Ririe-Woodbury: Bloom

Ririe-Woodbury Dance Company’s Bloom featured two new works, one by artistic director Daniel Charon and one by University of Utah professor Stephen Koester, as well as a piece by Tzveta Kassabova (2010) that Ririe-Woodbury first performed in 2016. The concert was well-formatted, with Charon’s dynamic and daring work splicing two more humanistic explorations of relationship and transition. I’m not convinced the title Bloom accurately described my experience, but how does one accurately name a diverse repertory program? If the title didn’t portray what was happening on stage, it did sum up the beautiful Salt Lake City spring that is happening outside.

Kassabova choreographed “The Opposite of Killing” as an exploration of emotions pertinent to losing a close friend, and the piece has been performed by multiple casts, including by students at the University of Florida, University of Maryland Baltimore County, and Middlebury College. Amy Falls did a thorough job of describing and unpacking the piece at its Utah premiere; I will add that I especially found meaning in its arc.

The beginning was an exploration of movement, absence of movement; sound, absence of sound. The dancers confidently found their places making parallel lines and right angles, clear in their mission and devoid of emotional ambiguity. As the piece unfolded, it slowed down, weighted with grief. Breeanne Saxton found herself upstage and alone, bathed in a warm spotlight, isolated, watching the movement carry on without her.

There were the more obvious moments of experiencing loss, such as soft embraces and collapsing bodies. Particularly resonant, however, was the constant shift of dancers’ costumes. As the choreography moved the dancers on and off stage, each subtly shifted what they were wearing; one who was wearing shorts came out in pants, one previously showing skin next appeared in a turtleneck. The costume changes never departed from a gray palette, but morphed enough to signal that each dancer was, in fact, changing; as if to say, “I may be similar on the outside, however, with loss, there is a shift.”

The end was the beginning, the dancers lying down in horizontal and vertical lines. What felt self-assured and expectant in the opening scene now felt unresolved and heavy. What we experienced in the middle shifted everything.

Charon’s Dance for a Liminal Space, divided into two parts, buffered either side of the intermission, and each part diverged from the other in their definitions of “liminal.” From the program notes, the first section related to a transitional or initial stage of process, while the second explored occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary. I found both parts showcased the five dancers beautifully (Brian Nelson, who joined the company in 2018, did not appear in the piece), as well as challenged notions of how to convey something both in transition and arriving from transition. That is to say, I liked it.

The first part began with the three women of the company (Megan McCarthy, Melissa Younker, and Breeanne Saxton) as clear, directional, and undulatory, their bodies bright and severe against the darkness of the stage. Then, just when I started to put my finger on the piece, text by Meredith Monk began. Phrases such as “he salted his empty plate first” and “she wears the same bow as her dog” refused to relate to what was happening on stage, and scrambled any definitive meaning. This absurdity paired with the robust physicality was oddly satisfying, and forced my mind to open and receive instead of to close and define. Undoubtedly, there will be those that find the disparity jarring, even frustrating; but when the closing image was settled and fixed, two groups having taken their places, statuesque and clear, I appreciated it even more.  

The second part of Dances for a Liminal Space was highlighted with bold and geometric lighting by Ririe-Woodbury technical director William Peterson and relentless music by Michael Gordon. Did I mention that the dancers looked fantastic? Because they did. Bloom is also the farewell concert for both Yebel Gallegos and Breeanne Saxton, two versatile dancers that will be greatly missed. They, along with the others, were in perfect form, and this section of Charon’s piece in particular showed off the company’s range and virtuosity. Bashaun Williams and Megan McCarthy travelled from one side of the stage to the other, flying, twisting, and turning, and when they leapt into the wings, I wished they would run back around and soar through the phrase again. The stakes were high in this section, the position had been chosen, and it was time for the dancers to confront the consequence with intensity and resolve.

The final piece was Koester’s “Departure - A Last Song, Perhaps a Final Dance Before a Rest.” As the program note detailed, Koester is retiring from his position at the University of Utah in the School of Dance, and perhaps from dance in general. I was his student at the U during graduate school, and thus feel a personal connection to his retirement; he has been a strong figure in the Utah dance community for decades. I have admired him as a choreographer, and found his pieces bold and impactful -- even the few that I did not enjoy would run through my mind for weeks after, as I tried to find a landing place for them (arguably the biggest compliment of all).

To that end, I found myself anticipating what his final work would be. Conceptually challenging? Movement-driven? Autobiographical? Trying not to be too melodramatic (although the piece’s title doesn’t temper this), it was as if we were all huddled around him, staring intently: “What are your parting words?!”

His parting words in “Departure” seemed to be, “Find community. Help one another. Be together.” The piece featured the entire company, clad in pedestrian clothes, with music by David Lang. There was form to it, but that form sprouted from relationships as each dancer seemingly took a turn at being supported, or at least seen, by the others. Sometimes the relationships poked, nagged, questioned, or insisted; there was little movement for movement’s sake, each vignette attaining an emotional resonance that could also immediately shift or drop.

The final image was a terse wave from Yebel Gallegos, as he and Brian Nelson retreated upstage, the lights fading.

Bloom concludes tonight, April 20, with a final performance at 7:30 p.m. at the Rose Wagner Center for the Performing Arts.

Erica Womack is a Salt Lake City-based choreographer. She coordinates loveDANCEmore’s Mudson series and contributes regularly to the blog.

Repertory Dance Theatre: Voices

Watching Repertory Dance Theatre’s Voices, a show that reiterated the company’s theme this season of “Manifest Diversity,” was a distinct pleasure. Nearly every piece was preceded by a video featuring the choreographer, or re-stager of the original choreography, providing a glimpse into their intent and process, which I found to be particularly effective and illuminating for a non-modern trained dancer such as myself. This was something I especially appreciated throughout the evening: the thoughtful, unobtrusive way in which these videos blended and drew connections through the program, which then became as much a part of the program as the dances themselves. They were like delightful appetizers followed by a sumptuous main course. The program itself was a varied menu with distinctly different flavors, some emotionally gratifying, others intellectually appealing, and all of them aesthetically pleasing.

The first piece, “Passacaglia and Fugue in C Minor,” was originally choreographed by Doris Humphrey in 1938 and was “inspired by the need for love, tolerance, and nobility in a world given more and more to the denial,” according to the program notes. In the introductory video that featured Nina Watt and Jennifer Scanlon, who re-staged the piece, the audience was reminded that “Passacaglia” was originally conceived while fascism was on the rise in Europe. The significance of that historical context in today’s world was not lost.

“Passacaglia” was a lyrical piece, glorious and effulgent in the dazzling confluence of Bach’s music and Humphrey’s choreography, and transported me to a different realm. Lauren Curley and Dan Higgins led movements that found their refrain in the ensemble silhouetted in a pyramidal configuration on boxes, some seated, others standing. There was a sense of conductor and choir, song and chorus, and the struggle of dynamic leadership, as each dancer seemed to be every other dancer, an individual yet uncompromisingly part of a whole. The blue-lit background and white costumes accentuated the arabesques and turns and further underscored the uplifting nature of the piece.

RDT in “Passacaglia and Fugue in C Minor” by Doris Humphrey. Photo by Sharon Kain.

Second on the program was the world premiere of “Event,” an incisive and interrogatory piece, with a distinctly different tone, choreographed by Bebe Miller. It was a joy to watch and a joy to listen to. Miller, in the introductory video, first told us that she is not a “storyteller” and that she began by observing who the dancers were together and allowing “the serendipity of interaction” to come to the fore. I found it intriguing to listen to her choreographic process. Her piece centered around the idea of an event occurring in a room of 6 people, which then gradually evolved/devolved from event into narrative, focusing more on each observer’s interpretation, feelings, and sentiments, the recall of it, and the correspondent emotions.

“Event” featured a brilliant score by Mike Vargas that highlighted a penetrating text by Ain Gordon, crisply delivered in this context by Miller. The movement was dynamic and accurately reflected Miller’s intent. Real drama was conveyed by the eight extremely strong dancers in the telling, retelling, and diverse experiences of the “event,” until the “event” became the remembered experience and no one really cared or could recall what the original “event” was. What I really loved about the piece was that I totally got it. I often struggle to understand the intent behind some modern pieces, but not here. The dancers were that effective in their spatial configurations, their energetic movements, and their convincing facial expressions (Abhinaya, as we call it in Bharatanatyam). I sincerely hope that RDT continues to collaborate with Miller.

RDT in “I give myself” by Bryn Cohn. Photo by Sharon Kain.

The next piece, “I give myself,” was choreographed by Bryn Cohn and was also a world premiere. As highlighted in her video, Cohn’s choreographic process starts with aesthetic empathy and articulation. She observed, and thus is able to spotlight for the audience, the energetic traits and mutual connections between the eight company dancers. The score, which felt unbroken but was actually three distinct sections, was composed by Michael Wall.

“I give myself” began with dark undertones; there was a relentless feeling of dread in the sometimes convulsive movements and the music reinforced this sentiment. It did gradually evolve to become a more optimistic endeavour, with the sense that the dancers withheld nothing and “gave themselves,” surrendering their vulnerabilities to interactive movements and embodying a confidence and mutual trust. The stark lighting, by Pilar, and dark costumes were effective as well, further emphasizing the sheer strength and technical prowess of each dancer.

The next piece, “Voices,” was a lovingly crafted tribute to Salt Lake City’s community of dancers, teachers, and mentors, choreographed by Nicholas Cendese with input from the performers, who were dance educators from across the Wasatch Front. The piece had a gentle, lilting feel to it, and the plethora of “voices” that informed it shone through without being discordant. It was moving to see and appreciate the generous contributions of local dance educators; our community, I have come to recognize, has one of the richest, most supportive dance cultures in the country.

Israeli choreographer Danielle Agami’s “Theatre” was the last piece on the program and was “dedicated to non-actors,” according to the program notes. Incredibly athletic in scope, the piece had the dancers fittingly attired in costumes with numbers on the back, as though they were members of a sports team. There were moments where the dancers would build up enormous momentum, bump into an invisible barrier, stop, and then recede with such control and finesse; at other moments, they seemed to engage in common exercises that one might see a team do before a match, except magnified and transformed with an inexplicable panache.

Tyler Orcutt in Danielle Agami’s “Theatre.” Photo by Sharon Kain.

The extremes to which Agami pushed the dancers of RDT, getting them to explore their limits or perhaps realize that they have none, was a powerful display of mutual enjoyment and a feat of singular stamina. Agami informed us in her video that she is interested in seeing how dancers convince her that they are engaged in her fantasy, and then uses that as a medium in creating her work. One could see RDT’s exceptional and diverse dancers rise to this challenge, and with support and encouragement, exult in exceeding any confines to create a fitting finale to the evening.

RDT is currently comprised of Jaclyn Brown, Lauren Curley, Daniel Do, Efren Corado Garcia, Dan Higgins, Elle Johansen, Tyler Orcutt, and Ursula Perry, an excellent ensemble who had us at the edge of our seats. I learned, speaking to a friend, that this was Efren Corado Garcia’s final season with the company. His note in the program thanking local employers for their flexibility in accommodating dancers’ schedules caught my eye and brought a lump to my throat: "All of you dealt with my tired body, long working days… your patience, commitment to me… helped me live a dream."

“Voices” was a banquet to be relished, and I left the theater satiated and eager for another program by Repertory Dance Theatre.

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.

Ballet West: Onegin

Even though John Cranko chose the title Onegin for his ballet based on Alexander Pushkin’s verse-novel, I find its power resides in the dancer playing the role of Tatiana. It is her transformation, from withdrawn and innocent to forthright and assertive, that makes the story so compelling. For this reason, among many others, Onegin is a riveting and important addition to Ballet West’s repertory: the women in the company shine in Cranko’s challenging and dramatic choreography.

Onegin is built upon a series of contrasts: between sisters, between couples, and between different phases of our lives. The credibility of the story depends upon dancers’ ability to portray these contrasts without slipping into caricature. On Saturday night, April 6, Beckanne Sisk as Tatiana and Chelsea Keefer as Olga captured the perfect balance between Tatiana’s diffident personality and Olga’s bubbly disposition. Their sisterly affections and squabbles made them endearing and relatable.

The fondness they shared for one another in Act I contrasted with Onegin’s treatment of Tatiana, Olga, and Lensky in Act II. In many ways, Onegin’s character became apparent through the differences he presented: aloof and self-involved instead of attentive and engaging. Every detail of the production’s design emphasized these differences: his dark clothing contrasted with the women’s light, pastel dresses (costume and set design were by Santo Loquasto), and his gaze was often skyward and his gait measured and deliberate. In the role of Onegin, Chase O’Connell presented these differences with a masterful touch, intertwining his choreography with the emotions they conveyed. As tensions escalated between the couples in Act II, with Onegin pulling Olga away from Lensky, and Lensky growing increasingly jealous, their dancing intensified the conflict: the choreography and partnering accelerated and its speed and complexity made visible Lensky’s churning confusion and rage. Jordan Veit beautifully performed the role of Lensky, making his conflict between romance and pride both believable and devastating at the same time.

Soloists Jordan Veit (left) and Chelsea Keefer as Lensky and Olga, with artists of Ballet West. Photo by Beau Pearson.

As a choreographer, Cranko portrayed these plot tensions with a layered approach: there are often two relationships developing simultaneously on the stage. For example, in Act II, Olga and Lensky are visible in the background as she reassures him that her dancing with Onegin is meaningless, while Tatiana performs a solo in the center of the stage that evokes her infatuation with Onegin and discouragement with his dismissal. This kind of simultaneity gives Onegin a cinematic feel: the layering creates a sense of momentum and inevitability, one relationship becomes irrevocably entwined with another. Cranko’s movement design is not only emotionally driven, but also technically complicated. As Olga, Keefer performed her choreography with clarity and ebullience that matched her role: the ballotté steps that began her solo in Act I were buoyant and sparkling, and her turns perfectly captured the swirling attraction she felt towards Lensky.

The entire cast enriched Saturday night’s performance: towards the end of Act I, when the neighbors and relatives of Madame Larina dart across the stage in a diagonal, with the women performing grand jetés, and the men assisting them as they run alongside, the audience burst into applause. It is a testament to the caliber and artistry of the company that they make this ballet, choreographed in 1965, feel fresh, exciting, and relevant today. Although Cranko’s works are brilliant and proving to be timeless, they require large casts of dancers who blend precise attention to details in group formations, with the ability to portray characters and plot developments believably. In his obituary in the New York Times, from 1973, there’s a quote from Cranko that states, “There is the challenge of making a ballet work on two levels—as dance and as story. You fail only if the story becomes more important than the dance.” [1] The dancers of Ballet West excel as both technicians and story-tellers.

Artists of Ballet West in John Cranko’s Onegin. Photo by Beau Pearson.

The word “immersive” is often used to describe events where audience members are in close proximity to dancers or actors, but watching Ballet West perform Onegin, I felt another kind of envelopment. The characters were performed with such credibility, I became absorbed in the conflicts that each of them encountered: Sisk as Tatiana began the performance as a young, introverted, and bookish woman, who transformed into a commanding presence. O’Connell as Onegin conveyed his character’s path from reckless to regretful with such conviction that I felt a newfound appreciation for this role. I also began to wonder about the mirrors that appear throughout the first act, from the scene when Olga “discovers” Lensky in her reflection, to the mirror pas de deux between Tatiana and Onegin. Are these Cranko’s way of commenting on reflections, and the contrasts between what we desire for ourselves and how others see us?

Undoubtedly the music and production design contributed to my sense of absorption: Jared Oaks conducted the Ballet West Orchestra and the music by Tchaikovsky (arranged and orchestrated by Kurt-Heinz Stolze) supported and intensified my emotional engagement with the dancing. The sets and costumes, courtesy of the National Ballet of Canada, added sumptuous visual layers to the performance.

Although I love how the program contains translations of Pushkin’s writing, specifically the letter that Tatiana writes to Onegin, and Onegin’s letter to Tatiana, I found this offered yet another contrast: Cranko’s Onegin performed by Ballet West is a rich and lived experience that conveys Pushkin’s multifaceted characters in ways that words cannot convey. The gestures, actions, and partnering of the dancers communicate viscerally and kinesthetically the turmoil, heartbreak, and resolve of Pushkin’s characters. In Ballet West’s dancers, Cranko’s choreography finds a perfect company to transport us into and through this enthralling and revealing story.

Principal Artists Beckanne Sisk and Chase O'Connell as Tatiana and Onegin. Photo by Beau Pearson.

[1] https://www.nytimes.com/1973/06/27/archives/john-cranko-dies-at-45-stuttgart-ballet-director-hurok-pays-tribute.html

Kate Mattingly is an assistant professor of dance at the University of Utah. She has a doctoral degree in performance studies from UC Berkeley, and has had writing published in The New York Times, The Village Voice, Dance Research Journal, Dance magazine, and Pointe magazine, among others.

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.

UtahPresents: Complexions Contemporary Ballet

Complexions Contemporary Ballet, presented by UtahPresents at Kingsbury Hall, was a heart-swelling, breath-stopping show. Performing two works that drew from wildly disparate aesthetic and musical realms, the company showed both the best of what they are and an infectious triumph in something unexpected. It was a beautifully refreshing display of the possibilities of ballet and the rare magic of a successful, expansive, and passionate homage by the skilled artists of one discipline to the inspiration given long ago by the hero of another.

Complexions is a primary example of a “contemporary ballet” company, as I was first exposed to in my youth. Others who grew up dancing at a similar time might remember the same reverence for the elastic freedom that co-founders Dwight Rhoden and Desmond Richardson helped popularize, along with others like Alonzo King. Their movement style and intentionally cultivated diversity became something of a torch for students who struggled to fit into the ballet mold (which, I’d argue, is every ballet student). When I took class from the articulately inspirational Richardson at the University of Utah the last time the company was in town, I glowed and vibrated for weeks afterward.

In the playbill, Complexions noted that their “foremost innovation is to remove boundaries, not reinforce them.” Bach 25, the first work on the program, evoked that vision with a clarity and precision that illustrated exactly why the company is renowned. The piece was steadfastly true to what one might expect: statuesque men and women in herculean form; bare whispers of flesh-toned leotards and briefs; flashing crispness and aching intensity; heart-stopping lines and tilts galore; dramatic shadow and light; choreography that teased out and magnified tiny musical subtleties; complex individual dynamics layered to create an explosively undulating, many-armed whole.

The removal of boundaries was a particular theme in Bach 25. In the piece, dancers pointedly played with classical ballet formations, steps, structures, and gestures to illustrate the subversion and expansion of each; not just using their bodies, though shaped by ballet, to inform and enhance contemporary movement divorced from ballet steps. Choreographic tools like diagonals, windowed lines, and canons were apparent, as were all the most recognizable standbys of classical ballet vocabulary – penchés, passés, bourrées, developés, extended balances, traveling lifts. While these forms were sometimes presented in their most familiar context, inserted among more contemporary structures and movements they sometimes also twisted, were reorganized and flipped, and distilled down to their essence.

Partnering was also used first to bring forth a motif and then to upend it. Couples were mostly male/female pairings, with much of the choreography a referent of classical pas de deux, but many steps typically assigned to a particular gender were fluidly passed back and forth.

When any company does “A Tribute to ____,” I am usually not into it. No matter how much of a crowd-pleaser a mashup of beloved hits may be, it is hard to get the tribute itself to stand up in comparison. But I have to admit that Complexions’ Star Dust, a tribute to David Bowie that the company premiered shortly after the artist’s death in 2016, kind of had me. It was huge and electrifying. It was full of both campy, uncontained silliness and a melodramatically heightened yet earnest pathos. My chest filled, tight with glee, and I experienced waves of nostalgia at least a couple times.

The success of Star Dust hinged on a few structural choices. First was the absolutely outlandish technical and lighting direction from the company’s resident designer Michael Korsch (his lighting in Bach 25 was also strikingly superb and functioned as a key element in that work as well). Over-the-top choices included a curtain that lifted on a 3D light show of splintered, front-facing beams and spots arranged as a giant star, for the opening number set to “Lazarus” (from the 2016 album Blackstar); rich, saturated colors; wildly sweeping lights; and a massive backdrop of gold streamers that re-appeared throughout the piece for dancers to burst in and out of. Each such effect transported us into the imagined circus of an arena concert, or even to the place where dance is arguably most at home in popular music – the music video.

This impression was only strengthened by the goofy, delightful choice to have a Bowie character dancing and strutting front and center, lip-syncing to many of the songs while the other dancers swirled around them. Several dancers rotated through this role between and during songs, delightfully hamming it (all the way) up. By leaning into conventions that regularly accompany that kind of music, Complexions was able to create the “visual imprint,” as billed in company marketing materials, needed to capture Bowie’s spirit.

And of course, the dancing itself was technically incredible, drawing a throughline with much of the same type of movement as in the Bach piece. Balletic qualities were adjusted perfectly to be given a new life and peppered with moves reminiscent of the silliest, most gleeful, late-night dance party. Some of best moments were the blinding opener, “Lazarus,” with the unequaled charisma of Brandon Gray as Bowie; Jared Brunson setting off a spiraling chorus of dancers violently swinging their arms, air-guitar style, in “Life on Mars”; and the hugely magnetic performance of Maxfield Haynes in “Space Oddity.”

Also great was the slowed down, sad-eyed presentation of “Heroes,” sung by Peter Gabriel, that featured Jillian Davis in a balletic pas de quatre as well as Brandon Gray. The heavy drama of this section ended with the cheesy melodrama of dancers in a line staring out across the front of the stage, while one dancer walked among them, falling and clutching at them - until he erupted into a twisting, flapping, chicken dance that reverberated back to the others, who in turn catapulted into spasms of delight to the tune of “Modern Love.”

The final movement of Star Dust featured Bowie’s “The Young Americans,”  actual red, white, and blue lights, and the full company, spaced out to fill the stage, writhing and shaking in what can only be described as a riotous dance party. As I watched the joy and fury in their bodies became more intense and more palpable, and just as I began to catch a feeling of hope in a “young America” myself, the curtain came down.

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.