I have never been in Philip Johnson’s immense second-floor lobby in the New York State Theater when it was empty of audience members. I’m not familiar with the grids marked on its floor. Before the pandemic, it was a place where friends and colleagues chatted, compared notes, and maybe bought drinks during intermissions of the New York City Ballet’s performances. (I usually remembered not to leave empty glasses on the pediment of one of Elie Nadelman’s two gigantic white sculptures).
Today I’ve been there virtually, the lobby’s vast space diminished to fit my laptop’s screen. Miles away from New York City, I’m watching Kyle Abraham’s new When We Fell, filmed in black and white by director Abraham, Ryan Marie Helfant, and their crew. The eight dancers are about the height of my little finger’s top joint, so you’ll forgive me if I misapply their names. In alphabetical order, they are India Bradley, Jonathan Fahoury, Christopher Grant, Claire Kretschmar, Lauren Lovette, Taylor Stanley, KJ Takahashi, and Sebastian Villarini-Velez.
They’ve been rehearsing this ballet—the third that Abraham has made for the company—up at Kaatsbaan in Tivoli, New York and are now back on their home turf, even if they’re not on the NYST stage. The black-and-white images may refer to the snowy winter days during which When We Fell was created and when getting from their rooms to Kaatsbaan’s theater, where they took class and rehearsed, involved bundling up.
The filmed dancers enter the NYST lobby gradually and slowly, as if they were waking up to dancing. As if to take another’s hand to support oneself on pointe were a kind of compact. Music accompanies the piece’s three sections: Morton Feldman’s Piece for Four Pianos, Jason Moran’s “All Hammers and Chairs” from his album The Armory Concert, and Nico Muhly’s “Falling Berceuse,” performed by Stephen Gosling.
In the dark, before the spare piano music sounds, we hear what might be a storm, and Kretzschmer enters the space, seemingly from behind us. How careful she is, as if afraid of waking a sleeping giant! Joining her, Stanley is equally precise and careful, although he adds a jump. They fall into unison without fanfare, but may face in dissimilar directions. You begin to notice what makes Abraham’s choreography differ from, say, Balanchine’s. The dancers’ legs articulate the expected ballet vocabulary, but their hips and shoulders often move in subtly sinuous ways.
Fahoury, joining, stirs up quiet counterpoint. When someone “leaves,” he or she disappears from the screen. But when Bradley and Villarini-Velez enter, Fahoury and Takahashi sit and watch them. A cameraman decides to give us a brief overhead shot. When a fifth person (Lovette, I believe) appears, Abraham delivers three dancers in unison versus a pair.
Now (I think this is the work’s second section), the music roars as if a wind is stirring. Grant is attuned to the marble floor. Sinuous though he is, he kneels, sits, confronts the camera. And like the others, he places his limbs carefully, as if considering their impact.
I like the way Abraham accumulates steps the way he accumulates people. Suddenly the choreographic texture thickens and speeds up. Two men leap into sight, a woman zips by with piqué turns, while a man stands with his back to us. Two guys holding hands turn. Another one makes an enormous jump.
In the end, the space shrinks to a pool of light on the floor (the stage floor). In it, Lovette and Stanley embrace, as do their shadows. These two now seem like equals. They face each other holding hands and both lift a leg into arabesque (since when did raising a leg look like a greeting?). They are embracing when their circle of light shrinks into blackness. Our last sight, if I remember correctly is of the dark, empty New York State Theater. All we see are the necklaces of lights studding the balconies and that immense ball of a chandelier that long ago could rise and descend.
If you watch Abraham’s ballet on the New York City Ballet’s site, you may notice that you have the opportunity to watch another film and listen to these dancers and watch them rehearse. You don’t usually see Stanley with glasses, a mustache, and a beard. Villarini-Velez’s hair is a great deal longer than usual. You probably didn’t know that one of them had a dog who attended rehearsals. More importantly, they and Abraham tell us what it’s like to build a ballet in this way. Regularly tested for a virus, wearing masks at times, they’re doing what they do best, and they do it for a multitude of grateful solitary viewers like me.
Basha Detroit says
beautiful and appropriately lonely take on what we are going thru and dancers showing their best in a time of challenge. I love the way you measure the dancers bodies with your finger.
Deborah Jowitt says
What a welcome comment, Basha. I love the way you caught onto my finger analogy.
Martha Ullman West says
Welcome back Deborah, and thank you once again for making me see what you see, as if I were (if only!) sitting next to you in the theater. And don’t you dare stop the notifications!
Anna Schmitz says
Your beautiful commentary is as welcomed as the new dance to watch. So grateful to have your voice back doing what is loves to do, describing dance for us lovers of dance. I will go look at the piece tonight! Thank you!
sandi kurtz says
I’ve watched this a couple of times, and I realize I’ve been thinking of the film of the dance and the film about making the dance like a two-part suite. Perhaps it’s all the “behind the scenes” stuff I’ve been watching during the pandemic, but they just feel like two sides to the same coin.
Deborah Jowitt says
Thank you, Sandi! You’re right! The two muddle together in my head, Two sides to the same coin.
I hope you are in good health and happy!
Jay Rogoff says
Wonderfully described, Deborah. Thank you. This may be over-Apollonian (or over-anal) of me, but I rather wish Abraham’s work had a fourth movement involving the entire cast. I think the opening movement is my favorite, perhaps because the Feldman piece strikes me as more evocative than the Moran or the Muhly. Speaking of Apollonian, raising a leg is used as a greeting in Balanchine’s Apollo, when Apollo gives each of the muses her attribute and each salutes him with her pointe. Hope you are holding up well during all this, & that we’ll run across each other at a live event before too long.