Ririe Woodbury's Allegory

The phrase “a show for all ages” often means one should hope there are many children in the audience. The reactions of the young crowd for whom it is intended is part of enjoying the experience of family-oriented dance and theater. There were some children in the Capitol Theater for Friday night’s return of The Live Creature & Ethereal Things, though not many.  But this show did not hinge on their laughter and engagement for its emotional substance.  Ethereal Things is not so much storytelling for kids as a collaborative synthesis of the stories of kids. The show’s investment in the power and validity of kids’ stories truly presents an all-ages event. 

Ririe-Woodbury dancers performing at a school

Ethereal Things was created last season in partnership with Flying Bobcat Theatrical Laboratory and the Red Fred Project, which makes books with children living in extraordinary circumstances (rare diseases, critical illnesses, life-limiting situations) from the stories they wish to tell. This centering of the children’s perspectives, of their stories as they want to tell them, is the firm foundation of this imaginative show.   

The show opens on a stage with a narrator (the charismatic guest performer Tito Livas) and a single hospital bed. He introduces us to una niña. This is the first of many thoughtful substitutions of Spanish cognates or low-context words and phrases, the meaning of which is easily guessed by speakers of English, creating fluid and enriching code-switching. This niña is danced with total joy and commitment by Melissa Rochelle Younker. We are presented with the hospital bed because it is a real and important part of her world. But right away, the narrator presents a simple and beautiful exposition: he “listened to her, she became a bird, here we go.” Melissa transforms into the Purple Pájaro. There is ample space and time given to her total embodiment of a bird discovering the joy of flight, which is the perfect precedent for the remainder of the show.  

courtesy of Ririe-Woodbury

The full company joins this pájaro púrpura onstage with colors – and stories – of their own.  In an evening of works collectively titled Allegory, this is perfectly simple and apt. Together, they form a lively bird crew – The Jolly Troop. Some particularly inspiring moments from this cohort include a series of turning lifts beneath the moon and a lovely silhouette against the backdrop made by craftily wielding flashlights. Their costumes shared a visual cohesion, in fitted feather-print, but reflected individual character with whimsical puffs, hats, sleeves, and frills. Similarly, the dancers of Ririe-Woodbury can dance a perfectly unison ensemble, and are stunningly unique and distinct in their individual strengths. 

Ethereal Things showcases this quality. It relies on it. Although the narrator plays a critical role guiding the flow of the story, there is very little actual narrative. The story lives and breathes with the individual characterizations expressed in movement. Megan McCarthy’s blue bird is serene and elastic, and charmingly irked by the others. Brian Nelson’s sprightly yellow bird and Bashaun Williams’ cheekily grinning, meticulously-ticking red bird dance a mejores amigos/best friends section together to appreciative laughter. Company newcomer Nicholas Jurica doubles as a hilarious can-canning bad bird, which plays especially well off of bubbly Parisian orange bird Dominica Greene. We lose Melissa’s character at the end, with the simple but elegant device of a flight away up the theater aisle. It is poignant and understated.  It remains a show respecting the individual child, their interactions with others and their world, and their vibrant imaginations.

The premiere of Aberrations of Light following the intermission offered the tonal and structural counterpoint of a darkly pensive work. The video projections on the forward scrim featured somber abstractions of lines and nebulae against the dimly lit stage. The costuming was tasteful, distinguishing the company and talented guest dancers from Utah Valley University with appropriate subtlety. The movement was moody but not muted. Visual interest and the craft of staging a larger corps sustained the piece. It meandered ephemerally like the galactic dust and extremes of scale the projections invoked, but left the viewer with a solid impression of style and tone. Allegory seems like curious programming in featuring two such divergent works. But the breadth and distinction certainly made for an expansive experience.

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.

Repertory Dance Theatre: Emerge

This past weekend, Repertory Dance Theatre presented its fourth annual Emerge program, a collection of works choreographed by company dancers and staff. I appreciated that no unifying theme was forced on the show, so that each piece was free to be what it was.

The evening opened with “Indebted,” choreographed by RDT member Jaclyn Brown in collaboration with the performer, Angela Banchero-Kelleher. This understated piece featured gorgeous lighting and a regal yet simple feel.

“This Is What It Feels Like,” choreographed by company member Daniel Do and Mar Undag in collaboration with dancers Morgan Phillips and Nicole Smith, featured alternating solos and duets. The dancers moved with matching stylization, which was especially enjoyable to watch during a brief section of unison choreography. 

Choreographed by company member Lauren Curley in collaboration with performer Mikaela Papasodero, “Soliloquy” demonstrated impressive navigation of floorwork with a full long skirt, and lovely moments of uplifted posture and gaze.

I loved the flow of overlapping parts and the contrast of fast and slow movement in the group piece “Proto,” choreographed by RDT artistic associate Nicholas Cendese and dancers. Within the group, partnering between company members Megan O’Brien and Jonathan Kim stood out to me as feeling both natural and interesting, and I appreciated that one of their sequences together was performed twice within the work with different directional orientations each time.

“I… Me… We” was a delightful piece choreographed by company member Dan Higgins, who also performed spoken word live alongside the solo danced by Morgan Phillips. The vibe was generally silly, and the movement was floppy and weird in the best way – I imagine it would be fun to perform. Through eye contact and action-reaction pairs, there was a nice connection between dancer and speaker/choreographer, as if they were trying to figure something out together but not taking it too seriously and finding amusement in the idea that they weren’t really sure of whatever it was they were exploring.

“femme.” featured beautiful and well-rehearsed partnering between dancer/choreographers Ursula Perry (of RDT) and Laja Field. I interpreted the piece to be about female friendships until a friend pointed out that the title is a word that refers to an aesthetic presentation by a lesbian that fits into society’s typical conception of a feminine look.

After a brief intermission, we saw “Trick Mirror,” choreographed by RDT dancer and education associate Megan O’Brien in collaboration with the four dancers. The part of this work that I enjoyed most was the end, the dancers lip-syncing exaggeratedly to The Bee Gees while facing the audience at the front of the stage – I’m not sure what it had to do with the rest of the piece, but it made me smile.

“Trapped” (1974) by former RDT member Lynne Wimmer was well-performed by Tiana Lovett. I loved the small, sharp movements at the beginning, Lovett’s amazing leg extensions, the grand use of space, and how Lovett seemed to break out of her trap by the end of the piece.

Comparatively, “until you are no more,” by company dancer Jonathan Kim, was much less clear in its theme. For me, the most distinct and memorable part of this piece was a simple yet effective silhouette of purposeful walking, from the downstage to upstage at the beginning of the piece, and from upstage to downstage at the end.

The program ended with “The Hours,” directed and structured by Cendese with choreography and performance by twelve dance educators. This piece got exciting during a transition where three benches, which had been stationary for the first part, were creatively moved and interacted with – I would have loved to see this section extended with more choreographic exploration of this concept. Then the benches were placed in three rows and the dancers sat facing the audience like a congregation in church pews, and from there performed a very satisfying series of movement in canon.

Within the otherwise very professional presentation, I was distracted by the amount of backstage noise throughout, including multiple instances of doors closing, cast conversations, and, once, what sounded like keys being dropped. 

Overall, Emerge presented beautiful dancing alongside choreographic talent, coming together in a likeable show. I think it’s wonderful that RDT offers this opportunity for their dancers and staff to both create and share their creations. 

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.

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.

Molly Heller & Heartland Collective: Cosmos

On December 21, the sun set in Salt Lake City at 5:03 p.m. Normally this, the shortest day of the year, reminds me of my desperate need for more sunlight (if you’re like me, you may want to check out a seasonal affective disorder light, which helps to combat the winter blues). But this year, the Heartland collective invited us to celebrate the winter solstice with them at Cosmos, a performance and dance party at the Utah Museum of Contemporary Art (UMOCA). 

The date of the performance was no coincidence. The winter solstice holds significance in many indigenous cultures and various religions as a celebration of the longest hours of darkness. Winter is about to begin, but hours of daylight also are about to begin lengthening, and the solstice is a time to embrace reflections upon and rituals of regeneration and renewal. The evening, curated by director Molly Heller alongside her troupe of Heartlanders, was dedicated to this kind of communal reflection. 

As I entered the museum, the walls, normally illuminated to highlight galleries, were darkened. A kaleidoscope of rainbow light was strewn across the space, resembling the aurora borealis. Inside a gallery, two benches were filled with dozens of handcrafted silver boutonnieres for guests to select. I was delighted to admire each tiny piece of charming art and to select one for myself to pin onto my clothing. Cosmos also then invited me to have my face bedazzled with silver jewels. This was a theme throughout the evening: attendees were continuously invited to participate, becoming part of the art themselves.

Nick Foster and Michael Wall entered the upstairs gallery, both wearing shimmery, silver tops, and filled the space with serene sounds that carried the evening from performance to dance party and on the journey in between.

Florian Alberge, an unbilled surprise guest who recently moved back to Salt Lake City, invited the audience to write a letter, beginning “Dear Closure,” that would be burned by the Heartlanders on New Year’s Eve. This idea calls upon the tradition of a fire-releasing ceremony, often practiced on the winter solstice, where what is desired to be released is first written down and then burned as a symbol of closure. 

Heller has noted her fascination with closure: “The vulnerability within letting go and in allowing closure to be non-linear and self-actualized is what we’re exposing within Cosmos. I am discovering on a personal level that healing/release can happen with strangers and if we can’t choose our endings in life, we can practice curating beginnings.” Throughout the evening, attendees were offered many opportunities to explore such ideas of release through writing, witnessing, and dancing. 

As the performance continued, attendees outlined the long row of windows that look down upon the lower-level galleries. Heartlanders Nick Blaylock, Brian Gerke, Molly Heller, Marissa Mooney, and Melissa Younker entered and began diving in and out from the gallery walls, like atoms vibrating, darting, and pivoting. One person remarked what a magical fish bowl we were peering into, as we witnessed the Heartlanders expand and contract throughout every corner of the space.

One of the most striking moments began as Blaylock took off in a full sprint and dove to the floor, sliding nearly twelve feet across the gallery. The rest of the performers soon followed suit. There was something so whimsical and playful as they slid with such vigor in between the gallery walls that still displayed art by Cara Krebs and Stephanie Leitch, among others - all while wearing silver vintage costumes. It was a dazzling juxtaposition that brought a smile to my face.

We were soon invited down to wander the lower galleries. In a moment of delightful surprise, the side garage door (normally used to transport large works of art in and out of the gallery) opened and the Heartlanders re-entered in a series of repetitive, quirky gestures. Foster and Wall transitioned into a whimsical, carnival score. A mist of whispers filled the space: “How fun!” “How exciting!” “How wonderful this all is.”

Heller began to give verbal instructions; attendees and Heartlanders alike participated in an improvisation score that spread throughout the space, the instructions guiding everyone first to spin on an axis, then to prance through the feet. It was a carefree, unpretentious, and shared sequence. An attendee later expressed, “I felt like I was inside of this world and the characters were unraveling right in front of me. It was exciting to be in the middle of the chaos and also inside the resolution.” The model of Heartland events is unique in this way -  it interweaves performers and attendees in such a way that facilitates a shared experience. You do not simply watch a Heartland event; you become a part of it.

As performance bled into dance party, everyone began to jump, shimmy, spiral, wiggle, sing, and bop together. Heartlanders swirled throughout clusters of attendees, sharing hugs and inspiring new dance moves. One attendee remarked on the palpable shared energy. It was fun. It was tiring. It was meditative. In a darkened museum on the winter solstice, we jammed out together, sweating through our shimmering clothes. 

Heller’s work has long been dedicated to her research of performance as a healing practice. It felt important to me that this performance-cum-party took place in such a shared setting. I found myself deep in thought about the role of community in supporting the health and wellbeing of ourselves and those around us. Heartland events have introduced a very special ritual to the community for these reasons. 

Those that stayed until the end witnessed Younker, Heller, and Mooney sing and shout a manifesto dedicated to release, healing, and closure. Attendees shouted along (even when we didn’t know the words), and I couldn’t stop myself from bouncing and clapping. The evening ended with catharsis, in the presence of friends, strangers, and glittery boutonnieres. 

Rachel Luebbert is a Utah-based dance artist. She also teaches and works in arts administration and programming, and has previously worked in Colorado, Massachusetts, and Washington, D.C.

Ballet West: The Nutcracker

The Nutcracker is as much of a holiday tradition as streaming White Christmas on Netflix. We depend on it as a marker of the season, a reason to call up favorite friends and family for a jolly holiday date. We revel in the familiarity of the story, the staging, the characters. We know what is coming next and wait with bated breath for our favorite solos. We compare this year’s show to last year’s show, or to the time when we were in it. We pick out something special to wear to the Capitol Theatre.

This is the 75th-anniversary year of Willam Christensen’s The Nutcracker. As with anything where familiarity has come to the forefront (hello, long-term relationships!), there is the danger of taking it for granted. In knowing it by heart, we don’t have to listen to the story carefully, or mine for the nuance beneath the surface. In short, we don’t really look at what’s in front of us.

It lies, then, in the performers to shock us awake. This past Saturday, at Ballet West’s The Nutcracker, I found myself longing for that soon into the first act.

Christensen’s Nutcracker, the longest-running version of the production worldwide, is heavily influenced by vaudeville, and incorporates a certain amount of shtick and comedy.  As a program note by Ballet West artistic director Adam Sklute described, this was one of the stylistic choices Christensen employed in making a “uniquely American” Nutcracker. But at times, a focus on entertaining bleeds into parody of characters, where there may otherwise be room to root them in reality.

I wondered, even while staying true to Christensen, if there was still room for a deeper sense of storytelling? A more committed research of character? An approach to a beloved performance focused not on delivering familiar high points, but on approaching the original source material with true curiosity?

And then I got my answer.

When Emily Neale took the stage for the Arabian dance, she shook me awake. Through every languid extension and elastic suspension, she exuded seductive, exotic energy. Her gaze confident and a bit playful, she fully embodied, rather than just portrayed, the role. Together with partner Dominic Ballard, she renewed the infamous duet. I felt like I’d never seen it before. It felt gutsy and alive.

I became immediately aware that this difference was a crucial factor in my experience, as I noticed it in other places. The moments in which dancers risked taking a role dead-seriously, theatrically diving in head first, popped out like bolded font. As the Nutcracker Prince, Kyle Davis brought such grounded and calm energy that, in the brief moment he took to the center, the audience went quiet. Hadriel Diniz, Amber Miller, and Gabrielle Salvatto let the rhythm of the Spanish dance flavor their every step, bringing with each leap and turn the full emotion of a foreign land. In committing like this, they honored their characters.

I know, I’m not mentioning the obvious technical prowess inherent in pulling off a flawless Nutcracker, but when we are in a long-term relationship, it just takes more to get us flushed. This show has stood the test of time as communities across the country refuse to live without it. The gorgeous trappings of sparkly colorful costumes, whimsical sets, and promising young talent cannot help but bring Christmas cheer. But what’s underneath is also for the taking.

There is a chance to reconnect with The Nutcracker on a deeper, more meaningful level. It lies in the performers giving the ballet’s characters their due emotional weight. It’s in the subtle moments of pantomime at the party, in the delicacy of the Snow Queen, in Drosselmeyer believing he can conjure magic. It cannot be layered on top of choreography but instead has to inform it from its roots. This ballet is dance theater, after all - the storytelling is as paramount as the pirouettes. 

Ballet West’s The Nutcracker continues through Thursday, December 26, at the Janet Quinney Lawson Capitol Theatre. 

Emeri Fetzer is a dancer and communications specialist. She works at the University of Utah, performs with Phantom Limb Company, and is looking forward to developing new choreography in the coming year.