I’M NOT SAYING I’M OUT FOR BLOOD,
BUT FOR CRYING OUT LOUD…
As four spry dancers emerged through the hazy illumination, I wanted to believe their forms could transport me into their dusty hollow desert. Howling winds paired with the sparse plucking of guitar strings by Chief Adujah surged through The Joyce, cultivating an eerie, haunting atmosphere. For a moment, I was far from the city, ready for this escape, even if intermittent, to sustain and inspire me. Blood Calls Blood choreographed by Dwight Rhoden premiered in 2023 and opened Complexions Contemporary Ballet’s Program B last night (it runs through Sunday). The ballet was followed by three of Rhoden’s works: a solo titled Deeply (which I saw in Program A last week), a world premiere of Bolero, and an excerpt from his ballet For Crying Out Loud. Although there were brief encounters with escapism, the feeling was often blunted by the harsh reality of Rhoden’s choreographic limitations; more specifically his flimsy, veering on vapid, thematic articulations.
In Blood Calls Blood the dancers execute a series of partnering sections side by side that appear under-rehearsed and rushed, complete with erratic promenades in a la secondé that finish abruptly in parallel positions. Rhoden highlights Christian Burse and Lucy Stewart’s flexible backs by choreographing dramatic partnered penchés. The men’s elastic upper bodies shiver and undulate as soon as they are without their partners. Joe Gonźalez emulates this freedom when he tosses his head back, his face either growling or purring at us while his arms circle around him, creating a transcendent halo.
Christine Burse shows off her boundless power and control as she fearlessly throws herself around the stage with trembling hands and a gaze that bores past the threshold of the piece. These dancers bring out the best in Rhoden’s work; however, since the choreography nearly runs itself in circles, they are left with little escape from its boundaries. Having to commit themselves fully to brief snippets of attempted alternate movement vocabulary, their bodies transform into awkward vehicles for tentative change, which left me with unsettled feelings as the lights dim and the curtain draws down.
Deeply, a solo danced by Vincenzo Di Primo is not any better or worse than what I witnessed a week prior. Di Primo cradles his head repeatedly as he waltzes to Lucio Dalla‘s “Caruso” and propels himself in the air, landing so softly that the jump itself is soon forgotten. His body appears like an ice skater gliding atop the stage, with his neck released and head lolling back, as he peers up at the sky with a static pained expression painted on his face. As he skitters and flings himself from one endless pirouette to the next, I find myself asking “Why?” It seems I was bearing witness to Rhoden’s facile harmless infatuation with physical beauty, while Di Primo bounced and soared like a pained little prince.
Bathed in red light, the company writhes and rises from the floor in Rhoden’s Bolero. Maurice Ravel’s iconic score emits such pleasing sounds that the dancers can’t seem to help reveling in it, clapping to the beat and clasping their hands together to form a united body. Rhoden nods to Maurice Béjart’s rendition of Bolero by weaving in similar circular formations and having his dancers bob up and down hypnotically. Percussive stomping and gyrating hips garnish the stage as April Watson is spun around and dipped to the floor. Her pointe work is concise and articulate, its clean simplicity dazzling amid what turns out to be an increasingly messy landscape of bodies. The piece unfolds into an aerobic exhibition as jazz hands and haphazard lifts occur one after the other. A surge of innocent wonder instantly brightens the tedium of the work as the company places goggle-shaped hands on their faces staring out into the dark unknown, reminding us of their recent genesis several minutes prior. This glimpse into whimsy was the golden nugget I wished to place in my pocket and put atop my shelf.
The final piece, For Crying Out Loud, features six segments, all danced to varied U2 songs as an homage to the band. The dancers, dressed in varied burgundy costumes, demonstrate much of the same movement dynamics witnessed in the previous three pieces: developés of unsurmountable height, partnered pirouettes that built into explosive lifts where legs split open like crackling popcorn kernels, and a smattering of tricks like balances en pointe in second position grande plié that render the women spider-like for an instant. Although U2’s music is a joy to listen to, the work appears to be operating void of its cries and crooning, almost insisting on an upbeat rendering. This asynchronicity, between music and movement, wore away at my attention span, and as the piece progressed it became impossible to reconcile. As the work came to a close, I found myself grappling with questions like: What is choreography if not a portrayal of music? What purpose does the movement have if not to entwine itself with sound? How could hearing this music result in those particular steps? These questions eventually synthesized themselves into a bigger panic, mainly: What can be made of this medley?
Having had the opportunity to witness Complexions, not once, but twice in the last week, I can say with utmost confidence that its dancers are skilled technicians with seemingly endless energy to boot. I wish to see them in a more varied repertoire, as most classical ballet companies provide, rather than Rhoden’s work being the only choreography showcased. Their movement quality is expansive, liquid, and ready to be harnessed. It’s a shame they’ve been delegated to one creative vision when they clearly have so much more share and explore.
Complexions Contemporary Ballet
30th Anniversary, Program B
The Joyce Theater, 175 Eighth Avenue
ends on December 1, 2024
for tickets, visit Joyce
