Washington Ballet.

JANUARY 23-28, 1996 REVIEWED BY DORIS HERING

Washington Ballet is one of the most distinctive of America's regional companies. The style of dance favored by founder Mary Day and inculcated by ballet master Michael Bjerknes and artistic associate Lupe Serrano is distinguished by a cool elegance. While the dancers in this nineteen-member ensemble (bolstered by six apprentices) are responsive to the needs of the individual choreographers, they never seem to lose that cool, never take on a fragmented look. They have a definite, yet pleasing, sense of their identity.

Choo-San Goh, who was for ten years (until his death in 1986) their principal choreographic influence, knew how to exploit this quality. His Fives, to the Ernest Bloch Concerto Grosso for String Orchestra, is a swiftly moving landscape of corps and tightly patterned couples. The frequent entrances and exits are full of momentum and unexpected changes in direction; the dancers are constantly involved in small barrages of taquete steps, flicking wrists, and gymnastic byplay. And yet the choreography enables them to knit these details into a serene whole.

The choreographers selected for this Joyce Theater debut might be called "the Dutch Connection." In addition to Goh, who had been with Dutch National Ballet, there was Nils Christe, formerly of Netherlands Dance Theater, and resident choreographer Graham Lustig, who also has Dutch National Ballet credentials.

While Goh's style could be termed "art deco Balanchine," the stream of influence in Lustig's ballet is Jiri Kylian. This is by no means an artistic burden to Lustig's romantic bent nor to his penchant for complexly designed yet meaningful partnering. He uses the poignant Serenade for Tenor, Horn, and Strings, Op. 31, by Benjamin Britten for Evening, a seven-part choreographic meditation on the nuances of the close of day, and perhaps of life.

Particularly effective are the "Pastorale," with its flowing couples, and the "Elegy," in which the dancers resemble dark birds against a waning sky. Hagop Kharatian, as the dance embodiment of the tenor voice, is tantalizingly remote, even in his challenging tours en l'air.

Christe's Danses Concertantes, staged by Annegien Sneep, playfully comments on the already witty Stravinsky score. Angled elbows, intentionally flaccid feet, and other bits of seasoning are tossed in but never overemphasized. The conclusion is typical, as the dancers seem about to rush away and then suddenly turn their heads toward the audience in saucy confrontation.

Last summer, Ntsikelelo Cekwana, resident choreographer of South Africa's Playhouse Dance Company (where he is more commonly known as Boyzie Cekwana), won first prize for choreography at the Helsinki International Ballet Competition. He guested with Washington Ballet dancing the pas de deux from his prize-winning Brother Brother with John Goding. Like many young choreographers, Cekwana selected grand musical statements, Vivaldi's Gloria and Magnificat, as the framework for a pas de deux. And like the work of many young choreographers, the duet constantly reiterates the sincerity of its maker. It juxtaposes the two men, one black and the other white, in an outpouring that is at times competitive, at times mutually dependent. There are unusual technical challenges, as when Cekwana calmly lifts Goding's rigidly extended body, or when the two men spring into jumps originating in deep plie. Occasionally, generosity of spirit outshines structural discipline.

All of the ballets except Five presented by Washington Ballet were new to New York, and all were worth seeing, especially within the context of this stylishly trained company.

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At the start of Lucy Guerin's Venus Bay (DTW's bessie Schonberg Theater, February 15-18, 1996) the choreographer, Nikki Castro, and Rebecca Hilton sit scrunched together like peas in a pod. Eventually, looking like postmodern big sisters of Wynken, Blynken, and Nod, the trio gets up and travels through paces that are precariously poised between dream and nightmare. Sometimes two women get caught, silhouetted by Stan Pressner's ravishingly chromatic lighting, as if they were the zodiac's Gemini twins. (Guerin's little-black-dress costuming reveals haute couture simplicity.) At the beginning of an excursion activated by prettily pointed legs and feet and delicately twisted upper bodies, Guerin works in the background. Later, the picture reverses: fleetingly, the threesome meshes into groupings that evoke the Three Graces; an incident reminiscent of hog-tying a dogie recurs. (James Lo's radio-band-surfing score washes teasingly over the scene.) More compelling as decoration than drama, Venus Bay primarliy gains its force from Guerin's sensitive eye for visual delicacies.