Dance Review: WRITTEN ON WATER and SNOW by Pontus Lidberg Dance

Reviewed by Adrienne Totino 

With only one remaining performance next month, the Pittsburgh Dance Council season is officially winding down. On Saturday night at the Byham Theater, Pontus Lidberg Dance brought uniqueness to an eclectic lineup.

Lidberg is a Swedish choreographer and filmmaker whose dance work has garnered attention since the company’s debut in 2011. Lidberg’s experience in film translates to the stage, with highly visual and rich movement palettes. His Pittsburgh debut was no exception. In Written on Water and Snow, the choreography evoked lush imagery.

Written on Water opened the show, as a prelude to Snow. Originally, the piece was conceived as a pas de deux for the American Ballet Theater. Since then, it has been expanded and now includes three dancers.

The piece highlighted the partnering skills of the dancers, which Lidberg thinks of as a conversation with the body. Dramatic string music by Stefan Levin set the scene, while bright light came up on Lidberg and Barton Cowperthwaite. The third dancer, Kaitlyn Gilliland, entered sporadically while the men conversed in light leaps and lifts, then deep, grounded pliés.

The pace quickened when Gilliland joined the men in a more definitive manner. Upright, balletic shapes were easily interspersed with undulation through the spine and off-center release that took the dancers to the floor. The movement itself was the high point, intricate and imaginative.

Near the end, a waltzing lilt had the dancers moving through quick, technical phrases with moments of stillness and gestures of touch that showed the vulnerability and uncertainty of human relationships. A dusting of “snow” fell from the rafters, enhancing the feeling of fragility. To finish, the three stood face to face, as if in realization, then turned away from one another as the lights faded.

Snow followed intermission and, in a way, picked up where the trio left off. The piece featured four dancers, adding Christopher Adams to the cast. As a fifth character, a Japanese-style Bunraku puppet also played a large role.

The quartet was originally choreographed to Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring, but has since been reworked to an electronic score by Ryan Francis. During the creation of the piece, Lidberg was interested in the thoughts and desires that animate us, and in contrast, the detached way in which nature occurs without thought.

To begin, three of the dancers, masked and in shadow, manipulated the child-like puppet. The fourth dancer brought a balloon to the stage, which momentarily carried the child/puppet away. Mary Poppins came to mind, swinging from her umbrella with glee.

The performers remained masked throughout, a lighter covering over their faces while they danced, and a darker tone with a heavy hood while they engaged the puppet. Snow fell continuously; as winter can be both wistful and somber, so was the piece.

At times, the dancers skipped playfully into rollicking phrases reminiscent of youth. But an eeriness took over when their unison or partnering broke away, and when the puppet shivered with cold, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

That haunted sense continued when snow pushed forcibly from the wings, pressing the dancers back with indifference. Later, the balloon popped, bursting the astonishment of young life.

Neither the puppet or snowfall detracted from the beauty of the movement. Like the first piece, the choreography stood on its own. Eventually, all four dancers swept through individual motifs that melded into a circular unison mimicking the spiral of seasons.

In closing, the force of movement halted swiftly. Before the dancers shed their masks entirely, the lights went to black. While the unveiling could have been cliché, the result felt genuine. Lidberg succeeded in presenting the universal grace of both art and nature, the unrelenting storm of life experience.


 

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