Fall for Dance; Program 1

Dance, theater and food are my holy trinity of things for which I'll shell out money...even though sky-rocketing prices and my light pockets make me do so begrudgingly sometimes. Regardless, I find a memorable, thoughtful, knock-my-ass-off-the-seat night worth way more than a new pair of shoes (though when I'm rich I'll have both). But that's why I—and every other artist in the city—run wildly to the box office or online page to try and get tickets to Fall for Dance, a fantastic New York dance festival held...well...every fall. While there are festivals all over the place, and you can get me to go to pretty much anything for $10 dollars, the quality and breadth of companies, artists and genres is what makes these shows a true steal.

Unfortunately everyone in the arts world knows it—and tickets are hard to come by. This year I was at least able to snag seats to one program, and every diverse minute made me wish I could see all the rest, too.

But since regret isn't helpful, I sat back and tried to digest every bit I did get for my ten bucks. First up was the slamming powerhouse Ballet Jazz de Montreal, now known as [bjm_danse]. When I was training at Ballet Florida as a teenager, one of my jazz teachers was a former dancer with this company: She was all legs, ridiculously strong and sassy. I found out this was a pretty good estimation of the company as a whole—a fierce, jazzy group full of unique flavors with a similar vibe as Hubbard Street Dance Chicago (a high compliment in my mind). The talented troupe performed Les Chambres des Jacques, a two-year-old piece by innovator Aszure Barton, set to a huge range of music including Antonio Vivaldi and Alberto Iglesias. It fit neatly into the jazz/contemporary category with an edge of animalistic quirkiness in a more conventional way than I've seen Barton's work be. As a row of dancers stood in the back in pedestrian-on-crack poses with angular arms and twitchy leg, one dancer took a downstage spotlight to writhe, wiggle and essentially krump. As the others joined in, Barton weaved regular gestures between whacked-out versions of the same moments, full on dance explosions and impressive floor work with Russian-like heel walks done in a squatted position. On the whole, the piece is entertaining and energetic, but I also found it to be a typical offering versus Barton's more intriguing challenges.

With a great stroke of programming, Rush by Christopher Wheeldon was next, taking the frantic tone down to tranquil. Oregon Ballet Theater's delightful Alison Roper danced with knightly Artur Sultanov with delicacy and humility. A breather for the audience, the piece's classical undertones and subdued but lovely lifts stood to affirm ballet's presence on the Festival's increasingly contemporary roster.

Swirling the audience across the world (one of my favorite aspects of the festival which continues to include many traditional, ethnic varieties and styles of dance), Odissi: PRAVAHA was then performed by mother and daughter, Madhavi and Arushi Mudgal. Their obvious family connection made the piece mesmerizing in it's offering nature: Yes, they danced for us, the audience, but an offering pyre at the front of the stage also made it clear there were greater recipients in mind, too. This is always the case with spiritually based Indian dance and I find this important aspect one of the most fulfilling; true rapture shone on the dancers' faces as they twirled into exaggerated poses, rhythmic foot stomps and indicative face/eye and hand sequences. The accompanying sitar and singers added extra spice of exotic lands.

Jane Dudley's Harmonica Breakdown was another ritual piece of a far different genre. To the sounds of banjos and harmonicas, Sheron Wray flew around the stage in a long blue dress, her arms reaching toward the heavens. Short and brief, the interlude wasn't startling in the moment, but left a lingering trace of humility and thanks after swan like arm movements and skyward glances.

For dessert, the programming left the best for last, well knowing that once the audience devoured Hofesh Shechter's Uprising they would neither want more, nor be able to handle anything else. Point being...I was left panting, even salivating, for seven of the hottest and strongest male dancers I have ever seen command attention onstage. It was if Fight Club had been remade into a dance-only event. Aggressive and daring, humongous jumps, flying-into-floor work and wrestling with each other, the guys made machisimo and testosterone something I actually wanted to watch. Their palpable commitment to just those twenty minutes or so—and each other—was a comraderie I've never seen before.

Once, in a dance class I took from master teacher David Marquez, he mentioned a strange difference when he separated groups into men and women: Women seemed to compete with each other, even just in a dance class, while the men seemed to cheer each other on through their rousing energy. In class, I wasn't sure if it all was true. But onstage, I could see the latter part in clear light. One particularly emotional moment was one I'd seen many times while watching boys play on a field: After an exhausting group sequence, lunging and flinging themselves, the dancers met in a circle in the back of the stage. Each one patted the next on the back...until it rapidly deteriorated into a full-on slapfest, the way that all boys' harmless rumbles start. To see the manly, or actually boyish, energy build into a good-attitude explosion was incredible.

While I'd never seen the newly formed Hofesh Schechter company perform, or even heard of its namesake founder, FfD did what it intended: It made me fall in love with a new artist, one I'm sure to follow and patronize again. And all just for 10 bucks. Amen.

Fall for Dance
Rating: Excellent
New York City Center