Slow Build

When viewing any work of art, patience may be a necessity, rather than a virtue alone. At least, in New York City Center’s second program for its annual Fall for Dance Festival, instant gratification is discouraged, with a slate of three works that reward viewers as they build, gradually, to ecstasy, horror, and mania.

Performance

Fall for Dance Festival: Program 2: Clare Furey/Bent Hollow in “Dog Rising” / Lil Buck and Dévone Tines' “Resurrection” / Hubbard Street Dance Chicago in “Impasse” by Johan Inger

Place

New York City Center, New York, NY, September 19, 2025

Words

Rebecca Deczynski

Clara Furey’s “Dog Rising.” Photograph by Steven Pisano

There is a slow start to the program, with choreographer Clara Furey’s “Dog Rising”—performed in the US for the first time after debuting in Montreal in 2021—establishing a metronomic cadence. The three-dancer number begins with Jontae McCrory standing, popping their chest in and out as the others, Baco LePage-Acosta and Brian Mendez, slither on the floor. The music by “Twin Rising” is more synth-driven soundscape than score. McCrory eventually shifts their movement pattern to other forms of oscillation, moving their hips from side to side, their elbows up and down, their shoulders forward and back. When all the dancers unite, at last, in the same rhythm of movement, they have been moving for what seems to be at least 10 minutes. There is no rushing the progression here.

From this point forward, the mechanics of “Dog Rising” don’t shift much. The dancers maintain an even beat, repeating phrases that accent the increasingly electronic score. There are playful moments—limp wrists dangling during a hip-popping sequence—and movements that sit somewhere on the campier side of aggression, like mimed punches in full boxing stance. This repeats, in varying dancer combinations, for around 30 minutes. After half that time, it starts to feel interminable.

In its deliberate stagnancy, “Dog Rising” is far more an act of meditation than a thematic piece. Simultaneously, the dancers’ relatively constrained, repetitive motions feel familiar. They would not look so very out of place transposed onto the dance floor of a club with a DJ playing EDM—though their technique might set them apart from others around them. The work builds largely because of its unceasing flow which, to some, may seem tedious. There is no hint at when the dancers may stop. When they do, it comes as a relief for their own stamina and that of the audience, who by proximity are caught in the same dictatorial beat which drives the dancers. While restrained in its movement vocabulary, the work is widely open for interpretation—not unlike a Rothko canvas.

Lil Buck and Davóne Tines in “Resurrection.” Photograph by Steven Pisano

The movement artist Lil Buck—known for his mastery of the street dance style Memphis Jookin–shares the stage with the bass-baritone Davóne Tines, who sings a live version of the Albert Brumley hymn “By the By,” as interpreted by Caroline Shaw, in “Resurrection.” The stage is cast in red lighting as Tines’s voice bursts from the shadows, Lil Buck emerging in front of him as he glides across the floor, working his feet through intricate accents and, on occasion, popping up on pointe in his sneakers seemingly effortlessly. There is an airy quality to Lil Buck’s movement which is a testament to his strength and balance—yet the tone of this work is intense and dark.

Through the duration of the piece, Tines walks slowly downstage, with Lil Buck moving around him, at one point circling him and drumming his fist on Tines’s chest—a pantomime that aligns with the foreboding thrum of the music. Lil Buck’s movement connects with the lyrics that Tines sings, yet he maintains his independence, shifting through elaborate sequences with speed as the baritone’s voice holds deep, booming notes. In the final moments of the song, the two are lit from below in stark white, creating something of a horror movie effect, which is only heightened when, on Tines’s last word, Lil Buck, having slipped behind him, draws his arms around him and pulls him back into the dark.

It’s an affecting finish to a short but impactful finish—but Tines and Lil Buck are quick to reset the mood. After they take their bows, the entire stage is cast in bright light, and they begin a far more joyful reprise: Tines, in the chorus, urging hesitant audience members to sing with him, and Lil Buck fluttering around the stage in confounding fluidity and detail.

Hubbard Street Dance Chicago in “Impasse” by Johan Inger. Photograph by Steven Pisano

Hubbard Street Dance Chicago’s “Impasse” starts with a simple setup: to stage left, a house stands. Its black facade blends into its surroundings, and it is only legible from its minimalistic white outline. When Jacqueline Burnett emerges from its front door, she is limber and expressive, Johan Inger’s choreography a pleasing meld of ballet and modern. There is a sense of yearning or sadness when she sweeps an arm or prances in one direction, her hands held behind her head. This plaintive mood shifts, however, when she finds her way back to the house and a single hand, slipping out from behind the door, caresses her face. The hijinks have begun.

Dancer David Schultz—whose hand reached out to Burnett—joins her on the stage, and eventually Aaron Choate stumbles out of the house as well. It’s clear that there are complications here within the trio’s relationship: the men grow competitive with one another. Choate, with his shirt billowing and unbuttoned, is the Other Man.

With its dynamic and often playful choreography—one sequence of domino-like tumbles inspires laughs from the audience—“Impasse” is a delight that only grows more intoxicating as it goes on. A troupe of dancers dressed in black gradually join the trio, spilling from the house in seductive style. When all of the dancers move in unison as Ibrahim Maalouf’s layered composition crescendos into a mambo section, the result is nothing short of euphoric. After the dancers leave the stage, the trio returns dressed similarly in black.

The set work of “Impasse” is essential to its narrative: a smaller, yet similar style of house, is placed in front of the original set. The dancers that emerge from this piece have a wholly different tenor. Dressed in various costumes—a clown among them—they contort the piece into a wild, circus-like fantasy.

This choice is, at face value, absurd. But it’s also a level of ridiculousness that the Hubbard Street dancers can pull off with their unmatchable timing and precision. Amid the clownery, there is no loss of technique; the chaos is as much a science as an art. The piece finds its perfect finish only after the buildup of energy threatens to burst. It was out of total enrapture, and not any sense of lack of dissatisfaction, that I was left wanting even more.

Rebecca Deczynski

Rebecca Deczynski is a New York City-based writer and editor publishes the newsletter Mezzanine Society. Her work has appeared in publications including Inc., Domino, NYLON, and InStyle. She graduated from Barnard College cum laude with a degree in English and a minor in dance.

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