New York City dance lovers have plenty to keep them busy these days. From star-studded performances from the Paris Opera Ballet and the Dutch National Ballet at New York City Center, to Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater’s upcoming month-long season and New York City Ballet’s Nutcracker, calendars are full.
In the midst of all this excitement, Lincoln Center’s David H. Koch Theater hosted three weeks of dance performances by The Paul Taylor Dance Company, a name a little less well-known outside of the modern dance community. Nevertheless, it’s a name worthy of attention, especially as Taylor’s most beloved work “Esplanade” celebrated 50 years since its premiere this season.
Alongside Taylor’s original works, the season featured pieces from the company’s two resident choreographers, Lauren Lovette (formerly of New York City Ballet), and Robert Battle (former dancer and artistic director of the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater), including world premieres from each. These were supplemented by works from guest choreographers Hope Boykin and Jody Sperling.
With the “Esplanade” anniversary, this year posed an exciting opportunity to examine what the Paul Taylor Dance Company has to say in today’s context.
With the “Esplanade” anniversary, this year posed an exciting opportunity to examine what the Paul Taylor Dance Company has to say in today’s context. The program on Nov. 19 — featuring “Scudorama,” “Sunset” and of course, “Esplanade” — was an ideal case study.
Equally shocking and thought-provoking, “Scudorama” was a wise choice to open the night. Choreographed during the Cuban missile crisis, its tone can be summed up by the accompanying program note, which asks, “What souls are these who run through these black haze?” The simple answer: four women in all-black unitards, two in bright yellow and one in all red, partnered by one man in purple, one in green and one curiously dressed in business attire.
The curtain opened on a backdrop of purple sky with dramatic black clouds. The man in the suit walked over bodies wrapped in brightly-patterned blankets who slowly started to unwrap themselves and crawl across the stage. In a transformative moment, the man took his coat off, and the women emerged again, this time strong and almost taunting with their movement, leading him off the stage crawling.
Known for finding his inspiration in everyday humanity, the dancers’ bodies move as bodies do, without any dance prescription.
The movement that defined the rest of the piece could only originate from the sense of distress and lack of control felt in times of global turmoil. It was angular and frantic. In solitary moments, it was unpredictable, all at once exciting and slightly jarring. It seemed their bones were jumping into positions inside them that even they themselves could not foretell. The partner-work resembled a power struggle with an intriguing lack of tenderness. In the final moments, the dancers entered one more time, shielded in their blankets, stopping in silent, covered shapes that seemed to suggest a lack of resolution — they had made a flustered attempt at life within chaos but seemed to end in the mournful state they began.
Dance today is highly technical. Almost always, even in more contemporary work, a foot is pointed, flexed or a specified in-between point uniform across the group. Control is either a coveted asset or completely given up on for a desired “uncontrolled” aesthetic. Taylor’s work is neither of these things. Known for finding his inspiration in everyday humanity, the dancers’ bodies move as bodies do, without any dance prescription. In “Scudorama,” they flop and flail as any human body would, but the movements are effortlessly enhanced by their athleticism.
While the movement of “Scudorama” was a far cry from the fluidity that often defines contemporary work today, it had a sense of familiarity. If there’s anything audiences can identify with these days, it is the whiplash that comes with political uncertainty. The unique combination of human movement and the modern dance athleticism made “Scudorama” feel unexpectedly relevant for today’s audiences.
Unfortunately, the same was not true for “Sunset.” The second work of the night was everything tender and graceful that “Scudorama” was not. Taylor was inspired by soldiers and “the sweethearts they leave behind,” according to the company’s website, and this was undoubtedly clear. The movement’s simplicity, balletic nature and grace made it pleasing to the eye. The men wore military-esque outfits and the women wore flowing white summer dresses. Gentle partnering evoked the longing of lovers separated by circumstance.
Despite all this, the subject matter felt out of place and defined by gender roles of decades past. The only moment of familiar warmth came when the classical music was replaced by distant bird calls (which could be interpreted to eventually fade into what sounded like indecipherable calls between far away people). These types of sounds have a comfort that transcend time, but they were not enough to save the piece. “Sunset” was undeniably heartwarming, but left something to be desired in the search for relevance.
After “Sunset,” it was time for the much anticipated showstopper. When the curtain opened on “Esplanade,” the theater erupted in applause that signified obvious pride (also evidenced by the 50th anniversary baseball caps available with a $5 donation by the theater entrance).
The dancers are constantly in motion — they fall and run for one another, jumping into one another’s arms when the audience least expects it.
“Esplanade” perfectly encapsulates the inspiration Taylor found in everyday life. Simple movements carry multitudes. A quote from Taylor featured in a booklet handed out to all the audience read, “I’ve come to the conclusion that the most beautiful sights to see are not in the art galleries – they are all around.”
Taylor’s other inspirations included the work of visual artists, like his contemporaries Jasper Johns and Robert Rauschenburg, and everyday sights like a girl on Houston Street running to catch a bus.
In “Esplanade,” five women and three men grace the stage in various shades of purple, pink and orange. In the beginning, the dancers walk, run and skip in perfectly choreographed passes. The middle section of the piece takes a more solemn tone, full of longing between partners. They endlessly gesture and reach for one another. It is said Taylor was inspired by “family whose members never touch.”
The third section, possibly the most exciting, is defined by the dancers’ willingness to play with gravity. The dancers are constantly in motion — they fall and run for one another, jumping into one another’s arms when the audience least expects it. They slide across the stage like baseball players. The movement reaches a satisfying ending when just one woman (presumably inspired by the young girl after the bus) is left with her starring moment on stage.
“Esplanade” is undeniably 30 minutes of truth. The subject matter: what it means to be a human in a familial unit, through bad times and good, is timeless. The piece’s inspiration may have been less specific than the two it followed that night, but the movement was so natural that the entire question of technique was forgotten, and the emotional relatability and warmth took center stage.
When it comes to the question of relevance, it’s possible that all Taylor works may not stand the test of time, but “Esplanade” does enough to keep his work among the list of modern dance’s best. More than that, it’s a reminder to the choreographers today that above all, humanity will stand the test of time.