Michael Clarke Redux

If there is a John Paul Gaultier of the dance world, his name is Michael Clark. Stylish and badass, the 46-year-old Scott has made the rounds choreographing masterpieces onstage, as well as in a dramatic soap opera offstage.

After training at the Royal Ballet and being touted on the 1980s dance scene, Clark was swept away by a nasty little habit known as heroin addiction. Since kicking it, he's set off to reclaim his creative edge and made his American re-debut on June 4th at the Rose Theater in New York City.

The anticipation in the audience pre-show mirrored a strange duality of the paparazzi age: Show-goers seemed equally interested in the possibility that Clark would a) fail miserably like many post-glory boat-rockers or b) climb to new heights with a fresh, more mature perspective. Any schaudenfreude was mostly squashed: Clarke’s work on program A was captivating and unique. A win for the boy back in town.

The evening consisted of two U.S premiers under the title of Stravinsky Project: OO, the music a deluge of punk anthems and a surprising Barbara Streisand ballad, was first, followed by O, Clark’s rendition of Apollo to Stravinsky’s landmark score. Throughout both, Clark’s interest in a ballet bottom and modern top played out in classical ballet steps like echapes and chennes, juxtaposed with angular, jutting, tilting, twirling arms and torsos. In O, this duality was further echoed by the trappings: a black stage was lined in white labyrinth patterns and the dancers were outfitted for much of it in variations of stark unitards with a black back and tan front—a dancer split both by different styles on top and bottom, plus front to back with a thin line of light and dark.
The sleek costume also established a trippy visual effect of halves—legs and arms disappearing, or appearing in odd ways as the two dimensional robot dancers scooped and staggered: When the dancers first slid on to the stage, stepping slowly into an attitude, they then curled their backs towards their outstretched toe like a piece of plastic being burned by the sun, furling backwards into an inside-out standing circle. The tan of the bodysuit made half of the body disappear—Jim Morrison reality.

Throughout the challenging work filled with difficult extensions and yoga- handstands of all sorts, Clark also went against the grain in a gentler way: Although the music was blaring and frantic at times (Sex Pistols and Iggy Pop are the anthems of angst), much of the movement was languid—he is no conformist, even to the music’s whims. The sharp upper body and flexible legs made the dancers look like odd dolls, robotic and inviting at the same time, with a 2-D quality highlighted by the sleek outfits.

Third in the line up of O was Streisand’s rendition of the melancholy Sondheim tune, “Send in the Clowns,” a tongue and cheek choice paired with the only naked work of the evening (listed on the program, of course). Often, when choreography is shown without clothing, one has to wonder—why? Does this piece benefit from nudity, or is merely shock value? Here, the slow undulations were enhanced by the nudity (well half really- feather and fur boas were held over genitalia in a burlesque type way that was almost asexual). And if perhaps one ever got too serious, then Streisand’s crooning in the back would pop in for ironic relief.

In the last section to "Submission" by the Sex Pistols, more anger and passion came to the surface, as popping knees, splicing arms and dervish twirling filled the stage and Clark’s investigation of the extreme took center stage. Like very young children who are fascinated with their own abilities and exploring just how far each bone can move, steps were dissected until a simple knee bend was broken into four movements—a twisted technician’s parade.

After the blaring opening (appreciated by the younger of the crowd, but disdained—vocally—by some of the older patrons), O seemed tame, and not quite as exciting, if still well done. In Clark’s retelling, Apollo is trapped in a giant, clear jewel box that later opens to become a mirror of doors. Classical floor patterns and port de bras are showcased here, still partnered with odd, forceful upper body contortions, but less so than his first piece. A lovely pas de deux between Terpsichore and Apollo was the highlight—soft feminity and classical masculine strength combined gently to an effect striking in its repose against the earlier fire.

The program in its entirety may not have seemed thrilling to those old enough to have seen shows at the Judson Church or impromptu performances at Studio 54. But for those of us who missed our chance to meet Leigh Bowery, Clark’s second coming is welcome in its force—a middle finger clearly sticking up in front of a face that is smiling sweetly.