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loveDANCEmore has reviewed performances taking place across northern Utah since 2010.

Contributing writers include local dancers, choreographers, arts administrators, teachers, students, and others. Please send all press releases and inquiries about becoming a contributing writer to the editor, sam@lovedancemore.org.

The opinions expressed on loveDANCEmore do not reflect those of its editors or other affiliates. If you are interested in responding to a review, please feel free to send a letter to the editor.

Press photo of Parsons Dance by Lois Greenfield, courtesy of the Park City Institute.

Press photo of Parsons Dance by Lois Greenfield, courtesy of the Park City Institute.

Park City Institute presents Parsons Dance

Ashley Anderson April 1, 2019

Presented by the Park City Institute, Parsons Dance returned to Utah to perform an energetic and exhausting program at the Eccles Center. Founded in 1985 by David Parsons and lighting designer Howell Binkley, the nine-dancer company maintains a large repertory and touring schedule. This program included four dances choreographed by Parsons between 2003 and 2018, an earlier work of his titled Caught (1982), and a new Trey McIntyre piece commissioned for the company this season.

Following one frazzled volunteer checking in a will-call line that extended out the door, a shortage of programs, and a lengthy speech from Park City Institute executive director Teri Orr thanking a plentiful circle of generous donors, the evening began with “Round My World.” The curtain rose on six dancers in blue, under a bright overhead light. Choreographed by Parsons in 2012, “Round My World” was a lyrical/contemporary-style piece that featured, as its title suggests, a lot of circles. The dancers swirled around as a group or in pairs, linking their arms and positioning their bodies with and around each other to form various circular images. The costuming was starkly gendered, an approach also reflected in the choreography and pairing of dancers, with the men in flowy, light blue pants, sans shirts, and the women in knee-length, light blue dresses.

Parsons’ “Hand Dance,” from 2003, employed a back light to illuminate five sets of hands. Glowing orange, the hands skittered about in time with a racing piano score; at their best, using the freedom of untethered, abstract shapes to create wonderful, Fantasia-esque magic, and at their worst, elbowing the audience repeatedly in the gut with some groan-worthy gimmicks. When “Hand Dance” began, I wondered if (and how) it might develop into anything further - unsurprisingly it didn’t, echoing the single-note approach of the first piece.

The new McIntyre commission, “Eight Women,” came next. It utilized a trope that now seems to have become a persistent and pervasive standard: a stage doused in warm reds and oranges, choreography that liberally borrows from social dance forms, and a musical assortment of the swelling, oxygen-gobbling voices of the iconic greats of jazz, soul, Latin, Motown, etc. I’ve seen a version of this same piece at least a half dozen times over the last few years, from both touring contemporary ballet and modern companies: the dancers swirl around, ambiguously fiery, in this case to Aretha Franklin’s “Spanish Harlem,” but the content falls short when held up against the emotive legacy of the familiar musical selections.

Following intermission were three more pieces, the first of which, “Microburst,” was perhaps my least favorite. Four dancers were costumed in black jazz pants with one leg covered in fringe. The women also wore asymmetrical, ab-baring tops that were, frankly, terrible, resembling a purchase from a discounted dancewear catalog, such as for a children’s jazz competition number, rather than a choice made by an internationally renowned company with more than three decades of experience and resources to draw from.

The dance itself was a conceptual tangle of familiar artistic and cultural appropriations. The dancers performed popping and ticking movements in a swaggering, dance battle set-up to an original score by tabla player Avirodh Sharma. Overall, the piece was not sharp, quick, or together enough to be convincing, or to stand up to the music’s complex rhythms as the dancers traded places back and forth. A trend, as identified in the first half of the program, to centralize Utah native Zoey Anderson was further solidified. Clearly at home in the (literal) spotlight, Anderson tossed her ponytail and milked the vibe of “Microburst” for all it was worth, her aggressive energy and attack edging out any chance of focusing on the other dancers.

“Caught,” the heritage solo that Parsons dancers have been performing for the last 37 years, was predictably the standout of the program, again featuring Anderson. The piece began with her moving through a series of spotlights on the floor. Then darkness descended and wild sequences of traveling jumps were illuminated at their moment of full height by a flashing strobe. The effect was such that Anderson appeared to float, impossibly, around the stage. This simple, but complete, idea and the exacting execution of its technical trickery made the conceit work perfectly. Anderson performed “Caught” with impressive force to shock and awe, as well as elicit a mid-program standing ovation from, the Park City audience.

While “Caught” may have provided an exhilarating natural ending to the evening, the final piece was an example of another overused trope - the exhausting yet aimless, jazzy ensemble send-off, airlifted out of its natural context as a background diversion or transition in a busy musical theatre number. Anderson once again wiggled and jumped from spotlight to spotlight by herself while the other dancers wiggled and jumped around her. Although her energy and presence were undeniably striking, her competition-style “cheesing” was ultimately distracting and the spotlight which pushed her to the forefront throughout the entire program forced the other (capable and lovely) dancers into the uncomfortable role of accessory, belying the mantle of Parsons Dance as an “ensemble” project.

By far, the most exhilarating aspect of the program was the sheer energy possessed by the company. From start to finish, they were exhausting to watch, as each piece they performed was packed with huge movement, constant jumping, and neatly executed but dizzying turns. All that expended energy never quite made up for what it seemed was missing from the program, but it was nonetheless incredible to fathom how the dancers were able to sustain that dynamic.

Emily Snow is a Denver native who now calls Salt Lake City home. She has most recently been seen performing with Municipal Ballet Co. and with Durian Durian, an art band that combines electronic music and postmodern dance.

In Reviews Tags Parsons Dance, Park City Institute, David Parsons, Howell Binkley, Trey McIntyre, Teri Orr, Zoey Anderson
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Artists of Ballet West in Nicolo Fonte’s Fox on the Doorstep.

Artists of Ballet West in Nicolo Fonte’s Fox on the Doorstep.

Ballet West: National Choreographic Festival, Part II

Ashley Anderson May 31, 2017

Billed as the “Sundance Festival for dance,” Ballet West’s National Choreographic Festival spanned two weekends and received significant regional support for its presentation of works by five ballet companies and seven choreographers.

 Below, Liz Ivkovich considers works from the first weekend while Ashley Anderson responds to the second. The two conclude together in conversation about this new platform.  

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Trey McIntyre’s The Accidental featured three couples (male and female), in pas de deux to the crooning voice of Patrick Watson. The piece was four distinct segments to four different songs. The almost-mariachi beat drove the dancers, in leafy leotards and flat slippers, through a series of intricate lifts. The partnering was well-executed, yet I felt the Pennsylvania Ballet dancers seemed to miss each other in their focus on the audience.

As the lights rose on Sarasota Ballet performing In a State of Weightlessness, I thought I saw five floating Buddhas. This image resolved into women in light tan leotards suspended in the air above darkly-clad male partners. Throughout the work, composer Philip Glass drove the men as they lifted their female partners like Bunraku puppet masters. I challenged myself to actually see the men, which was difficult because the work seemed designed to draw focus solely to the women. I was struck by the beauty and nuance in Ricardo Graziano’s choreography, where a simple head movement could define the pas de deux.

I wish I could see Nicolo Fonte’s Fox on the Doorstep two more times before I had to write about it. It was perfectly ordinary and extraordinary, folding me into their world.

Fox began with a heavy stage left; a mass of dancers that resolved into duets and solos, to dissolve again into the group. Beckanne Sisk and Rex Tilton discovered the unseen edges of the music with sharp flicks and easy extensions as they danced together, alone, and with others.

A single light shone from upstage down at the audience. At times it became the moon, at others an interrogation. And when it struck the dancers so that we saw them - strength of movement, sweat lines on costumes - they could see us. Performers and observers, we were there together.

A woman contorted in the center of dancers arranged like a flock of geese, while they watched. At moments, they tried to join her, only to stop and watch again, with cold eyes.

The piece seemed to end when the group melted off stage. It began anew with falling snow, and a lone figure (Chase O’Connell) who was joined for a brief moment by a woman in a gray leotard and soft slippers.

I feel odd singling out these few artists whose faces I recognize. If each dancer had performed their own part alone, it would still be captivating, a mash up of the ease of release technique, the intense exploration of Gaga, and iconic ballet lines.  

Yet, it was the company’s commitment to really being together on stage that lingers in my memory. I had the feeling that one gets when seeing someone hold their baby - that they are actually touching another person, not performing what it looks like to touch someone.

This connection between the dancers was so lovely in its ordinary-ness that the performance became extraordinary.

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Terra is not the first work by Helen Pickett that Ballet West has presented, but it is one of the most lovely. Working from Joseph Campbell’s The Power of Myth, Oregon Ballet Theatre performs both creation and opposition with dancers who appear at once Paleolithic and extraterrestrial. The choreographic structure measures up to several of Campbell’s functions of myth: to marvel at the universe, to show the scientific boundaries of these beliefs, to demonstrate sociological support for this ideas, and to live life within the aforementioned.

This last function, wildly living, falls short at times, perhaps because of the homogenous nature of the group (ballet-trained dancers of the same demographic) and perhaps because of a lack of practice in performing a visceral soundscape (grunts, shouts, etc.). Although vulnerable relationships are presented in a number of mythical contexts and formations from virtuosic masculine circles and romantic pairings to lone and longing women, the dance deals more with the structures and the outward marveling than it does the living.

Before/After by Annabelle Lopez Ochoa makes this concert happily equitable in terms of gender (a hot topic in ballet) and the brief duet presents a refreshing counterpoint to other festival offerings. A sparse text is repeated -- changes, the sound changes, changes, before, after, the light changes --  and each directive comes to pass over the 7 minute work. Light and sound cues progressively change before the “after” of departures from the stage by Angelica Generosa and James Moore.  Watching the duet I’m reminded about the powerful form of duets, especially in a regional dance fabric that so values an ensemble: the audience can focus deeply, marvel at intricacies, and also have the pressure of a “masterpiece,” lifted from their shoulders.  

The return of Oliver Oguma’s Tremor was exciting and curious. I reviewed the premiere at the Eccles in Park City and had such a remarkably different experience the second time around. I can’t pinpoint changes to the work beyond my own proximity (closer in Park City, from a distance in Salt Lake) that made the androgyny and ambiguity read and the performance by the dancers more keen and structurally refined. Perhaps this viewing was also seeking a hopeful precedent of truly new voices, outside the choreographic canon, to be included in future festivals.

The evening cycled back to explorations of ritual in Dances for Lou, by Val Caniparoli, a previous resident choreographer with Ballet West. The title refers to the accompanying composition by Lou Harrison, known for his use of Asian musical influences. With impeccable framing by visible stage lighting, brief vignettes revealed ideas similar to Terra although more formally framed. The vignettes carried largely the same implications -- wonder, boundaries, and questions about using specific cultural histories on specific, but non-representative casts.

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The National Choreographic Festival is certainly a relevant, ambitious pursuit resulting in exceptionally skilled performances presented in Salt Lake’s newest venue. The festival also  meets at least one Sundance measure in its vision of a gathering place for new works in ballet. Though ballet receives more public support compared to other dance forms it is also met with unique challenges, namely the expectations of ballet’s oldest patrons (read: Swan Lake).

Yet these accolades, the “broad, diverse, and ever-changing landscape of new choreography that exists today” promised in Artistic Director Adam Sklute’s program notes, are fraught, given that the public funding received by Ballet West is hardly comparable to either the early independent days of film festival metaphor or the payment that any regional choreographer outside of ballet is eligible to receive. Regional, independent choreographers are only eligible for $2,000 a year in public funding, or $4,500 if they are fiscally sponsored. Ballet West received $1.6 million in government grants in the 2014 fiscal year, and the festival garnered an additional $100,000 in support from the Utah State Legislature.

There are both valid and invalid reasons for these discrepancies but it does leave these two writers wondering what the cost of performance will be in an ever-tightened picture of funding. Is a reading of ballet as synonymous with choreography fair? Should models like the National Choreographic Festival promise a festival of new ballet rather than a festival of dance, a promise which Ballet West can unequivocally deliver? Or, could the National Choreographic Festival grow to become, like Sundance, a festival that “actively advances the work of independent storytellers” from a wider range of aesthetics, expertise, and identity?  

In Reviews Tags National Choreographic Festival, ballet west, Liz Ivkovich, Ashley Anderson, Trey McIntyre, Patrick Watson, Pennsylvania Ballet, Sarasota Ballet, Philip Glass, Ricardo Graziano, Nicolo Fonte, Beckanne Sisk, Rex Tilton, Chase O'Connell, Helen Pickett, Oregon Ballet Theatre, Joseph Campbell, Annabelle Lopez Ochoa, Angelica Generosa, James Moore, Oliver Oguma, Val Caniparoli, Lou Harrison
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