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Chicago Tribune
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- Chicago Tribune
Review: ‘She Who Dared' lovingly fact-checks civil rights history
At what point does history become hagiography? Composer Jasmine Barnes and librettist Deborah D.E.E.P. Mouton tackle that question in 'She Who Dared,' Chicago Opera Theater's world-premiere retelling of the 1950s Montgomery bus boycotts—the real story, that is. It also may be making history itself: COT has advertised 'She Who Dared' as the first professionally staged opera written by two Black women. As we're reminded — or taught — more or less immediately in the opera, 15-year-old Claudette Colvin (soprano Jasmine Habersham), brainy and brash in equal measure, was actually the first arrested for refusing to give up her seat to white bus riders, in 1955. But local activists decided she was too risky to prop up as a martyr. Colvin (by then also pregnant) was too young, too untested, too dark. Instead, the boycott coalesced around Rosa Parks (soprano Jacqueline Echols), a light-skinned seamstress respected by Black and white Montgomery residents alike. 'Let the flame burn like Claudette, but keep it inside,' activists sing to Parks at one point in the opera. The movement's dismissal of Colvin — still very much alive, at 85 — in favor of Parks is usually a one-liner in history books, if that. 'She Who Dared' elevates it to the status of a secondary conflict, using the decision as a cipher to address colorism, classism, sexism, and other stigmas within the movement. Quite like last month's fabulous 'Treemonisha: A Musical Reimagining' at Harris Theater, 'She Who Dared' ends up being not just a history lesson but a trenchant satire of respectability politics. While its thesis is serious, the opera manages to strike a consciously light-hearted tone without making light of its subject matter. The opening to Act 2 is just as biting as it is amusing, with Echols, as Parks, hammily cavorting around Montgomery. At one point, a police officer tips his hat and offers Parks the crook of his arm. The opera's principals further represent the nuance of the movement in Montgomery. Susie McDonald (mezzo-soprano Leah Dexter) is a wealthy, white-passing widow; she was in her 70s at the time she was arrested. We follow Jeanetta Reese (mezzo-soprano Cierra Byrd) — an original plaintiff in Browder v. Gayle, the resulting 1956 Supreme Court ruling striking down segregation on public transportation — as she decides, agonizingly, to withdraw from the case, representing those who stepped away from activism out of fear for their lives. 'She Who Dared' is already strong, but it's further vaulted by COT's strong cast. Habersham's explosive, easily combustible soprano captures Colvin's fire. Like Parks herself, Echols is a master of reserve and release, stoking her big Act 2 aria like a slow burn. As McDonald, Dexter is pointed and iridescent. Meanwhile, Byrd's wide dramatic palette and flexible voice make the most of thankless roles as the movement's deserter and Montgomery's white power brokers. Filling out the cast were mezzo-soprano Chrystal E. Williams, bringing poise and chutzpah to the role of Aurelia Browder, Browder v. Gayle's lead plaintiff; lightning-bright soprano Lindsey Reynolds, another singer with local credits, as Mary Louise Smith, another young voice in the boycotts; and mezzo-soprano Deborah Nansteel as Jo Ann Robinson, a calm anchor through the opera's storms. Barnes has already marked herself as a composer to watch at other city institutions like the Chicago Symphony and Ravinia. In her first evening-length opera, she's already a natural, grazing gospel, tango and even klezmer in an ever-lively orchestration, guided with lyricism and grace by pit conductor Michael Ellis Ingram. Whether crackling with humor or invoking prayer, Mouton's text says what it means — not a subtle libretto, but one which drives the action forward well. In a marked improvement over October's 'Leonora,' 'She Who Dared's' set, designed by Junghyun Georgia Lee, was a stirring example of minimalism done right. Its centerpiece is a faithful rendering of a 1950s Montgomery bus, rotated by stagehands dressed as repairmen. Likewise, Yvonne L. Miranda's costuming embraces the show's scale, rather than working against it. In some scenes, characters donned just one extra piece of clothing to temporarily step into another role: a suit jacket to turn Robinson into Fred Gray, the boycotters' attorney, or a hat, shades and nightstick to turn Reese into a Montgomery city cop. It gave the opera the feel of reminiscing among friends — an appealing and deft way to handle historical retelling. Timothy Douglas's insightful direction supported this reading, squeezing as much characterization as possible out of the seven principals while keeping the action buoyant. The opera needs some TLC to land its ending. 'She Who Dared' loses its narrative drive in the final two scenes, defaulting to platitudes ('We brought a movement to Montgomery!') and cloying tunes. After reenacting the initial district court trial — in which Colvin, Browder, McDonald and Smith testified—the opera skims over the Supreme Court decision upholding the ruling. But it was that court which ended the boycott and desegregated public transit systems nationwide, not the district courts. (Plus, the appeal process alone almost doubled the length of the boycott — a significant sacrifice by the protestors.) That ending also evaded a darker coda to the bus boycotts, acknowledged in the show's comprehensive program notes: Black commuters faced vicious harassment once they resumed riding city buses. Some even maintained the old bus rules, just to avoid trouble. 'She Who Dared's' finale tries to nod at this, but it's too heavy-handed: The woman wait for the bus, then sing another number aboard it, noting there's 'so much change left to make.' A lighter touch would go further: boarding that bus, but acknowledging that we, to date, still don't know where it's going. Save a slightly racy account of Colvin's affair with an older man, 'She Who Dared' carries a kid-friendly approachability. In this political climate, that's an asset. I could see future stagings — and let's hope there's many more of those — inviting school groups to runs. With civil rights education under attack nationally, the arts are poised to step in, even as they wear new targets themselves. In fact, 'She Who Dared' itself received $30,000 from an NEA grant that has since been canceled. But general director Lawrence Edelson struck a note of defiance in his opening remarks on Friday, to cheers. 'We've already received the money,' he told the audience, 'and, as I've said before, they're not getting it back.' Hannah Edgar is a freelance critic. Review: 'She Who Dared' (3.5 stars) When: Through June 8 Where: Studebaker Theater in the Fine Arts Building, 410 S. Michigan Ave. Tickets: $60-$160 at
Chicago Tribune
17-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Chicago Tribune
Review: Hubbard Street Dance closes season with hopeful optimism — and Fosse
Hubbard Street Dance Chicago's season finale coinciding with Beyoncé's Chicago dates is perhaps just a happy accident. But as last night's freaky dust storm tapered off and audiences settled into their seats at the Harris Theater, Bob Fosse and Gwen Verdon's 'Sweet Gwen Suite' was a most poetic opening to the evening. The third of this trio of juicy morsels created for 1960s television specials is 'Mexican Breakfast,' which Beyoncé reimagined in her 'Single Ladies' video. It was a move that kicked off an existential conversation about artistic license, inspiration and ownership. She'd do it again in the 'Countdown' video. And again in 'Lemonade.' (Some say she plagiarized, but it's deeper than that.) In their Fall Series at Steppenwolf, we were forced to wait until the show was three-quarters finished to see dancers Cyrie Topete, Dominick Brown and Aaron Choate emerge in silhouette, hats tipped just right, puffs of cigarette smoke perfectly timed, bedazzled charro suits on point — all images now synonymous with Fosse. That program began with resident choreographer Aszure Barton's contemplative 'Return to Patience,' a tease in hindsight. But as a fitting bookend to Hubbard Street's 47th season, Fosse goes first, making it easy to follow instructions given at the top of every show by artistic director Linda-Denise Fisher-Harrell: 'Get your whole life together.' Here, Barton goes last, with a revival of her 2002 'Blue Soup.' The point is, this program doesn't creep or simmer, it goes from zero to 60 and pretty much stays there the whole time. The night's only world premiere, Matthew Rushing's 'Beauty Chasers,' expands on a section of another of his works called 'Sacred Songs.' Rushing created that piece last year as an extrapolation of Alvin Ailey's 'Revelations' — the signature work of the late choreographer's eponymous company, led by Rushing for the past two years. For it, he excavated spirituals used for the original 'Revelations' that got cut as the hour-long ballet was shortened for ease in touring. Where 'Revelations' and 'Sacred Songs' express facets of the African American experience, 'Beauty Chasers' seems a kind of prequel — opening on Topete (who was simply extraordinary the whole night) in a pool of light, wearing flesh-toned underthings. Shota Miyoshi takes a turn, too, elegantly writhing in his own pool of stark white light, then Bianca Melidor. Rushing has said 'Beauty Chasers' loosely references the Holy Trinity from Christianity — the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. For me, it's more like Genesis. In the beginning, there was (designer Jason Lynch's) light, then man. And then there was jazz. And it was good. The piece really begins to cook as a recording of Alice Coltrane and Pharoah Sanders' 'Journey to Satchidananda' drops in, a celestial arrangement for keys, flute, bass and drums. The trio of dancers gradually dresses each time they re-enter the scene, increasingly noticing, accepting and literally leaning on one another. 'Beauty Chasers'' hybrid score (arranged by sound designer Dante Giramma) and costumer Dante Anthony Baylor's final look — red, white and black palazzo pants and matching beaded necklaces — beautifully complement Rushing's blend of modern, afro-contemporary and traditional West African vocabularies. To be sure, it's something new for Rushing, well outside his comfort zone. Thus, the underbelly feels raw and vulnerable — the rewards worth all the risk. A one-act behemoth closing the show, 'Blue Soup' has many hallmarks of what we've come to know of Barton's catalog, enough to make me wonder if this is where it all started. There's a signature tension between the literal and the imagined, moments of authenticity layered with sarcasm and vaudevillian veneer. There are just a few clues the piece came early in Barton's career — mainly in how 'Blue Soup' wears its influences on its big, blue, shoulder padded zoot suit sleeves. Created a year after David Lynch's 'Mulholland Drive,' 'Blue Soup' borrows images from the film, though not quite as literally as Beyoncé borrowed from 'Mexican Breakfast.' Choate appears alone, a vision in a blonde wig, sky-high stilettos, satiny blue robe and leotard — azure blue. Choate awkwardly lip syncs at an old-timey microphone. It's 'Sh-Boom' by The Chords — a bop, to be sure. It's far more ridiculous than 'Mulholland Drive's' 'this is the girl' screen test, a sort of blending of that and the film's darker sections. As the lens opens, the full company joins, facing upstage for what seems like a long time until Angelo Badalamenti's 'Jitterbug' drops in — another nod to 'Mulholland Drive.' Admittedly, 'Mulholland Drive' is canon to me, a very particular film released as a very particular moment in this critic's life. I am thus programmed to adore 'Blue Soup,' but you needn't know any of Barton's tongue-and-cheek references to see how the piece points at the rot underneath the shimmer of Hollywood and the fallibility of a dream. Then there's all this incredible dancing — highlights too numerous to list, though Choate in that blonde wig is certainly one. Another: Andrew Murdock in a phenomenal solo dancing between four downstage circles of light, a kind of washed-up showman torn between what's real and what's imagined. And another: Jacqueline Burnett, back on stage after a long absence as though no time has passed, in the piece's most authentic moments, joined briefly by Elliott Hammans, who somehow supports her from the exact opposite corner of the stage. Despite a big, rousing group dance set to Paul Simon's 'Pigs, Sheep & Wolves,' complete with unhinged, stomping diversions and a fair amount of well-timed hip thrusts, the piece ends rather unsatisfyingly before the company bows. But fear not, you will leave the theater satisfied. You see, unlike 'Mulholland Drive,' 'Blue Soup' is more shimmer than rot, appearing hopeful by comparison — maybe big, rousing group dances just do that. So does text by Maya Angelou ('Sounds Like Pearls' to be exact). Where Lynch gave Barton permission to be weird, Angelou lent Hubbard Street Dance Chicago Spring Series (4 stars) When: Through Sunday Where: Harris Theater for Music and Dance, 205 E. Randolph St. Running time: 1 hour, 45 minutes with one intermission Tickets: $46-$121 at 312-334-7777 and
Chicago Tribune
11-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Chicago Tribune
Review: Twyla Tharp Dance celebrates 60 years with something old, something new in stunning night at the Harris
It starts where 'In the Upper Room' ends. The opening image of Twyla Tharp's newest dance, 'Slacktide,' is a single dancer, facing upstage, a beam of white light illuminating only his forearm. He slowly, methodically, closes his fist and draws his elbow down toward his waist. It's a fist pump. A transposition of the final moment in Tharp's 1986 tour de force. For 'Slacktide' — which forms the back half of Tharp's 60 th anniversary 'Diamond Jubilee' running through Saturday at the Harris Theater — the prolific choreographer revisited composer Philip Glass for the first time since 'In the Upper Room.' A thrilling interpretation of Glass' 1999 half-hour score 'Aguas da Amazonia' has been realized by Chicago-based Third Coast Percussion, who play live at the Harris with Chicago flutist Constance Volk. Third Coast, by the way, is celebrating a milestone of its own, releasing a 20 th anniversary album Friday with works by Jlin, Tigran Hamasyan, Zakir Hussain, Jessie Montgomery and Musekiwa Chingodza. 'Aguas da Amazonia' came out on CD and vinyl earlier this year, with original cover art by Volk. 'Slacktide's' ensemble, save that lone, fist-pumping dancer, enters from stage left. Hands lead the way, appearing disembodied for a tongue-in-cheek moment that can't last. Ten silky smooth dancers slither onstage, translating the undulating waves of Third Coast's sound — a mixed pallet drawing from Glass' original piano score and the Brazilian group Uakti, who were first to record 'Aguas da Amazonia' in 2006. It's a fascinating instrumentation — two marimbas, including one made of glass; tuned PVC pipes and cowbells; Norwegian and African drums; flute; synthesizers and maybe a few more things I'm missing. Glass was inspired by the Amazon's rivers in making this music. Pro forma for Tharp, 'Slacktide' is not at all about that. Her own instrumentation is her iconoclastic blend of classic and contemporary vocabulary oscillating between presentational formality and pedestrian nonchalance. 'Slacktide' asks a lot of its dancers, a young and exceptional ensemble of freelancers whose resumes collectively include Miami City Ballet, Limon, Gibney Company, Mark Morris Dance Group, Kansas City Ballet, English National Ballet, and the list goes on. Indeed, they are a terrific group — placed in a stunningly rich container by lighting designer Justin Townsend. Costume designer Victoria Bek's black-on-black separates balance Townsend's deeply saturated, high-definition color pallet — the exact opposite of his understated shifts in mood employed during the concert's first hour. That's 'Diabelli,' an exhaustive exploration of all 33 of Ludwig van Beethoven's variations on a waltz by one of Beethoven's contemporaries, Antonin Diabelli. Like Beethoven, Tharp creates a utilitarian theme as a jumping-off point for mostly jovial dalliances between gaggles of dancers and a rather pleasant power struggle between the dancers, pianist Vladimir Rumyantsev, who plays live from the orchestra pit — and the audience. There's enough of a pause between several of the variations to feel compelled to clap, but not quite enough room to feel good about having done so. It's quintessential Tharp, exploring the innards of a brilliant piece of music in ways both playful and serious. In moments, it's literal child's play: high fives, leapfrog, Red Rover, Ring Around the Rosie, cartwheels and somersaults. Tharp disassociates Beethoven's rhythmic and melodic structures from their 1820s roots, finding the piece jazzy enough for a jitterbug and folksy enough for a mazurka. And apart from its faux tuxedo unitards, 'Diabelli' could be mistaken for having been made yesterday until you place it side-by-side with shiny new 'Slacktide.' That's not to say either piece looks exactly like what other choreographers are making now. Hers is a singular voice. Serious and silly. Classic and contemporary. Rigorous and rule breaking. Tharp is a genre. She is her own category of dance. 1 of Twyla Tharp Dance's 60th anniversary 'Diamond Jubilee' performance at the Harris Theater in Chicago is accompanied by Chicago-based Third Coast Percussion and flutist Constance Volk. (Kyle Flubacker) I recall being pretty unimpressed 10 years ago when the company toured the Auditorium for their 50 th anniversary. Why make something new (and frankly unremarkable), I thought, when such a milestone begs for a nostalgic gaze at some of the more iconic works from Tharp's catalog: 'Push Comes to Shove' (1976), 'Baker's Dozen' (1979), 'Deuce Coupe' (1973), 'The Fugue' (1970) and 'In the Upper Room,' for example. Lately, Tharp has seemed more willing to revisit the past. In 2017, she excavated original notes from some of her first dances. A few years ago, she restaged 'In the Upper Room' and 'Nine Sinatra Songs.' And she obviously doesn't resist the urge here in ways both literal and abstract. In a recent interview with the Tribune, she said she picked 'Diabelli' because 'it's a difficult piece to remount and I knew if I didn't put it up, it would get lost.' But it's as though Tharp, who perhaps more than any living choreographer has nothing left to prove, can't rest on her laurels. On Thursday, she did not bow with her company, letting them have all the praise. She made a new dance for her 60 th anniversary because making dances is her job. And she does it better than anyone. Lauren Warnecke is a freelance critic. When: 7:30 p.m. Friday and 2 p.m. Saturday Where: Harris Theater for Music and Dance, 205 E. Randolph St.
Chicago Tribune
22-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Chicago Tribune
Review: Ragamala Dance Company's ‘Children of Dharma' lays bare the sacrifices of war — with oneself
Ragamala Dance Company of Minneapolis returned to the Harris Theater this week for the third time, bringing their latest production, 'Children of Dharma,' for one performance only on Friday. It's gorgeous, though 'Children of Dharma' isn't quite as opulent as 'Written on Water' or 'Fires of Varanasi,' performed for Ragamala's first and second visits to the Harris in 2019 and 2021. 'Children of Dharma' is a bit more restrained without going so far as to feel minimalistic. And unlike those other two, this 90-minute work, which premiered last year, draws directly from sacred texts, leaning on the 'Mahabharata' as inspiration for original dance, music and poetry which seem to detail the life cycle — birth and death — and what we do with the space between them. At its core, the 'Mahabharata' is about the struggle for power, with two warring families battling for the throne. But it's also about the sacrifices and compromises one makes — a war with oneself, so to speak, in blind pursuit of that power. 'Children of Dharma's' three sections are divided by location: the forest, the court and the battlefield, demarcated by stunning projections from frequent Ragamala collaborator Willy Cessa, whose remarkable lighting makes up for the piece's relatively sparse scenic design. The piece opens in silhouette, a single dancer, Garrett Sour, carefully posed as a guttural throat sound booms through the Harris' cavernous auditorium. Then, a voice: 'Dharma — the basis for life — forever sprouting, transforming, dissolving and renewing,' says a voiceover by Leon Conrad. It's fitting for this time of year, isn't it? The irises are beginning to sprout through still-frozen ground, doggedly determined to usher in spring. They're teasing, of course, but that perennial optimism is a perpetual, annual reminder of brighter days ahead. Sour, bare chested and wearing only peachy shalwar pants and a garnet string around his neck, is soon joined by an ensemble of five women, traditionally dressed for the classical Indian dance form Bharatanatyam. They wear fanned skirts and cap-sleeved tops (by costumer D. S. Aiyellu) hued in summery gold, orange and red. Unlike Sour, the wear ankle bells to accentuate spritely footwork. Indeed, the group appears to almost frolic through their proverbial forest, weaving geometric patterns through one another and among white fabric panels which give depth to Cessa's projections. These also provide chances to appear and disappear while still on stage, as though playing hide-and-seek in a woodland. Sour's idiosyncratic style and intentional separation from the group allow him to stand out in this section. He's more a pied piper than a protagonist, playing an invisible flute and guiding his fellow nymphs in slow, meditative patterning scattered among the more playful moments. If there's a hero in this story, it's Krishna, the spirit of the natural world embodied by Ashwini Ramaswamy near the end of this section. She oscillates between care and concern, miming the flora and fauna of the forest and an apparent storm beginning to brew. Thunderclaps shiver through Ramaswamy's hands as percussive tabla dodges in and out of the score. She cowers, covering her ears, seeming to foreshadow destruction and chaos ahead. As the setting shifts to projections of stone idols indicating a move to the royal court, Ramaswamy is joined by her sister, Arpana, for a gorgeous, protracted duet. It begins as joyous exaltation, with arms unabashedly thrust skyward. A new character, Draupati, is introduced here, described as the manifestation of Mother Earth and responsible for maintaining balance between the five elements — fire, water, air, etc. I'm not convinced she suceeds. Humans are flawed, after all, and Arpana appears to more easily yield to her desires for materialistic pleasure. Even as the two sisters dance in unison, Ashwini appears more pragmatic and austere while Arpana loses herself in a kind of rapturous revelry. Ashwini mimes a rope over her shoulder, leaning away from her sister as if literally yanking her away from temptation. It's an extraordinary tension, made perfect by this intergenerational company who builds exquisite, contemporary worlds with Bharatanatyam better than any American company I've seen. Ranee Ramaswamy, their mother, appears in the third section as Gandari, a grieving mother who feels the weight and complicity of her children's selfish thirst for power. That's the fictional allegory on stage, though it's hard to ignore contemporary layers of meaning. Ranee Ramaswamy, now in her 70s, has far more than a cameo in 'Children of Dharma.' Though her choreography is more measured than that of her daughters or the ensemble, her striking presence is felt all the way to the back row of the Harris Theater. The message, transmitted close to the audience as dancers Jessica Fiala and Tamara Nadel mime a slow-motion, rolling of dice, is crystal clear: There are consequences to gambling with karma.
Chicago Tribune
14-02-2025
- Entertainment
- Chicago Tribune
Review: Hubbard Street Dance is back on familiar ground for its winter series
It's not a time capsule. Hubbard Street Dance Chicago's revival of Ohad Naharin's 'Black Milk' after more than 20 years in the vault is more a wink and a nod. After several seasons dibble-dabbling across the aesthetic spectrum — from Bob Fosse to Aszure Barton and everything in between — the Winter Series on now at the Harris Theater returns to familiar ground. That's not to say the Hubbard Street of 2002 was somehow better; rather, artistic director Linda-Denise Fisher-Harrell projects confidence in the 47-year-old institution, as if to say, 'Yeah, we still do that, too.' Naharin first created 'Black Milk' in 1985 for Israel's Kibbutz Contemporary Dance Company, later adding it to a compilation of seven dances called 'Minus One.' It's miles away from 'Minus 16,' Hubbard Street's first-ever acquisition by the ground-breaking choreographer, which propelled the company into a new era near the end of founder Lou Conte's tenure as artistic director. 'Black Milk,' acquired two years after 'Minus 16,' is pre-Gaga, the counter-technique Naharin developed, which has informed decades of dancemaking. Here, he draws from his background in the Martha Graham Dance Company and even the School of American Ballet, asking much of 'Black Milk's' five bare-chested dancers (which on Thursday included Aaron Choate, Elliot Hammans, Jack Henderson, Andrew Murdock and David Schultz). 'Black Milk' is thus just as hard as anything else Naharin's made, if less idiosyncratic — the stoicism of those techniques busted open with a deep-kneed, guttural vocabulary and thrilling partnering. Then there's the symbolism. Naharin offers little context apart from a silver pail of dark sludge methodically smeared across the dancers' faces, chests and thighs. Schultz is the quasi-protagonist, here, often moving separately from the rest, seemingly resistant to indoctrination into whatever discipleship they're apparently part of. By turns elegant and feral, there's a sense these dancers have each other's backs, even as Schultz breaks away to wash himself clean. But the vibe is more 'Get up, you fool!' than 'You got this, friend.' It's a piece that's aged well, even when put against three striking others from the 'now.' James Gregg makes his Hubbard Street debut with the evening's only world premiere, called 'Within the Frame.' The title is both a literal and figurative exploration, with four dancers spending most of their time confined to a square, white section of floor acting as the quartet's sandbox. They're rarely onstage altogether; Gregg was originally tasked with making a duet but apparently couldn't help himself. Indeed, 'Within the Frame' doesn't feel particularly communal in the way long, deep engagements do. Rather, it comes across more like the solidarity and community felt among strangers on a train — people with a common goal and, maybe, nothing else in common. Gregg prescribes periodic breaks from his luscious phrases; the dancers to step out completely or simply turn away and put their hands in their pockets. (Pockets! In dance costumes!!). Gregg's boundary-busting aesthetic draws from a wide variety of styles, honed from a storied performance career that started in Chicago. In a way, 'Within the Frame' interrogates that collection of experiences spanning jazz, contemporary, hip hop and vogue, but it's not navel-gazing. It feels for and about the quartet (Dominick Brown, Choate, Michele Dooley and Cyrie Topete), who thrive in 'Within the Frame's' gorgeous, monochromatic environment — pro forma for Gregg — built by Slick Jorgenson (lighting) and Hogan McLaughlin (costumes) and surrounded by a similarly multilayered score by Ben Waters. Hubbard Street alums Alice Klock and Florian Lochner, collectively called FLOCK, crafted 'Into Being' last year for Hubbard Street's series at the MCA. Somehow, in the cavernous-by-comparison Harris Theater, it feels more intimate, perhaps because of its placement in an otherwise chilly, mostly black-and-white program. 'Into Being' radiates complexity and warmth, and not just because of the bronze and gold separates its five dancers wear. It's also our first real glimpse at dancer Bianca Melidor, an expat of Dallas Black Dance Theatre who joined the company this fall. Though early in her career, Melidor already brings a wealth of maturity and nuance to her long, luxurious solo, a mirage placed midway through FLOCK's mostly meditative, meticulously crafted world. Then there's 'Impasse,' a fantastically wacky full company piece closing the program. Like 'Into Being,' 'Impasse' premiered at Hubbard Street last year and hasn't yet gotten the play time it deserves. Part jazz funeral, part 'Appalachian Spring,' Inger sends Schultz, Henderson and Simone Stevens in and out of a 2-D house positioned upstage multiple times. They seem shocked — appalled even — by what they encounter, which gets weirder every time: a mob of black-clothed people who seem to be having a better time than them, then a grab-bag of bizarre characters ranging from a crowned shirtless prince to a clown that's a little too close to Rob Zombie's Captain Spaulding for comfort. Maybe it's Narnia. Or perhaps what Alice finds beyond the looking-glass. Whatever it is, it's fleeting. A white-streaked black backdrop descends on this wonderful world, forcing our three adventurers to squeeze underneath, barely managing to escape. It's not immediately clear why they'd want to leave such a weird and wonderful joy bomb, a hesitancy sure shared by every audience member that night. Lauren Warnecke is a freelance critic. When: Through Sunday Where: Harris Theater for Music and Dance, 205 E. Randolph St. Originally Published: February 14, 2025 at 11:19 AM CST
