Mark Morris Dance Group-Zellerbach Hall

The concept of the abstract has become an overused ‘buzz’ word in the performing arts and lost its essence. Abstraction has been turned into an inflated cliché for flippant academic circles and high-brow literary banter. The difficult questions are being ignored-what is abstraction; does it exist; can it be seen in performance? Instead, its existence is taken as a given, suggesting that a ‘Seinfeld’ approach can be applied to the creative process, resulting in movement that is about nothing. Maybe by striving to be about nothing, a piece’s identity evolves into being about the lack of narrative. Maybe it is impossible for a dance to develop solely out of motion and not provide anything else. Consequently, when a piece looks largely abstract in nature, it is important to delve deeper into the possible hidden sub-text and determine if there is more to it than meets the eye. Mark Morris Dance Group’s Mozart Dances first appears to be nonfigurative choreography to Mozart’s music; pure and simple. But, first impressions can be deceiving; there was definitely more going on. The piece may not have held a traditional story but it was not abstraction either. Instead, it was the embodiment of an intimate conversation between two artists, facilitating an homage to a third. This intersection provided a context for representation, thematics and topical imagery; it was clearly about something. Not every movement or sequence was steeped in meaning but, as a whole, the work allowed the audience to witness the unmistakable beauty of artistic collaboration.

By observing this dialogue, the audience became privy to Mark Morris’ rare understanding of the relationship between musical structure and movement. He was able to capture a strikingly accurate visual depiction of sonata-allegro form using his unique movement vocabulary. Sonata-allegro form is a tri-partite music composition structure utilized primarily during the eighteenth century, at the time that Mozart was composing. It consists of: 1) an exposition, where several musical motifs are introduced, 2) a development, where these motifs are explored and altered and 3) a recapitulation of the original themes, with an extended cadenza finish. Morris was able to give this musical structure life through movement by mirroring the three-part formula and exploring the movement material through recurrence. Like sonata-allegro form, there were three individual sections to his work: 1) eleven, which stated his primary themes, 2) double, where these ideas were examined and 3) twenty-seven, a cohesive summation of the material introduced. Through all three parts, the motifs recurred in tandem with recurrences in the music. Some of the more memorable returning choreography was: punctuated 1^st position rélévés, staccato ballètés, 2^nd position shuffles, and determinate marching, all coinciding with Mozart’s pulsating score. Mark Morris was able, in a way that few choreographers can match, to imagine and express what Mozart’s extraordinary music might look like.

There was a third ghostly presence in Mozart Dances, and that was the strong influence of George Balanchine manifested in costume and pattern. The costuming in all three segments was Balanchinian with Morris flair. Balanchine was one of the first choreographers to strip away the idea of traditional ballet costuming, both figuratively and literally. He put the dancers in practice clothes (simple leotards and tights) so as to correctly place the sole focus on dancing and movement, not peripheral elements, like costuming. Morris’ choice of costume was similarly minimalistic. The corps women wore a two piece leotard set, and the lead woman was in a plain white dress. The men wore solid dance tights and were either bare-chested (segment 1), or had plain grey tank shirts on (segment 2). Morris did add his own panache with a filmy tulle overdress for the women in the corps and a Dickens-style morning coat for the lead male dancer. It is unclear how Balanchine would feel about these ‘extras’, but they did give insight into Mark Morris’ personal character. These details perfectly illustrated his whimisical side, which continued all the way to the curtain call, where his bow was overshadowed by his bright green socks.

The choreographic patterns in Mozart Dances were the second apparition of Balanchine. So many choreographers focus all of their attention on the movements of the body and forget that the floor patterning of a piece can be just as powerful. Like Balanchine, Morris pays close attention to configurations, which was especially prevalent in the second movement of the piece, featuring the men. Morris choreographed them in circular patterns, holding hands or slightly detached, with their arms in 2^nd position. This portion of the piece was lit from above, reflecting their shadows on the stage as they weaved, swayed, and turned. During these formations, the shadows on the floor looked like a kaleidoscope. It was mesmerizing. And, as in Balanchine’s work, the intoxicating element was the structure being executed by the dancers as they simply walked through a variety of patterns.

Clearly, there was more going on in Mozart Dances than abstraction. Critical rigor requires the in-depth examination of appearances. Taking something at face value could mean that its true purpose and beauty is missed. And, in Mark Morris Dance Group’s Mozart Dances, this magnificence was typified by a complicated mix of ideas and artistry from three genres: Mozart’s eighteenth-century classicism, Morris’ distinctive take on post-modernism and Balanchine’s historical legacy of neo-classicism.

Chris Black/POTRZEBIE Dance Project-Justin Herman Plaza Park

Generalization and categorization may not be popular in the performing arts, but in today’s modern dance scene, most choreographers fall into one of three camps: 1) the movement for movement’s sake abstractionists, 2) the narrative storytellers and 3) the hybrids who seek some marriage of form and content. The hybrids’ process is a bit of a mystery but one creative method they employ involves searching for inspiration and using it as a jumping off point for choreography. Common choices include class politics, social relationships, and feminism in the media. Unfortunately, because of their popularity, these issues have been analyzed to death in modern dance. Therefore, it is refreshing to see new works from modern choreographers that look outside of angsty subject-matter to other sources of insight, which also provide surprisingly deep and meaningful revelations. In Chris Black’s newest work, Pastime, she looked to baseball, and even though it may not fall into a socio-economic-political classification, it, too can teach when placed in the arena of the performing arts. Specifically, it demonstrates an ingenious use of the deconstructed narrative in modern dance while illustrating a brilliant juxtaposition of motion and stillness as well as highlighting the dark competitive side of humanity.

The idea of the ‘deconstructed narrative’ became a popular choreographic framework in the eighties and nineties as a response to the previous decades where content was conspicuously absent from much modern dance. With a deconstructed narrative, there is not a specific story or plotline. Instead, there is an idea, a concept, a topic that molds the work and provides a basis for choreographic invention and experimentation. Pastime had this; it was incredibly successful at unifying form and content as two interdependent variables. It was about baseball, but it was not a dance version of a nine-inning game from beginning to end. Rather, baseball was the foundation for exploration of movement. In the forty minute dance, there were gestural representations found specifically in baseball-pitching, batting, catching, sliding, and perhaps most interesting, the use of covert communicative coaching signals. But again, all of these movements were interspersed in the abstract expressionist choreography. They were not really telling a linear story; they were the inspiration and thus, illustrated a perfect example of the deconstructed narrative in modern dance.

Because of this unique fusion of baseball and movement, there were ample opportunities to witness a distinctive relationship between motion and stillness as is often apparent in a baseball game. Near the beginning of the piece, there was a section where the dancers toggled between moving around the field and a typical ‘resting’ baseball position, which in dance terms translated to standing in parallel 2^nd, with hands placed on thighs. In this interchange, the audience could see how motion can erupt from a state of being still. Even when at rest, the next movement can be born within mind and body, sometimes explosively; sometimes calmly and sometimes purposely.

The presence of aggression in the piece was a bit of a surprise. Often baseball is tantamount to a sunny, happy, afternoon with family and ballpark snacks. Until playoff time, many fair-weather fans forget that it is a competitive sport where there are winners and losers. Contentiousness, anger and frustration are just as much a part of the game as are home runs and the amazing fly-ball catch. In the choreography, Black illustrated this hostility in several ways. It was seen between pitcher and batter characters as well as between team members. There was one sequence where two dancers played out a ‘duel’ scenario. They had a confrontation, and then backed away; but kept their eyes glued to each other. Dancers continued to move all around them, yet their gaze remained locked for what seemed like five minutes; the competitive tension was palpable.

Pastime was a great abstract expression of sport in dance. And, the dancers looked like baseball players. Because of all the rolling around in the natural park setting, by the end of the piece their costumes (‘baseball’ shirts) were covered in grass stains, just like real baseball players at the end of a game. Also, Erik Pearson’s brilliant score of baseball related music played on transistor radios further contextualized the piece into the baseball world. But, aside from these strikingly realistic visual and audio cues, the true achievement of Chris Black/POTRZEBIE Dance Project’s, Pastime, is the mixing of two unlikely ingredients and the surprising product that was created by this merger.

San Francisco Ballet-Stern Grove 2007

Today ballet dancers are better than ever. In order to “make it” in this highly competitive market, it is necessary to have the whole package: technique, versatility, artistry and desire. But no matter how gifted and brilliant today’s dancers may be, not all of them can be stars. Ballet administrations cannot afford to pay all of their dancers top salaries so most companies end up with a hierarchical ranking of dancers: the prima ballerina, the principals, the soloists (which in some companies are divided into two tiers of first and second soloists), the corps de ballet and lastly, the apprentices. With the outstanding male and female talent present at all of these levels, ballet companies must get creative in how they provide audience access to dancers who may otherwise be hidden. For the New York City Ballet’s current production of Romeo and Juliet, artistic director Peter Martins specifically cast young dancers (members of the corps and even some from the School of American Ballet) to play the title roles, bringing these ‘unknowns’ to center stage. Another way is to move towards more egalitarianism in dance, focusing on choreography and repertory that highlight the ensemble, provide gender balance, and as a result gives more dancers the chance to shine.

San Francisco Ballet’s offering at the Stern Grove Festival this year had the promise of egalitarianism with three choreographic masters of the ensemble: Paul Taylor’s Spring Rounds, George Balanchine’s Divertimento No. 15, and Lar Lubovitch’s Elemental Brubeck. This promise, however, was only partly fulfilled. Two of these three works provided the audience with the true feeling of the company en masse, with the starring role being filled not by one but by many. What was disappointing was the piece choreographed by the late prince of parity, George Balanchine. For someone who prided himself on revolutionizing American ballet by introducing a more democratic approach to the dancers, he failed to illustrate this in Divertimento No. 15.

When Balanchine came to America, he brought with him his own philosophy of dance, which was greatly influenced by the Russian ballet master, Marius Petipa. One primary belief was this idea of egalitarianism amongst dancers, and he wished to introduce it into traditional American ballet. Balanchine suggested that anyone and everyone in a company could be showcased, which contradicted the historical role of ranking ballet dancers according to a perceived level of talent. In Divertimento No. 15, this inclusion of all the female dancers is palpable-most of them dance solos and are featured. There is not just one star; it really is an ensemble work, but clearly for the women. What strikes the eye in Divertimento No. 15 is the lack of male presence, aside from their obvious role as partners and facilitators for the women. In this small cast of sixteen dancers, the women outnumber the men thirteen to three. But, there are no rules that say ballets must have an equal number of men and women. What is more important is the distribution of choreography. Through this, the audience can easily grasp that men are second-class citizens in the world of Balanchine and largely ignored as solo artists. In fact, in the theme and variations section of this piece, there are six solos to Mozart’s Suite in B-flat major. Only one of these is danced by a man and although it was technically proficient, the choreography was wanting. The sequences for the women were simply more interesting and beautifully constructed, incorporating the use of second position, playing turnout against parallel in the legs, and executing perfection in the double pirouettes. The women stole the show, and not only because they were brilliant dancers. The choreography was made for them and not for the men. If Balanchine felt that equality for dancers was so crucial, does it not stand to reason that this should apply to the men as well as the women?

In Paul Taylor’s Spring Rounds, images of nature, seasons, and the circularity of time were apparent within the choreographic structure, movement choices and costuming. Unlike Divertimento No. 15, the entire cast was given equal choreographic treatment, and in the several occasions where the seven women danced in unison and the seven men also danced together, the men clearly shone brighter than the women did. Some of the jump combinations appeared to be too fast for some of the women who danced on Sunday. It was almost as though they did not have time to land completely from one jump, and then plie adequately to give buoyancy and support in the next jump. But, this did not appear to be an issue with Taylor’s construction, more with the execution by the dancers. The men were able to execute the sequences with more accuracy and with much greater confidence.

Lubovitch’s Elemental Brubeck is a masterpiece, illustrating his wonderful quality of movement, which is like a strange combination of Fred Astaire, contact improvisation and quasi-Twyla Tharp. His choreography is cool and laid-back, a perfect match to the jazz music of Dave Brubeck. Some of Lubovitch’s inventive signature lifts were present, like the Walking Lady Lift, where the woman is lifted in the air so that she looks like her legs are walking through water. Without a doubt, a highlight of Elemental Brubeck was the solo danced on Sunday by Rory Hohenstein. It was a retro throw-back to dance of many different decades as well as snippets of Broadway dancing such as All That Jazz and Fosse. But the real draw in Lubovitch’s piece was the group dynamic when all the dancers performed together. Again, both men and women were given equal footing in the choreography, and the main group sequence was particularly striking in its energy and flow. It was like the gym scene in West Side Story without all the animosity and contentiousness.

The program on Sunday had potential. If not for Balanchine’s obvious bias against men in his choreography, the performance could have reached a democratic pinnacle. It could have represented pure dance egalitarianism by a truly ensemble company, which is important when there are such talents at all levels of rank. Paul Taylor and Lar Lubovitch may not perceive themselves as purveyors of consensus choreography, but they certainly embody this belief much more than the man who claimed that title for himself.