A Morris Quartet
"Cargo," "All Fours," "Candleflowerdance," "Going Away Party"(Program C)
Mark Morris Dance Group
BAM Howard Gilman Opera House
Brooklyn, NY
March 22, 2005
by Susan Reiter
copyright 2006 by Susan Reiter
Leave it to Mark Morris to astound with the depth of musicality to be found in the simple motion of rising and falling. In "Candleflowerdance," one of two New York premieres on the last of the Mark Morris Dance Group's three 25th-anniversary programs, the cast of six performs a sequence of leaning, sinking and rising so fluidly that they seem to be sharing a single breath. As they stand close and give in to the supple, suspended movement, it all comes across as the most logical— perhaps the only possible—response to the music—a languid, meandering section at the end of Stravinsky's Serenade in A (1925).
The action of "Candleflowerdance," set against an emerald-green cyclorama, is confined to a central rectangular area demarcated by a while taped outline. The dancers enter and leave through the surrounding stage space, but the primary focus is on that restricted area. So they are always in close proximity, very aware of each other's space. In the dance's closing moments, as the others finally give into gravity, rolling and nestling together as though preparing for sleep, Rita Donohoe rises in a corner behind them, held by unseen hands to sway above them as they embark on their dreams.
The entire program had the feel of a chamber-music program as compared to the symphonic grandeur of Program A and the operatic focus of Program B. Though nowhere near as intimate as the studio programs of solos, duets and trios performed during the season, Program C showed Morris in his more economically scaled model—middle-sized works, one could say. "Candleflowerdance," on this first viewing, intrigued with its economy of scale and quietly inscrutable yet oddly eloquent design. Who were these casually dressed people, in their polo shirts and pants? (Each wears a top or bottom of black or white, most with another bright color for contrast.) When they first enter, they stand in one corner, pointing and reaching; what are they showing us? When Bradon McDonald and Charlton Boyd claim the space for themselves, leaning towards one another and then pulling back, it seems we are watching a private game for which we don't know the rules. A container with flowers sits near the feet of pianist Steven Beck, who occupies the downstage right corner of the stage. A cluster of votive candles are arranged in the stage left portion of the stage outside the rectangle's inner sanctum. The dance is dedicated to the late Susan Sontag, who probably could have gleaned all its inner workings and musical dexterity on a single viewing. I will have to wait for future opportunities, which doubt enhance this already masterful first impression.
"Cargo," the other local premiere, opened the program, and its somewhat literally primitivist movement at first comes across as more heavy-handed than what one expects from Morris. Darius Milhaud's fascinating, ahead-of-its-time 1923 score, "La Creation du monde," glides and oozes its way though swinging jazz and earthy primal sounds, evoking a panoply of eras and locales. Morris' response to it casts nine dancers in white as a society of stealthy, wary lumbering types. The women's hair is loose, and everyone wears pale briefs, with bras or tank tops for the women.
They first appear, crouching and loping, at the outer edges of the stage (which is stripped bare, with no wings) to confront a wooden pole that lies center stage. Does it represent the first outside intrusion on an idyllic paradise? Morris' program note tips us off that the title refers to Cargo Cults of the South Pacific, and their belief that manufactured western goods, or "cargo," came from ancestral spirits. Perhaps the low-to-the-ground, at times animalistic movement alludes to actual dances from that area, or (more likely) it represents the vivid evocations it conjurs in Morris's imagination. It definitely conveys a sense of a specific tribe, one that is both curious and cautious when confronting the unknown.
Early on, Lauren Grant is draped over the pole, lifted high to sway. Later, after two additional poles have been introduced, she hangs upside down by her knees from one of them. The poles inspire rituals ? like the mesmerizing sextet that slides to the ground, three dancers facing each way, holding the pole in the middle, artfully lifting and lowering it like a fetish object. Morris divides the dancer into trios often during "Cargo," with each of them having their own pole to manipulate, explore, perhaps worship. The three poles are held to form a triangle through which dancers jump.
The tone of "Cargo" is not as persuasive as one usually expects from Morris, and its tone wasn't always clear. Were the dancers meant to evoke a specific people or portray specific roles (Craig Biesecker, as the action unfolded, seemed to emerge as a victim or scapegoat)? It held its own as a valid, distinctly personal response to its evocative score, but also lacked the riveting focus of other recent Morris works.
There is nothing unfocused about "All Fours,"(2003) in which Morris' insight into Bartok's String Quartet No. 4 yields a dance filled with delicate mystery and somber beauty. Two outer movements for eight dancers in simple but elegant black costumes frame delicate, intimate encounters between four other dancers ? two same-sex duos framing a quartet. It's symmetrical in design, yet anything but predictable. The fluent, spare ensemble energy of the first and final movements contrasts with the interpersonal give-and-take of the middle three. In addition to leading us along his insightful, persuasive path through the score, Morris seems to be offering us the interplay of public and private, contrasting the more generalized behavior displayed in social situations with the more exposed one-on-one friends or lovers.
The program closed with a blast from the past: "Going Away Party," a 1990 dance from Morris' Brussels sojourn in which three couples in borderline tacky western garb (each couple with its own color scheme) and a spiffy, seemingly happy-go-lucky odd guy out (Charlton Boyd) sweetly and nimbly suggest the two-step and the joy of dancing for the fun of it. With its down-home assemblage of songs by Bob Willis and His Texas Playboys—on this occasion brought brilliantly to life by the eight-man Western Caravan in the pit—it might have been Morris' good-natured admission of homesickness after two years into his European adventure. It comes across as a sweet taste of nostalgia, like a look back at a high school yearbook.
The diverse live music—always a part of a Morris program, and never to be taken for granted—was of an exceptionally high caliber all evening. The exemplary dancers—each distinctive, and each a crucial part of the ensemble— were mesmerizing in each work, their juicy attack and modest demeanor allowing the movement to resonate eloquently and unfettered. Kudos to Julie Worden, who displayed her versatility, and her gift for understated suggestion, by appearing in all four works.
Photos by Stephanie Berger.
Volume 4, No. 12
March 27, 2006
copyright
©2006 Susan Reiter
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