UtahPresents: Doug Varone & Dancers, with guests

UtahPresents programmed an evening of choreography by Doug Varone, held at the University of Utah’s Marriott Center for Dance. The performance featured members of Varone's company, Doug Varone and Dancers, Varone himself, special guest artists and former Varone company members Daniel Charon and Natalie Desch, members of Ririe-Woodbury Dance Company, and students from the University of Utah School of Dance. The multiple groups shared the performance cohesively. I would have loved to see even more interaction among the different groups, but I understand that they had limited time together to prepare for this show.

The first work presented, “in the shelter of the fold,” consisted of five sections, which were held together thematically, and with similar music (intense ambient sounds with humming vocals) and lighting design (many-rayed light coming from one source, with darkness to contrast around it).

‘1. horizon,’ performed by the company, introduced a stiff movement style that continued through the next couple sections as well. The dancers created shapes and painted pictures together as a group, moving at varied speeds and with nice moments of stillness.

My favorite moment of stillness involved a female dancer holding a male dancer up off of the ground. It was an interesting and aesthetically pleasing lift that demonstrated grace, strength, and coordination. But also, many female dancers are perfectly capable of lifting a male dancer, and yet we don’t see it choreographed that way very often, even in today’s more current landscape of female empowerment. I liked that it wasn’t supposed to be a big statement, just something that could happen naturally within a choreographic work. Looking at it in that light, it’s ironic that I wanted to dedicate a whole paragraph to the topic.

‘2. folded,’ performed by two dancers from the company, was not particularly noteworthy as far as any differences from the first section. It ended with the performers vigorously shaking their heads at the front of the stage, which I enjoyed.

‘3. shelter,’ performed by three dancers from the company, portrayed continual negotiation of relationships, likely among two parents and their child. It was tense and poignant, and included some wonderfully executed, choreographic details of hand articulation.

‘4. mass,’ performed by students from the University of Utah School of Dance, was stylistically different from the previous sections, featuring more choreographed unity among the dancers, more fluid movements, and more use of physical flexibility. This contrasting piece was like a breath of fresh air.

The dancers from ‘4. mass’ slowly crawled off the stage as ‘5. hope’ began. It was wonderful to integrate the two sections that likely could not have been rehearsed together very much due to time constraints. It was simple, but so effective, especially because of how well it fit the style. The crawling theme was also repeated toward the end of ‘5. hope,’ tying it together even more, and without feeling too repetitive.

‘5. hope’ was a solo by Hsiao-Jou Tang, who is, in my humble opinion, the very best choice for a solo feature of anyone who shared the stage that evening. Her seemingly natural grace and movement details made her stand out.

After intermission, we saw “Strict Love,” which featured an off-putting combination of upbeat music and stiff, floppy movements. Eight dancers (a combination of performers from Ririe Woodbury and Doug Varone and Dancers) seemed stuck in their limited expressions (contrasting with the lively soundtrack) as they stayed in the same formation for a displeasing amount of time. This 1994 piece by Varone wasn’t my favorite, but it did provide a good contrast to other pieces within the show.

After a pause, Doug Varone himself performed a self-choreographed piece titled “Nocturne.” The solo included a pleasing mix of larger dance movements, gestures, and wonderfully natural pedestrian moments. I loved Varone’s unique and charming style, especially his expressive hands and shoulders.

Next came a piece performed by Daniel Charon and Natalie Desch, called “Short Story.” I disliked it, although I don’t think that its purpose was to be likable. The piece portrayed a tense relationship and power struggles between two people. I prefer for everyone to support each other, so this was not my cup of tea. However, it was a memorable and well-executed piece.

Finally, “LUX,” a 2006 Varone piece, was performed by the company. “LUX” gave the audience a welcome abundance of big, energetic movement, including some playful barefoot tap moves, solos from my favorite dancer, Tang, and a strong ending. I very much appreciate the way that the evening of Varone’s choreography ended with a bang, so to speak.

Doug Varone and Dancers in rehearsal at the University of Utah, with students from the School of Dance 

Kendall Fischer is the artistic director of Myriad Dance Company. In addition to dancing with Myriad, she also performs with Voodoo Productions, and has enjoyed opportunities with SBDance, Municipal Ballet Co, and La Rouge Entertainment, among others.

Austin Hardy presents La Mela

What determines how we view identity? This question lay at the heart of La Mela, a program recently presented by Austin Hardy that featured works by local artists Rebecca Aneloski and Stephen Koester. Presented in the intimate black box in the Beverley Taylor Sorenson Arts & Education Complex at the University of Utah, the evening explored questions of performance, affectation and affection, memory, and interpersonal relationships. The works focused on how an individual may relate to social space both within and around themselves, and how those relationships drive who we are and who we become.

“Man Dance,” choreographed by Stephen Koester, Modern Dance Chair at the University of Utah, was a thoughtfully-crafted work that delved into what it means to be a man. Beyond just being a man, what does it mean to look, act, sound, and exist “like a man”; who successfully gets to be a man and what drives that success? With extremely physical partnering representative of Koester’s style, “Man Dance” was a duet between Micah Sir-Patrick Burkhardt and Austin Hardy, and kept me engaged throughout.

The piece opened with Burkhardt and Hardy performing a warm-up. Dressed in gray and black sweatsuits, the two seemed unaware of the audience’s presence until they were suddenly hyper-aware. While their voices dropped from their natural registers, the two continued to repeat “I’m a man!,” entertaining the audience at first, but eventually forcing a question: why did the two men feel the need to repeat this phrase? Even though Burkhardt and Hardy were performing versions of themselves, they were still characterized and performing affectations.

I appreciated Koester’s range of references in “Man Dance,” with movement motifs spanning from a Western gun battle to superheros, cavemen, a traditional Jewish wedding dance, and finally to MC Hammer. Each presented its own interpretation of what manhood means and, more importantly, each existed specifically to define masculinity. Burkhardt and Hardy, through these motifs, became the fighter, the savior, the provider, and the arbiter of “cool.” By presenting these motifs in a male duet, “Man Dance” exaggerated the men’s roles and forced the audience to view them as hyperbolic and impossible to embody.

Through Koester’s partnering, we were shown authentic weight transference between the two bodies, negating the role of the lonesome male figure. We were shown two bodies relying on each other in a way that was both intimate and clear in its connections. While some of the partnering was meant to be comedic, it maybe only seemed so because of a sense of machismo the dancers were attempting to personify.

I felt discomfort for the performers as they tried to manifest these roles with hunched backs and sharp angles, dressed in their sweat outfits, clearly uncomfortable. Towards the end of the piece, we experienced their real physical discomfort as they caught their breath, literally, in a spotlight. Their inability to completely embody the fictionalized, hyper-masculine roles was presented with nothing else to look at.

I questioned the role of mishaps in the piece, both of ones that were choreographed and others that might have been accidents. Though sometimes questioning them because of the performers’ reactions, Hardy made me feel his mistakes truly, in a way that enforced an impossible binary. At the end of the piece, both dancers embodied a groove in their pelvis, and I felt Hardy let go of all other roles he had been playing to exist in this physical element for himself. It was appropriate that this came at the end of the piece, as it was an immense relief to see the dancers stop fighting to become something and to simply be themselves.

A second work began after a brief intermission, this one choreographed by Rebecca Aneloski, a performer and teacher with SALT Contemporary Dance. I am unsure of the title of the work, but I assume it was “La Mela,” which translates to “the apple” in Italian. This seemed to be a deeply personal work for Aneloski and focused on memory; having worked with Aneloski in the past, I am familiar with her Italian roots. Complementary to this background knowledge, the stage was set with a table and chairs and a bookcase, all in constant shifting motion, and furthering the idea of memory through a familial context.

The piece opened with a quartet, featuring Burkhardt, Hardy, Nell Rollins, and Natalie Jones, and quickly grew to a larger cast, adding Natalie Border, Amy Fry, Allie Kamppinen, Haleigh Larmer, Chang Liu, Megan O’Brien, Laura Schmitz, Bayley Smallwood, and Sarah Stott. The large cast engulfed the stage with their presence and with Aneloski’s expansive movement vocabulary. The dancers constantly reached for and pulled each other, seemingly in slow motion even when the pace was brisk. They provided both physical and emotional support, remaining completely connected throughout the piece. Approximately an hour long, the piece as a whole presented moments for each dancer to shine.

I was struck by the thought of rediscovering the familiar, by way of memory and of caretaking throughout the entire piece. Regardless of who was being featured at the moment, the rest of the cast continuously arranged and rearranged the set: moving books to and from the bookcase; rearranging cups, plates, the tablecloth, chairs; finding new ways to see these everyday items. I often found myself entranced by what the next configuration on the table was going to be, and was surprised when my focus returned from the dancers to the set and it was completely different than I’d last seen it.

Though not explicit, specific motifs were repeated throughout the piece that lent themselves to an exploration of childhood memories. Natalie Border had one of the clearest moments of this, as she could often be seen traipsing around the stage with one arm reaching up and behind herself, her gaze towards the sky, as though flying a kite. She even brought a sense of lightness to some of the heavier moments, her white blond hair breathing fresh air into the scenes, as well as anchoring them. She gave the audience something to hold onto.

A feeling of foreboding and death surrounded Sarah Stott from the beginning of the piece through to the end. She was the only dancer to appear in color at first; from her initial entrance, she created drama, as she fell and the other dancers threw flower petals at her body. Throughout the rest of the piece, she swan-dived into the others, trusting them to catch her and seeming not to care what happened to her if they didn’t. At the end, she collapsed again, this time for good, as the titular apple appeared.

During the whole piece, we were presented with a style and vocabulary that was uniquely Aneloski’s, though with clear input from the performers. I was continually struck by moments and lines being cut off abruptly and almost awkwardly to create a sense of visual, and probably physical, discomfort. Chests were almost constantly forward, with arms reaching past shoulders, heads raised to create room for protruding appendages. The air surrounding the dancers had a tactile feel. Hands were often held at the hip, seemingly ready for action. During a duet with Burkhardt and Jones, this vocabulary was brought to a writhing climax in Jones’ body as her movement picked up pace and the discontinuous and tactile sensation continued. This hindered her ability to stay on her own two feet and led to beautiful partnering.

One moment that stood out to me was a duet between Liu and Stott. They moved with such clarity and assuredness that, even with all the shifting bodies and scenery on stage, my eye was drawn only to them. Amidst chaos, their clarity of line, precise unison, and powerful stage presence was completely engaging.

Overall, because of a large cast and constant movement, the work was chaotic. But memory is also chaotic. How we define ourselves derives from memory, both personal and external, and that perception is constantly shifting, much like the stage in “La Mela.” Without being able to pinpoint one specific element, the work felt autobiographical, like Aneloski was telling a story about her life through memory. It felt authentic to the dancers’ stories as well. I appreciated this deeply personal work and know that we can expect to see more from Aneloski in the future.

Promotional image for La Mela.

Natalie Gotter is a performer, choreographer, instructor, filmmaker, and researcher. She recently completed her MFA in Modern Dance at the University of Utah and is on faculty at Utah Valley University, Westminster College, and Salt Lake Community College.

Alwin Nikolais through the ages: Ririe-Woodbury's Strata

The work of Alwin Nikolais presented in Ririe-Woodbury Dance Company’s Strata spanned three decades, but the exploratory nature of Nikolais’s work appears to transcend time. What was once progressive still feels to be so; while others have emulated areas which Nikolais pioneered, his work maintains its sense of existing on the edge, despite the ebb and flow of many dance trends.

This article seeks to place the works featured in Strata within their original contexts rather than presume new observations and, in doing so, seeks to reveal how Nikolais’s choreography, concepts, and staging hold up, or even accumulate layers, as they continue to be performed and discussed.

Nikolais’s “Tensile Involvement” premiered in 1955; to place it historically, this was both the same year Arthur Mitchell first joined the New York City Ballet, later to become the company’s first African American principal dancer, and the year the polio vaccine was approved by the FDA. Around the same time, Nikolais himself wrote the following in a piece for the New York Times:

“We speak of dance necessitating humanistic relationships and concern, but new semantic meanings of man and his relativity within our present historical strata are constantly being redefined. The tools of the dancer - motion, time, space, light, sound, shape and color - have greatly extended and altered in meaning during the last quarter-century.” (August 18, 1957)

Nikolais’s observation may be extended more broadly, but is certainly an apt description of his own work and intent, as embodied in “Tensile Involvement” (if not equally embodied throughout his repertory). In the piece, dancers cavort, energetically but purposefully, weaving paths back and forth across the stage with long, ribbon-like cords. The dancers’ relationships to their environs triumph here; their relation to each other is important and evident, but is perhaps only a byproduct of the primary task at hand.

Withstanding the test of multiple viewings, the premise of “Tensile Involvement” continues to feel refreshingly new; arguably, the same holds true for the test of the span of decades since the work’s premiere. Perhaps this is also to credit the bright performance quality brought out by the spirit of the dance and the inherent quality of Nikolais’s movement: energy radiating from the eyes down to the metatarsals, and, in this case, even still outward along the full length of the cords, from the floor all the way up into the fly-space.

“Gallery” premiered in 1978 as part of a two-week run at the Beacon Theater in New York; in the same year, the U.S. would launch the first global positioning satellite and Yvonne Rainer would perform her iconic “Trio A” for the camera. New York Times dance critic Anna Kisselgoff wrote the following after attending the opening night of “Gallery”:

“[The] metaphor of an ordinary fairground shooting gallery representing humanity is typical of Mr. Nikolais’s way with a message. Yet it comes as no surprise that he also seduces his public with the dazzle and wit of his technique… It is one of Mr. Nikolais’s strongest works, in which he has achieved a great deal of variety within self-imposed restrictions.” (April 20, 1978)

Nikolais’s success in fully exploring one idea, living within restrictions set in place by a specific world, was a recurring impression throughout Strata, but especially in “Gallery.” Harkening back to composition class, the idea of exploring one thought completely before moving on to the next is tantamount to choreography; a thorough exploration is akin to sweeping out all the nooks and crannies, unlikely to leave a viewer wanting.

“Gallery” is an embodiment of such thorough exploration, as it twists and turns through various iterations of similar themes. The dance’s dominant imagery consists of red and green targets, bobbing heads, DayGlo masks, and dancers serving as abstractions of goofy yet macabre caricatures. While far from appearing human, the mime-like performers still elicit human responses from the audience - laughter, shock, discomfort, surprise - in their odd renditions to an eerie sound score.  

At first, the cast of “Gallery” seems to be in control of the fairground shooting gallery they inhabit: popping their heads up and down, going in and out of view, swirling back and forth along the counter they are behind, doing the backstroke, eventually creating elaborate counterbalanced shapes on two stacks of tables in front of the counter. But by the end, all are compelled to return to the confined gallery space from whence they came, and are subjected to invisible projectiles that render the mask-like targets in front of their faces shattered. Were they ever in control? “Gallery” explores such a full range of possibilities within its parameters that it seems for a time that they are.  

1980 saw not only the premiere of Nikolais’s “Mechanical Organ” but also those of the Pac-Man game, Star Wars’ The Empire Strikes Back, and Salt Lake City’s very own Ballet West in New York City. Nearly a year after the debut of “Mechanical Organ” at the Spoleto Festival in Charleston, South Carolina, Kisselgoff observed the following after a Nikolais Dance Theater performance at City Center:

“An ensemble precedes the best moment, a solo beautifully danced by Marcia Weadell-Esposito. Like a lean wildcat pacing in her cage, she darts and whirls, discovering her own shape and yet still alluding to the mannequin image, her own head lolling atop her neck...As a pure-dance piece, "The Mechanical Organ" is as good as its choreography. It does not seemingly aim for the philosophical resonance of "Gallery." (February 12, 1981)

Mary Lyn Graves, in the solo described above by Kisselgoff, is a highlight of Ririe-Woodbury’s staging of “Mechanical Organ.” Quick and crisp, elegant and elongated, Graves’ performance of the doll-like solo was a perfect balancing act of precise attack and languid release.

Throughout “Mechanical Organ,” specifics of choreography remain of greater interest than the dance’s conceptual arc. While a divergence in that regard from other pieces in Strata, there was still delight to be found in Juan Carlos Claudio and Bashaun Williams’ virtuosic duet, in which they leapt over and rolled under each other, and supported each other in hinges and other counterbalances, and in an all-male quintet that took place largely on the floor for a transition from male bravura to more meditative contortions.

“Mechanical Organ” featured a sound score composed and edited by Nikolais himself, who forged a new path, technologically speaking, in 1964, when his company commissioned the first commercial Moog synthesizer. Nikolais used a synth to create jarring, discordant, computer-y sound scores for decades of dances, including for all those featured in Strata (all the program’s scenic and lighting designs are also his work).

In 1985, the year Nikolais’s “Crucible” premiered in Durham, North Carolina at the American Dance Festival, many now-common technologies were in their infancies, including the Internet Domain Name System, the Nintendo home console, and Microsoft Windows. William Forsythe’s first collaboration with composer Thom Willems was in 1985, the year following Forsythe’s appointment as director of Ballett Frankfurt. Jennifer Dunning wrote about the opening night of “Crucible” at ADF for the NY Times:

“One cannot help feeling that Mr. Nikolais will continue to play with ''Crucible,'' which doesn't look quite settled in. For the piece is almost at odds with itself after its first stunning and amusing moments. ''Crucible'' begins with a play with mirrors...and the nudity is meant to be one more abstract element...As is often the case with stage nudity, the bodies do become abstract and asexual very quickly. But as ''Crucible'' now stands, there is little eloquence to this design with bodies beyond a play of shapes and patterns.” (June 16, 1985)

“Crucible” employs optical illusion to create its otherworldly choreography; a sloped mirror duplicates hands, arms, and legs that poke upward, first like flora, swaying and multicolored, then metamorphosing into fauna, pecking and chopping. The emphasis here is truly on form and limb, and the kaleidoscopic imagery is successful due to the abstraction of bodies, which enables the eye to see a whole rather than a sum of many.

However, as the dancers begin to reveal more of their bodies above the slanting mirror, the abstraction wavers. Though the original nude dance thongs are foregone here for more SLC-friendly nude unitards, the focus very quickly shifts to the human body as, transparently, a conglomeration of its parts; the audience audibly tittered and even whistled as the dancers turned (the illusion of) nude rear ends to face them.

Viewing “Crucible” now, much may have settled that Dunning felt was incomplete following the work’s premiere. And, rather than sharing Dunning’s skepticism at the success of bodily abstraction, this writer wondered what lay at the heart of the interplay, even conflict, witnessed in “Crucible,” between the abstracted body and the human body. Through barriers of costuming, lighting, distance, and concept, the dancers’ bodies still appeared as unrelentingly un-abstract to many in the audience. It is a testament, perhaps, to the power of the body to announce itself, no matter its additional trappings.

By their very natures, history (both dance and otherwise) and technology have barreled ahead since the premieres of “Tensile Involvement,” “Gallery,” “Mechanical Organ,” and “Crucible.” But Nikolais’s singular and inventive use of lighting, projection, sound, costuming, concept, and movement still elicits strong response. Among a relatively small canon of enduring choreographers, Alwin Nikolais has proven what is unique about a dance may remain so, and that new layers may even be acquired in a dance's lifetime. This writer fancies that is because of, rather than despite, not only continued performance of the work but continued conversation and criticism surrounding it.

Amy Falls manages loveDANCEmore’s cadre of writers and edits its online content. She works full-time in development at Ballet West and still occasionally puts her BFA in modern dance to use, performing with Municipal Ballet Co. and other independent projects in SLC.

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.

OSBA presents Collage Dance Collective

The Ogden Symphony Ballet Association presented Collage Dance Collective, a decade-old company directed by Kevin Thomas that has, in their own words, “inspired the growth of ballet by showcasing a repertoire of relevant choreography and world-class dancers representative of our community.” Who is included in their community is perhaps hard to define, though one could carefully say that this company is challenging the Eurocentric elitism and lack of racial and economic diversity that has pervaded the art form for centuries. There have been many companies and individual artists that have pushed and continue to push who ballet is for, who can perform it, and whose stories it will tell: Alvin Ailey, Arthur Mitchell (Dance Theatre of Harlem), Alonzo King, Carlos Acosta, and Misty Copeland, to name only a select few.

Collage Dance Collective obviously takes its place among those who strive to usher ballet into an age of inclusivity, exposure, and diversity, and the executive director of OSBA, Emily Jayne Kunz, even encouraged us to read the bios in the program to notice “how far some of the performers have traveled to be with us.” This sentiment was further echoed when I overheard a fellow patron remark, “These dancers are not all trained in New York; that is where you usually come from if you ‘make it.’”

While I cringe to think of agreeing with that sentiment, I cannot entirely disagree, and even think back to my graduate studies when a New York-based performance artist came to the University of Utah and remarked, “All my friends thought I was falling off the face of the earth when I told them I was going to Utah.” Just as it brought me a level of satisfaction to have to drive forty miles from the bigger, “better” Salt Lake City to Ogden to see Collage Dance Collective, it also brought satisfaction to know that while the company was founded in New York, their home is in Memphis, and they are enriching that particular community with their outreach, virtuosic dancing, and quality programming.  

Ella Suite Ella opened the show with a triptych: a duet, a pared-down solo, and a culminating trio. The piece, choreographed by Arturo Fernandez, celebrated the life of Ella Fitzgerald and thus featured her music (with Joe Pass). Fernandez has worked as ballet master for Alonzo King LINES Ballet for the past 25 years, and there is a recognizable connection in approach and aesthetic between his work and King’s: partnering based in contemporary ballet, lines that hit, undulation and extension with equal attention and value, and a clarity and focus in compositional structure. This was a short piece and a great way to begin the evening: embodied, exact dancing to Fitzgerald crooning, “How could I know about love, I didn’t know about you...”  

The Rate in Which I Am, choreographed by Joshua Manculich, featured music by local artist and University of Utah faculty member Mike Wall (as well as Dustin O’Halloran) and was a choreographic highlight. The piece featured six dancers and an exploration of the spotlight, the overhead light revealing, concealing, and casting shadows. Just that morning, my three-year-old daughter had asked me, “Mommy, what comes first, the day or the night?” and the continuous play of light and dark left me wondering the same thing.

I was captivated by Manculich’s accessible yet refined sense of drama and tension, but I struggled to find footing in Nicolo Fonte’s Left Unsaid. This was the longest work of the evening and multiple sections were marked by the upstage curtain lifting gradually to reveal a white cyc. During one section, three women danced in the foreground while three men sat in chairs, fully clothed in black suits, watching the movement unfold. I tried to ignore swirling dialogues dissecting the power and implications of the male gaze and instead to appreciate the architecture of the space, the moving foreground cutting against stationary background, but I could not resist imagining an alternative version of this section: three women holding the space, watching, monitoring the movements of three partially dressed men.

Another section continued with a man and a woman and two chairs, initially set far apart on the diagonal. Throughout the duet, the chairs were moved together until the man and woman were reluctantly forced into proximity, their faces manipulated to confront one another as the ending image. True of other sections, the ending provided a clean resolution to what was previously established.

Left Unsaid was in many ways a multi-faceted theatrical work that perhaps deserves a second viewing to unwind theme, metaphor and image; regardless, I struggled to reconcile what was presented into a cohesive work. When the cyc was finally revealed, and then covered by a quick drop of the back curtain, it was like the boy who cried wolf; I failed to be convinced of the impact upon the wolf’s arrival.

The final two pieces, Lineage by Darrell Grand Moultrie and Wasteland by Christopher Huggins, were both large-cast numbers that showcased the technical virtuosity and absolute kinetic joy that Collage Dance Collective harnesses as an ensemble. At one point during Wasteland, I felt like I was going to jump out of my skin. The driving music, the ever-changing formations, and entrances and exits: it was spectacle in every positive interpretation of the word, and performed flawlessly. After a prolonged standing ovation, I began my drive back to Salt Lake, happy that I had been able to experience this company.

Ogden Symphony Ballet Association will next present Parsons Dance on March 3 at 7:30pm, at Weber State’s Val A. Browning Center for the Performing Arts.  

Erica Womack is a choreographer based in Salt Lake, and an adjunct faculty member at SLCC.