Michael Garber Dance Collective in review

Hospitable. Intimate. Convivial. Sugar Space’s presentation of Artist in Residence MGDance Collective and guests Porridge for Goldilocks & Body Logic Dance Company was a show of friends. Michael Garber – the MG of MGDance – was the consummate host. He even had refreshments available for attendees; popcorn and water infused with herbs picked from his garden that morning. I savored more than my fair share of the treats while enjoying pre-show drumming by Wachira Waigwa-Stone.

Samantha Matsukawa and Eliza Tappan entered cautiously from stage left for Matsukawa’s Thing, Thought, Thorn, Thumb. Peering at the audience they tentatively approached a large circle of socks center stage. Matsukawa turned on the record player attached to two large speakers. To a scratchy soundtrack of the Americana crooning of Will Rogers the dancers wove in and out of the sock ring. Each new pair of socks they put on was an impetus to reset movement qualities. Their facial expressions traversed between inquisitive and solemn, an earnestness that felt increasingly performative by the end of the work. This ironic gravitas created a distance between the piece and the audience – I felt as though I was watching an inside joke. During Home on the Range they kicked and shuffled until inevitably falling on the ground, a satisfying moment of predictability. Abruptly the dancers begin swimming around the ring of socks, sweeping the floor of it is detritus and ending next to each other, downstage, in a pile of knit footwear. This eruption of directness is an enjoyable surprise, along with the end of the piece where Matsukawa pulls the plug on the speakers.

As Garber cleared the stage of socks, a buzzing from stage right grew into shouts – “Those are MY feathers!” Out burst the five person MGDance Collective in an eclectic array of costumes; green velvet dress, sequined American flag hat, and hot pink punching gloves. Like Matsukawa and Tappan, the dancers noticed the audience; making comments on the people sitting there and their outfits. This part felt underdeveloped until the dancers began to get (appropriately) Strange(r). The more childlike the game the more I believed these characters were kids at play, cooing as if at babies to the audience member next to me, and waving airplane arms around the stage. “When you’re strange!” the Doors wail, and strange the dancers mostly successfully were. The piece concludes with a dance breakout foreshadowing the movement vocabulary we would see during the rest of the show. Arcing of the limbs through space carved the outer edges of the dancers’ kinespheres. Garber’s specific body part initiations – the head threading through space, pulled the body along, and a hand lead the dancer to the floor, foot pulling the dancer back up. Interruptions of technical virtuosity infused the work; one moment I saw Katie Meyers as a child playing in a costume and the next she was someone with years of ballet training extended in an almost arabesque – reaching toes and fingers beyond their length. Also foreshadowing the rest of the show was the chemistry between Meyers, Keanu Brady, Amy Freitas, Joshua Mora, and Monica Remes.

Porridge for Goldilocks, choreographed and directed by Amy Freitas, began their improvisation performance with a series of solos in a diagonal line across the floor. On second thought, I’m not sure these dances could be called solos, truly they were duets with Wachira Waigwa-Stone who had returned to the stage to play in the corner. Dancer and musician took turns leading, each artist finding their groove alone and then together. Leading the charge, loveDANCEmore’s own Emma Wilson; energy expanding through her joints, elbows leading up and chest open to the sky, she was a swirling, growing energy spiral. Matsukawa’s deep, circular back bends built on the energy trail that Wilson left behind. Keanu Brady was a standout, his flow interspersed with moments of rigidity that punctuated Waigwa-Stone’s music, creating a rhythmic conversation. Brady’s joy of improvising filled the space and even his shadows seemed interested in what he was doing. Waigwa-Stone slowed down as the piece rolled to a close, a musical inhale that supported Stanton Rodriguez’ long angularity and sustained movement. If the first piece performed earnestness and the second fun, this piece embodied both qualities. No pretension, just pure love of dance.

Porridge for Goldilocks was followed by Body Logic Dance Company in Garber’s Samundar. The six women turned, rond-de-jambed, and rolled their way through the spatial pathways that looked like two French braids of hair crisscrossing the stage. Eiby Lobos, Desiree Simons, Melanie Francom, and Serena Webb moved beautifully within the structure of the piece, highlighting Freitas and Remes’ facility with Garber’s movement vocabularies. Remes found moments to showcase her leg extension and line and Freitas’ gentle happiness lit up the stage.

Circulus kept Freitas’ glowing stage presence in the forefront. Brady and Remes were witnesses in corners, holding the space for her solo. The music was a slow melody, evolving, interrupted by static. Mora and Meyers each carried a spotlight to illuminate Freitas’ leisurely volutions. The spotlights created their own story; a dance of stillness, revolution, and radiation for Freitas My focus shifted from spotlight to dancer and back. Freitas also played with a shifting attention, sometimes dancing to her reflections on the walls, sometimes burying herself in the private universe of her sensory experience. I was entranced. Circulus is a piece that begs to be seen more than once.

Before I was quite ready to move on to a new idea, we did. Though I wanted more Circulus, the overall digestible length of each piece was one of the strengths of the show. Another strength – Stéphane Glynn’s documentary about MGDance Collective – shown between Circulus and They Too Have Their Story. Rehearsal scenes and interviews with dancers were interspersed with narration by Michael Garber, all brilliantly directed and edited. I left the documentary with a more nuanced understanding of the Collective, and the what-how-why of the show. I would have liked to see documentary first, followed by the three MGDance Collective pieces in a row. These works felt like four chapters of the same book and would have stood nicely together rather than dispersed throughout the concert.

Glynn’s documentary described the negotiation between flop and energized release as characteristic of Garber’s dance style. The dialogue between these contrasting movement qualities permeated the concluding piece, They Too Have Their Story. The dancers careen in and out of duets, trios, and group work, movements quick and sustained in turn. In one moment they buckled onto the floor, breathing heavily. In another, they lift each other; push, pull, shove in points of (dis)connection. The chaos of the piece expands and expands until  – collapse! A flash of intention; the dancers walking methodically downstage, gazing at the audience. Backing up, they unbutton their shirts and take them off to reveal white tank tops underneath. Accompanied by the music of Michael Wall, the dancers’ presence in this moment was palpable. Wall’s music blazed when the dancers found playtime in the nanoseconds between the beat and the space around it. These particles of the work lit the smoldering choreography into a flaming mass of energy. Reeves and Freitas’ duet in the final piece was alternately motherly and sensual. Joined by Joshua Mora the duet became a trio of comrades. Arms swinging in alternating rhythm, they traveled in and out of each others spaces, packing this brief section with meaning. As the piece built momentum towards an ending Sugar Space began to feel small; runs, jumps and rolls overflowing the stage. Aptly closing the show MGDance crumpled on top of each other in a sculptural ode to their title of ‘collective.’

Liz Ivkovich is an MFA candidate at the University of Utah.

Ririe Woodbury’s Accelerate

Accelerate marks the end of Ririe Woodbury’s fiftieth season as well as the end of the first year with their new artistic director, Daniel Charon. Comprised of three premieres, the show features Bradley Beakes, Alexandra Bradshaw, Yebel Gallegos, Mary Lyn Graves, Tara McArthur, and Bashaun Williams whose versatility is evident in the vast body of commissioned work as well as in their individual endeavors as local artists who teach and create works of their own.

Each piece in the show explores different, yet similar ways to utilize video technology alongside dance; each has relevance inherent with the use of somewhat modern technology but similarities were inevitable because each piece shared the same space – the same options of where to project film and similar devices with which to do so. This is the irony of technology: each new type of digital technology promises liberation, but each comes with its own set of limitations and overwhelming options of uses that can be paralyzing for an artist trying to utilize it.

The first piece entitled Construct was choreographed in collaboration with the company by Daniel Charon who designed the video component as well. It was accompanied by musician, Michael Wall, who composed the score and played it live in the small orchestra pit of the Jeanne Wagner Theater. As the audience members began to trickle in, the company was already on stage with a bench (that seemed familiar as a somewhat popular prop in the Ririe Woodbury repertory) warming up in casual dance-wear. When the house lights finally dimmed, most of the dancers had left the stage save for one or two still jumping and lubricating their arm joints by swinging them around and around. The music drifted into the space, very openly with a loose melody indicating the “real” beginning of the show.

The dance began at a higher velocity – lots of dynamic partnering (in close proximity as well as synchronicity amongst couples far away from each other) and running from one form to the next in order to displace what lay there previously. The dancers that had left the stage after warming up returned wearing identical sleeveless jumpsuits in various colors; the outfits looked like benign hospital scrubs for the summer season. Eventually, the entire company had exited intermittently and returned wearing this goofy getup.

About a third of the way through the piece, a projection screen descended from the fly space above the stage. It landed stage left of the dancers who were sitting in various positions on the bench stage right, splitting the focus from real-life to recorded life. At this point I was able to see the purpose of the costuming; it allowed each dancer to be extremely distinct from the others in the recorded and manipulated projection of the piece. The first manipulating effect was very captivating. The dancers were performing a series of movements around and on the bench in very efficient manner – each constructing an individual pathway for themselves that was paradoxically limited by the confines of the bench. The recording would show each dancer complete their task in reverse and then show it a few seconds later in chronological order, but extremely fast. It was like a representation of how fallible memory is; some things are out of order and some events are lost or blurred in the sheer mass of thoughts, images, and events to remember. Eventually another screen descended showing a different perspective of the dance that was riddled with physically charged movement constantly tumbling out of the expertly trained bodies of the company members. There was a definite rhythmic pattern of the movement that was like a slinky toppling down a set of stairs to rest for a moment and then being catapulted down another set of the same number of stairs. The music, however, gradually built or should I say, accelerated, adding more and more components to end with a melancholy, wailing trumpet over grungy electronic sounds. The piece sparked thoughts of the meaning of individuality and if that concept is even realistic in our world as society seems to construct us more than we can ever shape it.

Next was, You and the Space Between choreographed by Ririe Woodbury alumnus, Miguel Azcue. Beginning with a down pool of light, center stage, Bashaun Williams and Alexandra Bradshaw tenderly leaned into each other, foreheads and forearms touching to support themselves. When they began moving, their relationship seemed more presentational than personal. Admittedly, I was underwhelmed with the choreographic structure until, about halfway through, the projector turned on to display the word “Panasonic” with a blue background on the cyclorama. This was obviously wrong, so when the bird’s-eye view of the dance finally appeared after what were probably very panicked moments for the projection technician I realized that that perspective was probably an integral part of the whole piece. Even if technology is advanced and capable of myriad actions, it is still not impeccable nor are we as operators. We are constantly adapting our culture to technological advances, but that process is still being arranged and mistakes are inevitable and normal.

Azcue says in his program note that the piece “resembles a kaleidoscope where bodies and emotions combine in suggestive landscapes.” This was achieved in a confusing way where the dancers would skip around from being personal to creating presentational, cohesive kaleidoscope images (that were realized once the projector started working properly). There was one section, for example, where Mary Lyn Graves was isolated from the group and pitifully alone on the stage as well as on the wall of the cyclorama. She had a solo and was eventually integrated back into the group, but there was no continuity with more personal moments like these amongst the shapes and funny bits of wiggly movement that were merely entertaining to see projected onto the back end of the stage. I was reminded of the satisfaction that attendants in the courts of baroque era French monarchies might have had while watching performers spell out the storyline en masse as they watched in balconies from above. It was a visual spectacle that jumped from personal moments, to comedic effects, to simply displaying visually pleasing shapes.

The last piece was choreographed by internationally renowned choreographer Doug Varone, the choreographic god-father of RW’s, Daniel Charon and University of Utah modern dance professor, Eric Handman who were members of Doug Varone and Dancers in the past and whose aesthetics are heavily influenced by his style. Varone’s piece is titled, States Rendered, and includes black and white film projections designed by Ellen Bromberg who is a distinguished Professor of Modern Dance at the University of Utah and founding director of the first Graduate Certificate in Screendance. This piece was impeccably formulated. Varone is a master of creating architectural forms with bodies and then displacing one valuable component of the structure to launch the mass into a different form with angular movement that looks comfortable on the dancers because of their input in the process. The sound score of the piece was shocking; most of it sounded like humanoid creatures speaking a futuristic language that had remnants of current languages in it. The dancers were dressed in dark grays and blacks that blended well with the video. These visual and audio components added up to suggest a science fiction aesthetic that was engaging for its dark intensity. The piece refreshingly did not have a linear narrative that can easily become ridiculous in a typical kitschy, sci-fi way.

There was a point in the piece where the dancers were lying in a vertical line, stage right. Alexandra Bradshaw bolted up and gasped, like she had emerged from the stark black and white world that they were emerged in for so long. This gasp was a sparsely used, strong spice that occurred once again when two dancers were left by the group in warm down pools later in the piece. This choice complemented one segment of the video projection that looked like a sped up recording of an ultra-sound. The dancers were trapped in a womb of humanoid sounds and icy lighting. The piece was so alienating and uncomfortable that it became even more intriguing. It pushed me so far away that there was no further to go from it and nothing else worth paying attention to because of its originality; I had to return, learning to adapt to the sterile environment that was born onstage.

Accelerate as a whole was exhilarating and captivating. There were some overlapping choreographic styles and technological similarities that became monotonous, but those moments were broken up by other moments of daring originality. I hope that the pieces debuted this weekend will live on in the future as premonitions of what’s to come during new RW seasons.

Emma Wilson is a BFA candidate at the University of Utah who is interning for loveDANCEmore.

loveDANCEmore reviews are shared with 15 BYTES

Repertory Dance Theater’s “Land”

Repertory Dance Theater’s production of “Land” presents four pieces focused on and dedicated to the western landscape. It is intended to advocate for the preservation of Utah’s natural geography and is “part of RDT’s commitment to exploring, defining, and honoring our western landscape” says Linda Smith, executive and artistic director of the company. RDT has fulfilled a vital role as the physical embodiment of historical works by innovative originators of modern dance like Isadora Duncan and Doris Humphrey, and more recent choreographers like Merce Cunningham and Anna Sokolow. Dance is a living art form that is difficult to preserve in the same way that a static, tangible piece of artwork is preserved. The company is comprised of strong, intelligent performers whose versatility is invaluable for a group whose repertoire is so varied. The works presented in this particular show, however, left me dissatisfied with the very literal ways in which the idea of land was represented and honored, despite the skill with which they were executed.

The first piece, “Desert Sea”, was choreographed by Molissa Fenley, a dance faculty member of Mills College. It began as all nine dancers formed a symmetrical set of poses, some with arms in a half-box shape and others balanced on one leg, the other jutting out in arabesque. The program notes say that Fenley was inspired by the culture and history of native people living in the Colorado Plateau, and that she used the surrounding geography and the geometric designs of this culture’s woven blankets to create the piece. The angular movement abstracted and dehumanized the dancers effectively to demonstrate their connectivity as one landmass. The movement vocabulary was also very comparable to what one would encounter in a westernized yoga class. Phrases involving leg lifts and arms at right angles were repeated almost endlessly, but didn’t outwardly achieve any of the sort of dynamic or energetic evolution that is so satisfying to see in repeated movement. The meter stayed consistent as did the effort put into moving— of which this lengthy piece required a lot. The work would probably be more satisfying to execute as a dancer than it was to watch. The relationships between the performers remained static— in general, the work lacked arc. “Desert Sea” seemed primarily an investigation of abstract shapes and poses, and could have been more engaging had it not exhausted this idea so soon and gone on for such a long time.

The second piece was created by Zvi Gotheiner, an Israeli choreographer who spent his formative years dancing in New York City (the site of many artists’ rite of passage into the creative “world”). His piece was titled “Erosion” and was similar to “Desert Sea” in that the dancers represented omnipresent aspects of land commonly encountered in Utah. The work began with a red, backlit cyclorama silhouetting the company, who were posed as if they were petroglyphs. When the lights finally illuminated the fronts of their bodies, they began a procession of different poses downstage with a sensual hip-swinging movement that made it look like the petroglyphs were shaking off sand from the stone from which they were excavating themselves. This piece was similar to what a written treatise on its subject would have been, in that it was filled with very formal and systematic representations of the land. The dancers pulled on elastic bands coming from stage right that looked like layers of the Earth. One gesture that was alarming for its randomness in the formal, stoic nature of the piece occurred near the end where the dancers stretched their own mouths on either side with their pointer fingers. It was an intriguing image, but it seemed out of place and underdeveloped as it was introduced near the end for maybe twenty seconds and then never referenced again.

Another component that should be mentioned is the show’s use of projections. In Gotheiner’s piece there was a series of images of slot canyons and other geologic formations found in Southern Utah scrolling through slide-show style. They made the piece, made in 1993, look tremendously dated. The integrity of Gotheiner’s work lies in the physical dance, not the media embellishing it, which did not relate to the movement other than in that the slides seemed to be solely for the purpose of showing the audience that the dancers were emerging from rock. Each slide appeared for the same amount of time and the images were smaller than the backdrop, making the projections seem like a presentation intended to display someone’s vacation rather than a necessary part of the dance.

The projections in the next piece, however, were a bit more integral to creating the forest that Ze’eva Cohen envisioned. They filled the stage, making them look less foreign than the projections in the former piece. Cohen’s “Rainwood” originally premiered in 1977. It too embodied the characteristic aesthetic ideals of its time–– tie-dyed unitards and bright colors— but here, these components related to each other well. Physically speaking, the dance was another exploration in abstracting the human performers in order to achieve an accurate representation of a natural element— in this case that element was the flora and fauna of a forest. The dancers had an innate ability to personify the collage of tree frogs and fluttering leaves that Cohen pieced together. There was also a ritualistic sense to the piece, beginning with the dancers revving up the movement in a circle and then expanding from there. “Rainwood” is an anomaly within Cohen’s other work, which investigates a vast array of human emotions and states of being; for a time she primarily worked on solos for herself and did not use large groups of people as she did with this piece.

The last piece in the show is “Turf”, choreographed by Daniel Shapiro and Joanie Smith, who have collaboratively created work since 1987. This piece ended the show in an overtly comical way, eliciting a few laughs from the audience in response to the dancers’ obvious intent to be funny while doing things like running in slow motion and playfully pushing each other out of the spotlight to gain attention for themselves. The piece began combatively, even incorporating a few “booty bumps” as a means of “dance-fighting.” “Turf” eventually evolved into a more introspective, personal investigation. A pair of males, then a pair of females, partnered to slightly melancholy music. It was an energetic, humanizing end-to-the-show, because of it’s almost overly presentational nature.

“Land” as a whole, was homogenous in it’s often literal representations of various environments. Perhaps this is the nature of environmentally-based pieces; the land speaks for itself already and does not need an artistic interpretation. However, I do not think that environmentally engaged pieces should be limited to true-life representations against a backdrop of photos of what they’re trying to emulate. The breathtaking scenes in southern Utah can initiate a dance piece, originating with that first gasp and then going anywhere from there. Dance can speak for itself upon being inspired by nature and does not need to attempt to be nature. Nevertheless, I commend RDT and its collaborators for a heartfelt tribute to the land that we live on.

Emma Wilson is an undergraduate in Modern Dance at the University of Utah. She recently performed for Meghan Durham Wall in PDC. She is also an intern at loveDANCEmore.

Jessica Lang in Park City

Saturday April 5 marked the final performance of the Eccles Center Main Stage Season in Park City featuring Jessica Lang Dance. The Park City season is a welcome supplement to the performances at Kingsbury Hall in Salt Lake City. Founded in 2011, JLD is a company of nine dancers based in New York City created to present Langʼs choreography. A graduate of The Juilliard School and former member of Twyla Tharpʼs company, Lang has set works on numerous companies including the Birmingham Royal Ballet, The National Ballet of Japan, The Joffrey, and Ailey II.

The concert proved to be, an evening of pleasant dance that did not require the audience to strain their imagination, nor worry that they might experience something challenging, sexy, or gritty like Cedar Lake Balletʼs concert earlier in the season. Performed, produced, staged, and costumed with such clean precision, the eveningʼs offerings seemed to please the local crowd.

Ms. Langʼs movement style suggests classical modern dance in ballet slippers with vocabulary and choreographic devices reminiscent of Taylor, Limón and Humphrey on a balletic base. Lang clearly possesses choreographic skill, and the ability to seamlessly integrate theatrical elements into her staging. However, the overall performance lacked innovation and conceptual development. Likewise, the dancersʼ flawless technical performances of multiple turns, high leaps, elegant extensions, port de bras, and seamless partnering fell short of authentic expression. Instead, the pieces settled into a comfortable no manʼs land of calculated longing, whether for each other, the space around them, or the projected images on the screen.

Her first piece “Lines Cubed” suggested a Mondrian painting in motion with the background divided into bold black lines and white rectangles. The dance utilized manipulable sets designed by Canadians Stephanie Forsythe and Todd MacAllen to redefine the space for each section. While the opening “Black” was crisp in linear boldness and execution, the piece became predictable with the stereotypical interpretation of each ensuing color. The “Red” quintet exhibited power as four men lifted and paraded a woman about the stage. A springy “Yellow” displayed a trio of women flitting and frolicking pleasantly. While “Blue” featured a pas de deux of lovers whose longing was played out as they were separated by dancers and the set. Though the dancers performed their movement with technical acumen, the lack of conceptual exploration was disappointing.

“Mendelssohn/Incomplete” also failed to inspire. While the dancers displayed a strong sense of suspension and release, the choreography meandered aimlessly and failed to make a point. “Among the Stars”, a romantic pas de deux, also failed, encumbered as it was with the manipulation of a long piece of fabric. Additionally, the dancerʼs interactions were sterile, communicating disdain rather than longing.

Perhaps the strongest piece, “The Calling” was originally created for Ailey II. It featured dancer Kana Kimura in a stunning white dress/set piece as she quietly and powerfully evoked an exploration of exaltation and humility. Here Lang found an effective balance between concept, prop, and motion. Using simple innovative gestures, with spirals and level changes, the audience was led through a spiritual journey toward a centered, peaceful soul.

Unfortunately, the choreography in the final portion of the concert did not effectively utilize the technology. In “White,” the angle of the camera never changed, but relied upon the dancers to enter and exit the screen. I wondered why the choreographer bothered to use the camera at all, as the film itself became an elevated stage. The piece quickly devolved into a trite manipulation of time using slow motion and acceleration of the video as the choreographic device. Similarly, the gratuitous passes of Chaplinesque dancers waving at the audience were clichéd. While the dance stimulated chuckles from the viewers, I hungered for the intimate, hyper-kinetic experience good screendance can provide.

Likewise, the flawless film of droplets, waves and splashes of “i.n.k” overwhelmed the choreography. This piece was funded through the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation, and the Rockefeller Brothers Fund. What began as a promising piece with dancer Kana Kimuraʼs solo creating a striking calligraphic mark on the screen, quickly dissolved into an ensemble work in which the interactions with the film were too cute and banal. I could not help wondering what a more innovative artist might have accomplished in a multi-media dance project with this level of funding.

Overall, Jessica Lang Dance felt like a Jane Austen garden party staged for a Martha Stewart spread on gracious living. While my aesthetic interests are more piqued by art that challenges and moves me, JLD succeeded in providing a concert that adequately entertained the Park City audience.

Karin Fenn is a choreographer, performer and teacher based in Salt Lake City.

Trey McIntyre in Park City

Trey McIntyre’s dance company came to Park City this weekend, giving me the chance to see a group that has been lauded by a large subset of my friends and colleagues. New Yorkers, residents of the project’s former home in Boise, and our very own Kathy Adams of the SL Tribune have sung McIntyre’s praises for innovation, unpretentiousness and approachability.

The opening number this Saturday fit the bill. “The Vinegar Works: Four Dances of Moral Instruction,” drew inspiration from writer and artist Edward Gorey. Set to Shostakovich, this ballet is equal parts “Nightmare Before Christmas” and “The Nutcracker”. It even features a twenty foot tall Death in the role of Mother Ginger. Death looms over his mortal foil (Brett Perry), and periodically births new characters onto the stage from under a long black gown. Ashley Werhun’s manic solo, in a section vaguely evoking incest (“Deranged Cousins”) was the act’s highpoint. I felt like I was watching Shelley Duval at her weirdest, inexplicably dancing ballet. It was a precious moment that felt like adult content, hidden within something that might well have been made for children.

McIntryre’s craft reflects an omnivorous dance-diet where ballet occupies the cereal base of the food pyramid. There’s also a healthy dose of what one might call “classic modern”. When we talk about seeing movement associated with Graham and Humphrey in the current context, we often focus on how technique has shifted, improved or worsened. Contemporary performers are often spoken of with praise by elders, who state that “technique in general” has become “better” and has diversified. Indeed, these dancers too, had chops. However, there’s something odd, which I’d never quite noticed before, about seeing “contractions” and “fall and recovery” completely drained of their political context–– both macro (how these legacies relate to the world at large) and micro (how they function within the “story” of [post]modern dance). Here, McIntyre provides an eery but thought-provoking perspective I don’t think a modern dance group (or a European ballet company) could have given me.

Even more diverse in its stylistic influences, yet less successful was “Mercury Half-Life”. This hour-and-fifteen-minute work occupied the post-intermission act. McIntyre was determined to use the music of Queen to prove something Twyla Tharp and others have also confirmed–– Americans like big, ballsy ballet danced to the broadly popular rock-and-roll. This work was simply far, far too long. The costuming–– the women in Halloween nurse uniforms and the men in some illegible male version there of–– was at best confusing. The onslaught of sound and movement contained moments of virtuosic promise, but almost no choreographic development, no real pattern or theme emerging in my viewing experience save a nagging sense of vicarious embarrassment.

Samuel Hanson writes frequently for SLUG, 15 Bytes and lovedancemore.