Opportunity Cost

After a decade spent in Los Angeles, Danielle Agami, who founded Ate9 in Seattle in 2012, abruptly decamped for Europe in 2023, leaving somewhat of a gap in the local dance community. To mark her return to the City of Angels, albeit for only a pair of performances, Agami and the latest iteration of her troupe shared a bill with Jacob Jonas the Company at the Kirk Douglas Theatre. Dubbed “Fog,” and presented for two nights over Labor Day weekend, the evenings showcased two world premieres that shared similar idiosyncratic sensibilities—supreme corporeal control akin to a jackhammering of the body, abstract themes and live music—with Jonas’ “Grip,” however, having more cohesion.

Performance

Ate 9 and Jacob Jonas the Company: “Fog” with choreography by Danielle Agami and Jacob Jonas

Place

Kirk Douglas Theatre, Culver City, California, August 29-30, 2025

Words

Victoria Looseleaf

Danielle Agami in “Soon After.” Photograph by Jobel Medina

Indeed, Agami, a disciple of Ohad Naharin and a member of Batsheva Dance Company for many years, and whom this reviewer once dubbed “choreography’s ‘It’ girl,” and her three talented dancers—Billy Barry, Omri Drumlevich and Gianni Notarnicola—unfortunately disappointed in “Soon After.” Rambling to the point of incomprehensibility and preening like undernourished peacocks, the dancers bounced around in typical Gaga fashion. Agami, a teacher of the movement language where actions train the body and aid one’s self-awareness in response to verbal prompts from the teacher, was certainly offering strange and sometimes compelling twitches, but these, in conjunction with questionable choreographic ideas, i.e., inviting audience members to sit on the stage, do not a dance make.

The mostly steel-like set (uncredited), was a kind of flea market paradise, littered with, among other objects, a clothes rack, chairs, a hammock, a bench and a mirror. It was the mirror that flummoxed this writer, as Agami’s long held belief, and a tenet of Gaga, that there is no place in the studio—or in a dance practice—for mirrors. In this case, the mirror proved a place of, not quite reflection, but more like deflection. Yes, Agami looked sensational, but was it necessary to have her breasts, gorgeous as they are, in semi-full view underneath a see-through top (costumes uncredited), and fully exposed when she made a costume change.

Danielle Agami and Omri Drumlevich in “Soon After.” Photograph by Jobel Medina

Perhaps it was, as her four-line program bio simply concludes with, “She is looking for a husband.” Okay, fine, but what does this have to do with dance, unless Agami’s cavorting with the trio of men proved some kind of testosterone substitute for her. Yes, she’s an exquisite mover—slinky, highly arched feet, über-strong legs (here, in patterned tights)—but aside from resembling a wayward showgirl or a stripper on ‘shrooms, she’s done a disservice to herself and fellow terpsichores with this self-involved folly.

As for the trio of men, or, as this writer prefers to think, Agami’s apostles called to help spread her teachings, they, too, hailed from Batsheva, meaning they were perfectly capable of the radical, exceedingly expressive, sensory-driven language that accentuates carnal awareness, freedom, and a connection to the body, but to what end? Barry, his long blonde hair sometimes loose, sometimes in a man bun, could leap/contort and swivel with the best of them, but none of the moves, even well-executed unisons, felt authentic.

Instead of forging a connection—with each other, or this viewer (the audience, however, seemed to lap it up)—the dance was an exercise in disconnection. Drumlevich and Notarnicola had little to add, save for amping up the “why?” factor. Yes, why bring audience members to sit on stage? Why did Agami feel most at home burying her head in what looked to be a designer handbag, scads of money strewn around as if detritus. Was this a screed against materialism? And why, pray tell, did one dude enter looking like Sponge Bob brandishing a rubber pool raft?!

As if that weren’t enough, the raft-bedecking continued, with this faux pool party a fractured journey into insanity, the ocean of lunacy not helped by Yuka Honda’s electronic mash-up, performed live at the side of the stage. Shocking in her extreme anti-dance stance, Agami managed to make this return to L.A. irrelevant, overwrought, and perhaps the worst sin of all, utterly boring.

Jacob Jonas the Company in “Grip.” Photograph by Joshua Geyer

Jonas’ work, “Grip,” proved more successful (and after seeing his troupe perform in late July with mediocre-at-best- results, this performance was decidedly a notch up). Here, under a giant, milky white balloon reminiscent of Yuval Sharon’s staging of Meredith Monk’s opera, “Atlas,” a trio—the twins Alexa and Paulina Donnelly—and Jarrett Yeary, were up to dancerly snuff: Wearing Tessa Matthias’ white form-fitting costumes and kneepads, the performers moved stealthily to Live Footage’s innovative score (Topu Lyo, cello, and effects) and Mike Thies (drums and keyboards), both on stage. Like a Robert Wilson (may he rest in peace) scenario—but on speed—the dancers morphed into various formations to the, at times, church-like music.

Spooning was prevalent, with yoga moves also on view, no matter that these contortions ended in relentless thuddings and thumpings, a hallmark of Jonas’ choreography that nevertheless worked here. Call it the Zen of body-thrashing, but the constant pummelling could not have been possible without the trust factor. And speaking of trust, did someone mention lifts, leaps? These were spectacular, with one of the Donnellys landing on Yeary’s solid shoulders time and again.

Yes, Jonas, who had help from assistant choreographer Emma Rosenzweig-Bock, and hails from breakdancing, is fond of that motif, which was on full view here, with William Adashek’s light design adding to the otherworldly scenario. And with the score sometimes hinting at Zoltán Kodály’s five-tone sequence from Spielberg’s Close Encounters of the Third Kind, or even a passage from Henryk Górecki’s Symphony of Sorrowful Songs, the mystical essence was made human, or superhuman, as the case may be.

Pliant, rubbery and astonishingly committed, the dancers seemed to be on another plane(t), although their fleshly gestures—spooning, kissing—made them seem nearly approachable, the key word, ‘nearly.’ And as a triumvirate, they also seemed to embody the Buddhist maxim, “See no evil,” “hear no evil,” and, well, “dance no evil,” which was more than could be said for Agami’s number.

But one applauds the efforts of both groups, and perhaps when Ate9 returns, her group will have something more significant to say. As for JJTC, please pass the arnica!

Victoria Looseleaf

Victoria Looseleaf is an award-winning, Los Angeles-based international arts journalist who covers music and dance festivals around the world. Among the many publications she has contributed to are the Los Angeles Times, the New York Times, Dance Magazine and KCET’s Artbound. In addition, she taught dance history at USC and Santa Monica College. Looseleaf’s novella-in-verse, Isn't It Rich? is available from Amazon, and and her latest book, Russ & Iggy’s Art Alphabet with illustrations by JT Steiny, was recently published by Red Sky Presents. Looseleaf can be reached through X, Facebook, Instagram and Linked In, as well as at her online arts magazine ArtNowLA.

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