SONDERimmersive: Thank You Theobromine

SONDERimmersive’s Thank You Theobromine, in collaboration with The Chocolate Conspiracy, is an interactive dance theater production built around the story of a chocolatier who may have poisoned people. Groups of audience members tour downtown shop The Chocolate Conspiracy, guided by performers but allowed the freedom to explore within that framework. Attending when I did, toward the end of the show’s multi-month run, audience management was all figured out and the performers seemed well-rehearsed and well-connected to their characters.

On the sidewalk outside The Chocolate Conspiracy, audience members were initially greeted by Graham Brown, co-creator and choreographer, who gave a welcome speech that included carefully created guidelines for how to interact within the immersive production. Then, we were invited into a tent filled with objects that the sold-out, 30-person audience was encouraged to explore, while a performer took her time welcoming us, whispering to us secrets about characters in the story, serving us hot chocolate, and dividing us into five smaller groups with corresponding colored wristbands. This beginning was a bit underwhelming, and I overheard some audience members expressing impatience as we waited to enter the chocolate shop one group at a time. The excitement did intensify once we left the tent and entered the building.

Once inside, the performers were confident and firm with their verbal and physical guidance of the audience - pushing, pulling, coaxing, and demanding us to participate as they intended. They moved us from room to room, but we were also free to wander. The interactive component of the production involved both theater and dance, and there were often multiple scenes taking place at the same time, such that the music and verbalizations of one scene served as background noise for another.

One success in involving audience members in dancing included a phrase in which Rebecca Aneloski, “The Libra,” took someone’s hand and led them to the window and then back to the center of the room, easing them into the part where she instructed them to close their eyes, and then moving them through ballroom dance-esque postures and finally into a gentle yet sincere embrace. Aneloski then returned that participant to a bench and repeated the sequence with another, and then another. 

I was very pleased with the use of space, both in the sense of performers interacting with the venue’s architecture, and also in the sense of their utilization of the venue to create unique perspectives from which they could be viewed. One of my favorite instances of this was some group choreography on a stairway: dancers thrashed between the wall and railing, with the audience standing beyond and below, and then one dancer lifted another into a back-roll to walk sideways along the wall.

Another good example of the use of space was when Aneloski rolled off the balcony railing to climb down to the driveway below, where she and Lauren Payne threw each other around and clambered up and down the street-level doors, exhibiting impressive strength and choreographic creativity. Payne boosted Aneloski up to a second story window, first to open it and then to climb into it, and seconds later pushed me out of the way, from where I was leaning over the balcony railing to watch Payne below, so that Aneloski could slide across the railing.

Lighting was especially effective in the room farthest to the west upstairs, during a scene toward the end in which the performers guided all audience members to the center of the room under a single bare bulb before weaving pathways among the crowd. In this scene, Michael Watkiss impressed me with his intentional focus and emotion as he performed a ritualistic gesture phrase, seemingly directed only at me.

The most memorable moment for me was one which not many other audience members got to see. Watkiss pushed me into a bathroom and left me alone there for a minute until Elizabeth Golden joined me. Golden mirrored my body position and facial expressions until, without verbally directing me to do so, she was able to lead me to mirror her. As we mirrored each other, she told me she was glad it was me, and began to nervously discuss her hunch that if I stayed here to take her place in purgatory then she could move on instead of me. As our mirroring game eased into a comfortable rhythm, her gestures perfectly led me to open a cabinet to find a jug marked “rat poison,” pour it into a cup, turn on the sink to add water to it, and raise the cup toward my mouth. Just before I would have had to decide if I really wanted to play along enough to drink whatever it was, Aneloski burst into the bathroom, emotional with criticism for Golden’s intentions, and snatched the cup away and poured it out. Then Aneloski led me downstairs where she handed me a chocolate bar, thanked me for coming, and pushed me outside into the softly falling snow.

Overall, the performers’ commitment to character, and specifically their eye contact, was important to creating the overall impact of the experience. The program credited four writers for the project, and I could tell that the performers were motivated by a specific and detailed story. However, the work of the writers seemed somewhat diminished by the mysteriousness which was brilliantly cultivated within the performance. I’d love to see a bit more clarity of story and characters to balance out all the intriguing mystery.

 It is possible, however, that other audience members experienced greater, or different, clarity than I did, and the fact that each individual’s experience could be so unique is a magical element of this project.

SONDERimmersive’s Thank You Theobromine continues through Sunday, January 5 at The Chocolate Conspiracy in downtown Salt Lake City.

Photos above courtesy of Graham Brown.

Kendall Fischer is the artistic director of Myriad Dance Company, and has enjoyed performing opportunities with Voodoo Productions, SBDance, Municipal Ballet Co., and La Rouge Entertainment, among others. Her choreography has been performed by Myriad, Municipal Ballet, and at Creator's Grid, and her dance film project “Breathing Sky” received the 2017 Alfred Lambourne Movement prize.

Brine Dance: Brine 5

Brine Dance, a Salt Lake City collective, presented its fifth annual concert at the Rose Wagner Performing Arts Center as part of Repertory Dance Theatre’s Link Series. Symmer Andrews, Ashley Creek, and Sara Pickett are the creatives behind the collective, and have co-directed and -produced its five concerts thus far. This year, Brine 5 presented four dances by five choreographers, purportedly to show "longer, more in-depth works… to give the audience the opportunity to experience [a] high caliber of choreography.” This model was a major departure from last year’s structure, which featured work by 18 choreographers split between two programs. 

The choreographers included Lauren Broadbent (a junior at the University of Utah), Mar Undag (recently of SALT II) and Daniel Do (of Repertory Dance Theatre), Portland-based artist Trevor Wilde, and dancer/director Rebecca Aneloski.

There was no question that the show was well-rehearsed; all dancers performed with extreme clarity and all work was clean and contained in a way that left little room for audience interpretation or nuance. The overarching physicality of the show alternated between precise, isolated gestures and simultaneous, whole body movements. 

Do and Undag’s collaboration resulted in “Permission To Be [VDSW],” a dance for four women. The women began in front of the show curtain, working with repetitive, direct gestures to the beat of the music, then proceeded onto the stage, the music oscillating between genres and moods. Indicated by the program notes, the dance aimed to demonstrate the power of the four women. Comprised primarily of overlapping solos and duets, the piece’s many entrances and exits allowed the dancers to change their various all-white costumes. The final image had the four women with their tops off, snapping to turn off the lights. 

Trevor Wilde’s piece, “Anotherwom(e)n,” utilized a door frame and a pile of red roses. The first solo spoke of a dark memory while a contemporary ballet sequence was performed. As a counterpoint, a second soloist leapt around the stage with a bouquet of roses as if in love. In a duet, the two dancers often mirrored one another, alternating silly faces and classical lines. The simple black dresses accentuated the leggy choreography. 

“TASTE,” by Rebecca Aneloski in collaboration with her performers, had a refreshingly clear identity. Flirty, floaty, and bizarre, the choreography employed nuance and spatial logic. The physical textures allowed characters to develop complex personal identities inside a distinctive world. Suspending time, condensing time, and other surprising timing choices added to the piece’s pleasure and satisfaction. “TASTE” evoked images of family structures and personal struggle. Aneloski crafted a series of overlapping tableaus with striking moments of reflection that I continue to reflect upon. 

“8.6.45,” choreographed by Lauren Broadbent, was the final piece, and one primarily driven by its music. Strong beats drove the dancers’ sharp gestures around a table and a bench. Hands were placed over eyes, mouths, and ears. The dancers occasionally assumed a formation to face the audience, moving through punching and slashing choreography, and then finished with a large piece of white fabric. 

Even as a reviewer, I am not completely certain of my role. I do not feel I am watching to determine whether something is “good,” or not - that is far too subjective of a decision, that I think is best left to each audience member. I do, however, have some questions about the dynamics of dance-making. Some are specific to this show, some specific to Salt Lake City, and some on a larger scale.

Why do choreographers make dances seemingly based on experiences that are not their own? Why do men choreograph dances with the expressed intent of highlighting the experiences of women? Why would a young choreographer make a dance about Hiroshima, an event that predates her by half a century? 

Why do dancers use voice on stage, and how does it relate to the physicality of the body? Did the artist(s)/producers obtain the proper licenses to play the music of Kendrick Lamar? Is it appropriate for four white women to perform to Lamar’s music? 

Did the producers have conversations with choreographers about problematic gender or music content? Did they address undeveloped dances? Did choreographers have opportunities to receive feedback from the producers, their peers, or other artists? 

Can a dance find an identity succinct enough to find multiplicity inside of that clarity? Why might a dance have enough content to fill multiple distinct works?

How does a community push the boundaries of a predominant movement aesthetic? 

How does a community create space for artists to take risks while also holding the entire community to high standards of craft and quality? 

It is important for there to be more independently produced shows like Brine 5 in Salt Lake City. 

But as we create more space, we should continue to ask questions of ourselves, our peers, our mentors, our collaborators, and those with the power to create more space. We may not agree upon the answer or the methods, but in the asking, we may create the possibility to discover the unimagined ways that dance can transform, heal, and connect communities. 

Originally from the Midwest, Hannah Fischer is currently pursuing her MFA at the University of Utah. She received an Individual Artist Grant through the Indiana Arts Commission in 2017 and was an Associate Artist-in-Residence at the Atlantic Center for the Arts in 2014.

Dance West Fest: Topography

topography n. the physical or natural features of an object or entity and their structural relationships

The inaugural Dance West Fest combined workshops hosted individually in the past by Repertory Dance Theatre, Ririe-Woodbury Dance Company, and the University of Utah. The newly branded workshop culminated on Thursday night with Topography, an aptly titled program that featured a hybrid of dances in varying stages of completeness. The evening served as a preview, both of the upcoming local dance season as well as of work from outside the state, and provided an instructive side-by-side of pieces that would not share a program otherwise.

With no printed playbill, directors and choreographers personably introduced each dance and cast; the informality was a nice foil to an otherwise surprisingly polished presentation in the Rose Wagner black box, complete with lighting and (light) costumes. 

Doris Humphrey’s 1949 “Invention,” staged by Limón company alum and veteran repetiteur Nina Watt, opened the program with jubilation. RDT will perform this new acquisition in its coming season; here, it was danced with aplomb by seasoned company members Jaclyn Brown, Lauren Curley, and Tyler Orcutt. 

Difficult feats such as a series of tours en l’air, with bow-and-arrow arms, and suspended hinges to the ground appeared effortless, buoyed by the performers’ horizon-focused gaze. As Norman Lloyd’s piano score transitioned from effervescence to effort, so too, and seamlessly, did the relationships between dancers. Though “Invention” clocks in at just eleven well-paced minutes, “through form and music and shape and gesture, [Humphrey] creates a world." 

Lauren Curley and Tyler Orcutt of Repertory Dance Theatre in Doris Humphrey’s “Invention.” Photo by Tori Duhaime.

The fully-mined finality of an archival work was followed by an exploration of something brand new, as Ann Carlson introduced an onstage rehearsal featuring Ririe-Woodbury artistic director Daniel Charon. Carlson explained that, for her, the audience always completes a dance; this is evident in her 2017 work for Ririe-Woodbury, “Elizabeth, the dance,” which the company will re-stage this fall. 

Charon tap-danced to “Moses Supposes” from “Singin’ in the Rain” and Carlson admitted she knows nothing about tap as she mimicked his movements while calling out directions, her hands fluttering behind her like quaking aspen leaves. Her coaching interjections, which functioned both for Charon and for us, made the case that, even here, the audience remained her final ingredient. 

Molly Heller (left) and Arletta Anderson presenting the start of a new collaboration with Katie Faulkner. Photo by Tori Duhaime.

Bay Area choreographer Katie Faulkner presented a collaboration with Arletta Anderson and local artist Molly Heller. The three women live in different cities, and Faulkner introduced their piece, the beginning of an evening-length one (shown in front of an audience here for the first time), as an experiment in working across distance and time. 

Performed by Heller and Anderson, the duet focused on percussion (audible, prancing pony steps, body slaps, and half-intelligible, breathy muttering) to create an abstracted narrative verging on the humorous. Like a contemporary art rendering of two Stooges, Heller and Anderson’s foibles (literally) pushed off and built upon one another, the two garnering laughs as they raced in circles around the stage, one clearly imagining herself the triumphant winner. 

Rebecca Aneloski (foreground) performing in a piece created by Dante Brown during Dance West Fest. Photo by Tori Duhaime.

New York-based choreographer Dante Brown mined both poetry and personal life in his offering performed by four students of the workshop, which he introduced as a “text to movement experience.” For the most part, any clarity was derived from the poetry read aloud by Brown at the front of the stage. The dancers began by moving in a rather amorphous blob and Brown’s relationship to them, as well as his choice to wear feathered wings, was not abundantly clear, lending the selection the air of a classroom exploration (in fairness, it was created in just several hours over the course of the workshop). But a solo by Rebecca Aneloski colored the space between performers and text beautifully, providing both heft and purpose. 

Yin Yue, also based in New York, presented twice on the program; first, a duet performed with Grace Whitworth, who is rehearsal director for Yue’s YY Dance Company, and then, to close the program, an excerpt of a new commission for Ririe-Woodbury to premiere in April 2020. 

Yin Yue (left) and Grace Whitworth in Yue’s “The Time Followed.” Photo by Tori Duhaime.

Lights rose on “The Time Followed” (2019) on what appeared to be one figure - the soon-revealed duo of Yue and Whitworth continued the idea of a singular, eight-limbed body with responsive, intelligent, and close-quartered partnering. Each manipulated the other through challenging weight shares and elegant promenades, both remaining in simultaneous control throughout. The ending image had Yue and Whitworth facing each other, arms outstretched and hands slowly rising while moving closer together, like moths seeking the light.

The program-concluding excerpt of Yue’s Ririe-Woodbury commission gave an enticing glimpse of company newcomers Dominica Greene and Nicholas Jurica. Similarly task-oriented partnering once again emphasized movement itself as concept (if the chosen selection is any indication of the whole). The dancers of Ririe-Woodbury appeared freer to inject daring in their approach to Yue’s choreography, or perhaps their sense of abandon was a product of their bodies’ interpretation of a new language - either way, it was a rewarding expansion upon the previous, more carefully calculated, pas de deux. 

Dominica Greene and Brian Nelson (pictured in rehearsal attire) performing an excerpt of a new commission by Yin Yue for Ririe-Woodbury Dance Company. Photo by Tori Duhaime.

Amy Falls manages and edits all reviews found on loveDANCEmore.org. Please send press releases for upcoming shows, and inquiries about writing, to amy@lovedancemore.org.

Plush Panoply at The Gateway

Plush Panoply was the second show to take place at the newly redefined Gateway this weekend, this one in the since-vacated, former Build-a-Bear store (I reviewed the other show, one by Breeanne Saxton, here).

Plush Panoply was an evening of solo works created by local female-identifying artists. Having now seen a number of performances in the space, I am familiar with the DIY, works-in-progress feel that often accompanies it --  but, while I appreciate the tongue-in-cheek attitude of its identification, can we, as a community, find a name for it that makes it easier for first-timers to find? Or at least put something on the door?

While the now-coined Abandoned Build-a-Bear has typically been used for more avant-garde, all-genre works, the team responsible for Plush Panoply managed to make the space feel settled and intentional, beyond just a reaction to the space at hand.

Upon reflection, I had a hard time finding a through-line for the show beyond the fact that it represented a roster of all female-identifying artists. All of the works still retained a “work-in-progress” feel which, while never a negative, did make the show feel more like individual, fleeting thoughts than a fleshed-out conversation. As the program mostly featured choreographers and performers associated with the University of Utah, a sense of research was present, with individual inquiries giving way to anger, humor, and turmoil.

The evening began with “The Long Fog,” created and performed by Hannah Fischer. Envelopes were geometrically arranged on the floor, shaping Fischer’s space into an even smaller square. While the audio, by Silver Mt. Zion, provided a clear development, I found the movement and intimacy created by the space to be more interesting. Paying attention to how Fischer navigated the twists and curves of her spine was more meaningful since we could hear her breath, her small sounds of effort, and see her making eye contact, intentional or not, with the audience. When she ruptured the square of envelopes, it felt like we were placed in the middle of an experience: not the initial confinement, or even the eventual ruin, of the space, but the seed of discontent.

“(an) overshare,” created and performed by Megan O’Brien, was a vignette, a thought, and I would be interested to see how it continues to grow past this performance. Beginning with spoken dialogue about searching for herself (in more poetic, enigmatic language), O’Brien quickly delved into an abstract narrative about a plane crash, then a birthday. The movement felt improvisational, with a constant groove to a Bee Gees arrangement by Matthew Morley. While it’s always a joy to watch O’Brien in her element, it’s difficult for me to remember much of the rest of the piece beyond the emotional contradiction of the text versus the humor found in the movement. I would be interested to see “(an) overshare” lean into this contradiction more.

E’lise Jumes’ “Forever Fallible” proved to be one of the most turmoil-ridden pieces of the evening. Presented as a way “to turn [herself] inside out,” the piece was fluid, yet also hard-hitting, and sincere in its approach. Jumes is an incredible performer with a ferocity that makes it impossible to take your eyes off her. Once again, the audience was dropped into the middle of an experience that didn’t necessarily feel earned at first -- but once it developed, it felt appropriate. I did notice that “Forever Fallible” was shared as an excerpt, which made me curious to see the rest of it. Jumes both glided and slithered, in and out and across the floor, in an attempt to confront the space, while always keeping her cool. The confrontation was wrought with deliberate intention; she never gave into exhaustion by letting any detail slip. She was emotional yet had perhaps come to terms with something, wearing her emotions as fact and using that as motivation instead of for reaction.

The highlight of the evening, for both myself and my performance companion, was “scheduled programming,” choreographed by Corinne Lohner and performed by Lohner, Ali Lorenz, and Bayley Smallwood. The piece featured all three dancers in floor-length, conservative dresses and utilized an improvisational score. As a series of tracks played, each one relating to heterosexual romance, the score developed, accumulating more and more absurd reactions to it from the dancers. Highlights included the juxtaposition of the conservative dresses with typical sexual poses to “That Don’t Impress Me Much”; the uncomfortable, overeager smiles and affirmative nods for the audience’s approval to “You Don’t Own Me”; (unplanned?) male audience members coming onto the stage; and the dancers throwing themselves at and away from their partners with abandon. (If the male audience members were in fact plants, kudos to them for their convincing performance.) Tracks were repeated multiple times, which, at a certain point, felt unnecessary, but “scheduled programming” managed to incorporate humor, wit, and discomfort into its score in a thoughtful and unique way.

The final piece, “Bitter,” was a choreographic collaboration between Allison Shir and Rebecca Aneloski, performed by Shir. It is always a pleasure to watch Shir perform, as she imbues every movement with angularity, tension, and intent. “Bitter” actually portrayed a softened version of herself, which I attribute to Aneloski’s influence. Featuring classic tunes by Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Sinatra, and Ernest Ranglin, the piece felt like a romantic reaction while also feeling almost removed from emotion. Each movement had significance, to the point where I was slightly exhausted by trying to catch every detail; when everything is important, how do we know what matters? To this end, the costuming, music, and record player onstage created nostalgia and helped locate significance: “Bitter” was about loss, and maybe not arriving at a healthy place in relation to that loss. Part of a larger TASTE series, I’m curious to see how it fits in.

The independent work being produced in Salt Lake City is exciting, and I appreciate The Gateway’s accessible new spaces. There is so much dance taking place outside of the company model and it’s a pleasure to see it shared, even when it lacks the large budget necessary to produce an evening-length show. Given the unfinished nature of most of Plush Panoply, I look forward to seeing how each piece might evolve. But I also just appreciate the opportunity for these artists to share their thoughts in an accessible way.

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.

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.