Ballet West II: Beauty and the Beast

In 1991, Disney’s Beauty and the Beast was one of the first movies I saw in theatres. The 2017 remake is a favorite of my 6 year-old. She and I jumped at the opportunity to see Ballet West’s ballet version during their annual Family Classics series.

After fielding 25 or more “What’s happening now? Who is that? They aren’t in the movie!” comments from my young date during the performance, I realized how colonized the fairy tale is by the Disney version. A $3 bottle of water at intermission effectively silenced both of us (albeit for different reasons), and we were soon transported by Ballet West’s perfectly-paced iteration.

This 60-minute Beauty and the Beast had less villagers and more magical quirk. Intermittent spoken narration and creative use of magical objects helped thread the tale together. Pamela Robinson Harris and Peggy Dolkas’ creative choreography was masterfully performed by Ballet West II artists accompanied by students and the Professional Training Division of the Ballet West Academy. Kudos all around to the lovely dancing, which impressed everyone in the audience, this writer included.

Though all the dancers were truly outstanding, Victoria Vassos as Evil Fairy and Alexandra Terry in the role of Beauty were my standouts. I loved the shifting cast of love duets, sometimes with Terry (Beauty) and Robert Fowler (Beast), at other times Vinicus Lima (Prince) and Terry (Beauty), and still another lovely moment between Lima (Prince) and Tatiana Stevenson (Beauty’s double). My favorite ensemble moments featured the 12 castle statues in gray dresses and white wigs when waltzing together at the ball and out of a wardrobe with several of Beauty’s dresses. (“How did they learn all those steps?” my date wondered.)

Central to this story were the material objects of the classic fairy tale. Whether it was a magical glove that transported dancers from one scene to another, the unique use of transportational mirrors, or the satisfying flounce of David Heuvel’s tutus, I was left considering the imprint of the objects of our daily lives, and how everyday things become imbued with power on and off stage.

From conception to performance, Ballet West’s Beauty and the Beast is a welcome reminder that this tale as old as time has as many variations as any fairy tale should.

Liz Ivkovich is the Development Director for UtahPresents.

OSBA presents BalletX

The Ogden Symphony Ballet Association (OSBA) was founded with the mission to bring classical concerts from Salt Lake City up to Weber County, and now presents music and dance programming from nationally and internationally renowned touring companies to audiences in the greater Ogden area. BalletX is a Philadelphia-based contemporary ballet company that premieres many new works by prominent choreographers to their home audience, as well as taking programming on tour throughout their season. OSBA’s presentation of the company at Weber State University was comprised in the manner of most touring shows, a triple bill. A nearly full complement of nine company dancers performed in each piece (save all but one dancer in the first).

Vivir opened the night with an evocation of Spanish Harlem. Choreographer Darrell Grand Moultrie cites exposure to the beauty, power, and ubiquity of the Latin music of his birthplace in the program notes. Besides having worked broadly in ballet and contemporary dance, Moultrie has choreographed extensively in musical theater, from Broadway to Beyoncé’s world tour, whereby this love of music is clearly borne out. In Vivir, the musical selections occasionally overwhelmed the dancing as a focal point. Ballet generally is performed to a score, rather than a performing of the score, as in musical theater; this formed an emotive disconnect in the more lyrical solo, but served well in the instrumental sections and the accompanying duets and ensembles.

The introductory solos featured the lithe athleticism and startlingly sharp pointework that came to characterize the dancers’ performance quality throughout the evening, with heavy side light defining their muscularity. Solos transitioned to small groups, notably a fluid, self-contained male trio, which gave way, with a certain sense of inevitability and familiarity, to pas de deux. The partnering was both tricky and nuanced. The highlight of Vivir was a sultry pas de deux culminating in a lift, at which point another couple entered dancing to the quicker, brighter motifs in the transitioning music, while the lift slowly and languidly reached the ground. Including these differing musical interpretations in one duet was a masterful way to evoke social dance with beautiful, clear contrast.

The larger-scale contrast of the (rather too) dimly-lit solo danced by Richard Villaverde was less effective. The abrupt shift from de rigueur colorful mesh-paneled unitards and the infectious joy of Latin Jazz great Tito Puente and new-school classical guitar duo Rodrigo y Gabriela, to the black-clad bare chested defeated-man-on-center was a moment of drama that encumbered the following solo. The choreography was rather quiet and mellow, and perhaps under-articulated to match the continuing melodrama of the song’s overt plaintive lyricism. The following transition into dynamic duets of technical virtuosity in ever-flirtier iterations of costume, into the full ensemble featuring the overfamiliar single line of exuberant individual movements, never recaptured the nuance of the foregoing pairings. Although the progression of movements felt rather formulaic, the brighter sections were danced with unwavering alacrity and technical prowess.

BalletX co-founder and choreographer Matthew Neenan sought to create a “more purely musical” piece, as a reprieve from narrative/conceptual focus, to the strains of Schubert in Increasing. The loveliest motif emerged quickly and was reprised often in the form of two simultaneous duets, two blue-skirted women downstage right and two men upstage left in earthy neutrals. The duets were consistently fully motivated both in contact and musicality. These pairings achieved a level of abstraction that truly suited the stated intent: a non-narrative representation of the musical changes, themes, and subtleties. Each dueting couple was completely attentive from one partner to another, lending clarity to the full scope of the stage and tension to interwoven moments between the pairs. Subtly choreographed deviations by one dancer from unison phrases read as effective moments of pattern-break, and never as mistakes, which is a difficult feat.

Here at its best, Increasing reminded me of watching Disney’s Fantasia as a youth, seeing classical suites interpreted with abstract movement and forms. That is however a difficult conceit to sustain. As the piece progressed, again familiarly, from the duets into pas de deux and ensemble sections, the introduction of the “Allegro” section left little to be explored. Much of the choreography was novel and ambitious, and all was executed beautifully; the larger structure of movements compromised a sustained interest, not quite living up to the swelling intensity suggested by the title. As with the first piece, I was engaged for a full two-thirds of the performance and then found my attention wavering. In each case, I would wish for a less predictable progression of movements and more thoughtful utilization of the cast, perhaps not featuring the full ensemble, as well as a little stagecraft.

The final performance of the evening answered each of my forementioned desires of structural reform, and then some. German for “checkmate,” Schachmatt was in fact consistently winning. The curtain opened on a silent stage already in motion with a repeated unison flourish of many hands, discernible through the diffuse fog and theatrically prominent upstage row of floor lights. Toplight filtered down as the chanteuse of “J’attendrai,” a pop favorite of occupied France, began to sing. The dancers were uniformly dressed in matching monochrome grey shorts, button-ups, and ties, with the jaunty addition of a jockey-like black billed hat, perhaps best described as a ‘60s Mod scooter-fashion send-up. The unison gestures continued, allowing each frequently cheeky motion to be fully delivered through repetition before transitioning to the next. This basic theme was carried throughout and somehow never once became tiresome.

Through a series of seven vintage pop tunes, noir theme songs, mambos, and other inherently danceable selections, groups entered and exited deliberately through the wings. The dancehall was thus evoked but never actualized as vaudeville or chorus line. Cayetano Soto’s choreography adhered to his central vision with remarkable conviction. New brief phrases were serially introduced and developed with repetition and minimal, considered variation which allowed them to be truly seen. I have seen and appreciated this structural approach with more minimalist schools of subtle gesture, but rarely with motions this full-bodied, energetic, and vigorous. The dance vernacular included some very current street styles alongside older social dance and original contemporary movement. A great strength and cohesion was achieved with the choice of allowing these styles to coexist in the same world, undifferentiated in quality or treatment, creating an exuberantly articulated whole. Breakaway duets and groupings were re-integrated with the very classic approach of all parties repeating the current danced theme through the transitions - and it worked seamlessly. Schachmatt ranged from silly, to sexy, to strangely emotive, as in the final movement wherein the men faced the audience in a downstage line and were embraced from behind with gently enfolding hands as they executed a cyclic series of measured gestures. This piece alluded to historical and worldly referents while realizing a feeling and context all its own, never relenting in novelty, in the very best sense. It made me appreciate the virtuosity and versatility of the BalletX dancers and the company’s commitment to showing new contemporary works for many and varied audiences.

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.

Brine: Na

Now in its fourth year, Brine was created by Symmer Andrews, Ashley Creek, and Sara Pickett to highlight works by numerous local choreographers. This year, the group’s annual fall offering featured two distinct programs with sold-out performances, Na (the symbol for sodium) and Cl (chloride); this reviewer was only able to attend Na.

The opening number, “Parched,” was choreographed by Daniel Do and Edromar Undag in collaboration with their dancers. A potent piece, “Parched” created a sense of torment, yet not without end. The spoken word artist Nia Portocarrero was forceful and compelling in her tone and delivery, and even without really understanding the words that were spoken, one still absorbed the intent. The diverse bodies on stage, in turn yearning and yielding, hoping and striving, and coping with support, were decidedly interesting to watch. The lighting by William Peterson was simply brilliant, with blue and amber cross beams of light leading the gaze into a mysterious land, in which threats of darkness and glimmers of hope could coexist with equal chance.

“Guardians of the Hearth” by Emily Bokinskie was a blander number with an aesthetic dance arrangement, illustrating women as perhaps gentle yet strong keepers of warmth and tenderness. The dancers looked lovely in pinks and reds and greens, the overall palette pink as they twirled and stretched around in circles and lines. My interpretation possibly takes a cue from the title, but the intent of the choreography on its own was less clear.

The next piece, “Asylum” by Dan Higgins, was absorbing and yet difficult to watch. The dance opened and closed to a scene of five women who stood tethered to an invisible track in the ceiling, accompanied by the sound of ropes stretching as they struggled valiantly to escape, all within a diagonal track of light. (In this piece, as in “Parched,” the concept was very ably assisted by the lighting.) As they tried to break through but fell again and again, I could almost feel their bruises, both of their physical bodies and also of their spirits. Was this a prison? Was it of their own making? Were they helping each other or holding each other back? It was all a bit ambiguous. Every struggle in “Asylum” felt lonely and hopeless.

“A Walk in the Rain” by Heather Francis was an unexpectedly humorous piece, the dancers playfully exploring a pull towards conformity. Like sea lions yapping until others joined in, the dancers repeated phrases until all were engaged in the colloquy, effectively drawing the arc of an evolving indulgence from the individual to the collective, from the unique to the commonplace. It was a rare use of lighthearted wit and hilarity to entertain and stimulate. It was also interesting to see the forceful pull of one strong individual then co-opt the acquiescence of the others.

The next piece, “Saudade,” was choreographed by E’lise Marie Jumes. A Portuguese word, saudade evokes a sense of loneliness, incompleteness, or, as noted in the program: "the pleasures we suffer and ailments we enjoy; this is our longing for what is not the present, ...layers upon layers of our past experiences give life to the palimpsest of our existence." Mounds of hair surrounded the dancers, as they appeared to experience a poignant longing. The nostalgia was effectively embodied in their movements, the hair perhaps a symbol of what they had lost. And yet... it grows back, does it not? “Saudade” was an introspective piece, in which each dancer was ensconced in her own memories and a dreamy wistfulness.

“Ash/Salt,” choreographed by Corinne Lohner, opened to two women sitting in front of an elaborately arranged meal on the ground, as a third woman on the other side of the stage struggled incessantly, yet vainly, to move against an invisible barrier, locked in an eternal undesirable fate. The other two dancers seemed to eat and drink in turns, while one cut the other's hair (a wig), dyed portions of it black, and later, both proceeded to smear their mouths in the same substance. These were two separate, detached happenings, perhaps illustrating the impersonality of existence, or a lack of empathy: the two women indulging in their meal were seemingly completely oblivious to the struggle of the other woman, just across from them. The piece was jarring at times, but still kept the viewer hooked, in a strangely vicarious, voyeuristic fashion. And what did the dark smearing signify?

“Your Light Is Never Forgotten” by Alicia Trump was as compelling a number as her piece in last year’s Brine concert, “Gaslighting Blatherskites,” and was an aching reminder that grief and loss are negotiated with everyday, long past the event of loss. In myriad covert and conspicuous interactions, the absence of a loved one became evident as their essence was acutely highlighted. That graceful acknowledgment was skillfully portrayed with a spotlight under which one dancer stood. When she fell, the others continued to simulate her essence, dancing around the light that was once hers, not fully extinguished even when she no longer danced under it.  

“Good Enough” by Megan O'Brien featured a cast of four women, some dancing, some observing. They prompted several questions, among which were - What do we find surprising? What do we find acceptable? How hard is it to reveal self truths, and how do you resolve the feeling of not being good enough? The costumes, everyday clothing such as suits and the like, were aptly chosen, bringing home the situational realism in a relatable manner.

Taken in entirety, the pieces throughout Na were all thought-provoking. However, individual sections needed more finesse in their abstractions, which did not always drive home points with conviction. Last year's Brine concert, Disembodied We, was possibly more exciting and mature. As we watched this year’s, my friend and I were struck by the thought of a compulsion to find meaning through our own constructions. Did a narrative exist that was a version just for me and my constructions, or was there maybe even none at all? In stark contrast to the Indian classical arts, where there is an explicit intent to provide common meaning and contextual narrative, the aesthetic experience here was secondary to the intellectual and emotional one. Perhaps that was the intent, or perhaps it does not really matter.

Srilatha Singh is a Bharatanatyam artiste and the director of Chitrakaavya Dance. While interested in encouraging excellence in her art form, she is also keenly compelled to explore relevance and agency through the artistic medium.

Repertory Dance Theatre: Spirit

Repertory Dance Theatre’s season opening “Spirit,” presented a company mission of “manifest diversity,” a potential play on a problematic ideology that led white Americans westward. Manifest diversity suggests that what was perhaps more inevitable than white settlement was voices of racially diverse Americans contributing to a broad national culture, including the advent of modern dance as an American form.

To engage in these ideas, “Spirit,” presented works by two historical choreographers (Michio Ito and Donald McKayle) and two working in the contemporary moment (Natosha Washington and Tiffany Rea-Fisher). In introductory videos, each choreographer addresses their work and Rea-Fisher’s comments lend themselves to this interpretation of manifest diversity as she describes modern dance as a form created by and for people, unlike ballet and other concert forms which stem from royalty, religion, or both. This reality validates the concert’s aims but also troubles its premise. Because the works presented are made by people as varied as their ideas, their own concepts are frequently at intellectual odds.

The concert opens with an array of short dances by Michio Ito, whose work is representative of so many artists whose choreography was integral to the development of modern dance, but who were left out of a singularly Western canon of dance history. In “Time and the Dancing Image,” Deborah Jowitt links Ito to choreographers like Martha Graham and states that he was known for combining Japanese sensibilities with more “contemporary formality,” an observation that is particularly resonant while watching “En Bateau (Blue Wave).” Made a decade prior to another proverbial blue wave, “Serenade” by Balanchine, I watched the quintet of RDT’s women perform subtle and evocative gestural phrases in complex spatial patterns and wondered how many other dances of this type I haven’t had the privilege of seeing on stage.  

This feeling also has consequences.

Knowing that later, Natosha Washington’s “say their names (part i),” would address police brutality, I cringed to see Ito’s “Cake Walk” included in the program. While adeptly performed by Tyler Orcutt, “Cake Walk,” draws on minstrelsy with no sense of irony (not to mention the Debussy score’s reference to the racist caricature Golliwog). The inclusion of the dance asks questions about how dance companies can best curate racially and culturally diverse programming. I suspect it’s not about the range of the material offered to audiences but instead, the material’s sufficient historical unpacking. While “Cake Walk” did not wholly detract from the more compelling moments in “say their names” it does undercut them. “say their names” had multiple and cumulative beginnings and a strong moment of assertive partnering between Ursula Perry and Megan O’Brien. The dance ends with the full cast clad in white and surrounded by snow; they gaze over their shoulders toward the audience, demanding our complicity or our action.

This complex interaction of ideologies persists into the second half of the evening. Tiffany Rea-Fisher addresses the role of female friendships and, at first, I had the same feelings of excitement and longing as I did while viewing “En Bateau”. How many dances about women have I been denied while watching heterosexual partnering? What would it be like to watch more of this absorbing musical material in which Jaclyn Brown excels? And could Elle Johansen please collapse so readily into the arms of another friend and continue her skitter backwards to the audience’s comedic delight?

At the conclusion of “her joy,” the inimitable Donald McKayle comes to the screen. While I’m (truly) delighted to hear about “Rainbow Round My Shoulder,” a seminal work about men on a chain gang, I become hung up on his verbal reminder that the woman in “Rainbow” is not really a woman at all, but instead serves as an archetype of a sweetheart, a mother and a wife. Her mythology buoys the men through their crisis without addressing her own. “Rainbow” both paves the way for Rea-Fisher’s future work and necessitates it, by framing a view that women are anchors for male experiences.

Despite this reckoning, “Rainbow,” is performed beautifully and does all of the things previous critics have lauded. As Gia Kourlas described in the New York Times during a 2016 re-staging, “The exhaustive, angular swinging movement for the men came from the idea of forced labor,” and RDT does not shirk the exhaustive portion of the responsibility. Dancing to traditional chain gang songs, the company’s men, and guest performers, are both precise and passionate. When Efren Corado Garcia carries Tyler Orcutt away at the conclusion of the dance (“another man done gone…they killed another man”) the physical line of the dancers is a spatial metaphor for the passage of time. As the chain gang exits the stage, the dance should feel dated but the concept is, regrettably, still an American present.  

See “Spirit” tonight and tomorrow at the Rose Wagner; details here.

Ashley Anderson directs loveDANCEmore programming as part of her non-profit, “ashley anderson dances.” See more on ashleyandersondances.com.

Monica Bill Barnes & Company: Happy Hour

Earlier this week, I, along with thousands across the country, watched with rapt attention as Christine Blasey Ford shared her testimony in front of the Senate Judiciary Committee regarding the sexual assault she experienced as a teenager, at the hands of Supreme Court nominee Brett Kavanaugh. I admired the woman I saw who spoke so clearly and succinctly, yet emotionally, about a trauma that has followed her throughout her adult life. I then watched as Kavanaugh raged and acted above reproach in his refusal to answer questions, unable to believe that this was happening. Later that evening, I went to a performance of Happy Hour by Monica Bill Barnes & Company, where I felt a similar experience: not necessarily a catharsis, but one that was extremely relevant to what the day’s earlier events had laid before me.

Created in 2015, Happy Hour portrays a relationship between two men, their desire to prove their masculinity, and their feelings of rejection when that is not achieved. The show was performed by Monica Bill Barnes and Anna Bass, two female-identifying individuals, and was characteristically placed in an intimate setting (in this rendition, the audience was seated on stage at Kingsbury Hall alongside the performers). An artificial sense of camaraderie was achieved by the Utah-approved snacks available on the way in and the paper decorations on the walls, mimicking an office party, and the evening’s host, Robbie Saenz de Viteri, made small talk and remembered everyone’s names.

From the start, Barnes and Bass fully embodied their characters, from the micro-facial movements to their choice of makeup (minimal, yet giving their faces more angularity) to their intense yet subtle physical posture and choreography. The majority of the choreography seemed to stem from a classical modern dance, and male-oriented, vernacular, reminiscent of Jerome Robbins’ leg tosses and Gene Kelly’s tap vocabulary. However, Barnes and Bass maintained a sternness and cockiness in their demeanors, indicating that their movements were not for the performance’s or audience’s sake but were a means to a specific goal. The dancers’ characters were cool and above reproach, yet when Bass fell, her character was distraught and angry until the audience built them back up again with cued applause.

While the evening began as comedic, and stayed that way for some audience members, Happy Hour took an extremely dark turn for me about third of the way through. Focusing their attention on a 20-year-old woman in the audience (although not a plant, host Saenz de Viteri had singled her out before the show and made sure we all knew her age), the dancers took her belongings, gave them to her seat mates, brought her to sit in a chair in the performance space, and proceeded to try to seduce her. The seduction was over-the-top and appeared as though it was meant to be funny but, evoking the Blasey Ford hearing earlier in the day, the discomfort felt by both the woman and audience was palpable. What made this so fascinating was that even though I knew it was women portraying these male characters, I was still taken aback by the bluntness of their choice. Bass was ultimately “successful,” leading the woman away; this, coupled with her prior physicality and facial expressions, prompted a visceral reaction of anger in me.

Throughout the rest of the piece, this exploration of masculinity continued, as Barnes and Bass serenaded another female audience member with “Build Me Up Buttercup,” continuing the theme. The woman they were serenading (full disclosure: it was me!) certainly did nothing to build up the characters, yet they were again distraught and seemed to induce guilt for being turned down.

The goal of Happy Hour as I perceived it was achieved. By creating a portrait of male characters as portrayed by female bodies, commentary was inserted through comedy. And while Barnes and Bass were portraying characters, their embodiment did not come from a place without examples. They presumably had a plethora of examples to study and emulate, and they did so with uncomfortable accuracy. It may be easy to see their portrayals as comedic, but they are anything but: “Boys will be boys” is not something to laugh at so much as something to be prevented.

By the end of the show, I found myself feeling slightly bad for Barnes’ and Bass’s characters, as a result of the narrative of rejection presented and the musical journey we had been taken on - but I truly wish that I hadn’t. This speaks to the power of theater and to the power of being a woman sharing these stories. In the Judiciary Committee hearing, Blasey Ford punctuated her testimony with jokes and laughter; Monica Bill Barnes punctuated Happy Hour with comedy and a traditional narrative that made it more comfortable to swallow. Someday, I hope we can just say it like it is.

Natalie Gotter is a performer, choreographer, instructor, filmmaker, and researcher. She recently completed an MFA in modern dance at the University of Utah and is a faculty member at Utah Valley University, Westminster College, and Salt Lake Community College.