In between we had the pleasure of Vicky Shick moving softly and gravely, sliding herself into and out of a vintage Persian lamb coat, while Yma Sumac warbled scratchily through her incredible vocal range. Harry James hoisted his long-ago trumpet in "Jealousy," as Sondra Loring dipped her feet friskily and inventively in a long diagonal path of light. Rocky Bornstein built an athletic trial alongside Bill Monroe and his Bluegrass Boys.
Anthony Phillips danced in a blue peignoir and gray wig, while Eddie Arnold yearned for a girl like Mother. That was after Phillips, among other smart things, scrawled statements and questions on a sketch pad and made a big to-do over a gift he pretended someone in the front row had given him.
Perhaps the most amazing performance came from Jodi Melnick, merging with Count Basie like drunken moonlight, like silk drawn across sand, like almost nothing I've ever seen. But she undercut that beauty scrubbing at her nose until you began to fidget, yelping that she had something in her eye, she really did, "Ow!" "Usually," she said, after dancing some more, the tears streamed down from her eye and formed a pool around her. She was still marveling over that when the lights went out.