“Paris”
Company XIV
Irondale Theatre
Brooklyn, NY
October 15, 2016
“Land Bridge”
Helen Simoneau Danse
Gelsey Kirkland Arts Center
Brooklyn, NY
October 14, 2016
by Leigh Witchel
copyright © 2016 by Leigh Witchel
The reasons to fall for Austin McCormick’s spectacles of crystal, papier-maché and greasepaint hit you the moment you walk into the hall of the Irondale Theatre. Inside a dilapidated church gymnasium, he had installed draperies, prosceniums and massive chandeliers. The juxta-position of glamour plastered on decrepitude was gagworthy – right out of Peter Brook’s and Jean-Jacques Beineix’ playbooks. But you don’t have to love “Paris” for its looks alone.
Jacob Karr and Todd Hanebrink in “Paris.” Photo by Mark Shelby Perry.
Charlotte Bydwell was our emcee, a half-man half-woman who, depending on which profile you saw, was either Zeus, king of the gods, or Fifi, his tuba-playing assistant. At the end of the first act she blatted out the first few notes of the overture to Act 2 of “Swan Lake.” It was miserable enough that she called an intermission.
The musical selections echoed the company’s aesthetic, a mash-up of high and popular art. The three competing goddesses sang arias by Handel and songs by Adele. McCormick time-traveled with abandon; he loves period but didn’t feel constrained by fidelity. If the cabaret was from Paris in the 1870s, Paris the shepherd was decked out in a brocaded coat from the previous century and a codpiece bejeweled with rubies.
Choreography rarely feels like the centerpiece of a gilt-laden Company XIV experience, but “Paris” was solid as a dance work. Amidst high kicks, the corps did baroque-flavored steps. Paris was played by Jakob Karr, a runner-up on “So You Think You Can Dance,” who stood out in the chorus of last year’s production of “Cinderella.” He easily did extensions and splits. When Zeus sent Mercury (tall, buff Todd Hanebrink) to inflame Paris’ lust, the two danced an adagio with Hanebrink tossing Karr into gutsy aerial work.
Company XIV’s androgyny is comparably easy to swallow; it’s outfit-swapping rather than redefinition. Men wore skirts, women wore pants; Hanebrink performed the man’s part in the adagio, Karr the woman’s. The transposition was still provocative, but the idea of two distinct genders and roles remained.
For all the naughtiness in the first act, what felt missing was a sharp edge. This may be our times as much as the show. The culture wars aren’t over, but several battles have been won. McCormick’s transgressions and variations have gained him a mainstream audience and commissions at The Metropolitan Opera. But if homosexuality has gone mainstream, 2016 still feels like Weimar Germany – we have been dancing on the edge of a volcano. Where were the shadows?
We sensed them in Act 2 with the arrival of the goddesses. Marcy Richardson’s tremendous turn as Athena was a sequel to her pole-dancing soprano from “Cinderella” last season. She sang a French aria while aloft spinning or upended, and “Goddess” by Banks as a threat to Paris. Juno arrived, resplendent in black silk, thigh high boots and panniers, portrayed by countertenor Randall Scotting. Like the others, Scotting wasn’t actually androgynous; he was a man in makeup. Given his looks, there were few complaints. Towering in heels with heavy curls and a square jaw, Scotting started out as Joan Sutherland with agile coloratura leaps through a Handel aria. After a fan dance stripping to Leonard Cohen’s “I’m Your Man,” he wound up more like Gypsy Rose Lee as played by Jeff Stryker. Paris didn’t know whether to be terrified or turned on.
The real costs of this contest – the Trojan War – never came center stage, but lingered at the edges. At the opening of Act 3, Zeus made a rueful aside about the years of death and destruction that would arise from this contest. Venus (Storm Marrero) belted out soulful versions of Bjork and Daughter and promised Helen (a stunningly beautiful Leah Helle) to Paris for the apple. Bydwell dropped her comic accent entirely and warned Paris. “She offers you only the love of a mortal woman. She’ll split your heart apart.” This might not be Bertolt Brecht but Jeff Takac’s book was tight and coherent.
You would expect the production values to be a drag queen’s wet dream, and they were. Everything looked like a million bucks. Venus crooned to Paris in a dim light picked through with a gentle, multicolored rainfall of sparkles. Athena stripped from a breastplate to a dress down to a bustier. All she needed was a double wig reveal, and she would have been second runner-up on RuPaul’s Drag Race.
The level of multi-talent was high. After singing, and without putting on extra clothing, Scotting played the cello during the intermission. The versatility of the group shouldn't surprise, but it does. If Scotting had offered to fix my plumbing, I would have taken him up on it. Company XIV feels like an escape hatch for classically trained artists who need to get a little naughty.
Judging “Paris” as a great night out, it was a slam dunk: a continuously entertaining mix of culture and pop. It’s the perfect elegantly dirty date to have with someone whose bodice you want to rip.
*
Quebec-born choreo- grapher Helen Simoneau's “Land Bridge” looked at “heritage, assimilation and identity . . . through the lens of caribou.” That's a lot of ruminating to lay atop a dance about ruminants. What did come through was the theme of tenuous support.
The music, by Nathalie Joachim, began by thudding and breathing in the dark house. A line of dancers in simple tops and tights or shorts of iridescent velvet painstakingly entered in a slow, bending march. The steps shaped a migratory journey including a side to side march with hands reaching out to explore unknown space. At the most literal point the cast aped caribou when they formed antlers atop their heads with their hands.
The solos and duets echoed the pack behavior and social rituals of the herd. Burr Johnson crashed into Nik Owens and the two men braced one another at the shoulders like sparring bucks. They circled, still supporting one another's weight. Owens picked up Johnson and swung him, then sprang on his back like a totemic familiar. A section for Jasmine Hearn and Connie Shiau began where one leaned in as if it were uncertain whether she would kiss or sniff the other. Johnson, the tallest in the cast by several inches, crashed to the floor, but then rose up to abruptly tower over the others.
Towards the end, two women embraced yet stayed at arms’ length on the floor while another two linked arms, advancing slowly. Hannah Darrah came to each of the others on a diagonal and embraced them, dropping them to the floor to close the journey and plunge the stage into night.
There would have been a good 20 minute dance in “Land Bridge.” The problem was it was 65 minutes, with too little material extended by lengthy repetition. When Simoneau varied the structure “Land Bridge” moved by at a clip. A quartet for women to a song in French began with stalking side to side, then a trio broke off to roll and tumble while a single woman continued. But Simoneau used one choreographic structure repeatedly: a unison phrase broken by a single dancer, then repeated in canon by the others. This happened enough to make the work feel as exhausting as someone who talks with the same sentence structure throughout a conversation.
Steven Cook was credited with dramaturgy. In tandem with Simoneau, part of his job should have been to either fill out the work or cut it down. Unfortunately, neither happened.
copyright © 2016 by Leigh Witchel
Second: Jacob Karr, Randall Scotting and Company XIV in “Paris.” Photo by Mark Shelby Perry.
Third: Jacob Karr and Leah Helle in “Paris.” Photo by Mark Shelby Perry.
Fourth: Helen Simoneau Danse in “Land Bridge.” Photo by Hope Davis.