Dance Alloy unveils a compelling piece
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Stephanie Dumaine in Dance Alloy's "Alloy Unlocked ... Part I."
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When a company makes a transition, as was the case when Dance Alloy Theater artistic director Greer Reed-Jones replaced Beth Corning last summer, it may take a year or more to fully realize the impact.
But given the Dance Alloy ensemble of veteran dancers, a group that has developed a chameleon-like quality, the transition was already in progress at "Alloy Unlocked ... Part I" at the New Hazlett Theater on Friday.
- Where: New Hazlett Theater, North Side.
- When: 7 tonight.
- Tickets: $20-$25; 412-363-4321 or dancealloy.org. Doors open at 5:30 p.m. for a pre-performance happy hour.
The first two pieces, Susan Marshall's "Arms" and Donald Byrd's "White Man Sleep," were commissioned under Corning's artistic watch. "Arms" detailed a relationship between Maribeth Maxa and Christopher Bandy, using mostly arms, of course, and the torso, and Byrd's 2002 work was a response to the September 11 bombings of the World Trade Center.
Both emanated from an emotional center that symbolized the "Theater" that Corning tacked onto the company name. However, now the emphasis was different. Under Corning, "Theater" meant a taut ensemble, strung like a high wire of emotion, always controlled, always refined, almost Victorian at times. Reed-Jones has introduced a more expansive emotional style, but sometimes at the expense of ensemble precision.
So "Arms" and "White Man Sleep" lacked the seamless tension that Corning emphasized. Where she restricted the emotion to the movement, Reed-Jones allows it to transpire to the face. There was a breathe-ability here, though, and a succulent interplay between hard accents and soft phrasing that bore considerable promise.
The concert's primary excitement focused around the two premieres by local choreographers, Pearlann Porter ("Itch of the Key") and Gwen Hunter Ritchie ("Look Me in the Eyes"), a first for the Alloy. Both gave distinctly different interpretations of the evening's theme, "Alloy Unlocked."
Porter, the younger of the two, has developed a distinctive style in a few short years. Essentially stationary (and not unlike Corning's method of movement) and initiated by a considerable use of the torso (much like "Arms"), "Itch" was created as film noir, a film technique found usually in crime drama and sometimes in classic horror flicks.
Using her own projections (a leafless forest at night, large, full-paned windows, a larger-than-life-sized keyhole and a door), she sought to create the tensions leading up to a crime. I was reminded more of character study ballets, like those of Antony Tudor ("Dark Elegies," "Lilac Garden") and Agnes De Mille (the Lizzie Borden-inspired "Fall River Legend"), where the tensions were given in small, precise details. A furtive glance. A nauseating contraction. A too-brief embrace.
There were possibilities in Porter's use of the women's backs (thanks to Maxa's sensual velvet gowns), the use of shadows and a lovely menage a trois for Adrienne Misko with Bandy and Michael Walsh, but ultimately this "Itch" didn't possess the magnetism that it craved.
Hunter Ritchie, however, turned in her most compelling work to date, despite a difficult subject. "Look Me in the Eyes" purportedly centered on people with sensory issues. But the heart of this work focused around Asperger syndrome, a form of autism, which Hunter Ritchie discovered in her son.
Backed by Stacy Pearl's video work, stunningly beautiful on its own without interfering in the dance, and Andy Hasenpflug's terrific score, which jumped from the childlike tinkling of a music box to a more contemporary beat that represented the rest of the world, "Look Me in the Eyes" was richly compelling.
The images still resonate: Maxa taking Stephanie Dumaine's chin, Bandy obsessively searching with a flashlight as spots of light rained across the giant screen, plastic bags on and off screen. They all created a world as seen by those caught in a cage that was not their own making.
But it was the final duet, really more of a solo for Walsh with Misko sympathetically alert, that said it all. Without melodrama, a trembling Walsh was able to promote a deep understanding as Misko sat listening in a rarified, emotional dance moment.
First Published December 7, 2009 12:00 am
