Twyla Tharp: Oppositions.

When Twyla Tharp's In the Upper Room was performed in a theater, dancers materialized out of the upstage darkness, suspended in Jennifer Tipton's wondrous ribbons of slanted light, blatant overhead spots, or fierce horizontal beams. With each change the space was perceptibly redefined. It could not have been an easy task for the producers of Dance in America to take Tipton's extraordinary vision, which altered stage depth in ways that few lighting designers have done, and translate it to the television screen for their program, "Twyla Tharp: Oppositions" (PBS, Wednesday, April 24, 10:00 P.M. EDT). Viewers who have seen the work live will take more than a moment to adjust to In the Upper Room on TV. Viewers seeing the dance for the first time may find the dense activity of the opening sequence trying. My advice to both groups: Stay with it.

The attempt to re-create the original lighting effects on the small screen along with changes in the original costuming sometimes obscures the dancing. It must be assumed that the original striped black-and-white costumes, which were striking onstage, did not work on-screen. The TV substitutes, silky white pants with overly bloused tops, are distracting. After the dancers pare down to red leotards or sweats, they are easier to see. Ultimately, what distinguishes this work and engages the viewer is the sheer momentum of the dancing, the choreographic invention and the richness of the Philip Glass score. The pace is relentless but exhilarating, for Tharp's use of speed indicates power and energy rather than violence. The intensity of the dance leaves the audience, as well as the dancers, quite breathless.

In the Upper Room demands sixteen dancers of prodigious technical skill and versatility. Tharp's are drawn from the worlds of ballet and modern dance: Jamie Bishton, Shawn Black, Allison Brown, Stacy Caddell, Daniel Chait, Fabrice Herrault, Kevin Irving, Petter Jacobsson, Jodi Melnick, Julie Michael, Amy O'Brien, Daniel Otovrel, Victoria Pasquale, Geoffrey Rhue, Keith Roberts, and Shawn Stevens. Some dance in red pointe shoes, some in white sneakers, but all are unified in their brilliant performance of Tharp's dynamically charged vocabulary, which draws on imagery as varied as ballet and the martial arts. Tharp is able to find common territory in disparate styles. The "modern" dancers luxuriate in wide Second Position plies, shifting side to side, their hips leading. Two "ballet" women traversing the space at breakneck speed alter that wide Second by placing one foot on pointe. So much of the dance emphasizes open positions: traveling in wide Seconds and releves in Second and Fourth positions. The dancers propel themselves through her technical intricacies with passion and focus, but not without humor. In the Upper Room is a stunning, daring, gorgeous dance.

The more effective sections onscreen are those with fewer dancers, where the camera favors a diagonal angle. In one of these shots, for three men and three women, the dancers interrupt their linear traveling by congealing into two tight rows. The men then partner the women as a unit from behind, tilting them off balance, suspending or carrying them. By tripling the "partner" image, the mechanics of what they are doing is magically camouflaged. A rigorous, athletic trio for three men shot close up also translates energetically. Unfortunately, facial close-ups are not selected in a particularly democratic manner. Some dancers, like Bishton, who performed in the original 1985 production, are seen full face often, others not at all. The least successful moments are the opening and closing of the dance when the camera, dead-on center, draws back so it can capture all the performers.

"Twyla Tharp: Oppositions" commences with Tharp doing what she likes to do best: dancing and talking about dancing. She performs a seminal sequence of the work that evolved, like most of her choreography, out of her daily routine of improvising in the studio. Tharp's dancing still has the articulation of a twenty-year-old but the refinement of someone fifty. In short, she looks terrific.

When she explains her process of creating a dance, and this one in particular, she faces the camera directly. She is concise and informative, all her wit and intelligence intact. But she goes over the top in what looks like a staged rehearsal (thankfully brief) that shows her purportedly teaching her dancers the phrase that has evolved from her improvisation. Her gratuitous instructions, obviously designed to inform the television audience, make the dancers look like nincompoops rather than the accomplished artists they show themselves to be when they actually dance.

The minor flaws in "Twyla Tharp: Oppositions" are the inevitable result of translating an intense theatrical vision to television. This may not be the definitive In the Upper Room, but at least the work is documented, along with a major choreographer discussing her process. Now, will someone explain the program's title? Why Oppositions?