By Alexis Soloski
By Molly Grogan
By R. C. Baker
By Christian Viveros-FaunÃ©
By Alexis Soloski
By Alexis Soloski
By Lilly Lampe
Its like Halloween. Come as your favorite hero or villain. Thats more or less the directive Stephen Petronio gave former members of his dance company for the DancemOpolitan performances he curated at one of New Yorks funkiest spaces, Joes Pub. The full title of the show is Villains and Heroes, The 100 most influential people who (n)ever lived.
Youd expect choreographers who worked with Petronio as dancers to have absorbed something of his fast, high-wheeling style. And they have. In his extremely smart introduction, he gives a better description of his movement priorities than I could, proudly refers to the tribe Petronius, and refers to his group as a boot camp for choreographers. Those with works on view tonightGerald Casel, Jeremy Nelson, Ashleigh Leite, Ori Flomin, Jimena Paz, Todd Williams, and Ellis Woodhe identifies as my heroes and my villains.
What the choreographers have come up with isnt probably the piece theyd like to be remembered by, but almost all the works are clever and full of juicy movement. I dont think Casel has any specific idol or non-idol in mind. Or maybe he thinks of the boundary between the two as porous. He wends his way through the tables to the tiny cabaret stage disbursing dollar bills to spectators, then makes sure to collect them again before he finishes nimbly jabbing and dodging around in a post hip-hop style to Missy Elliott singing Mommy.
Leite moves in a style that refers to Petronios in the sense of dance till you drop power and energy. If Leitewhipping her legs around and lashing the air sees herself as Wonder Woman in her Its No Wonder (to music by The Flaming Lips), its not just because shes tireless mover; shes also a new mother, and her occasional pauses to glance worriedly offstage suggest that shes got something beside her dance chops to pay attention to. In Nelsons Bridge of Fools, the choreographer and Francis A. Stansky also stop occasionally, but their glances are wary. With their fake mustaches, long capes, and tee shirts with taped-on logos, theyre unlikely heroes. They certainly convinced me that two superguys arent necessarily better than one. As they softly sprint and lunge, they seem connected by an invisible bondcowering side by side, getting snagged on each other.
Bridge of Fools is one of three duets on the program. If Ori Flomin is channeling the never-was-alive, his model could be Boris Karloff or Lon Chaney. While Amanda Wells in her pretty blue dress presses against the back wall as if trying to escape the faceless figure in black (Flomin) who rises from being a dark heap on the floor to pen her in with a lift of his leg and manipulate her as if she were a rag doll. Dazed, she dances side by side with the creep, doing his steps. But help is on the way. Toward the end of her ordeal, she looks up, a voice in Kylie Minogues score says faster than a speeding bullet, and in short order, shes kissing a superman action figure while her oppressor sinks down into a puddle again.
Williamss Stand Beside Her is considerable more opaque than this. While Jennifer Horner moves stiffly around, another person, invisible under a fluffy, diaphanous, white burka, thrashes and whirls beside her to Middle Eastern songs with a strong nonsense component (I think I heard burka, burka, burka blue Barbie, but I could be wrong). Anyway, Horner uncovers her companion, who turns out to be Williams, and helps re-clothe him. John Waynes voice, from Face the Flag, intones patriotic thoughts. Williams ends up garbed like Combat Ken and just as stiff. Horner pulls down his pants back down and stares. Nope, nothing there. I decide this piece is a heartfelt satire or maybe an anti-government statement or a thought about women in Islam or a putdown of American consumerism or. . . .
B & C [Before and Consequence], the only piece on the program in which words dance more than people do, introduces two women, Pascal Wettstein and choreographer Paz, sitting at a table. They have cups to deal with, but this tea party is a bizarre interrogation. Speaking with exaggerated clarity, they utter formulaic questions, like the one beginning, Do you swear that your testimony is. . .? But they are both questioners and those being questioned, and the rhythms and repetitions blur the distinction between the two roles. Can you be more subjunctive? one of them asks, and a do-or-die grammar quiz conflates the nerve-wracking with the absurd. Paz does dancerhythmically, twistilywhile Jolie Hollands recorded voice sings Give me that old-fashioned morphine and Wettstein reflectively dumps more and more sugar into her tea.
As a title, Maculate Conception tells us quite a lot about Woods view of a major New Testament event. Duels fist-thrusting version of Do You Hear What I Hear? accompanies a snakepit of six powerful women in black, plus Wood. They grab space so passionately that you imagine one or two hurtling off the stage into the laps of those spectators nearest the stage. If this is the birth of Jesus, hes a woman, and a sexy one at that.