“The Drama” was a long and intense piece, and it was hard to dive without an intermission into a conversation about a full-length work from 2023—BalletCollective’s “The Night Falls”—that was only shown in a few stripped-down excerpts. Yet, slowly, the dancers and singers—particularly Amari Frazier, Dabria Aguilar, Eliza Bagg, Claire Welling, and Angela Yam—brought you into their florid, Floridian dreamscape. “The Night Falls” was co-conceived and created by author Karen Russell (“Swamplandia!”), composer by Ellis Ludwig-Leone, and choreographer/director Troy Schumacher. Ludwig-Leone and Schumacher were on hand to discuss the piece with Spoleto Festival director Mena Mark Hanna, and their passion made me want to see the full work—which, topically, seems ripe for reprisal. With Donald Trump reassuming the presidency this month, a cautionary tale about Floridian carnival barkers reaching out to those in despair through commercial jingles feels apt. Hanna remarked on the “unbridled Americanness” of Florida, which was a suitable descriptor even before Trump turned Mar-a-Lago into the White House South. 

Though “Night Falls” was thematically timely, the presence of John Selya (the star of Twyla Tharp’s 2002 dance musical “Movin’ Out”) in the ensemble was a reminder that, contrary to the creative team’s allegations, the bifurcation of roles into singing and dancing interpreters is not a new phenomenon. Opera has employed this technique for a long time, including in Kurt Weill and Bertolt Brecht’s “The Seven Deadly Sins,” from 1933, which is a part of New York City Ballet history (Schumacher is a soloist in the company). Balanchine choreographed and directed this work in 1933 and 1958, as did Lynne Taylor-Corbett (who sadly passed away this week) in 2011. But this dancing/singing performative divide is trendy again, with Justin Peck’s similarly structured “Illinoise” jumping from the Park Avenue Armory to a run on Broadway just last year.          

More links to the present day and to the preceding piece emerged as the presentation continued. For one thing, it was fascinating to contrast the movement qualities of the two works’ protagonists: Knight and Frazier. Physically, they were foils; both are slim, fluid, and flexible Black men. Yet Knight moves weightily—as if made of marble—while Frazier floats like a cloud.  The differences in Graham technique and the balletic contemporary style were pronounced. 

Despite this dichotomy, a siren theme ran through both works and ultimately unified the evening.  In “Night Falls,” Frazier and others were summoned to the sea by a trio of operatic sirens. Knight was guided throughout his life by Graham’s aesthetics, steps, imagery, and even her literal voice in the score of “The Drama.” Knight’s compulsion to dance, which he claimed “wasn’t a choice,” also echoed a siren’s call. Or was he a siren in his own right, beckoning to us from the rocks at the water’s edge? 

Sirens are an ancient trope, but a pertinent one. As we reinstate a showman as president, it is a fine time to examine the ways in which we are all called by voices, through various media and artforms. (See also: the vivid episode “Jibaro” of the sci-fi series “Love, Death & Robots,” which explores complex ideas about victimization and colonization through the figure of a dancing siren.) Ludwig-Leone explained how in “The Night Falls,” the “physical language of the community becomes the tethers to the mast that will save them.” In the same hopeful vein, Graham’s works acted as a lifeline for Knight. May we all find such a dance right now.