Pennsylvania Ballet's "Tango With Style' (3rd review)

Keep, an impressive and powerful new work by Matthew Neenan, proved the highlight of the Pennsylvania Ballet's otherwise lackluster "Tango with Style" program. The sparse aesthetic of the staging stayed within the tone of the evening, but Neenan's choreography transcended a pair of companion pieces—Robert Weiss's Octet for Strings and Hans van Manen's Five Tangos— that barely deserved commentary.

Keep opened on Amy Aldridge and Francis Veyette standing in a loose embrace at the back of the open stage. A quartet of dancers— Jermel Johnson, Abigail Mentzer, Lauren Fadeley, Tyler Galster— burst across and onto the floor from the wings. Neenan infused his choreography with explosive, athletic movements and earnestly playful touches that often contrasted sharply against the more somber tone of the music (Alexander Borodin's String Quartet No. 2 in D major and Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov's String Quartet in F major).

Some movements drew the couples closer together or showed them in chase while a double-hand push sent one dancer sprawling away from his partner. The "keep" of the title became an emotional tug of war: Keep nothing bottled up, and keep everything inside, keep one close and keep your distance. The forceful movements lacked much of Neenan's quirkiness (though not the splayed hips), relying more on classical ballet to fashion what's ultimately a very sensual composition and the most mature blend of emotions I've seen in Neenan's shorter works.

As the first movement ended, Fadeley and Mentzer draped their legs across their partners' necks and rode the men's heads down to the ground, pausing in stillness as John Hoey's lights diminish.

Trifling with human connections

A short pas de deux interlude featuring Riolama Lorenzo and Zachary Hench— set to the Nocturne (third movement) of Borodin's piece—grounded the emotional undertone of the entire work. Spinning away from and toward one another, hands grasping hands or hips in a whirlwind of ecstasy, Lorenzo swooned into Hench's arms with the dipping violins in the music. The wispy folds of her dress became a part of the choreography as Hench spun her around his waist. A more substantial material would have crackled in the air; instead, Lorenzo's yellow gauze-costume lingered and floated under the lighting. While the first movement showed human connection often played as a game, here Neenan reminded us that it's also a luxury not to be trifled with.

Keep's final movement returned the two couples in different attire— men in flowing shirts and leggings, the women's bright red dresses stark against the blue background— as Lorenzo now stood motionless at the back of the stage. The choreography resumed the explosiveness of the first segment, unfolding with even greater force as Johnson and Galster fought over Mentzer. Hench and Lorenzo moved through the quartet with their hands held aloft, palms facing but never touching, and glazed expressions on their faces.

It was both gorgeous and profound. I could've seen this interaction anywhere and understood that something had been lost between them.

A moment of real catharsis

Hoey's lighting ebbed and flowed with the emotional gradient in the music, reflected by the now jarring motions that heightened each dip and rise. A feeling of yearning permeated; Lorenzo stopped to kneel over a prostrate Johnson, Hench stalked after her. When they grasped hands and stood still near the end, it was a real moment of contact and catharsis.

The entire piece (mostly) lacked Neenan's quirky gestures, but he hasn't dropped his customary mocking tone. By now, I should know well enough to close my eyes for the last 15 seconds of a Neenan work, to avoid his characteristic slap in the face of sincerity, with which he attempts with a chuckle to destroy any sense of reverence for the piece and the art form.

Nevertheless— and especially given the conceptual, almost emotionless Five Tangos that followed— I wish Keep had ended the evening and sent me home bearing the lingering emotional imprints to lull me into reverie. â—†




To read another review by Robert Zaller, click here.
To read another review by Janet Anderson, click here.
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