An Epihany of Levity: Pacific Northwest Ballet's Richly Beautiful "Director's Choice"
- Louise Greer
- 2 days ago
- 10 min read
Updated: 2 days ago
Pacific Northwest Ballet has been uplifting us all season, but their final program of the season is a particularly joyous, thought-provoking celebration of the human experience through three distinct voices. In Director’s Choice, Kiyon Ross’ ...throes of increasing wonder returns with full spirit, Rena Butler’s world premiere of Cracks proves the necessity of artistic expression, and Twyla Tharp's 1982 Nine Sinatra Songs is a most charming and satisfying, if somewhat bittersweet, close to the season. Director’s Choice is a vastly varied program that emphasizes the versatility of the company, and from that brilliant sight, gratitude resounds.
Two years after it premiered as a gift to close Pacific Northwest Ballet’s 50th anniversary season, Kiyon Ross’ ...throes of increasing wonder is somehow even more luminous in all of its tightly-woven splendor. As the title suggests, this wonder of a work wastes no time in letting contagious energy blossom as dancers overwhelm the stage with their vibrant spirit. Pouncing upon Cristina Spinei’s vivacious score with delightfully quick footwork, marvelous shifts of directionality, and synchopated accents of visual flair, …throes of increasing wonder is a spark of adrenaline that rarely settles for long. It’s formed almost entirely from a spritely abandon of gravity, and an expansive, never-ending hunger for exhilaration.
Ross possesses a Balanchine-like ability to capture the music, turn it inside-out, and make it a palpable sensation. The thrilling eye contact that dashes between partners throughout creates spontaneous glimpses of blissful unity and a tremendously rewarding sense of play. Blink-and-you’ll-miss-it intricacies, the dynamic ability to sustain a breath and draw it back in a wink, as well as the pure joy of it all, makes …throes of increasing wonder a thrill to witness again and again.
The cast of twenty-four dancers appear nearly giddy with the felicity of moving through such lively work, and what …throes of increasing wonder does so beautifully is highlight the entire cast by leaving room for a whole lot of adrenaline-driven expression. The corps de ballet has never looked so buoyant as they do in this work; they’re all soaring there in the spacious blue without any thought of ever coming down. Lucas Galvan nearly morphed into a bird during Saturday’s matinee, and in a brilliant little airborne duet, Rosalyn Hutsell and Destiny Wimpye took to astounding heights with the greatest precision and delight. Their thrill was enough to convince me that perhaps all we need in this world is more joy-induced movement.
Though too many remarkable forms caught the light to capture them all: Kuu Sakuragi’s articulation at such a brisk tempo is pristine. Zsilas Michael Hughes overflows with a commanding power that makes every bright step resound with larger-than-life zest. In each soft curl of ...throes's tender moments, as well as in its ebullient glee, Madison Rayn Abeo and Noah Martzall's radiant fluidity brims with soulful beauty. During opening weekend, in both soloist and principal roles, Juliet Prine was all resplendent joy and musical exactitude, dancing with the kind of glorious freedom that most can only dream of. Likewise, Christopher D’Ariano and Sarah-Gabrielle Ryan are a powerhouse of immense joy as they consume space with fiercely beautiful exuberance. Every flourish, every expansive spark of detailed vigor… what a joy to see such bold, captivating charisma fill the stage.
When elation does temporarily subside, it gives way to the warm embrace of a summer breeze: a pas de deux that casts a spell in its hushing lavender hue. On opening night, Angelica Generosa and Jonathan Batista brought the world to a still as they sank into this heavenly suspension of time. It is in these quiet moments that the work gains its multi-dimensionality, and hand in hand, Generosa and Batista swept us away with heartfelt longing.
The following night, Leta Biasucci and Dylan Wald swelled the stage with passion. Seeing far beyond the proscenium, with beautiful sorrow interwoven, their care, intentionality, and presence was an act of devotion. As Michael Jinsoo Lim’s tender notes grazed the clouds, we hardly dared to breathe as both music and movement sought something of the divine, and for one glorious moment, clung to it.
I couldn’t help but think, as an extraordinary picture of Pacific Northwest Ballet’s vitality gleamed before my eyes, if only Francia Russell and Kent Stowell could have looked ahead and seen this in the company’s future when they stepped into leadership nearly fifty years ago. The sharp-tuned precision and astounding strength of the company that takes to the stage today may have made them think “NYCB who?” for ...throes of increasing wonder glows with the beauty of technique-gifted freedom. How else can you fly with such ease?
As twenty-four dancers become silhouetted against a nearly-Balanchine blue in ...throes finale, it is an offering of gratitude towards this art form itself that reverberates. During opening weekend, applause burst forth before they could even come to a still, so eager was the undeniable energy that had crawled into our veins. By the time that curtain falls, you might agree that movement and music, when so closely attuned towards joy, are an addictive substance that leaves nothing but awe in its wake.
At the center of this triple bill lies a profoundly meaningful world premiere. Nestled between pieces of joy and love, there are questions, real achings and fears that come to light in Rena Butler’s Cracks. During the pre-dress rehearsal conversation, Butler posed an intriguing question: “What do we need a ballet for?” and from the first glimpse, it was evident that purpose had been found in every nook of her first work for PNB. Inspired by her Catholic school upbringing, Cracks examines devotion and what shatters when an individual can no longer conform to, or loses themselves in, the expectations of tradition. It extends far beyond the reaches of religion, relating to any experience of fundamental belief, any form of devotion that strains a sense of individuality.
When the curtain rises, it is upon the bare bones of the stage: lights lowered, wings drawn out of sight, fly system pulleys glowing in the warm light. Like Butler’s revealing choreography, nothing can hide there. Even as dancers make their entrances and exits, their fearful stature never fades as they walk behind the wing lights: taut shoulders, hands clasped, always watched. Balanchine referred to his theater as a church, and to see this place stripped and laid bare brilliantly disrupts the illusion of magic that can lead the theater to become a place of worship. Yet it is magic nonetheless.
Upon this stark stage, beneath streaked beams of light, an ensemble mouths the holy French text sung with haunting clarity by Doug Fullington’s Tudor Choir. Their rich tone builds an undeniably sacred mood that shapes the work and leaves a resounding feeling of reverence that, regardless of belief, can surely be felt. Clad in Meleta Buckstaff’s uniform of saffron-hued pleated skirts that twirl as gently as Californian poppies, the group’s unity is blissfully undisturbed as words of praise fall from eager lips. Until one missteps and must quickly conform to the group again. Only then do we see the fear in their eyes.
Ballet often tries to be quiet, but here, stomping is a tiny revolt, a burst of defiance within such divinity. There’s a small brewing anger as we see them bring themselves back to center again and again, willing themselves to conform. They turn to the heavens, hands raised in fervent prayer, breaking fluidity like belief itself.
As Julie Ballard’s stained glass hues fall upon a line of worship, palpable angst brims within the entrancing mood where unexpected feeling lies in every gesture of timid genuineness. To the melancholic melody of Ljova and the Kontraband’s “Less”, one flees from formation repeatedly, slips from dutiful obedience again and again until the stage clears to find her alone in the dim light.
There, in a flood of dappled stained glass shadows, an intensely intimate reckoning of self could not have landed in better hands. Elle Macy possesses an all-consuming, intrinsic drive to find the limits of what a body can convey, and in a piece of such raw expression, she’s willing to go there, to feel it all, to break before us with her heart laid bare. Gymnastic contortions land not as empty tricks, but as a cathartic, tangible representation of grappling with fear and uncertainty. Every heartfelt extension of beauty and sharp-edged quirk, all the strength that finds Macy suspended in remarkable places, it is all brutally honest in its humanity. The end leaves her reeling from the magnitude of what has just been brought into the light, and in the ripples of her wake, we are as changed as she.
In the piece’s final movement, the ensemble finds themselves in a formation identical to when the curtain rose, but as they trace familiar patterns, the lip-synching that once accompanied those motions is strikingly absent. Instead, fear rings in their eyes, the eagerness to please has fled their bones, and we can see that in the course of these moving moments, something monumental has shifted.
The intentionality of Cracks pervades every aspect of the work. Even the process of creation itself can be seen in how authentically dancers bring themselves to the stage. Butler’s encouragement to be “real feeling human beings” is evident in their investment to the integral truth of Cracks, and in how seriously they carry the weight of Butler’s vision. Perhaps as the arts become further devalued in the hands of power, we must ask ourselves the question of why we need it, for the answer lies far beyond the indulgence in beautiful things. We find a sliver of ourselves there in the golden glow as Cracks reveals layers of truth with divine expression, and that alone is a rare gift.
There might be no better way to close a season than with the satisfying charm of Nine Sinatra Songs’ sentimental celebration of life itself. Seven pas de deuxs to swoon-worthy Frank Sinatra hits from the 1950s and '60s have the potential to make one nostalgic for some long-gone, out-of-reach moment. Though it brims with vintage beauty, it is timeless in all of its elegant and raw reflections. Nine Sinatra Songs originally premiered in 1982, and in 2006, during Peter Boal’s first season as artistic director, it was this work that brought Twyla Tharp into Pacific Northwest Ballet’s repertory. We’ve more recently seen Tharp’s Sweet Fields, Brief Fling, and Waiting at the Station, but this ballroom-infused work proves Tharp’s ability to imbue any genre of dance with her own light. According to Tharp, when Frank Sinatra came to see Nine Sinatra Songs, he told her that he “cried the whole time…because I’ve always wanted to dance.” And it’s clear to see why, for she approaches these well-known classics with a skilled, familiar hand, giving them new life while honoring and recognizing Sinatra’s impact on American culture.
From its first glamorous lilt, Nine Sinatra Songs lets us melt into a late-night hour where all seems so simple. In “Softly as I Leave You”, it’s a summer evening’s sweet breath that encircles Angelica Generosa and Dylan Wald as they dance as if upon a soft-spun cloud. Through silken, swirling lifts and effortless elegance, the pure beauty of their elation is enchanting. How can you not swoon at their self-content? At the careful fold of an arm, or the flurry of an ending that they nail with nonchalant ease? In the wake of brilliant debuts in Roméo et Juliette, it's impossible not to grin foolishly at the sight of these two moving together without a care in the world.
Nine Sinatra Songs often feels like intruding on a private moment not meant to be seen by our eyes, as in the seductive drama of Sarah-Gabrielle Ryan and Kyle Davis in “Strangers in the Night”, or Lily Wills and Mark Cuddihee’s “One More For My Baby(And One More For The Road)” full of sultry haze, wild maneuvers, and a familiarity that allows them to climb and fall all over each other in their late night stupor.
Madison Rayn Abeo and Ryan Cardea’s humorous “Somethin’ Stupid” duet is an endearing encounter of innocence and perfect imperfection. In “All the Way” Elizabeth Murphy returns to the stage in a wildly elegant partnership with Luther DeMyer, reminding us that her ethereal grace blossoms in any style and how dearly her serenity has been missed. Perhaps one of the greatest joys of the night: watching Juliet Prine and Noah Martzall have the time of their lives in Tharp’s flamenco-flavored “Forget Domani”. Amid flouncing ruffles, light-hearted head bobbles, and pure enthusiasm, they sparkle with such charm that I think we could dwell there all night in life's simple joys.
Of the seven pas de deuxs, it is the last one that has caused the most controversial discussion of what should be presented upon the stage. “That’s Life” depicts, as Twyla Tharp puts it, “one of the most difficult things in relationships… arguments”. This brutal push and shove of temperament infamously prompted Mark Morris to walk out of a performance of Nine Sinatra Songs in 1984 shouting: “No more rape!” But, despite some raised questions on opening night, one could not help but be startled by the equal strength which filled Jonathan Batista and Clara Ruf Maldonado’s cat and mouse duet. Two moments in particular got the audience ready to leap from their seats in surprised delight: Batista yanking Maldonado to her feet by degrees to Sinatra’s: “pick myself/ up and get/ back in the race”, and the nearly-can’t-get-the-suit-jacket-on bit as Maldonado’s already hurling herself across the stage for Batista to catch her.
The beautiful thing about Nine Sinatra Songs is that when all seven couples fill the stage for one last gorgeous reprise of “My Way”, they’re all still in their own swirling world, but we know them somehow after seeing them dance to their song, and the feeling is one of deep satisfaction. Sinatra’s sultry “And now, the time has come and so I face the final curtain…” has never sounded as sentimental as at the end of a beautiful night in McCaw Hall. The overwhelming gratitude was palpable, for the night’s full swell of emotions lands at a place of content that seems to reflect all that we’ve been lucky enough to witness this season. As Peter Boal put it, “how precious this all is" to get to experience such wonder together. In the final days of Pacific Northwest Ballet's 52nd season, they're reveling in the joy of the present moment, go join them!
Pacific Northwest Ballet’s “Director’s Choice” runs through June 8th, and streams June 12-16th. See you at the ballet!