Nederlands Dans Theater.

NEDERLANDS DANS THEATER 

BROOKLYN ACADEMY OF MUSIC BROOKLYN, NY MARCH 9-14, 2004

What was in the water in Stuttgart? This quaint German city nurtured three of the most sought-after ballet makers of the 1990s: William Forsythe, John Neumeier, and Jiri Kylian, All three choreographers recently presented New York seasons, but Kylian's work juxtaposed serenity and shock

Moving in slow motion, three couples in Kylian's Last Touch created a Victorian tableau. But two thirds of the way through the piece, the genteel atmosphere ruptured when a huge crashing sound, darkness, and fire--a man burned the pages of a book--upset the six dancers, literally and figuratively. One woman was left upturned on a chair; one man opened his mouth as if screaming.

It was terrifying (my theater-mate grabbed my arm) because it was so unexpected and unlike the passive mood created by Kees Tjebbes's lighting and Walter Nobbe's decor (cloth blanketed the stage; chairs, a rocker, tables, a candle, a mirror, and a window evoked a subdued sitting room). There were, thinking back, hints that darker motives lurked beneath the surface. Notes in Dirk Haubrich's score pierced the air, and when one woman pushed a man's head down as he sat in a chair, he slithered to the floor, a slow but menacing encounter.

Kylian left he questions "why?" and "what next?" unanswered, and his underwater effect--dancers moving as if pressing through the air was hypnotic and beautiful. When the lights finally dimmed, the six dancers were in the same poses as when the piece began. It was as if the cover of a book had been opened and we were given a glimpse of another world. Then the cover closed again.

During program B, Click-Pause-Silence, also by Kylian, featured a similarly jarring moment. Three men and a woman explore the space of the stage, individually and in pairs, using their bodies like sea creatures, legs extending, arms slicing, and torsos rippling. A huge crashing sound, darkness, and a blinding light focused straight at the audience shattered the calm. The moment passed and the four resumed their explorations, eventually exiting upstage. One after the other, they walked beyond a mirror and television set that still revolved around and around, showing the same dancers during a rehearsal of the piece.

Similar to Click-Pause Silence, Claude Pascal had its inexplicable moments and props, but these were compensated for by the strength and purity of the dancers. Four "actors," who spoke and wore antiquated costumes, appeared at the beginning and in between three duets. The duets were performed by three different couples, the men in black pants and the women in black corsets and tights. The stage was sectioned off with mirrored panels that swiveled to allow the entrances and exits of dancers and actors. The actors carried props like a tennis racket, ball, and fan, and performed tasks like cleaning an eyeglass as the score squeaked an exaggerated wiping sound. Their lines--"how did I get here anyway?" and "diarrhea is a condition of extremely loose and frequent bowel movements"--were more annoying than profound. Providing contrast, the dancers' duets were dignified. The men in socks slid on the stage as if it were ice, and the partnering had an equality and equanimity. Their crystalline shapes suggested a Calder mobile, one body balanced or perched on the other.

Kylian's Symphony of Psalms (1978) and 27' 52" (2002) were gorgeous kinetic creations that evoked solidarity, trust and vulnerability through partnering and unison movement.

The treat of the company's season came in a piece by Johan Inger, a former NDT 1 dancer who now directs Cullberg Ballet. In his Walking Mad, a man crept out of the orchestra pit unto the stage wearing a bowler and trench coat. He looked around, lifted the curtain, and found a woman picking up clothes scattered on the stage. The piece unfolded to Ravel's Bolero, which Inger makes new with comedic touches, inventive steps, and unusual interactions with a wooden fence. When the dancers triumphantly tossed their jackets in the air at the musical climax, the piece could have ended, but Inger added a poignant duet accompanied by Part's Fur Alina.

Perhaps like Stuttgart several decades ago, The Hague has nurtured a crop of new talent.

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