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“Aureole,” “Troilus and Cressida (reduced), ”Lines of Loss,” “Arden Court”
City Center,
New York, NY
March 6, 2007

by Gay Morris
copyright ©2007, Gay Morris

Galas are strange rituals. First there is the audience, a perverse  mix of moneyed donors in black-tie and ball gowns standing out like birds-of-paradise against the drab sparrows of plain ticket-holders, who, needless to say, will not be attending the post-performance party. Then there is the performance, itself; to make it seem special, a company must do something more than the ordinary. For its gala on Tuesday, the Paul Taylor Dance Company chose to unveil a premiere and to dance another new work that had only been shown once in New York, on opening night last week. But all did not go well, despite rapturous hoots and cries from a crowd eager to convince itself that its financial layout had been worth it.

The premiere was “Troilus and Cressida (reduced),”  a burlesque set to Ponchielli’s “Dance of the Hours.” This is one of those works Taylor occasionally creates that wanders off the edge of wit into a chasm of third-grade humor. It seemed to be a great success with the audience, though. The short piece started off well enough with a handsome blue and gold backdrop and brightly colored costumes by Santo Loquasto. According to the Shakespeare play, set in ancient Troy,  Cressida, lover of Troilus, is captured by invading Greeks. When Troilus discovers Cressida flirting with one of her captors, he is devastated by her betrayal and vows to fight and kill the invaders. Taylor focuses on the courtship of Troilus and Cressida, portraying them as  a pair of dolts whose idea of sexual allure is the exposure of their underpants. They are brought together by a trio of Cupids, without whom they would be completely lost. The Greeks, consisting of three drunken men, capture Cressida; Troilus arrives, and that is pretty much it. The work is, indeed, reduced in every way. Lisa Viola portrayed Cressida. Here, as he has done in the past, Taylor exploited her slightly disturbing ability to demonstrate ticks and grimaces. Robert Kleinendorst was less eccentric, if just as dim-witted, as the hapless Troilus.

"Lines of Loss,” the other new work on the program, is poles apart from “Troilus and Cressida” in its thematic and choreographic seriousness. In a program note, Taylor quotes a poem by William D. Snodgrass that speaks of coping with loss as it accumulates through life. For Taylor, who is in his seventies, this theme is undoubtedly deeply personal and he treats it to moving effect. But here, too, there were problems on Tuesday evening, although they had nothing to do with aesthetic judgment or artistic quality. The work’s impact was greatly diminished because the City Center sound system acted up for a good part of the piece, skipping repeatedly and finally going silent for a few minutes near the end. Some years ago Taylor had a run-in with City Center over the theater’s insistence on using guild labor for the orchestra. In the end Taylor was forced to forego live music because of prohibitive union costs. As disappointing as that must have been, he probably didn’t anticipate the kind of nightmare that resulted Tuesday from using recorded music.

"Lines of Loss” suggests ideas of loss on many levels, from lost abilities and opportunities to lost relationships and loved ones. It could also be viewed, in part, as depicting the losses that go with being a dance artist. The work consists of nine sections set to music by six composers ranging over several centuries: Guillaume de Machaut, Christopher Tye, Jack Body, John Cage, Arvo Part, and Alfred Schnittke. The dances are titled with the composer’s names. The cast  of eleven, dressed in white, performed against Santo Loquasto’s backdrop of graphite lines. After an opening group dance, Viola took center stage. She flicked away an invisible tear before moving into a solo that centered on full backbends and on clutching and prayerful gestures. Kleinendorst’s solo was an essay on the concern for the body that is central to those with illnesses as well as to dancers’ lives. He ran in place, took his pulse, did push ups, between acts of intense trembling. He was finally dragged off stage, exhausted. In a dance set to music of John Cage, Julie Tice and Michelle Fleet attempted to free themselves from a confining circle of men, who at last carried them off. Michael Trusnovec’s solo was that of a man crippled by injury, illness, or age. In a group dance, comradely behavior descended into competition and violence. In a duet, a couple tried to connect but could not. Annmaria Mazzini danced a solo of aching grief, again filled with backbends. Finally, the dancers filed on once more, long red tunics covering their white costumes, as if they were bloodied combatants in the game of life.  Viola crossed behind them, still in white, and exited. Perhaps she signaled the artist, approaching the “threshold of waking light” to which Snodgrass refers and which offers renewed hope of relief from the darkness of memory.  

The evening opened with a lovely performance of “Aureole,” set to music of Handel. Choreographed in 1962, it is one of the company’s oldest works, and a signature. Many of the dancers, such as Viola, Kleinendorst, Trusnovec, Mazzini, Orion Duckstein, and Richard Chen See, have been with the company long enough to have matured into major artists. Mazzini, Duckstein, and See were in “Aureole” and each brought a depth to the work that gave it a special joy. Duckstein combined lyricism with strength in Taylor’s original solo that few except Taylor himself have ever managed. See was a powerhouse, every move deeply etched, and Mazzini was simply incandescent.

The program ended with another of Taylor’s explorations of baroque music. It was “Arden Court,” choreographed in 1981 and set to excerpts from William Boyce symphonies. It is arranged for six men and three women, an unusual combination that allowed Taylor many opportunities for varied  dance structure and patterning.  The cast consisted of See, Trusnovec, Mazzini, Duckstein, Amy Young, James Samson, Parisa Khobdeh, Sean Mahoney, and Francisco Graciano. Like “Aureole,”  “Arden Court” is a joyous outpouring, and it ended a troubled performance on a happy note.    

Volume 5, No. 10
March 12, 2007

copyright ©2007 by Gay Morris

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