Merce Cunningham Dance Company.

City Center Theater March 7-19, 1995 Reviewed by Christian Holder

Merce Cunningham makes his entrance in MinEvent. He scrutinizes his audience with the faintest glimmer of an ironic smile. What goes on inside that fertile brain of his? His work (expanded nowadays by his use of LifeForms software) has the personal stamp of genius. His aesthetic is an acquired taste, yet it is brilliant.

The new Ground Level Overlay begins with dancers Thomas Caley and Jeannie Steele intertwined on the floor in front of Leonardo Drew's gilded ropes, wires, and mangled objects. Bathed in Aaron Copp's intimate lighting, Caley and Steele begin their exploration of gravity. They are joined by other dancers who pair up, dance alone, then in groups, until the curtain descends on what has developed into a manic New Age mating ritual.

Stimulating the senses further is the majestic, recorded accompaniment, by Stuart Dempster, of reverberating trombones augmented by live musicians, including some who blow through conch shells from the back of the auditorium.

The 1993 Doubletoss presents evocative visual images. Movement phrases are displayed in counterpoint. So are Suzanne Gallo's costumes. The dancers in unitards worn under flowing, black fishnet shapes are juxtaposed against those who wear everyday rehearsal and street gear. Like symbolist poetry, the abstract choreography serves to pique the imagination. A single statement unleashes a universe of associations.

Such was the case with another 1993 work, CRWDSPCR. A voluptuous female figure, Banu Ogan, crossing the stage as if hanging in dense space can be appreciated merely for her exquisite line, but that line also conjures up poignant human inferences.

Inventions, choreographed in 1989, begins with two groups of dancers. Their physical theme evolves from the changing shape of attitude front and side, into springs and turns in the air. An intricate passage of arm movements gives way to a tender, inquisitive duet in which the woman's weight is shifted by her partner as she balances on one leg. John Cage's sparse score startles the viewer into new realms of consciousness.

Cunningham's dry wit is evident in MinEvent, a dance made up of sections from other repertoire works, and presented before a vibrant Robert Rauschenberg painting. We see parodies of social dances. A woman is escorted along the backs of her fellow dancers. There are limitless changes of direction, and isolations for the dancers' hips and shoulders. Add to this Cunningham's enigmatic presence, and some profoundly still tableaux, and you have a dance work ever surprising, ever entertaining.

Sounddance (1974) brings the dancers hurtling through a vent in Mark Lancaster's grungy rococo drapes and swags. The movement is relentless in its harsh brilliance. The decibel level of David Tudor's merciless score sends a few spectators racing for the exit door.

In Enter (1992) one is struck by the patrician elegance of Michael Cole; the dedicated focus of Robert Swinston; the slicing of Cunningham's arms through the air; the delicate balancing of a woman whose only support is the head of her partner as he kneels or lunges beneath her. This work is an hour long, but its richness makes the time fly.

The 1959 Rune has not been performed since 1983. There is a catalog of complex movements here: sustained knee hinges, darting triplets, and slides to the floor.

Throughout the season the dancers were, without exception, exemplary. Because they are all articulate athletes, it is perhaps unfair to single out any one of them. However, in Frederic Gafner we have the privilege of witnessing a truly blessed artist at work. With a technique of astonishing clarity, and a demeanor at once noble and deferential, here is a dancer with a great future ahead of him. Bravo.

The season also included performances of Breakers (1994) and Beach Birds (1991).