The subject is toxic religion, immediately apparent both in those Catholic school girl uniforms (though Maleta Bukstaff renders them in shades of orange) and in the way an ensemble of 11 dancers frenetically mouths the lyrics of devotions, then doubles over with hands in prayer. A lighting scheme by Julie Ballard of an overhead grid, left exposed and inoperative by the ballet’s end, combines with a sound design by Darryl J. Hoffman of terrifying crumbling audio effects that crash in at irregular intervals. Neither of these elements transferred well to digital viewing, but it was easy to imagine their enhancement in person. What came across most clearly was the power of well-chosen music and the wisdom of a clear, uncluttered approach to movement. The result is a ballet that invites you to sympathize with psychological oppression and emotional overwhelm while still allowing the viewer space for her own feelings.
The Tudor Choir, a Seattle ensemble conducted by former PNB audience education manager Doug Fullington, delivered the choral selections, all of them sumptuous. From Michel Wackenheim’s forceful setting of the New Testament verse “Celui qui fera paraitre le christ au temps fixé”—roughly, “He who will make Christ appear at the appointed time”—“Cracks” moved with fearful hunched stompings and nervous shufflings through Faure, Vivaldi, Debussy, and Praetorius. In a choice ripe with irony, the emotional center of the ballet is a solo for Macy, dancing atop dappled stained-glass light to the only non-vocal selection of the soundtrack, a mysterious and wily waltz for strings by contemporary composer Lev Zhurbin (now known as Ljova). Her hair in schoolgirl double-braids, her movement slithery, Macy looks anxiously over her shoulder as she prays but then pushes her hands through the air, by implication breaking out of a dogmatic mental prison. She drops into a backbend and then the splits; she seems to grab a forbidden apple in the air to bite it. Finally, she bicycles through the ether with her feet, then spikes the floor with her pointe shoes, hips raised, as more crumbling sounds—old beliefs breaking down—are heard.
comments