Repertory Dance Theatre: Sounds Familiar

Repertory Dance Theatre’s Sounds Familiar began in a manner that was also familiar, the director striding through the closed curtain to deliver pre-show remarks. Immediately, though, this familiarity was playfully subverted. Artistic and executive director Linda C. Smith executed a perfect act of vaudeville opposite an airborne pest, through attempts to shoo, entice, capture, and eventually menace it with a baseball bat, to Rimsky-Korsakov’s “Flight of the Bumblebee.” It was on the nose, tongue in cheek, surprising, and, yes, brief enough to be both compact and impactful. The program continued in this fashion. 

A diverse dozen of local artists was called upon to choreograph short works to culturally prominent pieces of classical music. This seemingly simple premise was likely tricky to produce, involving a great deal of structure to support many discrete works, a conceptual scaffolding to hold them together, and a good deal of trust and investment in many artists to pull it off - which RDT did, and beautifully so. 

Each musical selection was one deeply embedded in current culture. When called on to consider such a selection explicitly, it is often to the tune of asserting value or declaiming knowledge. Sounds Familiar is a title that perfectly encapsulates this production’s opposite approach. Video interludes presented history and context, serving as transitions while dancers and stage were reset. With the benefit of educational content, and without judgment, the audience’s tacit recognition of a classical song could become the patent processing of new, affecting interpretations. This complex pairing of familiar and unexpected must have been challenging to produce on the front end. However, it was perfectly simple and rewarding to appreciate. 

Three reprising solos by Molly Heller, duets by Nicholas Cendese, Natosha Washington, and Luc Vanier, and a solo by Sharee Lane danced by Ursula Perry were instantly memorable. 

Heller’s pieces effectively utilized repetition and escalation on many levels. The solos were interspersed throughout the program, grounding what was otherwise successive and fast-paced. Each solo was set to the same Bach prelude (from Cello Suite No. 1). Each dancer occupied the same space while moving through graspable patterns of repetition into escalations of phrasing that then moved beyond our ability to track. Dancers Trung “Daniel” Do, Jaclyn Brown, and Jonathan Kim each inhabited this echoed approach wholly differently. The reflection of the internal structure of the music with its repeated themes and variations, and the play on the very notion of a prelude, was motivated and moving. I could watch an infinite iteration of dancers traversing that diagonal, to that suite, under Heller’s direction and never, ever tire of it.

Nicholas Cendese’s piece for Do and Kim, set to Beethoven’s “Für Elise,” was spare in staging and totally full in aesthetic sensibility. The two duetted with gorgeous synchronicity, established some iconic movements, and then used them as landmarks of recognition for departure into fiercely individual contemporary movement. The integration of contemporary social dance wasn’t imitative or exploitative. It was seamless and completely culturally legible and authentic, in flawless contrast to the music’s deeply imprinted piano rondo. I hope I forever associate those arpeggiated alternating motifs in A minor with these two incredible performers. It was like viewing a film in which you let yourself sit back, suspend disbelief, and simply enjoy the craft, and then leave the theater suspecting that you might’ve just enjoyed a piece of incisive social criticism.

Duets by Natosha Washington and Luc Vanier were each richer in staging and setting. Washington’s featured a tableau of archetypes: a statuesque woman in an impossibly long gown, obscuring a pedestal, with a man below; a bouquet of flowers; a chalk circle; and the darkly shining instrument of pianist Ricklen Nobis. Vanier’s set was Washington’s dystopian mirror, or foil: dancers enrobed in hazmat ponchos, trashed couches and a glitching television on squeaky casters, cyclorama projections of desolate environments, and a faint tinny musical recording. Both pieces explicitly treated challenging topics. Washington’s duet brought immediate gravity to the inherent romance of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata.” Dancers Ursula Perry and Tyler Orcutt exhibited a mastery of contained fluidity that established the weight of connection, and their artistic maturity allowed it to arrive safely and responsibly at a depiction of intimate partner violence. Every choice, from the initial selection of the music and its live execution, to the stage dressing and perfect casting, supported the presentation of something darkly beautiful and deeply considered. 

Vanier’s duet was equally human and thoughtful in its treatment of ecological disaster. It built slowly and never hurried, allowing for the changeable pacing of the video background. Lauren Curley and Dan Higgins have the incredible ability to project their awareness at each other with their attention drawn in opposite directions, past each other, or into the middle distance, which made every act of intricate partnering or the intimate brushing back of a plastic hood intensely chilling. The dramatic physical scale of the projection and the indistinct symphonic strains of Beethoven framed the human drama, creating with the set and costuming a built world evoking Ray Bradbury or Ursula K. LeGuin’s science and speculative fiction.

Ursula Perry’s solo, choreographed by Sharee Lane, was a virtuoso accomplishment. Not for a moment did the Puccini aria overshadow Perry’s movement. It done was in my favorite kind of contemporary ballet vernacular, and felt connected to the very core of its performer. It is good to be reminded that the complementary acts of reaching out and digging down haven’t been mined to nothing yet. There was an untellable richness and feeling to Perry’s performance. A marriage of the universal and the personal is itself a classical artistic aspiration, and it was wonderful to see it carried out by these experienced, capable artists.

There were some very successful ensemble pieces in the program as well. Sara Pickett and Nathan Shaw showed impressive command of formations, the former most notably in passing lines and the latter in the transmutations of unison trios. Nancy Carter’s piece was well-rehearsed and intricate, fully exploring range and levels through the modality of bungee. It was quite stylistically cohesive, such that the inclusion of different instrumentations of the same Bach fugue was a confusing choice. Elle Johansen seemed especially confident and at ease dancing tethered to an aerial rig. 

Sounds Familiar achieved a sense of history, diverse voice, and community presence, all of which I am grateful to have witnessed. In so doing, it also showcased the incredible caliber of its company, which performed 15 discrete works with tireless commitment. The show was a success belonging to many, certainly not least these eight strong dancers.

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

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.

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.

Brine: Disembodied We

Brine’s Disembodied We (presented by Repertory Dance Theatre's Link Series) was performed to a sellout crowd on Friday at the Rose Wagner’s Leona Wagner Black Box, one of my favorite venues. It was lovely to see the theatre filled with an enthusiastic audience. “Take your own interpretations from the works presented and glean your own meanings from what you witness,” exhorted Ashley Creek in the program notes; and so, I will venture to do so.

“A.D. Part Two: Terra”, choreographed by Creek, set the evening off to an intriguing start, with two masked faces peeking out from behind black curtains. They parted to reveal a sea of shimmering black-clad bodies and masked faces, and … yet another black curtain. That too parted. The dancers moved and drummed insistently on the floor, as they rolled, pulled and pushed, leapt and gesticulated. As a lone, unmasked dancer gestured repeatedly in the foreground, the masked crowd seemed to be both menacing and supportive in turns. It simultaneously evoked the facades we wear to smooth our daily social interactions and, at the same time, there was a hint of the aggression with impunity empowered by anonymity of the mask, as on internet message boards. When the masked dancers marched up along the aisles to engage the audience in an intense turbulent conversation, it was a powerful moment, if somewhat overwrought. It indicated that this was a sequel to another work, which this viewer has not had the pleasure of watching. As in Greek theatre, the masks with the exaggerated expressions were successful in inducing dread and disquiet that the music and the mostly-dim lighting also amplified.

At the very end of the piece, the dancers threw their masks with just a split second in which to reveal themselves and one wondered: was it joy, was it triumph; what did they reveal?

Monica Campbell’s “Passage” commenced with Lady Liberty's immortal words:

“Give me your tired, your poor, / Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, / The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. / Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, / I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

As music by Warsaw Village Band rose in plaintive notes, dancers gracefully promenaded across the floor, conjuring an unmistakable imagery of loss, regret, and longing for what lies behind whilst still looking toward the hope of the future: the epitome of every immigrant's journey. A lyrical piece, it also possessed subtle hints at the support structures, or lack thereof, for these communities within unfamiliar mores of the new land -- like safety nets that at once protect and stifle. A sense of the struggle to fit in, and then of eventual assimilation, was echoed by the physical movements of the dancers.

The exceptional item of the evening followed: Alicia Trump's “Gaslighting Blatherskites" was nothing short of brilliant, at least for this reviewer. Two dancers performed in perfect synchrony to minimal yet stirring music, with aptly chosen snippets of audio from presidential campaign debates past. Together, these elements rendered a masterful portrayal of sound-byte culture, the lack of nuanced or sustained discussion in debates, and the arguments that consume our current political and social discourse. With unceasing dynamism, pithy messaging, unimpeachably adroit choreography and equally exquisite execution that had me glued to the edge of my seat wanting more, this was one of the stand-out pieces of the concert for me. It would be hard to provide a narrative description of the movement in this chimerical piece; one had to see it to experience it. 'Do you feel safe, I don't feel so safe...' in the voice of our current President Trump -- the words trailed off as the lights went out.

Gina Terrell’s “Kwashiorkor” (or, serious malnutrition caused by lack of protein) highlighted the plight of starving children the world over, and juxtaposed images of hunger and need in the background with the soft grace of giving in the foreground. Appearing first in bare leotards, women writhed, angst-ridden, embodying a state of famine; then, the imagery evolved to that of plenty, and perhaps even of waste, as they danced to grain falling from the sky. This conveyed eloquently that it is not an absence of plenty but rather plenty of absence that allows millions to go undernourished. The piece was well-conceived, though the images of starving African children  seemed a tad bit overt, and trite. Certainly, it tugged at the heartstrings of my inner maternal persona. I wonder if they could have achieved the same effect with different, more subtle symbolism.

After the intermission, “What breaks us” by Sara Pickett explored how emotional bulwarks are erected and broken, and illustrated the effect of conformity, of complacence, and the stimulus needed to perhaps lurch us out of these malingering states into one of active response. The bare minimum soundscape for the choreography was intriguing and novel. The idea was well-envisaged, but the execution felt a little less energetic than one might have hoped for.

Symmer Andrew’s “Fragments” began with a video of dancers individually emoting to the camera, first in night-time surroundings, followed by a gathering on a grassy lawn. Shortly thereafter the dancers descended onto the stage in the same configuration, accompanied by live music (which was somewhat unsettling: intentionally so, I suspect). I confess, I was somewhat confounded by this piece, unsure of how to interpret it. While there certainly was an element of chaos as indicated by the title, the intent behind it was ambiguous, and eluded an easy elucidation in my mind.

The final item of the evening, “Lucy (Part 1)” by LAJAMARTIN, was a high-energy, technically demanding disquisition of the early origins of human civilization. A glimpse of early encounters with wild animals, the fear response, tribal bonding and rivalry, and the seeking of shelter from the elements were all beautifully illustrated in a power-packed performance of muscular, gasp-inducing moves. The dancers prowled, hunted, beat with sticks, leapt into the air, landed low on the ground; it was all incredibly athletic. Every facet that goes into the presentation of performing arts -- audio, lighting, costuming, specials effects (i.e., snow falling and blowing like a blizzard like in this piece) -- along with the sheer grace and vigorous dexterity of the dancers was optimally employed in this intimate theatre setting. It capped off a thoroughly enjoyable evening on a high note.

Overall, Disembodied We was a moving, thought-provoking, and entertaining experience to be savoured for this somewhat unschooled viewer of modern dance. It inspires me to bring the same sensibility to the milieu of classical Indian dance forms that I am more familiar with. Kudos to RDT and Brine for a well-produced, wisely curated evening.

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.