© Kristen Lodoen 'Against All Odds' reviews 'Acapelorus' reviews 'Caravaggio Meets Hopper' reviews Capucilli in reviews recent Buglisi Dance reviews more Elizabeth McPherson reviews Discuss this review (Open for at least 6 months)

The opening dance “Against All Odds (Quand Meme),” has the feel of a silent movie with the dramatic gestures and facial expressions of Terese Capucilli conveyed with extreme exaggeration in Dyonesian outbursts through which one sees shades of the Martha Graham lineage. Jacqulyn Buglisi’s choreography was inspired by the actress Sarah Bernhardt who, according to the program notes, could illuminate diverse roles “with a simple gesture, trifling inflection, a look.” Changes in mood provide a comedic element as Capucilli abruptly moves from despair to contemplation, matched by quick directional shifts and turns. Capucilli’s dancing exudes masterful control. The set design by Jack Mehler of a richly draped curtain adds significantly to the unfolding drama.

“Sand” inspired by “the beauty of the desert and the soil of the earth” conveys the joy of pure dancing. The supple, lyrical movements fade one into the next seamlessly, much like the flow of the Philip Glass music that is paired with the dance. In the frequent lifts, the women appear weightless, defying gravity, so deftly are the moves choreographed and performed. The women also seem primary as if the men were there for them as opposed to with them. The sumptuous dresses for the women, designed by A. Christine Giannini, swirl and sway extending the reach of the movement.

“Acapelorus (A Walrus Tale)” overflows with different media: dance, music (live string quartet, vocalist, and recorded sections), poetry by Lewis Carroll and Gregory Orr, and fine art the artist Michael Arthur renders the projected backdrop image as the dance progresses. Although each element was fascinating, the juxtaposition of all of them was too much to take in fully in one viewing, a sensory overload. Watching the artist render his scene was mesmerizing, yet the choreography also demanded one’s full attention, as did the narration and connecting the narration to the choreography. Dancers Junichi Fukuda, Marie Zvosec, and Andrea Miller particularly stood out for their intensity and strength of purpose. Child narrator Olive Numeroff spoke with fine articulation and poise.
 

The final dance “Carravagio Meets Hopper” has a film noir quality to it, but disjointed, as if one landed on the set of a movie in which the pieces had been torn apart and put back together but not exactly in the correct order. There is a Hopper-esque loneliness portrayed, particularly in the way the women appear constant, but the men leave and return. The pieces of window blinds worn over the dancers’ faces during parts of the dance add to the sense of separation—the individual looking out at the rest of the world partially obscured. However, the Carravagio influence is harder to detect, perhaps in part because the costumes and chairs place the dance in the period of Hopper, not Carravagio. Robert La Fosse and Martine Van Hamel danced as guest artists in this piece, their depth of experience along with that of Capucilli and Christine Dakin adding dimension and dramatic intensity to the dance. Van Hamel drew my attention over and over for the honesty and sincerity of her movement. It was enlightening to see a range of ages on stage, illustrating that different ages have their own strengths to bring to the performance arena.