Calling a dance repertory concert of three works 3 makes it simple, doesn’t it? No theme. No necessary connection between the works. At the Milwaukee Ballet’s performances this weekend, the only connection is that all the pieces are by living choreographers. They all took a bow at the Thursday night curtain call. And for the most part, they deserved it.
Darrell Grand Moultrie has roots in ballet and Broadway, and you could see it in his FREQUENCIES LIT, a kinetic, sinfully exciting dance that earns its all-caps title. Set to percussive, Latin guitar music by Rodrigo Y Gabriela and Mikael Karlsson and Andreas Soderstrom, this not your father’s Broadway-jazz. Moultrie’s moves are rhythmically four-square – there’s never a doubt that the beat will go on. But he mixes things up with an inventive playfulness. Feet are en pointe then flexed (sometime in the same step), limbs extend lyrically, then crumple into sharp angles like a deflated blow-up doll. FREQUENCIES starts big, with all 14 dancers in a rank-and-file ensemble, but it soon gives way to a tag-team of duets and even a hey-look-at-me! solo where Susan Gartell’s limbs seem at war with each other. Moultrie, in fact, loves to set movement against itself. Throughout FREQUENCIES, he explores variations on the Michael Jackson “moon walk,” where leaps, struts and sachets take the body backward instead of forward. It’s heady, exciting stuff, and Moultrie uses the company like an old pro.
Petr Zahradnicek’s Broad Waters is a different animal altogether, a gorgeous meditation with strong neo-classical leanings. Set to lush choral music by Henryk Gorecki, it’s a distilled narrative that often looks taken from an Art Deco frieze. Three soloists (Julianne Kepley, Rachel Malehorn and Luz San Miguel) each dance a heavily partnered solo, full of elegant angles and lovely compositions. And it’s all set amid David Grill’s rich blue-toned lighting, including simple Asian “river-effects” using silk fabric.
Diane Coburn Bruning’s Ramblin’ Suite closed the night with lots of appreciative hoots and ovations, but in truth it’s a bit of a mess. Set to the old-timey music of the Red Clay Ramblers, it starts with an exercise in faux machismo, with seven shirtless men vogue-ing, preening and doing impressive one-armed pushups (the impressive David Hovhannisyan leads the way) – it’s part ballet, part Mr. Universe pageant. But as the dance goes on, it’s hard to tell if Coburn Bruning is satirizing or celebrating country-bumpkin gender roles. The women enter, doing a kind of skip step-fist pump that seems more suited to a ‘70s disco than a hoedown. There’s some athletic, Seven-Brides-for-Seven-Brothers-style cavorting as the men enter again. And, eventually, some country-dance rounds bring the ensemble together. Coburn Bruning may be after a loose, greenhorn feel here, but the imprecision and undefined movement seems to drag on the music instead of enlivening it. Celebrating “folk dance” is nothing new to ballet, but the new dance should bear the stamp of an artist. Here, it seems like watching the original folk dances and dancers that inspired Coburn Bruning would be more lively.
