Miscalculation of the Day

A Dvorak Pandora station does not necessarily create a soothing soundscape for writing. Am now tempted to add bayonets, homicidal swans, and men with florid noses to my story-in-progress.

All Tharp, All Awesome

The Pacific Northwest Ballet comes through again, this time with an entire program featuring choreographer Twyla Tharp. I can't choose a favorite between the second and third pieces performed: "Afternoon Ball" and "Waterbaby Bagatelles." The first highlights alienation, almost unbearable tension, and a sort of juked up, spastic movement. The two male leads really interested me: one becomes a protoganist, torn between the other creatures of the street and an imperiously elegant and ghostly waltzing couple. The other, cloaked in baggy flannel, wheels almost dangerously about the stage, dragging his arms and legs as if they are unfamiliar appendages; then, he suddenly breaks into fluid movement and glides smoothly, in control. My heart was in my throat.

The Bagatelles represent seven short pieces, collaged together with different music for each piece. The imagery delights: identical ballerinas dressed as synchronized swimmers; male dancers leaping shirtless and giddy; a dangerously sexy and sinuous duet between principals Karel Cruz and Carla Korbes. Visually, parallel tubes of fluorescent lighting hang suspended over the stage, and rotate down, up, and to different angles throughout the seven pieces. Sometimes the lights made me think of the ocean floor, and other times, as they were lowered, I thought of a confining aquarium and the artificial lights creating the look of "aquamarine." It's an interesting way to play with the space of the stage itself, reminding the viewer of its temporal limits, even as the dancers' movements are so joyously extended and boundless.

I am in love with the ballet. Every performance has left me with something to ponder (or, let's face it, a crush on one of the dancers.) If you happen to live in Seattle, treat yourself!

Extension

Another experience at The Pacific Northwest Ballet - this time, The Sleeping Beauty. The production was lavish, stylized, ceremonial; an exercise in pantomime. I still found it lovely, although it was so markedly different in interpretation than the sexy, throat-ripping Romeo et Juliette, which left me with an oddly sad, metallic feeling - a realization, I think, that the lovers seemed to me now reckless teenagers, when before they had seemed like a shocking comet of passion.

In the Act I of this ballet (post-prologue), the princess dances the "Rose Adagio" with her four suitors. At one point, she stands, perfectly extending one leg while balancing on the other en pointe. Betraying not so much as a wobble, she holds this pose...and holds it, as all four suitors gallantly approach her, each one elaborately twirling her about once, as if she were a top. The principal dancer in this production (Mara Vinson) was just incredible to watch, but this stilted section struck me as such a metaphor for femininity: this graceful, decorous woman holding an impossible position of display as if it were effortless; being turned and manipulated by each suitor in turn. Meanwhile, the court conjectures over who should pluck her.

Now, I don't bring this up in an angry "Boo sexism!" kind of way. Rather, the thought struck me at the time, and mingled with my amazement at Vinson's consummate athleticism. She really was breathtaking to watch. Flash forward to the next evening and, me, weeping my way through the end of "The Young Victoria" ("Oh my God but I thought these long-dead people would live forever!") This story is really one of female conquest. Prince Albert's presence is wispy, deferential, and quiet. He tells the queen "I am replaceable, and you are not." As a love story, I really liked it, but it wasn't a narrative I felt accustomed to seeing.

Three cheers for the Prince Alberts of the world (and the Victorias).

(photo credit: http://www.pnb.org/images/Season/09-10/sb_overview.jpg)

Sendak's Nutcracker

LOVED the setpieces for this production, designed by Mauric Sendak. So magical, yet stylized. Just like a storybook come to life. I liked the Dance of the Snowflakes and the Waltz of the Flowers best. These dances in particular reminded me of idolizing the older students during my ill-fated attempts at learning ballet as a kid. It all seemed so glamorous back then. I felt envious of all the children in the audience last night, discovering the ballet for the first time. Pacific Northwest Ballet: 3 for 3. I'm contemplating spring season tickets.

(image credit: Angela Sterling, http://www.pnb.org)

Petite Mort

To conclude a fairly art-soaked week, last night I attended Pacific Northwest Ballet's Director's Choice with my roommate. I've been so impressed and moved by the two productions I've seen at the PNB thus far and may very well invest in season tickets next year.

My two favorites of the evening were a world premiere of "The Seasons," an allegorical ballet in one-act, and Petite Mort. The real standout was Petite Mort, however, choreographed by Jiri Kylian and set to Mozart. The stark, scarcely-clothed dancers looked so vulnerable, pale, and uniform and as they danced in male-female pairs, the choreography demonstrated the ingenious ways that two bodies can be coupled, while at the same time reminding the viewer of the control and violence of these couplings, latent in every geometrical shape and gesture. Erotic and frightening, all at the same time. Explicitly treating the subject of violence and death, the six male dancers began the ballet with an elaborate foil-play, and in a surprise visual gag that I LOVED, six of the female dancers revealed that the great gowns they appeared to be wearing were nothing more than wheeled props. From behind these vast arks of feminine decorum, the real women behind them revealed their smaller, stripped bodies, for which the dresses were merely frames - a cultural trousseau of sorts. What a wonderful and playful visual script.

(p.s. This photo is from the PNB website, copyright Chris Bennion.)