The dancers, clad in David Touster’s costumes of muted grays and blacks, are like a drill team—on speed—scurrying for safety, yet, at the same time, heeding the calls of those in need. Cries of “Ayudame,” are heard. But where to look, how to help, with radio reports (archived from that fateful day in January, 1994) beseeching the public: “The big thing is, DO NOT PANIC!”
As the performers nudge the towers’ collapse, there’s little time to save lives. But what there is, is pandemonium, with the dancers deploying the downed towers around the stage as if they were hospital gurneys, while visions of coffins also come to mind. Dancers, including Caribay Franke, who doubles as Diavolo’s project and production manager, and identical twins Alexa and Paulina Donnelly are but several of the dancers in frantic—but fiendishly composed—mode.
People are twisting, spinning and falling backwards, many into the (orchestra) pit. A rescue team arrives, pulling a body from the wreckage: This is the body of 60-year old Amelia Rudolph, founder of the vertical dance troupe, Bandaloop, who then executes a magnificent aerial solo. As Alexa croons, her smoky voice a healing balm, Rudolph soars, reveling in the moment, a moment free from pain and the disaster, both metaphorical and all too real, that is found on earth.
In a word, Rudolph, who created her solo, embodies hope. And, with arms carving the air, she is beauty personified; a magnet for serenity.
Alas, reality soon sets in, but this time it comes with a shot of exuberance, as dancers push a quartet of ramps into place. With Rudolph leading the charge and running up a ramp before falling backwards (crash mats are invaluable in “Existencia”), a cadre of dancers follow, moving in pairs and groups of four. Included are Mia Moraru, Kazumo Inohue, Emily Grable and Evan Beek, as well as Daemion Marcuz, and creative technical director, Steven Jasso. Also among the frolickers: assistant rehearsal directors and choreographers Kate Dougherty and Ryan Ruiz.
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