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Cavalia
By Sid Smith:
The sweeping spectacle called "Cavalia," a Cirque du Soleil-like extravaganza starring nearly three dozen noble, magnificent horses in a tent in the West Loop, is a chance to examine dance when part of a larger entertainment effort.It's instance of the art's employment, in other words, when facilitator rather than main event. Dance enthusiasts see this all the time and rarely pay heed, even though these endeavors often attract vast audiences unlikely to see choreography in its more rarified concert setting. Whether it's the Rockettes, a Las Vegas spectacle, "Dancing With the Stars" or a new vaudevillian circus, dancing is still dancing, even in this flashier, more populist mode. And commercial dance, it should be remembered, offers crucial income for industry professionals. Such Chicago worthies as Sherry Zunker and Harrison McEldowney are among those who've subsidized their serious fare by working on cruise ships."Cavalia" is in a class by itself in this regard by raising an unusual, some might say bizarre question: Can horses dance? The answer, goofy though it sounds, turns out to be, "Yes, more or less." They can be taught to ker-plop their hooves in time to the music, even repeatedly for relatively long riffs--one stallion at Tuesday's opening worked up a back-and-forth rhythm, alternating one pair of hooves with the other, as if caught up in a brief fever of jazz improvisation. Horses, too, we learn, can be guided to form all sorts of ensemble configurations and then dissolve gracefully out of them, just as humans do. And they almost universally do so with that majesty that makes them among the most hypnotic animals on the planet.Like the show itself, which canters along in fits and starts, wearied by slow segments interspersed with genuinely breathtaking ones, the choreographic effects are spotty. Any devotee of the art house is likely to sneer at the conceptual simplicity of much of the routines. In a section known as "Roman Riding," for instance, four riders atop four horses team up with a trio of acrobats. But there's little effort to link the two into any kind of coherent, unifying structure. They just do their thing, side by side, on stage, their technical talent lone reason to be there."Cavalia" is less like Cirque in that regard and more like "Riverdance," conjoined by dreamy nature imagery and a comforting, New Age gloss. Ersatz poetry, linked by sleek presentational puffery.That said, some sections of movement are knockouts, including times when the aerial artists and acrobats show off their stuff while the horses take a break. (Frederic Pignon and Magali Delgado are listed as equestrian choreographers, while Alain Gauthier is artistic coordinator and choreographer.) Among the more astonishing athletes is Mohamed Ahchoune, a six-pack he-man and utter maestro of the Chinese pole, suspending himself by shear muscle power in a horizontal position and then seeming to climb upward, as if the air were hiding an invisible staircase.But the horses are the real curiosities, and, in one section, a quartet of them suavely engage in a circle moving counterclockwise, while another foursome initiate a circle in the opposite direction--the two circles so close together that the image is one of stately ensemble intimacy. Elsewhere, the horses slowly gather together closely, and each places his head atop the animal in front of him, creating a sweet family grouping, not unlike something you might see in a bit of sugary ballet. (All the horses are stallions or geldings.)A synchronicity dancers might envy is on view in the regal, medieval-cloaked duet called "The Mirror," wherein two women, dressed identically, atop two ashen steeds, move in close proximity to each other and all over the playing area, all the while identically mimicking each other's moves. Mirror images indeed, and tough for humans. But with animals involved? Pretty impressive.But, for me, the most enchanting bit came near the very beginning. A woman dances on stage alone, playfully teasing and splashing around in a pool of water embedded in the set. Eventually, a single horse joins her, and in an entrancing moment of almost romantic seduction, he hesitates as she beckons, and then oh-so-slowly, as if aware of the melodic music, inches toward her to sip water from her hand--classic myth and the garish sweetness of painter Maxfield Parrish come together.
