By Christian Viveros-Fauné
By Miriam Felton-Dansky
By Tom Sellar
By Tom Sellar
By Jessica Dawson
By Tom Sellar
By R. C. Baker
By Tom Sellar
Fagan's new Two Pieces of One: Green, like many of his works, shows a serenely energetic community going about its dancing business this time to music in contrasting styles: pieces by jazz musician Tony Williams frame a religious chorale by 16th-century composer Cristóbal de Morales. The texture constantly changes, the stage filling and emptying; leaving behind, say, a solo; other people gradually entering to reconfigure the picture; then everyone spinning rapidly away. The dancers relate to one another largely through the steps and moves they share, but there's one lovely moment when a flock of them stands motionless in different poses, and Pennewell rubs his cheek against each in turn.
Two Pieces of One: Green doesn't really build up steam; it just ends. But the 1997 Nkanyit progresses from a solemn evocation of regal Africans in gold cloth, softly treading, to folks in sweats bringing a more contemporary verve to the party. The opportunity for individuality increases, but the sense of bonding remains. Pennewell, Skepple, and Rogers form a family father, mother, daughter and at the end, both groups join in circling the three, as if Fagan meant to tell us that the family's the heart of any culture.
"Bring on the men!" American Ballet Theatre, its corporate ear to the ground, must believe it hears the public howling these words. Great male dancers are hardly an anomaly these days, but ABT prides itself on a collection of platinum virtuosos who spin like weather vanes in a wind and leap as if they had springs in their shoes. The lineup of ballets for the company's fall season clearly aimed to display them. Two pyrotechnical all-male works a revival of Anton Dolin's sparkling classical Variations for Four and Nacho Duato's sultry, muscular Remanso between them chalked up eight performances on the 16 programs. Jerome Robbins's witty classic about sailors on leave was featured on five. The newly acquired Spring and Fall by John Neumeier suggests a murky coming of age rite for a blithe youth (the always radiant Angel Corella), and its most effective scene shows a silhouetted parade of men thrusting their limbs in various directions.
The men are gorgeous. And it's a pleasure to watch them in the elegant Dolin work, all tricked out in white satin and silver spangles. Go twice and you can compare José Manuel Carreño and Maxim Belotserkovsky in the first solo, see Belotserkovsky ace the lyrical variation on which Vladimir Malakhov has already set his velvety mark, and watch Corella essay those meticulous diamonds Ethan Stiefel's legs cut in the air.
Though Twyla Tharp's new Known by Heart received only three performances, it raises the atmosphere in the theater the way a thunderstorm releases ozone into the air. By the end, we're snorting artistic oxygen, and the dancers look as if they could use a little of the real stuff. The opening duet is kin to the quick-footed, buoyant courting dances that Auguste Bournonville used to dream up in 19th-century Copenhagen, but pressurized until it crackles and sparkles. Julie Kent and Corella grace this spun-sugar marathon with every ounce of their skill and charm. When Mozart's Danse Allemande cedes to Donald Knaack's "Junk Music," a more contemporary pair Susan Jaffe and Stiefel, both of them brilliant takes over. These two give each other no quarter, yet this urban wrangle is free of malice. Stiefel crouches and feints and punches the air the punk with solid gold dancing; she ducks, ratchets out a few tap steps on pointe, and skids across to him; her kicks could kill. They have a crisp vaudeville pantomime involving knocking on an invisible door. And they dance and dance, their repartee simmered down into pure movement.
To selections from Steve Reich's Music for Six Pianos, Keith Roberts and Griff Braun, side by side, travel around and around the stage, pausing occasionally to wrestle; their tricky ongoing steps have the feel of jogging. Just as you think they might die, they're spelled by Marcelo Gomes and Sean Stewart. Meanwhile the pairs from the first section take turns racing in, reprising bits of their duets, and rushing away. Gradually they mix and match; Corella does the door number with Stiefel. If you haven't noticed yet that Tharp's back in one of her favorite playgrounds contrasting classical style with contemporary you do now.