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We could die happy now. Seattlest went to Pacific Northwest Ballet’s “Valentine” performance last Friday. We wish we’d gone earlier, so we could tell you about it in time for you to go as well, since Sunday was the last performance. Ostensibly, we purchased the tickets because Valentine was billed as a more contemporary collection of dances from PNB, and we’re not much for the usual ballet stuff with the tutus and the tiaras and the traditional classical scores. We were most excited for a collection of duets choreographed by one of our favorite modern dancers, Twyla Tharp, set to a variety of Frank Sinatra songs. Good, solid romantic stuff.
We walked away ever more impressed than we expected to be, and lifetime fans of the PNB. The first piece, Ancient Airs and Dances, was the least adventurous, and it got off to a rough start. In fact, we got the impression that the first scene simply wasn’t rehearsed enough. But after about 5 minutes, the dancers settled in and we thoroughly enjoyed choreographer Richard Tanner's reserved but whimsical style. The first dance in a performance often features the less experienced members of the ballet corps, and this appeared to be the case for Airs as well. One standout, however, was Karel Cruz, whom Seattlest thinks should be moved up the PNB ranks toute suite. He was delicious to watch: elastic yet precise simultaneously, he was much more lithe and sinewy in comparison to his stocky, stout male cohorts. And, he beamed. Others may have flashed the occasional stage smile when facing the audience, but Cruz downright glowed no matter who he was lifting or where he was facing. We were transfixed any time he was onstage.
One intermission and two $12 glasses of wine (ouch!) later (someone’s gotta pay off that $13MM debt), we settled in for the next two dances entitled Kiss and Red Angels. The world could have stopped rotating on its axis after Kiss was over and we wouldn’t have noticed.
A duet for a man and a woman choreographed by Susan Marshall, the entire dance keeps both performers suspended from the ceiling in harnesses that dangle them so their feet just barely touch the stage. Dressed in minimalist white t-shirts and jeans, the pair begin clutched together, swinging in the middle of the stage in full lip-lock. Almost instantly, you stop noticing the harnesses, as the dancers skillfully avoid making them seem foreign or out of place.
Set to eery, haunting music by Arvo Part, the dance builds beautifully, starting with a soft gentleness that morphs into an intensity familiar to those new to a relationship. The pair trade off caressing and floating with grasping and pushing. Midway through, they make impressive and heartstopping use of the harnesses, swirling around each other seemingly endlessly, only to lock back together with sudden fits of gravity that pull them back down to the groud. The sensation of nearly drowning in another person was lade bare in front of us on the stage. We sat, heart racing, mouth literally agape through the entire piece. It ended abruptly, which we decided was wise--it made no sense to drag the emotion and elation out any further when the subject was a kiss. A quick sideways glance at the financee revealed that Kiss had worked its charms on more than just the women in the crowd, as he agreed: Most. Beautiful. Thing. Ever.
Red Angels was a close second favorite, and distinctly different than Kiss. A collection of mostly duets, it had a hyperkinetic energy and chest-thumping athletic attitude. The only musical instrument accompanying the dancers was electric violin, which amped up the electricity of the piece perfectly. Christophe Maravel and Kaori Nakamura were standouts in this piece, both exhibiting mind-boggling technical prowess without stuffy ballet pretension. Nakamura was like electrified pulled taffy: she could exlpode into the air with such force, yet she lent a smooth, almost gooey quality to every motion.
Saved for the end, Twyla’s tribute to Old Blue Eyes was an enjoyably romantic, yet distant third favorite to the two pieces that came before. We were pleased to see all her usual humorous touches so often present in her choreography for modern dancers. The drunken stumbling and swooning in "One For My Baby" boasted a wonderful been-together-forever rapport between the two dancers, and had the audience laughing throughout. It was a clever, light-hearted way to end the collection of performances.
We left McCaw Hall that evening inspired, dreamy, and reinvigorated. Bravo PNB, bravo.
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