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<\/a>Sylvie Guillem in Akram Khan’s Tekn\u00ea<\/em> <\/p><\/div>\n Force of Nature<\/em>. That\u2019s the title of a documentary about the career of the formidable French dancer, Sylvie Guillem (https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/watch?v=QmMaNQBED8Q<\/a>). You can see her at 19, when she was promoted to the rank of \u00e9toile<\/em> in the Paris Opera Ballet by its then director Rudolf Nureyev. She is startling as a ballerina. Although her long neck, proud little head, slim body, long legs, and beautifully arched feet are not uncommon, her flexibility is. Guillem began her career as a gymnast, and discovered ballet almost by accident.<\/p>\n That early training shows. Watching her in some early films and seeing her at 50, performing onstage at City Center in her Sylvie Guillem: Life in Progress<\/em>, you could believe that her hips are engineered differently from those of other dancers. She may lift a leg to the side with no apparent effort; it floats up and, just when you\u2019d expect it to arrive at a reasonable height, she slips it into overdrive, and there it is, past high noon. When she leaps sideways, her legs split almost as soon as she takes off. The effect is both thrilling and slightly vulgar, but her cool presentation (or dramatic involvement, depending on the dance) downplays both.<\/p>\n For most of her career\u2014at the Paris Opera, in Britain\u2019s Royal Ballet, and as a guest artist with other companies\u2014Guillem has chosen her roles carefully. And over the years, she has embarked on projects as diverse as staging a new version of Giselle<\/em> for the Finnish National Ballet and the Ballet of La Scala and performing two solos from the 1920s by Germany\u2019s pioneer of modern dance, Mary Wigman. Like Wendy Whelan, who began to work with choreographers in contemporary dance as she withdrew from her roles as a principal dancer with New York City Ballet, Guillem has commissioned for her current program works by four highly individual European dancemakers: Akram Khan, William Forsythe, Russell Maliphant, and Mats Ek\u2014all of whom require flexibility of both mind and body. She wants, she says, to be \u201c\u00e9merveill\u00e9<\/em>\u201d by the work she undertakes\u2014amazed, made to marvel. The choreographers of the three dances featuring her were clearly \u00e9merveill\u00e9s<\/em> by her; wanting both to honor her and to challenge her gently, none produced a masterpiece. Perhaps that was to be expected.<\/p>\n Sylvie Guillem: Life in Progress<\/em> constitutes her farewell tour. On December 30, 2015, in Japan, she will perform for the last time. If you insist on seeing her as a ballerina, go online; she will not venture into that world again. In fact, Khan\u2019s Techn\u00ea <\/em>begins by making us unsure whether she is even human. Alies Sluiter\u2019s score begins tremulously with light rattling sounds, birds, growing thunder, a developing melody, but remains mysterious, even as it becomes more forcefully rhythmic. The musicians and co-composers sit at the back: percussionist Prathap Ramachandra, Grace Savage beatboxing, and Sluiter playing violin, viola, and laptop. A leafless tree made of silver wire gleams in the dim lighting by Adam Carr\u00e9e and Lucy Carter.<\/p>\n Guillem\u2014wearing a stylish, skimpy costume by Kimie Nakano\u2014 enters on all fours. She creeps along in a squat and operates from that position for a surprisingly long time. She\u2019s wearing a wig of chopped-off dark hair that hides her face much of the time. You become hyper-aware of her elbows and knees\u2014how bent they are, how pointed. She could be a grasshopper. She travels rapidly across the front of the stage, still in a squat (no hands) and bour\u00e9eing, her feet fairly twinkling. She actually spins on one toe in that position to end in a deep lunge.<\/p>\n The title, Techn\u00ea<\/em>, is from the Greek, a program note explains, and means \u201cknowledge based in practice: the human ability to make and perform.\u201d Perhaps the tree is the Tree of Knowledge. Guillem touches it once and makes incantatory gestures toward it with her hands, flutters her mobile fingers, and, behold, the tree slowly begins to rotate. I\u2019m not sure this empowers her; in the end she\u2019s again walking in a squat. Humbled? Reduced? Not sure.<\/p>\n Guillem dances in only three of the four dances programmed. Two men, Brigel Gjoka and Riley Watts, both of whom were associated with The Forsythe Company before it closed, perform Forsythe\u2019s Duo2015<\/em>, a new version of the choreographer\u2019s 1996 Duo. <\/em>I read the program note after the event, and it makes my head ache. Did I really see \u201ca clock composed of two dancers?\u201d Was I able to understand that I was watching dancers \u201cregister time in a spiraling way, make it visible, thinking about how it fits into the space?\u201d Readers, I fell down on the job.<\/p>\n What I did observe was two extremely interesting, quite endearing men moving primarily in a small area of space at the front and center of the stage, pinned there by Tanja R\u00fchl\u2019s lighting. Whatever the process by which the dance was constructed, the result is a particular kind of rhythm\u2014the kind we associate with an intricate task that requires two people. This isn\u2019t heavy lifting; it means trying to make moves that fit together; one dancer may start something that the other responds to. They watch each other carefully, and occasionally stare at something above their heads. Watts often slides his eyes sideways, as if he needs to be aware of something beyond the space the two inhabit.<\/p>\n Sometimes Willems\u2019s score falls silent; sometimes it accosts the men. They are expert Forsythians, able to set parts of the body in silky contention with one another. Their spines are super-flexible, eel-like. Watts is a contortionist as well, and the choreography makes use of his ball-bearing joints. The dancers\u2019 very strangeness elicits laughter and the occasional gasp. If you saw them moving like this on the street, you\u2019d want to give them a wide berth. But they carry on, their demanding collaborative job, which is not without humor or contentiousness. Duo<\/em> seems long at times; you keep expecting to end, but it re-energizes itself and forges ahead.<\/p>\n Emanuela Montanari (front) and Sylvie Guillem in Russell Maliphant’s Here & Now<\/em>. Photo: Bill Cooper<\/p><\/div>\n Maliphant\u2019s Here and After<\/em> also begins by pinning two dancers in a small, downstage space area. This time, they are women\u2014Guillem and Emanuela Montanari. Michael Hull\u2019s lighting patterns their pale orange outfits (by Stevie Stewart) with irregular rust-colored stripes. Andy Cowton\u2019s music creates an enigmatic atmosphere that begins sparsely, with electronic crickets and a single sustained tone; low rumbles, the sound of breathing, heavy beats, a muffled voice, and yodels work their way in. (Re the yodeling and the title: Guillem has a home in the Alps.)<\/p>\n The women bring to mind Siamese twins, even though they\u2019re not joined at the hip. Their mission seems to be to create pleasing designs together, to hold hands, to lean apart and counter-balance each other. When they separate, it\u2019s to retreat to the back of the stage, come forward, retreat again, etc. Playfulness enters the picture as the dance expands to affirm friendship and collegiality.<\/p>\n
Photo: Bill Cooper<\/p>\n<\/a>
Brigel Gjoka (L) and Riley Watts in William Forsythe’s Duo2015<\/em>. Photo: Bill Cooper<\/p><\/div>\n<\/a>