"NOW TENDER, A LITTLE BIT TENDER"

SIR FREDERICK ASHTON COACHING "THE DREAM"


This marvelous footage is among my favorite dance films--it speaks to clarity, nuance, phrasing, intention, pacing, detail, the innate authority of the choreographer and his first cast, to grandeur and softness, to romance and what it takes to achieve it. Applicable to any dancer and--in my dream--to any choregrapher. Those familiar with Balanchine and Cunningham will lean forward saying to yourselves, "Yes, and yes." Douglas Dunn is right. Dancing is dancing. Here, cigarette in hand, is the loose-limbed, Bloomsburyish Sir Frederick Ashton. His eyes can hear, and his ears can see.



MARK MORRIS: ACIS AND GALATEA

Appearing this month
June 18-19, 2015
          at the
International Festival of Arts and Ideas
Shubert Theater
New Haven, Connecticut

 originally published in

Happy we!
What joys I feel
What charms I see.

The auditorium lights dim halfway. The band strikes up (the Philharmonic Baroque Orchestra and Chorale, under Nicholas McGegan). Handel’s “Acis and Galatea” zings into the house, filled with Mostly Mozart Festival and Mark Morris regulars. The urge to boogie in your seat is fierce. Then, action! The stage fills with dancing. And right away, when the music is sweeping you up in an unconfined surge of joy, the choreographer sends out a nod to his previous great Handel work, and to those who love it: “L’Allegro, Il Penserso, ed Il Moderato,” which you can hear underneath the overture (an echo of “Then Let Hymen Oft Appear,” a tenor aria from the second act). We’re in familiar and beloved territory.

Mark Morris Dance Group. Credit: Ken Friedman.

In the Morris version, “L’Allegro” ends with a surge of dancing. Wave after wave of dancers—duets, trios, quartets—run in from upstage and frolic towards us, only to exit and return again. All of the movement save the fast exits is from upstage to down. Here, in “Acis and Galatea,” Morris begins with similar bubbling waves of dancers, but in diagonals traversing every way but towards us. Then he gives us our “L’Allegro” moment: a quartet joyously advances and then drops to the floor and rolls sideways, with one dancer still neatly upright and sidestepping over the others. The audience laughs—as they will throughout the dance—which has some choice visual pranks, often engaged with the libretto’s text or subtext. Here, there’s a joke and an in-joke.


But this is not “L’Allegro,” and it isn’t Handel. It is not a dance. It is a two-act opera, and a Mozart rearrangement of the original Handel. Besides its clear connection to the Mostly Mozart Festival, this version of the music is fuller yet lighter, racier, less stately, and more dance-y. This score moves us forward in the Morris canon.

A PERFECT SUMMER DAY


PARIS, 1970 




photo: James Klosty




with thanks to the photographer for this beautiful and evocative image