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Mikhail Baryshnikov and Ana Laguna "Three Solos and a Duet"

By Zachary Whittenburg:

In discussing Mikhail Barsyhnikov, one must get a few superlatives out of the way: legendary, brilliant, sublime -- those kinds of words. In a bespoke solo like Alexei Ratmansky's "Valse Fantasie," for example, a soft stride across the floor to toy with an imaginary reflection required almost no exertion, but his tuned balance of precision and humanness in this opening pantomime instantly re-proved the volumes of experience and praise that followed him onstage.

This deft and enjoyable work gave us Mr. Baryshnikov in an ultralight alloy of the heavy metals he's danced throughout his career. Shades of his storied Albrecht and Basilio are blended with the sexy sass of the Tharp years and the command of sculpture he demonstrated in moderns like Paul Taylor's "Aureole." To Mikhail Glinka's oft-choreographed B-minor Valse-fantaisie, itself quintessential, a set of softly-twisted airborne shapes and witty musicality gave both Ratmansky and Baryshnikov something to do, which isn't to dismiss "Valse Fantasie" but to say that the history of dancemaking is built upon these little leaps and gestures and to combine them intelligently is really all there is. It was danced to perfection.

The other custom-built solo on the program, Benjamin Millepied's "Years Later," struck an equally-light note but was no less intriguing. Melodies for Saxophone Philip Glass originally wrote for a production of Jean Genet's Prisoner of Love provided ample opportunities for the dancer to whip through off-axis tours en l'air and unique combinations of jumps punctuated with Glass' jazzy honks. Baryshnikov is dancing in front of a projection of himself, first in the same material in contrapuntal arrangement, then in archival footage of himself as a preposterously-talented Latvian teen. Much of the counterpoint is played for laughs -- filmmaker Asa Mader loops the young Misha for an endless pirouette while the man onstage waits -- but "Years Later" is shot through with real melancholy. Baryshnikov moves toward and away from the projector, casting a shadow alternately larger and smaller than his younger self. One can (and should) dance for their entire life, but meeting the demands of classical ballet is a different story.

Mats Ek's choreography, though, is what gave this evening the meat to match its dancers' skill. The Swedish artist casts people as constantly cycling through violently-opposed states: shaking in bizarre fits of madness, blooming from within for moments of heavenly beauty, and pausing for repetitions that suggest both compulsive habit and core motivation. His wife, Ana Laguna, danced an excerpt from "Solo for Two" I've seen before but never done with such bravery; it haunts us the way a mostly-unseen other (Baryshnikov) haunts her. She mistakes a shoe for a telephone and looks for someone through binoculars that are only her hands, wraps her long grey ponytail around her neck and blows her nose on her skirt. Filed in between are gorgeous tosses of limbs and aching stillnesses. To breathe such life into images of sadness is to be redeemed from it -- Laguna's breathtaking performance was a lesson in humility.

Ek made "Place" for Laguna and Baryshnikov in 2007, which could be framed as the relationship Laguna reminisces in "Solo for Two." It opens finding them fused together with unison dancing and close proximity, but they're soon drifting into separate agendas, a pair of solos that take place on two different planets. Before Laguna's, she picks up the pale green rug, something between Neoprene Astroturf and whale skin, and covers Baryshnikov with it. His takes a fascinating detour into the stylized folk rituals of Nijinsky and has him hammering on a table like Liszt at a keyboard (both with his hands and his head). Flaskkvartetten's music, Erik Berglund's lighting and Peder Freiij's decor make the host space a rapidly-shifting set of conditions and Laguna and Baryshnikov's interactions with it only amplify the tenuousness. Joy is included in the entropy, though: the two run as though through a field and in place atop a hill of their own making, holding each others' waists and flirting knowing each others' turn-ons. Both of their pelvises continuously roll around in a primal springtime. "Place" is a complex work for two incredibly complex artists -- in addition to an unforgettable night of theater, the evening as a whole was a profound celebration of maturity in a youth-obsessed era.

Reviewed by Zac Whittenburg on 09/28/2009 at 11:57 AM