Reprieve From Festival Fatigue
If you are beginning to suffer from festival fatigue, there is a cure. Of course, it's another festival: Dancenow/NYC, a refreshingly speedy array of short pieces (all under seven minutes) that acts like a cool sorbet after the summer's "smorgasbords."
Dancenow/NYC's curators, Robin Staff and Tamara Greenfield, have collected work from over 85 choreographers into loosely themed aggregations. At last week's Base Camp, emerging dancers got their moments in the sun. This coming week, a show called DancemOpolitan (set in the smoky atmosphere of Joe's Pub) lets dancers get their Weimar on. But at the festival's opening event, 40Up, that most underserved clan of dance–makers — the middle aged — presented an evening of invigorating work that made everyone a bit more hopeful about career longevity.
Certainly, the bite-sized running times didn't encourage boredom, but neither did the crisp execution at Dance Theater Workshop. After presenting the festival in grittier, less accommodating spaces for years, the group's move into sleek, technologically kitted-out new digs made a world of difference. Changeover times were shortened to an eyeblink, and no blackout lasted longer than 60 seconds. By the end of the night, nearly everyone had a list of new favorite choreographers.
Topping my list was the show's opener, a snippet of the upcoming "Memory Bank" by Bridgman/Packer dance. Video projection has gotten so common, and is so frequently subpar, that the hum of a projector is almost enough to make a theatergoer cringe in anticipation. But Art Bridgman and Myrna Packer, along with collaborator Peter Bobrow, have created a genuinely bewitching mini-landscape out of a layered projection screen and simple, life-size images.
What seems to be a king-size sheet hangs in the middle of the stage, with a king-size piece of gauze hanging just a few inches in front of it. As the image of Mr. Bridgman appears on the gauze, we gradually realize that the man himself is standing just behind his reflection. As he and Ms. Packer slip around their screen, their floating projections seem more real than they do. It's thoroughly disorienting, and never less than gorgeous.
A similarly otherworldly piece, Christopher Williams's "Saint Agnes" (an excerpt from "Ursula and the 11,000 Virgins"), introduces the statelyVicky Shick as a saint with a lamb in her arms. When the fluffy little marionette gambols offstage (with the aid of puppeteer Lake Simons), Ms. Shick embarks on a ritualistic, winding dance — more meditation than performance. Bowing deeply, folding over an elegantly outstretched leg, and often facing away from us, Ms. Shick seems in preparation for some dreadful task. When the lamb trips onstage again, we realize how close religious ecstasy and bloodthirstiness really are.
As always, some choreographers believe their costumes will do the work for them. An underwhelming duet between Sarah Franklin and Sara Walker, choreographed by Sally Bomer, stands out mostly for its use of a long taffeta skirt, and Merián Soto, while never less than regal, gets upstaged by the big stick she wields like an unprotesting partner.
The inevitable jokey pieces enjoyed a willing and appreciative audience — long-standing affection often glosses over any hiccups. When Gus Solomons Jr.'s piece — a darling bop to a Squirrel Nut Zippers song — finished, we roared in approval, delighted to have seen the grey-haired Mr. Solomons, Stuart Hodes, and Alice Teirstein acquit themselves so jauntily. In a solo "Hind Legs," David Parker put Jeffrey Kazin in pointe shoes, told him to pretend the floor was waxed, then let us giggle at his slips and scooche.
But Andrea E. Woods and her solo "Kujichagulia to the Max" proved that getting older doesn't have to make us laugh. In an intensely focused performance to shimmying jazz by Max Roach, Ms. Woods defied a thousand conventions. Her aggressive developés (more like karate kicks) and sly smile seemed like a challenge, while her easy shifts between styles lent her movements tremendous authority. It made you feel sorry for those poor tykes under 40 … only life experience can result in confidence like this.
DanceNow/NYC through September 16 (219 W. 19th St., between Seventh and Eighth avenues, 212-924-0077).
