No Time for a Tango

Two men enter the stage and hang suit jackets on the backs of chairs. They begin with a short movement phrase in staccato unison—an elbow juts over the shoulder as if an arrow sticking out of a quiver, then an arm slices cross-body like a sword. They repeat the phrase, then pace around each other, good-naturedly sizing each other up. A cellist takes a seat onstage, back to the audience, and begins a frenzied solo. The male duet develops into physical contact. A woman rushes into one man’s arms. The other climbs onto his back. Both men sink into wide plié and take comical galumphing steps. The stage is set for a tango salon—on steroids.

Performance

“Seven Scenes” by Bobbi Jene Smith and Or Schraiber

Place

Little Island, New York City, August 24, 2025

Words

Karen Hildebrand

Or Schraiber, Doug Letheren, and Alexander Bozinoff in “Seven Scenes” by Bobbi Jene Smith and Or Schraiber. Photograph by Matthew Placek

Now in its second year, Little Island’s outdoor performance series at The Amph is one of the best things about summer in NYC. Perched at the edge of the Hudson River, on a temperate evening in August just after sunset there is no better place to be. The producers commission new work—often enigmatic—that leaves you feeling you’ve just seen something that will never be repeated. “Seven Scenes” is no exception. A collaboration between Bobbi Jene Smith and Or Schraiber, both formerly of Batsheva Dance Company under Ohad Naharin, and the musical duo, Caroline Shaw and Danni Lee Parpan, who call themselves Ringdown, the work draws on the push-pull dynamic of the tango. With seven dancers, the hour long piece is fast moving, its characters one minute seducing, the next, slapping a hand away.

In a duet, Alexander Bozinoff lays Payton Johnson onto the floor, then lifts her into a vertical split. Downstage in silhouette, two men move in a close ballroom embrace. They prize a balletic style of angular low leaps and pointed feet that puts me in mind of Jose Limon. A love triangle forms when Johnson leaps into their arms.

Bobbi Jene Smith looks like a Greek peasant woman in a simple black dress and Mary Jane flats. She uses her long streaming hair to dramatic effect in a duet with Johnson, while the other dancers pace the perimeter of the stage like fighters deciding when to enter the ring. When she drags a square café table onto the stage, Danni Lee Parpan begins to sing an acapella version of Willie Nelson’s “Crazy.” Smith and Schraiber, a couple in real life, enter a contentious and sexy duet. They sit across from each other at the table, holding hands, then snatching them away. They embrace at table’s edge with a suggestive bump and grind.

Payton Johnson, Miriam Gittens, and Bobbi Jean Smith in “Seven Scenes” by Bobbi Jene Smith and Or Schraiber. Photograph by Matthew Placek

The three women (Smith, Johnson, and Miriam Gittens) form a striking trio in line-up format, with repeated arm and hand gestures. Maintaining an equal space between each other, they sashay, balance on one leg, and with a kick lean back into thin air. Shaw and Parpan engage in an acapella duet here, while crossing the stage. Their voices issue a multitude of pleasing sounds: little breaths, murmurs, a string of the word no. They sound like the tinkle of wind chimes.

Just as I’m thinking this trio is going on a bit too long, violinists Keir Gogwilt and Shaw take over with a cacophonous duel while the cast looks on. Even the ducks on the river have gathered to watch—they shine like lanterns bobbing in the water. Doug Letheren launches into a feverish solo, scissoring his legs, his body full of sharp tilted angles. Suddenly he’s on his back at the foot of the musicians, who go silent. After a beat, he slaps the floor and Schraiber gives him a hand up.

The men return to the original movement series several times, repeating their conversation. Once they do it seated, with chairs set in a row. The familiar sequence works as a connective thru line for the evening. This time it leads into something like a war council around a table. The way they don suit jackets, eye each other with distrust, and acrobatically scuffle around the table is a clear nod to Kurt Joos’ classic “Green Table.”

Payton Johnson in “Seven Scenes” by Bobbi Jene Smith and Or Schraiber. Photograph by Matthew Placek

I realize rather late that I’ve failed to track where we are within the seven titular scenes. Some sections are bounded clearly, but others blend into the next scene. Some, like the women’s trio, return to be continued at a later time. Between scenes, the cast members take a seat among the audience. A dancer reaches out to shake hands with someone in the front row. I give up trying to count and surrender to the moving feast in front of me. Dancers repeatedly cut in on each other. There are moments that make me smile such as when Schraiber clambers on his knees to kiss Bozinoff’s upraised hand: I’m reminded of the “Fiddler on the Roof” wedding celebration when the men form a rhythmic procession of three steps forward, one back. When Schraiber leans backward as if to fall, the two men at his side casually catch him before he hits the ground—repeatedly.

The energy is fierce, proud, and staccato. The dancers don’t perform the actual tango. It’s more that they become the tango itself. With “Seven Scenes,” Smith and Schraiber take on the task of deconstructing a celebrated social ritual. The music—a diverse selection of Brahms, Bach, Schubert, Handel, Willie Nelson, and original compositions of Ringdown—includes not a note of tango.

The frenetic pace slows for a final scene, with Mikael Darmanie at the piano playing a heartfelt Handel Minuet, eyes closed. Jonathan Earl Fredrickson stretches out his impressive arm span, rubs his head. He dances in place, mostly arms and torso, taking all the time of history, it seems, to scoop and carve the luxurious space, a flourish of the leg trailing. Languid, he eases us into the night.

Karen Hildebrand

Karen Hildebrand is former editorial director for Dance Magazine and served as editor in chief for Dance Teacher for a decade. An advocate for dance education, she was honored with the Dance Teacher Award in 2020. She follows in the tradition of dance writers who are also poets (Edwin Denby, Jack Anderson), with poetry published in many literary journals and in her book, Crossing Pleasure Avenue (Indolent Books). She holds an MFA from the Program for Writers at Warren Wilson College. Originally from Colorado, she lives in Brooklyn.

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