Leave it to Merce Cunningham to make a cavernous drill hall in the Park Avenue Armory feel almost like a cathedral. About 2,500 came to worship, so to speak, and pay homage, on Wednesday as the Cunningham Dance Foundation offered an expansive, absolutely appropriate and comprehensive memorial to this unique and groundbreaking choreographer, who died at the age of 90 on July 26. The five hours of music and dance by many generations of his dancers and collaborating musicians was the ultimate Merce Cunningham Event—and also the ultimate alumni reunion. Dancers who had performed during every decade from the 1960s (Valda Setterfield and Gus Solomons) up through he present had their moments on stage, and the ever-luminous Carolyn Brown, an original company member from the 1950s and Cunningham’s dance partner for two decades, was in attendance.
So were dancers, choreographers, administrators and critics—it was a real dance-world convocation. The huge crowd—some settling into the much-in-demand limited seating, others moving around between the three spacious stages that were set up in the hall—ranged from infants to those old enough to have witnessed Cunningham dancing in his prime. Sonorous, spare music reverberated through the space as the crowd began gathering at 4 p.m., and for the next five hours the musicians, perched on high in the narrow balconies overlooking the hall, created a typical mix of Cunningham scores, some hushed and meditative, some harsh, loud and clangorous.
One of the most magical 15 minutes of music, a recording of John Cage playing his spare, evocative piano score titled Cheap Imitation, accompanied the first portion of the hour-long event that the current company dancers, joined by the Repertory Understudy Group, performed to open the memorial. Wearing bright red or pale orange unitards, they began with a reverent, almost stately excerpt from Second Hand (1970) on the central stage, before moving on to segments of various other dances performed on all three stages. Fleet, brilliant solos alternated with witty, high-stepping trios and exquisite sculptural duets. As a Cunningham sampler, it was richly satisfying and appropriate.
Then it was on to a cavalcade of brief excerpts by former company members, returning to pay homage to the creative genius that had set them in motion with such brilliance and originality. Some looked almost unchanged. Others had less hair or thicker middles. But each performed with that distinctive alertness and focus that Cunningham’s rigorous works inspire. Many of the excerpts were solos, and one often had to make difficult choices as at least two, and sometimes all three, stages were in use. At one point, I had to select between two of the company’s finest women from the 1990s, when the serenely mesmerizing Banu Ogan and the vibrantly dynamic Jean Freebury performed on separate stages simultaneously.
Particularly moving were the selections performed by an ensemble, such as the portion of Canfield (1969) and Scramble (1967), and the beautifully articulated sequence of Back Exercises, from daily company class. In these, the generations met, exchanged quiet smiles and acknowledged their distinctive shared heritage.
All the comings and goings were smoothly choreographed within the hall as the dancers arrived along carpeted paths, and each segment began precisely on time. One could imagine Cunningham coordinating it all with his stopwatch, delighting in the multiple layers of activity. He might have been choreographing the crowd as well, as most of us were kept in motion, continually sampling all the performances and finding new vantage points.
