The variation of the four swan cygnets is extremely famous, so if it is even slightly out of sync, it is a disaster. The four cygnets on Sunday afternoon (Clara Blanco, Bryn Gilbert, Margaret Karl and Patricia Perez) were stunning. I would even go so far as to say that they were the highlight of the entire ballet.
The beautiful work of the corps women in Act II unfortunately brought to light some less than perfect corps and soloist work in Act I and Act III. The attention to line and spacing that shone in the Swan chorus was definitely missing during the peasant dances of Act I. The steps were interesting and creative, but the timing and spacing was off. In Act III, the Spanish pas de trois was again out of sync, and the Russian princesses collided during a promenade in attitude derrière. I’m not sure if they were just too close together or if the rate of turn was not the same, but, whichever, it needed to gel a bit more. At the same time, this was the second performance ever of this ballet, so I imagine that some of the bugs will get worked out over the next few evenings.
Helgi Tomasson’s production is not your grandmother’s Swan Lake. It is fresh, creative and theatrical yet every aspect was constructed with diligence and respect to Swan Lake’s history. Every time this production is mounted, you should be there to see it.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Merce Cunningham Dance Company-Zellerbach Hall
The incorporation of chance procedures into finished choreography is fascinating. In classical ballet, virtually nothing is left to chance and dancers are typically discouraged from making choreographic decisions or contributions. Coming from that world, it is hard for me to imagine dances composed of both set material and the unplanned. But like most things unfamiliar, it only takes seeing it done well once to realize that it is possible and it can work. Merce Cunningham Dance Company’s performance of eyeSpace (2007) confirmed that chance can be an integral tool in the construction of a piece. I think this was the first time that I could actually identify the unintended elements in the finished work.
eyeSpace (2007) was constructed like the theme and variation form in music. Cunningham had numerous set choreographic motifs (the themes) and then altered them in several different ways (the variations). It was in these variations where his commitment to chance shone through. One of the first alterations was a simple directional shift. Several sections of the piece were performed by trios of dancers who executed the same steps, but at different facings: directly front, towards the back or on a diagonal. This created a visual perspective that would not have been present if all the dancers had been facing one direction. Cunningham also experimented with accent, number and tempo. In the same choreographic sequence, one dancer accented the position of an arm, while another emphasized a leg movement. With number, one might perform three leg lifts before moving on, while the next dancer might only do one prior to his/her next movement. There were also differences in tempo. One performer went through a sequence as slow as they possibly could at the same time as a second moved through the same section at moderate speed while a third, at a brisk allegro. The central idea of the motif was the stabilizing factor while the chance options provided the variations.
Observations, like those above, may not seem like analysis, but in this case they are. Much of what was recognized was likely a result of chance procedures in choreography. Perhaps Cunningham gave his company some set movements and then had them try these movements at different intervals, different speeds, and different directions. The fact that this was visible in the finished work is important. It means that the use of chance procedure can be noticed even outside of the studio. It is not only a process, but also a result.
Although I recognize the effectiveness of Cunningham’s chance procedures in eyeSpace (2007), the piece also provoked a question that I think will affect how I view choreography. Does the origin of movement really matter? Would it have been possible for Cunningham to set this work from beginning to end without the use of chance? What if he reached the same result, but used an entirely different process? Does it really make a difference? This is an enormous question in dance and I don’t know if there is an answer. But, it is interesting to consider.
eyeSpace (2007) was constructed like the theme and variation form in music. Cunningham had numerous set choreographic motifs (the themes) and then altered them in several different ways (the variations). It was in these variations where his commitment to chance shone through. One of the first alterations was a simple directional shift. Several sections of the piece were performed by trios of dancers who executed the same steps, but at different facings: directly front, towards the back or on a diagonal. This created a visual perspective that would not have been present if all the dancers had been facing one direction. Cunningham also experimented with accent, number and tempo. In the same choreographic sequence, one dancer accented the position of an arm, while another emphasized a leg movement. With number, one might perform three leg lifts before moving on, while the next dancer might only do one prior to his/her next movement. There were also differences in tempo. One performer went through a sequence as slow as they possibly could at the same time as a second moved through the same section at moderate speed while a third, at a brisk allegro. The central idea of the motif was the stabilizing factor while the chance options provided the variations.
Observations, like those above, may not seem like analysis, but in this case they are. Much of what was recognized was likely a result of chance procedures in choreography. Perhaps Cunningham gave his company some set movements and then had them try these movements at different intervals, different speeds, and different directions. The fact that this was visible in the finished work is important. It means that the use of chance procedure can be noticed even outside of the studio. It is not only a process, but also a result.
Although I recognize the effectiveness of Cunningham’s chance procedures in eyeSpace (2007), the piece also provoked a question that I think will affect how I view choreography. Does the origin of movement really matter? Would it have been possible for Cunningham to set this work from beginning to end without the use of chance? What if he reached the same result, but used an entirely different process? Does it really make a difference? This is an enormous question in dance and I don’t know if there is an answer. But, it is interesting to consider.
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