BWW Reviews: Netherlands Dance Theater Deals with Loss Literally and Figuratively at The Joyce

Netherlands Dance Theater has been a venerated pioneer in the contemporary dance world since its inception in 1959. With a prolific repertoire, dancers that are recognized as some of the world's most technically proficient and distinctive performers, and an annual production budget of over $16 million, the company has become the standard of perfection for contemporary concert dance. Much of this success is attributed to the aesthetic established by former Artistic Director, Jiri Kylian. Directing the company from 1975 to 1999, and remaining the house choreographer until 2002, it is difficult to disassociate Kylian and Netherlands Dance Theater. The company has struggled through four different directors since Kylian's departure; most recently, direction of the company has been handed to former dancers and house choreographers, Sol Leon and Paul Lightfoot.

The first piece of the evening is titled "Sehnsucht," a German word that can be loosely translated as longing, yearning, or intensely missing a person or a moment that can no longer be accessed. The work begins with a male soloist on stage costumed in white pants. Behind him and suspended above stage level, a box frames a male/female duet. Although the pas de deux is confined to a single frame, the frame rotates on a central axis. The effect of watching the dancers strategically negotiate the changing associations of floor and ceiling is like watching a series of still frames being projected in rapid order - memorable shapes and images with mysterious spaces in between. Sparse, antiquated furniture clings to its respective place within the spinning domicile.

Just as the uncertain quietness of the whimsical pas de deux begins to resonate, Leon and Lightfoot layer on a jarring entrance of a huge cast of dancers, both male and female, all topless and costumed in long, flowing, dark pants, similar to those worn by the soloist in white. The soloist in white repossesses significance, as he becomes a kind of director of the masses. The masses, however, are preoccupied with the intense musical score, a collection of driving Beethoven symphonies which drives them through precise, linear formations in the foreground, while the aforementioned duet maintains its increasingly predictable course in the background. In the end, both the duet and the ensemble are inconsequently dismissed, and the male soloist in white is alone, crouching on the stage in front of the curtain like a gargoyle on a ledge. As the stage crew strikes the set for the second act, the dancer in white slowly and ceremoniously rises and crosses the stage to exit.

Dancing continues through the intermission as a character in a red cape passes through staggering, posing, and dramatically emoting like a child of butoh danceand classical ballet. A fellow dancer joins, thus launching the second piece of the evening, "Schmetterling," a series of comedic duets set to an arrangement of deadpan, inauspicious songs from The Magnetic Fields' album, 69 Love Songs. A uniform costume choice - every dancer donning a shapeless dress and factory-girl head coverage - somehow highlights each individual's strengths as a dancer. There is romance onstage, and it childishly juxtaposes the world-weary heartache in the music.

Although initially endearing, "Schmetterling" loses its human appeal. Ultimately duet after duet begins to trade clever, comedic dance for tricks that do half as much for the imagination as they do for the eye. The set of "Schmetterling," initially black panels with a sliver of sky projected on the backdrop, gradually peels away to reveal a beautiful, blue sky with puffy white clouds. It is never clear, however, how the two components weave together. Due to the satirical dreariness of the movement, it may have been more satisfying to see the dark panels gradually covering, rather than uncovering, the breezy background.

All elements of the evening's performance were stunningly crafted and stand individually as great works of art, but the pieces lack certain cohesiveness that binds all aspects of a performance together. Melding two worlds to create one work of art is a beautiful challenge, and the Leon/Lightfoot effort exhibits abundant ideas between the two of them. What is missing is an agreed upon through line that serves to streamline the work and become the stamp of polish and finesse that Jiri Kylian left on the company many years ago.

Photo by Rahi Rezvani.

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