Rehearsals for the Real Thing Jay Rogoff (bio) As we crept toward that post-pandemic day when we could watch dancing bodies, in three-dimensional glory, perform before our eyes (cue the mysterious second movement of Robert Schumann's piano quintet, which Mark Morris used for V, his 2001 assertion of life's triumph over darkness), dance on video continued to fill some of the gap, reminding us what we were missing. For more than a year, I have focused on new dances devised during the pandemic, some of which will hold the stage when we once again gather in theaters, others revealing themselves immediately as creatures of necessity—reminders that dancers need to dance, choreographers need to arrange bodies, and audiences, however intrigued by the novel challenges of video and Zoom dance, crave the real thing. In [End Page 618] this final discussion of pandemic works, Mark Morris, the Pennsylvania Ballet, and the New York City Ballet offer three approaches: respectively, a live online performance, recorded simulacra of live performance, and an elegant film that doesn't pretend to be live dance but uses its own means to suggest that excitement. In May, the Mark Morris Dance Group streamed four works live from Brooklyn's BRIC House, including a world premiere, Tempus Perfectum. The title can mean "perfect," "exquisite," "excellent," or "completed time," but which does Morris intend? That his dancers perform in perfect time to the music, Brahms's Sixteen Waltzes. Op. 39? (They do.) That as the pandemic ends, his new work celebrates the end of a dreary time? (It does.) In any event, the performers in this concert all pointedly wear Covid masks as talismans against the plague—even Laurel Lynch in Three Preludes, a 1992 dance to Gershwin, and Brandon Randolph in Jealousy, a 1985 work to Handel, mask up, although both works are solos. Masks have evolved from symptoms into symbols, Morris knows, commemorating the imperfect time we hope we have now completed. By obscuring the dancers' facial expressions, they also force our focus onto their bodies and limbs, where Morris always wants us to look. The four dancers in Tempus Perfectum explore varieties of movement to the brief Brahms piano waltzes, played by Colin Fowler, MMDG's music director. Their black masks mark solidarity as well as precaution. They greet us by running at the camera, then peeling off at the last second, before Laurel Lynch, in a red dress (the costumes are uncredited), launches into the lovely and lilting first waltz. She skips with huge swoops of her legs in rond de jambe. Karlie Budge, in a light blue dress, performs sudden crunches and lunges during the second waltz, then lilts delicately left and right. Noah Vinson, in a blue top and black slacks, turns Budge's lilts into more deliberate rocking before turning with smooth grace. The turns grow more violent when Dallas McMurray solos, in a green top with black slacks, then yield to little leaps and off-balance skitters. After meeting the full cast, we expect them to partner up—these are waltzes, after all—especially when Budge returns to join McMurray. But Morris has made a career of overturning expectations, and as Budge floats up and back, McMurray exits. In fact, Tempus Perfectum never grants the thing time has perfectly trained us to anticipate, a man and a woman waltzing together. Instead, both men join Budge for a kind of syncopated waltz fugue, with silly strutting, heads thrown dramatically back, and grand swings of the arms. Lynch has another solo with large arm extensions, elegant sweeps and turns, and abrupt drops into steely, right-angled pliés, her arms shooting out to the sides. When the first duet arrives, it's for the two men; they wrap their arms around each other, mirroring steps, and taking each onto the other's hip. A women's duet then provides symmetry, Lynch dancing with Budge, weaving in and out of unison, Budge now sinking into plié while Lynch thrusts out her limbs. [End Page 619] Two more solos allude to folkdance, McMurray blending gaiety with severity, Lynch following emphatic leg thrusts with lovely arabesques. A Slavic-looking duet for the...
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