Le Grand Paul Taylor
By Lori Ortiz
The 2003 "Le Grand Puppetier" warns us not to rest on our laurels. The program notes begin with a quote from Lord Acton "… absolute power corrupts absolutely." The premiering dance is set to the pianola arrangement of "Petrouchka." Stravinsky’s symphony for the ballet was composed with the idea of a piano barraged by the orchestra’s music. It was first performed in Paris in 1911; Nijinsky was the hapless puppet with human qualities.
"Le Grand Puppetier" establishes Taylor dancers as performers of the first rank. The cast includes The Emperor, His Puppet, His Daughter, His Courtier, two Guardsmen, and Subjects. Designer Santo Loquasto’s costumes are colorful, but The Emperor wears black with a Napoleonic hat, and His Puppet wears white prison garb that also recalls the original costume for the character Petrouchka. The Puppet is danced heartbreakingly by Patrick Corbin, as if the spirit of Petrouchka has again come to life for the show.
The backdrop is a sunny yellow dropping to a bright sliver near the floor in the dark sections of the dance. A sense of the cell into which the ne’er do well puppet is flung by his leash is created in the abstract by Jennifer Tipton’s lighting/d�cor. The Puppet is encircled by The Subjects—now vertical forms spaced like prison bars.
The Emperor’s Daughter (Lisa Viola) dances with the Red Guardsman (Michael Tresnovec.) The Puppet is spurned and cast to the floor. His Courtier is a comedic role danced hilariously and utterly convincingly by Robert Kleinendorst. He tries to woo a smirking Viola with his clumsy steps. Her own modern version of "The Ballerina" is equally endearing and virtuosic.
Finally The Puppet happens upon The Emperor’s scimitar, (actually a cross between evil wand and prodding stick,) and strikes him with it. Richard Chen-See is an eloquent emperor turned puppet at this point, dancing to the music as if pulled by strings.
The oppressed Subjects encircle The Puppet again, this time reveling in their good fortune. Rallying around, the scimitar has been forgotten and is seized by a weakened Emperor. His absolute power is quickly restored—an omen for the anarchic masses.
Taylor balances the rest of the program with the cotton candy sweet "Mercuric Tidings" and the fearsome "Runes." The 1982 "Mercuric" is set to excerpts from Schubert Symphonies, no. 1 and 2. A very fast allegro seems rushed and acrobatic, but the beautiful partnering is transfixing as is Michael Trusnovec’s flawless performance. Each smiling, hardworking dancer is an uplifting reason to be alive and watching Paul Taylor Dance Company. "Mercuric Tidings" is like a court romp and the dancers almost gloat. The jaunt ends with Sylvia Nevjinsky hoisted to a sitting position on the pedestal of "Mercuric’s" final formation.
"Runes" is somber and substantial. Jennifer Tipton projects a moon that moves across a night sky. The dancers cast spells with movements that still look like fresh innovations almost 30 years after this classic was created. Gerald Busby’s original music is eerie as Tipton’s yellow light.
Oddly, instead of fairy wings, black stuffed furs are strapped to the backs of the males as if in an ancient tribe. In a breathtaking solo by Lisa Viola, her fingers catch the light in turns. She stomps, breathes, and claps her thighs in an earthy ritual. Amidst the complex interpolating paths of the company, dancers appear and disappear as unexpectedly as the moon does from different points of view. It is Le Grand Paul Taylor’s magic illusionism.
