Pilobolus’ fascination with shadow play—incorporating silhouetted bodies behind a white screen, often creating playful or fantastical imagery—in their works has its place, but the venerable, feisty troupe has overextended its welcome. Their imaginative transformation of bodies into letters, numbers, logos and such made for entertaining short takes at the Oscar ceremony and in some advertisements. They used it for a memorable turn on David Letterman’s show, tumbling and cartwheeling from the sides of the stage to create a host of New York City images to the tune of “Summer in the City.”
But their incorporation of this approach and the technical complexity it demands has not yielded similar dividends on stage. Certainly for the new Dog•id, one of this season’s three premieres, the Pilobolus gang seems to have gotten way too captivated at the games they can play behind the screen, and neglected to shape a focused, involving piece.
For several years now, the company has expanded its creative process by reaching out to an impressive list of collaborators, some quite unexpected. One year it was Maurice Sendak; last year it was the exceptional puppeteer Basil Twist. For Dog•id, they have hooked up with Steven Banks, the head writer of the ever-popular kids’ TV show SpongeBob SquarePants. The company regulars do not perform in it; a separate cast of 10, larger than the usual six of fewer that populate most Pilobolus works, has been enlisted. They include some recent company members, and they are kept busy manipulating lights and screens, acting as much as stagehands as performers.
The energetic opening bodes well: everyone tumbles into the center of the stage form the wings, most in variations of underwear. Soon Molly Gawker emerges as the central figure. Helped into a girlish white dress and pantaloons, she radiates naive innocence and wonder. When she lies down and is rocked to sleep, carried and swayed along the backs of several crouching men, it’s clear she’s headed off to dreamland. Oversized figures or body parts, first in front of a small screen, then a full-stage-size one that is rolled down by the performers, populate her dreams.
A lengthy, hectic scene with increasing violent chefs cooking up some wild concoction (in a kettle with human legs) owes something to the antics of Ratatouille. If it aims for a sinister, macabre tone, it misfired. This and other visions has occasional “wow” moments but failed to sustain on ongoing dramatic momentum, and don’t resonate into something larger. Dog•id feels slack and occasional indulgent, as though the creators (the program credits six of them, along with the performers) were having a grand old time but neglected the work’s overall shape. It doesn’t help that the audience is very aware of the performers rushing around to maneuver the necessary lights and cords and other paraphernalia to make everything run smoothly. Granted, after this opening night performance, they may well have gotten into a smoother rhythm with all these tasks.
The final episode is sweetly affecting, though it feels disconnected from much of what has come before. The score by David Poe ranges widely, form lilting piano-led melodies to music box quaintness to a folk-pop song sung with a heavy French accent. It helps set the mood as the episodes unfold, but some of the sections meander on too long.
The other premiere unveiled on opening night was Redline, for which Jonathan Wolken (one of Pilobolus’ three artistic directors) choreographed in collaboration with the current company members. It’s very much in the vein of his earlier Megawatt—with similar athletics-meet-gangsta costuming in shades of red and black, and with the dancers’ engaging in tough, aggressive, almost brutal movement to a pulsating score (by John Kilgore and Wolken). There’s not a lot of subtlety here, but it’s a relief to see Pilobolus focusing on the bodies themselves, creating tension and drama from the (often extreme) movement and partnering rather than from extraneous elements. The dancers turn into daredevils, warriors and acrobats. In one repeated sequence two launch a third into arcing backwards leaps through the air. Wolken comes up with a potent, riveting opening sequence and keeps the action taut and focused. He’s also created a brilliant showcase for the understated, magnetic Jun Kuribayashi.
Opening night also offered two of the works that share Program I with Redline: Walklyndon, a beloved, wonderfully silly example of very early Pilobolus, featuring an abundance of silly walks, goofy exchanges and body-slamming encounters. Rushes, a 2007 collaboration with Israeli choreographers Inbal Pinto and Asvshalom Pollak, overplays its atmosphere of circus-gone-sour as the dancers hunch and trudge like wayward tramps. Here too, some editing would have helped, but midway through, a sequence in which the dancers deftly maneuver a line of miniature chairs—momentarily evoking a carousel—creates some magic.
The Pils reunite with Pinto and Pollak for the season’s third premiere, 2b. It headlines the third program, which continues in repertory with two others throughout the season.
Through Aug. 8, Joyce Theater, 175 8th Ave. (at W. 19th St.), 212-242-0800; times vary, $19-$59.
But their incorporation of this approach and the technical complexity it demands has not yielded similar dividends on stage. Certainly for the new Dog•id, one of this season’s three premieres, the Pilobolus gang seems to have gotten way too captivated at the games they can play behind the screen, and neglected to shape a focused, involving piece.
For several years now, the company has expanded its creative process by reaching out to an impressive list of collaborators, some quite unexpected. One year it was Maurice Sendak; last year it was the exceptional puppeteer Basil Twist. For Dog•id, they have hooked up with Steven Banks, the head writer of the ever-popular kids’ TV show SpongeBob SquarePants. The company regulars do not perform in it; a separate cast of 10, larger than the usual six of fewer that populate most Pilobolus works, has been enlisted. They include some recent company members, and they are kept busy manipulating lights and screens, acting as much as stagehands as performers.
The energetic opening bodes well: everyone tumbles into the center of the stage form the wings, most in variations of underwear. Soon Molly Gawker emerges as the central figure. Helped into a girlish white dress and pantaloons, she radiates naive innocence and wonder. When she lies down and is rocked to sleep, carried and swayed along the backs of several crouching men, it’s clear she’s headed off to dreamland. Oversized figures or body parts, first in front of a small screen, then a full-stage-size one that is rolled down by the performers, populate her dreams.
A lengthy, hectic scene with increasing violent chefs cooking up some wild concoction (in a kettle with human legs) owes something to the antics of Ratatouille. If it aims for a sinister, macabre tone, it misfired. This and other visions has occasional “wow” moments but failed to sustain on ongoing dramatic momentum, and don’t resonate into something larger. Dog•id feels slack and occasional indulgent, as though the creators (the program credits six of them, along with the performers) were having a grand old time but neglected the work’s overall shape. It doesn’t help that the audience is very aware of the performers rushing around to maneuver the necessary lights and cords and other paraphernalia to make everything run smoothly. Granted, after this opening night performance, they may well have gotten into a smoother rhythm with all these tasks.
The final episode is sweetly affecting, though it feels disconnected from much of what has come before. The score by David Poe ranges widely, form lilting piano-led melodies to music box quaintness to a folk-pop song sung with a heavy French accent. It helps set the mood as the episodes unfold, but some of the sections meander on too long.
The other premiere unveiled on opening night was Redline, for which Jonathan Wolken (one of Pilobolus’ three artistic directors) choreographed in collaboration with the current company members. It’s very much in the vein of his earlier Megawatt—with similar athletics-meet-gangsta costuming in shades of red and black, and with the dancers’ engaging in tough, aggressive, almost brutal movement to a pulsating score (by John Kilgore and Wolken). There’s not a lot of subtlety here, but it’s a relief to see Pilobolus focusing on the bodies themselves, creating tension and drama from the (often extreme) movement and partnering rather than from extraneous elements. The dancers turn into daredevils, warriors and acrobats. In one repeated sequence two launch a third into arcing backwards leaps through the air. Wolken comes up with a potent, riveting opening sequence and keeps the action taut and focused. He’s also created a brilliant showcase for the understated, magnetic Jun Kuribayashi.
Opening night also offered two of the works that share Program I with Redline: Walklyndon, a beloved, wonderfully silly example of very early Pilobolus, featuring an abundance of silly walks, goofy exchanges and body-slamming encounters. Rushes, a 2007 collaboration with Israeli choreographers Inbal Pinto and Asvshalom Pollak, overplays its atmosphere of circus-gone-sour as the dancers hunch and trudge like wayward tramps. Here too, some editing would have helped, but midway through, a sequence in which the dancers deftly maneuver a line of miniature chairs—momentarily evoking a carousel—creates some magic.
The Pils reunite with Pinto and Pollak for the season’s third premiere, 2b. It headlines the third program, which continues in repertory with two others throughout the season.
Through Aug. 8, Joyce Theater, 175 8th Ave. (at W. 19th St.), 212-242-0800; times vary, $19-$59.
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