Mark Morris and the Joy of Dance

I'm going to be lazy like a true blogger and just "ditto" WaPo dance writer Sarah Kaufman's heartfelt and eloquent review of the Mark Morris Dance Company's recent run at the Kennedy Center.

link: Under Mark Morris, Handel oratorio becomes a visual feast

She writes:

Agreed: Mirth, with thee I mean to live.

The chorus sings these words at the exultant finish of Mark Morris’s “L’Allegro, il Penseroso ed il Moderato,” which transforms the Handel oratorio into a visual feast with the happiest dancing you could hope to see. And as you watch the dancers join hands and circle the Kennedy Center Opera House stage, the whole cast whirling in a spin-cycle of physical joy, living by that sentiment feels entirely possible.

Was it raining yesterday? Hardly noticed. “L’Allegro” was still turning in my mind.

Here is the official Mark Morris featurette about the production:

My own response to the production last Thursday night was not as learned as Kaufman's; I just knew that I'd wanted to see a Mark Morris production for the longest time and was very happy that one finally came to the Kennedy Center (a bit more accessible to me on a weeknight than the venue at George Mason out in Virginia).

My first exposure to Morris was his gender-bending take on that old chestnut Nutcracker, The Hard Nut. Male snowflakes? Yikes! But what fun.

And "L'Allegro" had equal numbers of boys and girls, and equal opportunity pairings (and trio-ings) that ensured that joy was accessible to all.

As an audience member, I will say that I enjoyed the second half a bit more than the first half, simply because the group in the front row of the balcony with two very fidgety young girls did not return after intermission.

During intermission I also chatted amiably with the two men next to me who, like me, were very anxious to see the Mark Morris work. We all agreed that the Rothko-esque set design was very effective in framing the planes of the scenes of the dance. And personally, I think the world would be a better place if everybody dressed like dancers.

I know that in such a gifted ensemble it may not be fair to single any one dancer out, but my favorite boy was the guy in blue who had one of the bird solos. Just loved him, and my eye then went to him in every group. Going by the pictures in the program, I'll guess this was Dallas McMurray (if I got the casting wrong, please forgive my distance in the second tier and my notoriously unreliable facial recognition capabilities).

The final scene, as Kaufman describes:

Then: Brightness. Order springs from disorder, and it’s wonderfully simple. A chain of hands, dancers wheeling in circles within circles. They lean into the music, and fast as they’re spinning, you can’t miss the delight on their faces. It’s sweet surrender. And victory for all.

... brought the entire house to its feet for one of the longest sustained standing ovations I've experienced at the Kennedy Center, and particularly energetic for a Thursday night. A happy time was had by all!

Ungentlemanly in Verona

If you're heading out to see the Shakespeare Theatre's latest production of Two Gentlemen of Verona, first of all, lucky you! This modern-day adaptation (retaining the language) of Shakespeare's early romantic comedy is breathtakingly energetic.

A warning, though, it is violent. Not quite Stacy Keach King Lear violent, but heads are hit and blood is shed. So much so that my friend and I both were wishing the two gentlemen would wipe their faces before taking their bows at the end.

I confess that, during Sunday's IDR, I took great pleasure in watching these two really great-looking gentlemen: Andrew Veenstra as Valentine (who also served as the fight captain) and Nick Dillenburg as Proteus. Another familiar face was that of Euan Morton as the servant/dog lover Launce.

I last saw the handsome Veenstra in Shakespeare Theatre's production of The Heir Apparent, and the versatile Morton in Ford Theatre's production of Parade last fall.

Note, don't be confused by the rock opera version of Two Gentlemen, which is also scheduled for later this month at Sidney Harman Hall. The gentlemen of whom I write now are appearing at the Lansburgh.


Two Gentlemen of Verona (aka Two Gents) cast picture, courtesy of The Shakespeare Theatre

The Two Gentlemen of Verona
directed by P. J. Paparelli
set design by Walt Sangler
Costume design by Paul Spadone

Cast
Valentine: Andrew Veenstra
Speed: Adam Green
Proteus: Nick Dillenburg
Launce: Euan Morton
Crab (his dog): Olliver
Antonio: Christopher McHale
Panthino: Stephen Patrick Martin
Julia: Miriam Silverman
Lucetta: Inga Ballard
Duke of Milan: Brent Harris
Silvia: Natalie Mitchell
Thurio: Gene Gillette
Eglamour: Todd Scofield

View this post on the Shakespeare Readers blog.

Itzhak Perlman, conductor and violin

Back from seeing (and hearing) Itzhak Perlman at Strathmore, along with a completely packed full house. My friend, who knows much more about music than I do and is more particular about where to sit, could only score the second to last row of the orchestra, which is saying something about what it meant to see the master: Bring binoculars.

Well, my friend forgot her binoculars, which isn't surprising, because she'd nearly forgotten the tickets. Or at least the one extra ticket that I'd already paid her for; somehow it got separated from her own ticket. She did find it, but accidentally tore it; she's a season subscriber to the Strathmore, though, so they were willing to replace the torn ticket at the box office.

My point in relaying this adventure is to demonstrate that, though she knows more about classical music than I do, and is as committed to her season subscription at Strathmore as I am to my Round House and Shakespeare and American Ballet Theater (when they come to town), there wasn't much enlightenment from her on what I was to expect tonight. Did I want to see Itzhak Perlman? Sure.

But it didn't occur to me that he wouldn't be playing the violin for the entire evening. After the two Vivaldi Seasons (Winter and Summer), which Mr. Perlman conducted as he bowed, he returned exclusively to conduct the Mozart (Symphony No. 25 in G Minor, K. 183) and the Brahms (Symphony No. 4 in E Minor, Opus 98).

The conducting was impeccable, but I wanted to watch more than Mr. Perlman's back. So I resorted to my usual approach to enjoying a symphony: visualizing it as dance. This was especially fruitful in the Brahms, whose opening calls of horns took me to the hunt; in the melancholy second movement, we are dragging our weary horses and hounds back home; the bright third movement, with its undertones of turmoil, is a celebratory ball; and the powerful fourth movement is a confrontation between the young revolutionary and his betrothed's father, stalwartly defending the old order.

But my friend, who knows more about classical music than I do (but who had to be nudged from her nodding drowsiness a couple of times. Ahem), didn't especially care for the Brahms. Different strokes, I guess.

And interestingly, she kept trying to point out someone in the orchestra who would be of interest to me:

Friend: "The guy sitting right on the other side of Itzhak. He looks like Clay Aiken."

Me (peering through my binoculars): "You mean the one who looks like [a young] Lyle Lovett?"

Friend (borrowing my binoculars): "Oh. Heh."