Troupe delivers thrilling evening of uncompromising dance
What: Alonzo King LINES Ballet Where: Royal Theatre When: Friday and Saturday Rating: four stars (out of five)
San Francisco’s Alonzo King is a choreographer who allows his dancers to express their individuality. That’s not to say his artistic vision isn’t firmly overarching — it is. But one senses that he encourages dancers to reveal what is unique to each.
This weekend, the Royal Theatre hosted two of King’s works. Shostakovich (2014), the first one presented Friday night, is set to excerpts from the Russian composer’s string quartets (No. 8, 2, 3 and 7). The music is beautiful: angular, strange, melancholic, intensely personal. Rather than trying to mirror the rhythms and melodies in any literal sense, King has his dancers interpret it in a somewhat abstract manner still inextricably tied in music.
At the outset of Shostakovich, the 10 dancers responded directly to the freneticism of the allegro molto movement from No. 8. The dance was individualized and disparate at first, with the performers then regrouping in loose unison, followed by fleeting solo turns. We got the sense of the primal — like witnessing atoms moving in a pattern that’s seemingly random but nonetheless governed by nature.
A series of pas de deux followed, set to the haunting, throbbing strains of a violin. In one, a male dancer was intertwined with a female dancer manipulated like a doll. There was a sense of cruel control; however, the roles were soon reversed, with the woman taking charge. A spectacular lift followed — a woman ran up to her partner and was turned upside down, a beautifully executed move, seemingly effortless.
Another dancer appeared carrying a bar of light, manipulating it in various ways: as though impaling himself, then holding it to his head unicorn-like, then lofting it up high. At the same time, a male dancer offers a solo that seemed crablike, intensely personal — capturing the odd introspection of Shostakovich’s music.
Throughout, there was a pattern of discord and harmony, of conflict and resolution.
The dance — both in Shostakovich and Sand (2016), the other work presented — is modern but still rooted in classical; some performers are en pointe. While not exactly of a type, the women in this company are notably longlimbed and powerful, suggestive of Giacometti sculptures come to life. Throughout the evening there was a thrilling emphasis on extension; some of the dramatic developpés were jaw-dropping.
King’s program note for Sand gives insight into the abstraction of this piece. He notes sand is linked to the passage of time; it can be poured like water; it can be used to shape hard materials yet when you grip it, it sifts through your fingers. And it can be used as a metaphor for humanity — “human beings are like tiny pebbles placed together in tight proximity to cause friction until our edges become smooth.”
Sand is set to an original jazz composition by saxophonist Charles Lloyd and pianist Jason Moran. Again. We sensed the dancers were deeply connected to the music while simultaneously existing outside it. The score — always lyrical — is sometimes simple and elegiac; elsewhere it’s adventurously free-form.
The piece starts with a simple saxophone line, with the piano then joining in. The dancers wear cream-coloured outfits (there are several costumes changes). When the saxophone dipped into a elaborate flourish, a male dancer followed suit with a frenetic whirlwind of movement.
As with Shostakovich, there was a back-and-forth pattern between ensemble dance and pas de deux. Fluidity and languor were juxtaposed against frenzied sequences — one male dancer offered an astonishing fast pirouette like a spinning top. Lighting was used to great effect. Dancers sometimes moved, ghost-like, behind a subtly illuminated fringed backdrop.
Other images from Sand still linger. In the middle of the piece, to arpeggiating piano figures, a female dance fell ecstatically into her partner’s arms. At the end of the dance, a couple sank to the ground in a similar way, somehow suggestive of both death and life.
Both Shostakovich and Sand are fiercely non-narrative; some may find their unrelenting abstraction daunting. Certainly, King’s more of a Pollack than a Manet. Overall, this was an evening of uncompromising dance offered by dancers at the height of their powers.