The National Ballet is winding up its season with a mixed programme that is certainly seasonally appropriate: two light, amusing ballets flanking a much more serious and thought-provoking work. In performance, this was also an unusually satisfying mixed programme, with all three works striking me as valuable, enjoyable, and well worth the time.
The show began with a company premiere, Paz de la Jolla by young American choreographer Justin Peck. This artist's career has shot off like a rocket, and with this piece it's not hard to understand why. Peck grew up in San Diego, and has created a balletic ode to beach life which goes perfectly hand-in-hand with the Sinfonietta La Jolla by Bohuslav Martinu. The music has a lightweight, sunny, vibe which is rare with Martinu (to put it mildly) but is totally suited to this dancer's ode to Southern California.
The keynote here is the playful character of Peck's choreography. Rapid movements and steps give the dancing a delightful feeling of ease (although many of the movements are actually complex) and simultaneous energy. The brightly coloured costumes create a beach-like feeling without slavishly imitating contemporary beach "fashion".
The ballet features a male-female couple and a solo female dancer. The lead couple, Emma Hawes and Brendan Saye, enacted a nuanced relationship of two people getting closer and edging away before moving together again. The female solo is the most challenging and complex role, the choreography for her reminding me strongly of Balanchine's Rubies. Jillian Vanstone totally owned the stage in this role. These three soloists are supported by a group of 15 other dancers consisting of 6 men and 9 women. Note the gender imbalance and the odd number of female dancers -- right off the bat, it appears as if Peck is slyly thumbing his nose at the symmetry so beloved of classical ballet practice.
Second work up was a revival of The Man in Black, one of the strongest works ever created by James Kudelka (former Artistic Director of the company). Not only strong, this is also one of the most unusual, innovative, or just plain "out there" dance works I've ever seen.
The music, all recorded, consists of six songs laid down by Johnny Cash near the end of his career, all covers of songs previously written and recorded by other artists. The six songs encompass a wide range of musical styles, but the theme of endings, or farewells, or death runs through all of them. The dance styles are similarly diverse, and owe nothing to the classical ballet tradition. Such styles as step dancing, square dancing, line dancing, and swing are the ingredients here.
Kudelka's choreographic vision led him to dress the four dancers (three men, one woman) in western gear, finishing off with cowboy boots. Those boots become the defining characteristic of the work, since they beat out a remorseless rhythmic tattoo in several of the dances -- notably the first two.
The real hallmark of this ballet is the unified motion of the ensemble of dancers, who spend much of the work linked together in chains, in groups, in pairs and threes, all moving in unison towards whatever goal or destination you may care to imagine. The few solo passages that do occur are always closely connected with or related to the movements of the other dancers. The result is uncommonly thoughtful, truly poignant, and touches in me a deep, universal vein of sadness and loss that far transcends any personal event.
Although, I've seen this work staged three times now, this performance notably outweighed the previous ones in connecting with that emotional depth and inwardness. This was due to the intensely human, heartfelt performances of the cast (Jonathan Renna, Jenna Savella, Piotr Stanczyk, and Robert Stephen). Throughout the six songs, the feeling that the dancers were totally in tune and in sync with each other was unmistakable. I was especially impressed by the edgy, abandoned, frenetic quality of Savella's work in the Sam Hall segment.
The concluding work was Alexander Ekman's Cacti, previously staged in 2016. By turns absurd, farcical, fantastic, and bizarre, this piece simultaneously showcases the virtuosity of the company while madly satirizing the more extreme forms of modern dance and skewering the pomposity and prolixity of some modern dance critics.
(None of this satire, of course, applies to me!)
Cacti uses an ensemble of 16 dancers (8 men, 8 women) who in turn use 16 white-topped riser platforms as their set -- crawling over them, kneeling on them, standing on them, lifting them up to create hiding places, and ultimately piling them up in a huge heap upstage. And yes, they do use 16 cacti as props. The choreography demands a fantastic level of energy from these dancers, not just in moving their feet, but in rolling around, gymnastic flips, kneeling hand-dancing, clapping, shouting, laughing -- you name it, they get to do it.
The first part of the piece uses a purpose-composed score of fragmentary music for the string quartet, with many glissandi, high harmonics, and other purposely weird sounds, all played while the four players wander slowly around the stage. These are interspersed with brief fragments of the presto final movement from Schubert's Death and the Maiden quartet. Later on, the full orchestra joins in with a more nearly complete orchestrated version of the same movement.
The satire gets heavily underlined with the voice-over of a critic, using long strings of 20-dollar words that add up precious little coherent meaning. And, in case you missed the comedic tone, the deal gets sealed in the second half with a pas de deux in which the two dancers maintain a running, stream-of-consciousness commentary explaining their bizarre actions and movements. At the end, the critic's voice returns in the most absurd vignette of all -- two minutes of "Okay, I've decided -- this is the end.... This is the end.... This has to be ending now.... Is this it? Yes, okay. Yes, this has to be the end." And so on.
There's only one way to do a piece like this, and today's cast of 16 appropriately put the pedal to the metal and gave it full measure. All of the chanting, clapping, laughing, and so on, came shooting right out at the audience with a definite in-your-face quality. Chelsey Meiss and Ben Rudisin totally caught the "crazy factor" in the outrageous movements of the duet sequence. A hilarious comic excursion to end an uncommonly rewarding mixed programme of dance.
* * * * * * * * * *
Footnote (An Appreciation)
Those of my readers who follow my dance reviews regularly have certainly seen my frequent invocation of the "Conflict of Interest Alert" whenever I was reviewing the work of my nephew, Robert Stephen.
I have decidedly mixed feelings in penning this final review of his career with the National Ballet of Canada. Although there's still a company tour to Europe coming up, this will be the last time I will see him dance with the National Ballet -- which has been his artistic home for 14 seasons.
I've been a regular subscriber to the ballet since before Robbie was born, and that won't change. But I must acknowledge the critical role that his career has played in making my dance criticism possible. I have no ballet background, and little technical knowledge of this unique and demanding art form; I just know what I like. Whenever Robbie has been dancing, I've always become more focused on the details what was happening, more alert and aware of everything that occurs in all aspects of the performance.
I've also enjoyed our many fascinating post-show conversations, in which we have exchanged our views on the various works the company has staged -- often agreeing, sometimes disagreeing, but always leaving me with significant new insights into the art of the ballet.
In the fall, Robert Stephen will be relocating to Germany to join a modern dance company in Stuttgart, Gauthier Dance. It's a great, exciting opportunity for personal and professional growth for him, but I know that his artistry, his dancing, will be very much missed in Toronto.
By his colleagues and friends in the National Ballet of Canada company.
By his many enthusiastic fans in the audience.
And, most definitely, by me.
The real hallmark of this ballet is the unified motion of the ensemble of dancers, who spend much of the work linked together in chains, in groups, in pairs and threes, all moving in unison towards whatever goal or destination you may care to imagine. The few solo passages that do occur are always closely connected with or related to the movements of the other dancers. The result is uncommonly thoughtful, truly poignant, and touches in me a deep, universal vein of sadness and loss that far transcends any personal event.
Although, I've seen this work staged three times now, this performance notably outweighed the previous ones in connecting with that emotional depth and inwardness. This was due to the intensely human, heartfelt performances of the cast (Jonathan Renna, Jenna Savella, Piotr Stanczyk, and Robert Stephen). Throughout the six songs, the feeling that the dancers were totally in tune and in sync with each other was unmistakable. I was especially impressed by the edgy, abandoned, frenetic quality of Savella's work in the Sam Hall segment.
The concluding work was Alexander Ekman's Cacti, previously staged in 2016. By turns absurd, farcical, fantastic, and bizarre, this piece simultaneously showcases the virtuosity of the company while madly satirizing the more extreme forms of modern dance and skewering the pomposity and prolixity of some modern dance critics.
(None of this satire, of course, applies to me!)
Cacti uses an ensemble of 16 dancers (8 men, 8 women) who in turn use 16 white-topped riser platforms as their set -- crawling over them, kneeling on them, standing on them, lifting them up to create hiding places, and ultimately piling them up in a huge heap upstage. And yes, they do use 16 cacti as props. The choreography demands a fantastic level of energy from these dancers, not just in moving their feet, but in rolling around, gymnastic flips, kneeling hand-dancing, clapping, shouting, laughing -- you name it, they get to do it.
The first part of the piece uses a purpose-composed score of fragmentary music for the string quartet, with many glissandi, high harmonics, and other purposely weird sounds, all played while the four players wander slowly around the stage. These are interspersed with brief fragments of the presto final movement from Schubert's Death and the Maiden quartet. Later on, the full orchestra joins in with a more nearly complete orchestrated version of the same movement.
The satire gets heavily underlined with the voice-over of a critic, using long strings of 20-dollar words that add up precious little coherent meaning. And, in case you missed the comedic tone, the deal gets sealed in the second half with a pas de deux in which the two dancers maintain a running, stream-of-consciousness commentary explaining their bizarre actions and movements. At the end, the critic's voice returns in the most absurd vignette of all -- two minutes of "Okay, I've decided -- this is the end.... This is the end.... This has to be ending now.... Is this it? Yes, okay. Yes, this has to be the end." And so on.
There's only one way to do a piece like this, and today's cast of 16 appropriately put the pedal to the metal and gave it full measure. All of the chanting, clapping, laughing, and so on, came shooting right out at the audience with a definite in-your-face quality. Chelsey Meiss and Ben Rudisin totally caught the "crazy factor" in the outrageous movements of the duet sequence. A hilarious comic excursion to end an uncommonly rewarding mixed programme of dance.
* * * * * * * * * *
Footnote (An Appreciation)
Those of my readers who follow my dance reviews regularly have certainly seen my frequent invocation of the "Conflict of Interest Alert" whenever I was reviewing the work of my nephew, Robert Stephen.
I have decidedly mixed feelings in penning this final review of his career with the National Ballet of Canada. Although there's still a company tour to Europe coming up, this will be the last time I will see him dance with the National Ballet -- which has been his artistic home for 14 seasons.
I've been a regular subscriber to the ballet since before Robbie was born, and that won't change. But I must acknowledge the critical role that his career has played in making my dance criticism possible. I have no ballet background, and little technical knowledge of this unique and demanding art form; I just know what I like. Whenever Robbie has been dancing, I've always become more focused on the details what was happening, more alert and aware of everything that occurs in all aspects of the performance.
I've also enjoyed our many fascinating post-show conversations, in which we have exchanged our views on the various works the company has staged -- often agreeing, sometimes disagreeing, but always leaving me with significant new insights into the art of the ballet.
In the fall, Robert Stephen will be relocating to Germany to join a modern dance company in Stuttgart, Gauthier Dance. It's a great, exciting opportunity for personal and professional growth for him, but I know that his artistry, his dancing, will be very much missed in Toronto.
By his colleagues and friends in the National Ballet of Canada company.
By his many enthusiastic fans in the audience.
And, most definitely, by me.
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