Houston Ballet’s ‘Summer & Smoke’ heats up the Wortham stage
The sex versus saintliness theme of Tennessee Williams’ “Summer and Smoke” probably resonates differently now than it did when the play premiered in the mid-20th century, no matter who is telling it.
In her new version for Houston Ballet, celebrated British choreographer Cathy Marston gently filters Williams’ narrative through a contemporary feminist lens that feels provocative at a time when conservative ideologues appear to be winning their war against women who want the right to control their bodies. Not that you have to go there, specifically; sub in any polarizing issue that suits your fancy. We have no shortage of them.
More importantly, no matter which side of which argument you are on, Marston’s “Summer & Smoke” is a beautifully rendered ballet about finding yourself. A co-production with American Ballet Theatre, this one-act production is a keeper. At Thursday’s premiere, every element gelled.
I don’t remember any previous commissioned score for Houston Ballet with such a lucid mix of contrasting, overlapping motifs as this one by the Grammy Award-winning composer Michael Daugherty. His melodies for flute, clarinet, strings and horns evocatively reflect the characters and emotions they represent. A small sea of xylophones punctuates it all, able to sound both primal and orderly. Music director Ermanno Florio and the Houston Ballet Orchestra seemed to relish Daugherty’s music as much as the dancers seemed to enjoy moving to it.
Williams’ simple narrative concerns the hopeless love of two characters who have been attracted to each other since childhood but just can’t find the same page psychically. AlmaWinemiller is a nervous, pious spinster who is very much her fundamentalist father’s obedient daughter. Dr. John Buchanan Jr. is trained to follow in the footsteps of his father, the beloved town doctor; but he’s a wild hare who hangs with a lewd gambling crowd and consorts with the casino owner’s lusty daughter.
When Alma finally embraces her sexual urges, a tragedy changes everything. She sends John’s father looking for him; the elder doctor ends up in a fight at the casino and is fatally shot. John, now remorseful and repentant, rejects what Alma has become. Alma has no regrets. She initiates a tryst with a traveling salesman, perhaps leaving audiences to wonder if she is a ruined woman or an improved one.
Like Williams’ play, “Summer & Smoke” unfolds in the small town of Glorious, Mississippi, in the early 1900s, a slightly abstract place beneath a big sky that allows audiences to see multiple locations at once — the doctor’s office on one side, the preacher’s house on the other and a park where there’s a statue of an angel named “Eternity” with a fountain at its base.
Marston, who is renowned for her adaptations of great literary works (among them “Jane Eyre” and “Lady Chatterly’s Lover”), deftly handles the things a ballet can and cannot do with a script such as Williams’. Her angel statue comes to life as a curious figure with a Greek chorus-like entourage of six other dancers who serve as her “wings.” Invisible to the humans, she seems to want the lovers to connect, moving through and around them. But ultimately, she can’t save them from themselves.
The choreography flows like a swift river, sweeping groups of bodies around the stage and each other as if they’re caught up in swirling eddies. The romance plays out in powerful, increasingly passionate pas de deux for Alma and John that are the balletic equivalent of fierce rapids.
Actors can’t recite lines over each other, but dancers can, moving action forward simultaneously on different sides of the stage. Because of that, no section of Marston’s story feels labored or long. Throughout “Summer & Smoke,” she lets her dancers’ legs and feet do as much talking as their faces and arms in a pathos-rich language that calls to mind the heartgrabbing work of Christopher Bruce.
Designer Patrick Kinmonth’s coolly stylized set combines a sinuous upstage platform with huge hanging structures made of sharply angled grids that variously suggest clouds and a huge trellis. They look as charged as heat lightning, skillfully mirroring the human tension below them. The fountain at one end of the platform becomes a glimmering presence at the ballet’s end, with a single, vertical jet that provides a lovely minimal metaphor, bridging heaven and earth.
The costumes are what you might call fresh, contemporary Americana. Alma wears a prim yellow dress, as Williams’ specifies in his script, but it’s made of beautifully flowing silk. While the townfolk’s fine, individualized outfits have a turn-of-the-century vibe, the rowdy gals wear dresses similar to Alma’s, only slightly more revealing, in wine-rich reds, that belong more to midcentury.
Williams’ first version of the play (there were several) came on the heels of his hit “A Streetcar Named Desire,” and it took a while to find its stride. The ending can be pliable, given the nuances performers bring to it.
Marston’s “Summer & Smoke” leaves no doubt. It ends with a joyful baptism, and this Alma is not submitting her soul to any higher power. She has discovered heaven in herself, and she’s gonna wash repression right outta her hair. My only grouch, which is trivial, is that while she is clearly a Bible-thumping fundamentalist, she makes the sign of the cross, which is a Catholic gesture. Different religions: The Catholics would have been at the casino.
Jessica Collado and Chase O’Connell brought strong, youthful energy to the lead roles on opening night. Collado is a radiantly sensitive and malleable Alma; you don’t doubt that this girl will eventually succumb to the sensual whisper she is trying to suppress. With time, Collado might also discover more complex nuances in the character. She has such a daisy-fresh demeanor, I am not sure what to make of her eager “bad Alma.” O’Connell, in his best role yet with the company, is more clumsy frat boy than carnal being, even when he’s leching after all the ladies who visit him as patients. His eventual religious zeal manifests as rage, but the choreography doesn’t really dwell on his transformation.
The willowy Mackenzie Richter brings a nurturing, gentle spirit to the role of the Angel. In one brief solo that suggests her spirit has been defeated, she summons the most tragic depth of the ballet.
Melody Mennite lights up the stage each time she appears as Alma’s kooky mother, who is no pushover; she uses her parasol as a weapon. As Rose, casino owner’s lascivious daughter, Bridget Kuhns exudes the vitality of a live-wire sorority girl; not the femme fatale I was expecting. But then, there’s an innocent spirit to this whole production, and it’s hard to tell if that’s by design or will evolve as dancers have more time to explore their roles.
The company and orchestra (with violinists Denise Tarrant and Natalie Gaynor, oboist Elizabeth Priestly Siffert and conductor Simon Thew) brilliantly performed two opening works set to concertos by Johann Sebastian Bach — George Balanchine’s “Concerto Barocco” and Stanton Welch’s “Clear.” Balanchine’s ballet celebrates feminine lyricism, while Welch’s highlights masculine virtuosity — a different and compelling take on the summer and smoke theme.