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Mark Morris’ Mozart Dances
From Tepid to Terrific
by Cyrus Khambatta
The evening, a tribute to Mozart originally performed as part of The Lincoln Center Mostly Mozart Festival and entitled Mozart Dances, was broken into three parts, Eleven, Double and Twenty-seven with the Seattle Symphony led by British conductor Stefan Asbury. A massive backdrop the size of the entire Paramount theater was created by British painter Howard Hodgkin. It looked like an oversized abstract painting using a 100-foot tall paint brush to swab three thin dabs of black paint on a canvas.
The first of the three, Eleven, set to Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 11 in F Major (K. 413), I must say was quite awful. I am not sure exactly what was going on backstage just before the curtain opened but the opening unison for all the company’s men was so out-of-unison it made me nervous. Then within two minutes of dancing, Lauren Grant, a stout and assured-seeming dancer for the most part, slipped and fell in her solo. Throughout most of the piece, the dancers seemed so unsteady, it was unnerving. Although I would like not to have to say it, I thought the choreography was a bit simplistic and seemed not thoroughly assembled; perhaps it was due to the rest of the unsteadiness present on stage that it appeared so. I must admit I thought, “Oh no, this is going to be a long evening.” For me the one redeeming quality was the costumes: largely transparent and seamed black dresses over black bras and shorts. Although the men started out this sequence, it focused mostly on the women, and their costumes, by Martin Pakledinaz, were the highlight.
So now having dispensed with the unpleasant aspects of the show (which were in the minority), the remaining two, Double and Twenty-seven, were quite excellent and enjoyable. It was in these two that Morris surprises and delights, making sophisticated use of musicality with quick, contrapuntal steps bouncing off Mozart’s rhythm with verve. Between vivacious passages of movement, a combination of ballet, Morris’ signature movement and folkloric dance inspired riffs, Morris leaves the stage empty, creating wonderfully weighted moments in which the tension between the dance and Mozart’s more apollonian passages left me holding my breath in anticipation.
In Double, set to Mozart’s Sonata in D Major for Two Pianos (K. 448), Morris uses a rather ingenious device; a very simple enclosed circle of male dancers, both delicate and masculine, who duck under the last and penultimate dancer’s raised arms, then enclose and realign the circle over and over. For this, Hodgkin’s second art work, which includes a dab of red for the first time amongst the black, is displayed. With deliberate acuity, the male dancers perform a seemingly ritualistic set of steps and bows, an ode to Morris’ famed use of folkloric dance that today seems reconstituted in this work as a playful boy’s game. The combination of gentility and spatial precision and placement of the dancers and the circle accumulate an underlying sense of pathos. Then Morris carefully disassembles the circle, repeating the pattern as one dancer exits per cycle, finally leaving a dancer alone on stage in a triumphant but lonely stance. He stands there as if waiting for fame and fortune, and again Morris deliberately makes us wait before the other dancers come rushing in. It is quite exhilarating and masterfully timed. The entire piece is filled with densely layered, repeating spatial patterns, abrupt changes of direction or level, quirky movements and touching moments, such as the unexpected boy-like leap of one male dancer into another’s arms, straddling and hugging him like a little boy. The entire audience spontaneously burst into a reminiscent chuckle. There were many beautiful entrances, such as the feet-first entrance of the women in long pink tutus towards the end of the work that looked like a colorful sea anemone flowing in the water. Only once they were placed upright on their feet were they recognizable as dancers.
In the last piece of the evening, Twenty-seven, set to Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 27 in B-flat major (K. 595), Morris opted for a decidedly playful atmosphere that was buoyant and charming while remaining genuine and real. Donning white costumes and leaving the black and grays behind, the pieces’ lighter tone, and that of the music, bring us from the pathos and angst of the former section into a feel-good all-out dancing mood. Here we see more of Morris’ fascination with folkloric dance and happy endings, and it is a joy to watch and listen as both he and Mozart give us hope. I know I felt better after a rough day.
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