"Right to Spring' by Ballet X

Matthew Neenan redeems himself

JIM RUTTER

After seeing Ballet X’s world premiere of the high-energy, fun to watch Right to Spring, I’m finally ready to forgive choreographer Matthew Neenan for his mishandling of Carmina Burana last year with the Pennsylvania Ballet. Every element of ritual, rebirth, eroticism and the passage of time that Neenan misunderstood (and subsequently failed to convey) in his choreography of Orff’s masterpiece, he captured brilliantly with this new work.

Neenan has filled Right to Spring with bold movements that require both classical precision and a rigorous athleticism. It’s a work capable of bridging modern dance and classical ballet, and despite its flaws should become a signature piece for Ballet X, one that shows a reluctant, but evolving maturity in Neenan’s work.

Young animals’ first steps

Initially set in the dormancy of winter, Right to Spring opens on the corps of dancers writhing around under a scrim while a (very pregnant) Christine Cox lies prostrate, ready to awaken in the center. Through turbulent, even violent movements, the choreography shows a difficult reawakening, with paired dancing that conveys a deep sensuality that lingers even in winter’s slumber. Martha Chamberlain’s plain, gray, almost robe-like costumes make the dancers resemble acolytes undergoing a process of initiation, while the awkward, almost grotesque early movements remind you of loping young animals first learning to use their limbs.

It’s almost painful to watch, as Neenan makes his own agony clearly visible in expression, before allowing an emergent energy to blossom into a slowly building eroticism and fullness of life in the corps movements. With just a dip of her hips or slow twist of her shoulders (or the simmering gaze of her eyes), Tara Keating here expresses the pure quality of hesitation and longing better than the brushstrokes of most painters.

The wondrous changing of the seasons interrupts the flow of the piece only musically— as the onstage band stops playing, Mozart’s Divertimento in D Major pours through the loudspeakers—and the gray clothing yields to bright colors, and the period of longing and slow reawakening in winter bursts forth into vibrant, quick, fun movements on stage.

The springtime of her body

Here, life and strength and joy find full visual representation, especially in Emily Wagner’s physical presence, which at times defies imagination. Breaking through into the springtime of her body, she looks at times like a steel cable swaying in the wind, capable of supporting an entire suspension bridge with her own taut body. And for nearly the remainder of the piece, the fast-paced, free-flowing movements—dancers twirling in unison or the staggering leaps and carries—kept me absolutely enthralled.

Of course, Matthew Pierce’s music—played live on stage—helps set the tone of both pieces. It’s an eerie early music sound that cleverly evokes a spirit of winter and later presages the turbulent passage of the seasons into spring, where Pierce’s evocative flute work falls nothing short of brilliant.

A few quibbles

Although Neenan’s choreography is visually inventive throughout, his abstract scenes of springtime flirtation and boys fighting over girls require some interpretation. A very literal “spin the bottle” passage shows a playful lack of maturity. The audience initially chuckled, but I rolled my eyes at this “action” taking place on stage, and focused instead on the finely structured solo dances that took place outside the circle. However potent (and commonplace) this springtime rite may be, I don’t understand why Neenan would risk marring a piece that he otherwise layers with wonderfully expressive symbolism. If he wants to be obvious, why not just show the wintertime ritual of boys writing their names in the snow?

Save this one minor letdown, Neenan’s choreography kept me absolutely captivated, and I basked in the magnificence he created, at least for 59 of the 60 minutes of the piece. But then, suddenly, he ended on something derisive and self-deprecating—which, as it doesn’t spoil the piece, I won’t spoil in the telling.

Leaving with a sour taste

But imagine an updated Swan Lake, where instead of having Odette rush off to her death to break Rothbard’s spell, a choreographer ends the show by having her stroll to the center of the stage and burp loudly.

And even though a stretch of interpretation could argue that Neenan integrates his ending with the beginning of the piece, why take the audience on a magnificent, almost transcendent journey from winter into spring only to invite them to deride it with laughter at the very end? This tacked-on bit made me wonder if Neenan lacks confidence in his own work, or if he’s afraid to present something beautiful in a sincere fashion. In either case, it’s something else I’ll have to forgive him for.