Ballet West: Choreographic Festival

The future of ballet may very well look like the third annual Choreographic Festival presented by Ballet West, only more so. The performance itself was breathtaking. The sheer range and breadth of artistic perspectives, institutional development and support, and scaffolding of public engagement made it an unforgettable experience.

A night of mixed repertoire is expected to be stylistically diverse. The Festival’s choreographic works were diverse not only in style but also across vital metrics that may be consistently problematic in the culture and institutions of ballet.

Three of the five choreographers presented on the program were women, a noteworthy majority in a field in which women are radically underrepresented, or tokenized, in the commission and presentation of new works. A United States premiere performed by the Scottish Ballet and a premiere by the artistic director of another major American ballet company, BalletMet, were presented alongside three creations from Ballet West company artists. The Ballet West choreographers represented different ranks from within the company’s internal structure, as did the dancers each choreographer featured - ranging from the corps de ballet to principal artists.

In addition to the Festival’s performances, a screening of the documentary film Danseur on a previous night, with a post-film discussion led by professor and journalist Kate Mattingly; a visual art installation showcasing local artists; and a pre-performance lecture/Q & A with the program’s choreographers deftly mediated by Ballet West artistic director Adam Sklute all worked together to enliven the intimate Rose Wagner Performing Arts Center with a sense of community and critical viewership.

Sophie Laplane’s Sibilo opened the program with a joyful provocation superbly executed by the Scottish Ballet, for whom Laplane is choreographer-in-residence and a former dancer. As mentioned in the program notes and elaborated in the pre-performance lecture, Sibilo began as a silent duet articulating the two dancers’ personalities. The conceptual framework was drawn from pairing the duet with a whistled song, which then led to the commision of the original score and expansion of the ensemble piece.

The whistling theme threaded through an electronic pulse and drone, pacing the shifting vignettes. It began with four pairs of men in suits and women in dresses dancing in stunning unison. Fluid transitions through angular and iconic postures set the tone. A woman shed her outer layer to actively reveal a (fantastically costumed) nude-colored top and bottoms and began a quirky and intricate duet. Many iterations of duet, trio, and ensemble followed, with different facings, pacing, and affective quality, including a gorgeous dance that twined two men together and apart through the arms of one suit jacket. Other clothing articles were whisked into the wings by wire; the donning and shedding felt like an integrated allegory for personal revelation but never a gimmick. The end was familiar but fitting, the dancers in a line downstage facing out. They fully committed to individual signature movements, which the audience was by now conditioned to recognize, and then together executed the signature motif of a full-body shimmy that really must be seen to be believed.

The three works by Ballet West choreographers followed an intermission. First, principal artist Emily Adams interpreted archetypes with the high-flying, and thoughtfully cast and costumed, But A Dream. Though occasionally overwhelmed by the music and widely spaced freneticisms, the piece was an effective exploration of interacting and contrasting qualities, and reminded me of early Ballets Russes collaborations with the Surrealists. Assembling a trio of Tyler Gum, Arolyn Williams, and Jordan Veit as The Seekers, all clad in modish gender-neutral garb, was a pitch-perfect decision. Corps artist Olivia Gusti completely inhabited Adams’ mode of graceful strength as The Racer.

Ballet West first soloist Katlyn Addison’s Hidden Voices established a beautiful dynamic with its selection of an Antonín Dvořák string quartet, inspired by African American spiritual music, and the recurrent theme of hummed hymns. This musical choice, and in fact every choice in Addison’s work, indicated a commitment to the marrying of aesthetic beauty and meaningful context - a hallmark of consummate artistry and craft. The primarily classical/neoclassical vernacular was refreshing and evocative. Particularly moving for me was the stunning Gabrielle Salvatto in the Humming Section as well as the return to the stage of new mother Allison DeBona.

Demi-soloist Trevor Naumann’s disquiet was unsettling, as its title forewarns, but quite crowd-pleasing. My initial reaction was to note the strikingly vampiric quality of the undulating, scantily-clad Victorian-Gothic cluster. The cluster jerked and contorted, then emerged into controlled chaos, a surprisingly mature expression of themes that could have been less tasteful in hands other than Naumann’s. Hair whipping, lightning quick piqué turns, and group undulations in canon, the combination of which could have easily bordered on too much, were integrated here into something darker and sharper.

Edwaard Liang is both a sought-after choreographer and the artistic director of the Columbus, Ohio-based company BalletMet, following a career dancing with many internationally renowned companies. He is therefore in a prime position to encapsulate what he, Adam Sklute, and Scottish Ballet artistic director and CEO Christopher Hampson espoused in the pre-performance lecture: the creation and production of new work in collaboration with company dancers, in support of their company dancers’ artistic growth.

It was clear that Liang has a strong stylistic vision, and as readily apparent that he recognized and valued the strengths and qualities of the Ballet West dancers on whom he set his new work, Constant Light. The piece began with dancers moving in full silhouette. Warm lighting came up on a large ensemble in ombré unitards, with white on the top that transitioned to red down through the flat shoes and pointe shoes, accentuating full lines.

Constant Light was aptly named, evoking an unremitting beauty that the piece achieved both technically and expressively. Innovative partnering and interesting formations and spatial densities enlivened the abstract interpretation of string and piano concertos. An ensemble of men performed some truly lovely fouettés, a step usually reserved for women. Principal artist Adrian Fry looked at home in the style of the piece, especially during a brisk petite allegro. Soloist Chelsea Keefer caught the eye with the best onstage breakaway run I’ve seen - a surprisingly difficult task - and held that attention throughout the remainder of her section. The sparing use of silhouette was reprised only once, with a single dancer, who was discernible as the inimitably poised Emily Adams, well before the lights came up. Constant Light was a great opportunity to appreciate the individual artists familiar to Ballet West’s audience through different eyes.

Ballet companies face the challenge of continuing to broaden their horizons, while fostering the creative growth of their own artists, if they wish to remain vital. There can, and will be, documentation that addresses gender inequities in ballet through a lens even more inclusive than that of the film Danseur. The same goes for more accessible or immersive venues than the Rose Wagner Center, and for more, and wider-reaching, educational outreach than the pre-performance lectures. There will be more interdisciplinary intersections, beyond those of figurative and portrait paintings and photography that depict dance. There will also be greater institutional support for the continuing artistic development of company dancers and choreographers, especially women, especially women of color (and the list goes on). Having seen the third annual Choreographic Festival, hosted by Ballet West, I am more hopeful than I have been for quite some time that these things will happen - because they have more than begun to happen, here and now.

The Scottish Ballet in Sibilo by Sophie Laplane. Photo by Jane Hobson.

Nora Price is a Milwaukee native living and working in Salt Lake City. She can be seen performing with Durian Durian, an art band that combines post-punk music and contemporary dance.

Ballet West: Cinderella

Ballet West’s production of Sir Frederick Ashton’s 1948 story ballet Cinderella, last performed by the company in 2013, was well-wrought and thoroughly charming. Production decisions were made in appreciation of the structurally simple narrative of the fairytale couched in timeless pastiche. The spareness of the classic staging left space for overblown caricature, a legacy of British comic revue, which was committed and hilariously effective. These comic elements further served to emotionally offset the genuine sweetness of the romantic leads, eloquently and beautifully expressed by Arolyn Williams in the titular role on opening night. Many creative choices favoring stylistic and artistic commitment made Ballet West’s Cinderella successful, all of which were exemplified within minutes of the first act.

A storybook scrim - the first of many - lifted following the overture, to reveal the implied architecture of a painted set, minimally furnished, and which, as a background arguably ought to, instantly read then faded. The Ugly Stepsisters immediately drew the focus of the scene. Their antics, including an anachronistic Charleston, were engaging and truly funny. The styling and execution was true to the Stepsisters’ theatrical forebears, dames en travesti, and was nearly as entertaining and provoking as the contemporary drag it prefigured.

Artists of Ballet West as the Ugly Stepsisters. Photo by Beau Pearson.

Williams’ Cinderella was reserved, occupying the periphery, but never seemed cowed or shamed by her station: less a servant than a grieving young woman empathetic towards her family’s shortcomings, and a welcome interpretation, as martyrdom is ennobling but not necessarily endearing. The role was originally choreographed with Dame Margot Fonteyn in mind and performed, due to injury, by Moira Shearer (star of the classic film The Red Shoes); both dancers were known for their emotive merit, and Williams was equal to the role in every way. In a poignant repeated theme, when she alone held the stage, Williams turned her back and perched en pointe on the elevated hearth to just barely reach the portrait of her deceased mother. It was an especially effective moment, as her petite frame was coupled with her powerful expressive quality. She descended from the mantle into the iconic, animated duet with her broom, which she held aloft over some truly gorgeous piqués en attitude, made all the more dreamy for being subtly lit with a single follow-spot.

A small misstep was the overly dark lighting of the Fairy Godmother’s sudden emergence from the cowl of the beggar woman, but the entrance was one of many instances of old-school magic and stagecraft that delighted throughout. Emily Adams’ Fairy Godmother was poised and gracious, offering transformations to which Cinderella nodded enthusiastic assent. All the gestural movement in this exchange, indeed throughout the ballet, was explicit and discernible.

The Fairy Godmother presented each of the Fairies of the Four Seasons, successively revealed by lifting a sheer curtain on representative solos - all of which were sharp and well-matched to Prokofiev’s suites. A highlight of Act I, Scene II was Adams leading the Fairies through an escalating series of small, brisk brisé and pas de chat, which then progressed into larger, trickier allegro steps as an incredibly tight and fluid ensemble. It was gratifying to see Adams and the Four Seasons, all principal artists or first soloists, perform their dynamic solos, and then move in energetic unison to such an inspiring degree.

Soloist Katlyn Addison as the Fairy Godmother, with Artists of Ballet West as the Fairies of the Four Seasons. Photo by Beau Pearson.

A pumpkin was acquired and dispatched with admirable speed to bring forth Cinderella’s coach, escorted by tutu-clad Stars whose arms clearly evoked the hands of the clock that inched towards midnight. As the scene ended, a charismatic and newly arrayed Williams was en route to the royal palace, looking bright and hopeful.

Artistic Director Adam Sklute nicely articulated the subtle pathos of the ballet in his program notes, but overstated the populist subtext in its “triumph of simplicity over excess” juxtaposed against Cinderella’s “corrupt and materialistic” family home. Both, however, would have been informed by the conventional interpretation of the ballet and the historical context of Prokofiev’s composition, and were still an appreciated inclusion. (Then, as now, it was less the thematic content of ballet than its accessibility that may have rendered it classist or elitist; for instance, ballet’s ability to procure top-tier, publicly funded grants, in addition to private endowment, while still, at times, lacking ticket prices commensurate to the median income of said public).

Thankfully, some classic pitfalls of the genre are avoided in Ashton’s Cinderella, and Ballet West’s presentation made the most of the opportunity. With a benign Father enfeebled by loss, the malevolent oppression of the Ugly Stepsisters blunted by their sillines and performative femininity, and a sympathetic and receptive Prince, the patriarchal role of this fairytale was thankfully null. That, coupled with Ashton’s decision to excise the notionally “national” dances and divertissements so frequently problematic in story ballets, leaves the viewer free to enjoy a classically danced tale, fully centered on a lively and lovely young woman who falls into requited love (and gets to live to enjoy it).

The love story played out in the hall of the palace, which featured a set of central stairs and a few decorative sconces, but not before the audience was treated to some court dances. Generally a lull in the program, in this case the court dances were enlivened by a Jester, less the comic and more the emcee, and the capers of the Ugly Stepsisters. With winking reflexivity, they performed farcical send-ups of famous variations and pas de deux from the classical ballet canon. Their partners were a paunchy Napoleon and his foil at Waterloo, the ostentatious Duke of Wellington, who more than held their own in haughty absurdity.

Demi-Soloist Joshua Whitehead as the Jester. Photo by Beau Pearson.

In pointed contrast to the madcap, Cinderella entered, and Rex Tilton’s Prince leapt up from the foot of the staircase with great alacrity, then solemnly escorted her as she slowly and meticulously descended en pointe, step by step. Williams danced Cinderella’s solo with exceptional musicality, and executed the most precisely articulated manège, a sequence of difficult steps in a circular path, that one could wish to see. Tilton performed more with languor and fluidity than virtuosity, an uncommon approach to a men’s solo variation that was well-suited both to his physique and to the music. Their pas de deux was beautiful, actually quite moving, eliciting spontaneous applause from an arabesque promenade and other quietly striking moments.

The same was true of Cinderella and the Prince’s final Act III duet; but first, the clock struck midnight, and Cinderella struggled through curiously mechanistic courtiers to then depart in rags.

The third act consisted largely of iterations of previous material, beginning with a procession across the curtain of homebound ball-goers and leading into a recapitulation of Cinderella’s lonely, broom-partnered daydreams. This was not boring for its familiarity but rather refreshing, as it followed a full-cast ensemble at the end of the previous act and was executed wistfully.

After the Prince arrived at Cinderella’s home, hijinks ensued, and after the shoe was finally fitted to its rightful foot, the lovers were whisked off to a quintessentially fairy-tale, starlit rendition of the palace hall. Their pas de deux was dreamy and featured another staircase moment, this time the totally unwavering descent of the Prince with Cinderella in a full press lift above his head.

The happily-ever-after of Sir Frederick Ashton's Cinderella feels warranted, not the contrivance of many a romance, and it was satisfying to regard Ballet West bowing in character to genuinely thunderous ovation.

Principal Artists Chase O'Connell and Beckanne Sisk. Photo by Beau Pearson.

Nora Price is a Milwaukee native living and working in Salt Lake City. She can be seen performing with Municipal Ballet Co. and with Durian Durian, an art band that combines post-punk music and contemporary dance.

Ballet West: Carmina Burana, with Serenade

Ballet West’s fall offering is loaded with icons. The world premiere of Nicolo Fonte’s Carmina Burana, a co-production with the Cincinnati Ballet, draws inspiration from Carl Orff’s well-known score that set the poetry of medieval clergy to music. The opening song, “O Fortuna,” is shorthand for drama, as frequently heard in commercials as it is in theaters. Serenade, the other ballet of the double-bill, is the first work choreographed by George Balanchine in the United States and a masterwork of twentieth-century ballet. Its opening tableau of female dancers in sky blue, ankle-length tutus extending their hands as if shielding their eyes from the sun is central to the origins of American ballet. Ballet West danced both works with spirit and indulgence, the expert clarity of Serenade contrasting with Carmina Burana’s excessive flourish.

The familiar refrain of “O Fortuna” bellowed as cloisters housing the Cantorum Chamber Choir in an actual choir loft were unveiled. A bone-like light fixture recalling the raftered ceiling of a Catholic church floats over a writhing tangle of bodies. Wearing nude leotards and briefs, the dancers twist until broken shapes emerge. Featuring a full orchestra, full chorus, three vocal soloists, impressive scenery, pointe shoes as well as soft shoes, too many costume changes, and intricate choreography, Nicolo Fonte’s Carmina Burana is a true spectacle.

The poems Orff chose to include in his cantata examine themes of fortune, love, and lust. Like many versions of Carmina Burana, Fonte uses the sensual words as a muse and aesthetic choices reference the authors of the lyrics, though the costumes have a trendier bent with metallic leotards and hooded crop tops paired with bronze circle skirts that recall monk’s robes. With the men and women of the ensemble clothed in the same hooded costume, the emergence of the monks is a magnificently anonymous moment.  

The ensuing vignettes are visually impactful and only occasionally overwrought. The dancers clearly delight in the movement, giving a heightened energy to Fonte’s choreography. Demonstratively musical, the choreography charged the stage with tension and hinted at the idea of humanity’s dual nature. Even in calm moments, Fonte can skillfully craft drama. This intensity can get exhausting, but Arolyn Williams had a refreshingly joyous solo that interrupted the turmoil.

Though Carmina Burana’s movement was rigorously detailed and sinuously danced, I craved a through-line. There were hints of this in an elegantly ambiguous duet between Alexander MacFarlan and Oliver Oguma that lightly referenced an earlier embrace. The arc of Beckanne Sisk and Chase O’Connell’s roles also felt like a potential theme.

Principal Artists Beckanne Sisk and Chase O'Connell in Nicolo Fonte's Carmina Burana. Photo by Luke Isley.

At first dancing separately, O’Connell appeared in a solo that showcased his spaciously sophisticated movement and Sisk emerged as a broken bird with only one wing and one pointe shoe. Though I did not understand why she was only wearing one shoe, Sisk expertly navigated the challenge, embodying a character trapped by her halved nature.  The pair’s eventual union in a climactic pas de deux was the highlight of the ballet. Much of the partnering in the rest of Carmina Burana felt manipulative but O’Connell met Sisk as a peer, supporting rather than controlling her. They danced with abandon and trust. O’Connell’s elegance and seamless partnering skills perfectly matched Sisk’s technical consistency and emotional intensity.

Unlike the embellishment of Fonte’s Carmina Burana, Serenade is brilliant in its refined clarity. As the emotive chords of Tchaikovsky’s “Serenade for Strings in C Major” swelled, the corps de ballet extend their fingertips, floating their wrists down to rest on their foreheads, then their hearts, their arms finally arriving in low circles and feet opening to first position below the hems of their tutus. These first gestures of Serenade, choreographed in 1934, are emblematic of Balanchine and of American ballet. Despite being over eighty years old, Serenade feels vital.

Serenade exemplifies the idealized feminine qualities of Balanchine’s ballets, only turning problematic when one of the soloist men “awakens” the collapsed Waltz Girl. The distilled movement and calming yet innovative arrangement of the dancers are an ode to the foundations of the art form: the corps de ballet, the ritual of class, and the crystalline technique it fosters. Most of the ballet’s striking moments are simple and based in class exercises. The stage erupts in unified repetitions of pirouettes. Staccato port des bras illustrates the interplay between the orchestra’s instruments. Dozens of dancers extend their legs into tendus that perfectly slide into fifth positions, a movement that signifies the start of an exercise.

In Ballet West’s production of this classic, the corps de ballet artfully and effortlessly lays the ballet’s technical foundation without feeling cold or removed. I have admired the unity of Ballet West’s corps before, but I have never seen them as easily connected as they were on opening night. The balance between their singular openness and the meticulous choreography is enthralling. If I had the words to laud each individual corps member, I would.

At its heart Serenade is an ensemble work, but an abstract relationship between five soloists, three women and two men underpins the ballet. Weaving amongst the corps de ballet in the first movement, joyfully expansive leaps and pizzicato steps introduce the three female soloists. Katherine Lawrence’s calm warmth permeated her sparkling technique and Emily Adams brimmed with vitality and confidence. Adams was superb, playing with the music and enticing the audience with her fully enlivened physicality. The role of Waltz Girl magnified Beckanne Sisk’s unique and growing ability to convey emotional depth. Her performance was lush, exhilarating, and sincere in its gravity. While the ballet is renowned for being story-less, Sisk imbued Serenade with an emotional resonance often only found in narrative. She stretched her arms backwards and opened her chest to the heavens as the masthead of Serenade’s iconic final lift and I saw all the complexity of ballet, the torment, joy, sacrifice, and transcendence, embodied in her arch.

Ballet West's Carmina Burana with Serenade runs now through this Saturday, November 11. 

Mary Lyn Graves, a native of Tulsa, OK, studied dance at the University of Oklahoma. She currently dances with Ririe-Woodbury Dance Company.