OnStage Dance Firm’s Season 27 Efficiency

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Also included were Catherine Shortliffe’s March, March (a memorable 2021 dance film standing as an activist statement in these politically turbulent times), the highly expressive and emotive film change(d) me (a premiere from Melissa DeFriesse, full of clever tools in rhythm, staging and cinematography – from Andres Calderon / dresticHaus), Lizzy Thaman’s Body Language (a sultry, jazzy work of cohesive design and women standing fully in ferocity), and Austen Starr’s Centerfield (a cleverly-executed 2019 tap piece conceptualizing baseball in concert dance).

Per usual with OnStage video presentations, other short video clips provided windows into the process of creating these works as well as underscoring the values that drive all that they do. Also as always, the work concluded with a finale presenting further chances for these artists to bask in spotlight and be in moving community. It couldn’t have been clearer how that connection, as well as the joy to which it is inextricably linked, truly matters.

The first piece, OnStage Director Jennifer Kuhnberg’s Dark Side, opened with Disney villains in pantomimed conversation, including Cruella DeVille, Maleficent, Ursula and (more in the classic Hollywood canon) the Wicked Witch of the West. It’s an intriguing idea in this time of reconceptualizing these stories and characters to understand deeper psychological complexities.

Through sharp accent, strong gaze, and stellar theatricality, the dancers delivered sass and spirit aligned with that villian attitude. The score (Neoni’s “DARKSIDE”) further enhanced those qualities – and thus the daring, rebellious atmosphere in the ether.

Adi Wollny’s Where They From was a fun and vibrant hip hop dance. There was a wholesomeness on offer from the soft, cool colors in the design aesthetic as well as the pure blast the dancers seemed to be having.

Rather than speed and accent, as is often the focus in this style, smooth flow and top-rock predominated. That’s a growing approach in the style, and one generating some truly commendable work. Overall, the piece was a very welcome reminder that sometimes a large group of dancers dancing joyfully to energetic music is all we need to smile and feel lighter.

Sara Kirubi’s Don’t Stop Me Now filled the stage with yet more vibrancy and pure rhythmic joy  – this time through tap dance to Queen’s song of the same name. Kirubi created pleasing incorporation of gesture into tap dance vocabulary, not for its own sake but to elevate the dance party feel at hand. The ensemble shined as brightly as the silver sparkles in their costumes.

Shortliffe’s Rewind/Rebound moved us into a much different feel: somber, even haunting, through the score’s ethereal voice and lack of direct eye contact as the dancers navigated space with and around each other. Yet a sense of agency grew as the score built and dancers explored more of space through locomotion and reaching gesture.

They found more harmony towards the end as they circled each other, shoulders connected. Their rhythmic rise and fall was satisfying, even calming. To end, as they walked in a large circle, it seemed they’d finally truly seen each other. Might that have been the final key to hope, to connection, to positive change?

Mykala Cohen’s United in Grief brought the bold and fresh approach of contemporary dance to a hip-hop score. It rode the musical nuances – both accent and riff – such that the risk seemed to work out. The movement colorfully intersected with various layers and moods in the score, from piano to rap verses.

Perhaps it was less contemporary dance to a hip hop score than aligned with the postmodern trend of stylistic eclectism (“anything goes”) and the genre of hip hop theater – where laudable work is happening all the time. Maybe there is hope and joy in the availability of those possibilities alone.

Danielle Doody’s Crawling presented angsty and fierce contemporary. The presence of both serpentine and angular patterns conveyed a meeting of power and fluidity, adaptability. The staging moved fast, contributing to the dynamic feel at hand – yet was cleanly created and executed enough to remain legible. Even in that angsty feel, one without a true ending resolution, there was comfort in the ensemble’s power alone; they weren’t taking anything lying down.

Tyla Tognarelli’s Who Am I to You? contributed contemporary styling of a softer sort, but with its own yearning and unease. It was another large group work with multifaceted patterns, executed with precision. Spines shifted towards and away from an opposite clump of dancers, then circled – and then the whole pattern repeated. That felt like a poignant physical expression of the tensions and indecisions in finding human connection.

Emily Chang’s Instruction was a theatrical party of a piece. It began with a mix tape (remember those?) of quickly switching tracks as a few dancers casually moved in pajamas. That transitioned into fun, sassy movement in what could be Catholic school uniforms, with the ensemble lit in a fiery red (lighting design by Stephanie Howell).

The movement mixed and smoothed out, like in a well-mixed batter, punctuated angles and smooth circular shapes. Hips rolled, feet moved, and chests popped through it all. Overall it was a clear picture of a sure thing history has shown us: in any environment, youth will seek out bold music, free movement, and whatever is tenaciously novel.

Kuhnberg’s RAIN exhibited a nostalgia and sweetness that simply worked on me. Lifts in spotlight, silver-sparkled costumes, and a classic pop score almost reflected Dirty Dancing – in a way that didn’t feel cheap or saccharine. The soft, yet supported movement quality had the same resonance. It almost felt like competition lyrical, but with a good deal more maturity and depth. Even as the score spoke of clear challenges, joy and ease rippled from the dancers’ natural smiles to their smooth port de bras.

Lexine Brooks’ Black and Gold also brought a certain kind of satisfying nostalgia, but with the aesthetic a bit more fiery and flashy. It made me smile to see classic jazz dance vocabulary, which seems all-too-rare these days. There was even a Fosse-esque quality of power, intrigue, and sass through the smallest isolation, through rhythmic snaps and passés.

It translated as an Exhibit A that dance doesn’t have to be hugely athletic to captivate. Rather, this work accomplished that through a classy and tastefully sultry quality – like Hollywood and Broadway of old, with its own kind of bliss.

Erica Thorp’s I’m Every Woman paired muscular yet silky movement with the iconic track from Whitney Houston and Chaka Khan (talk about classic!). Wearing red pantsuits, they danced kinetically thoughtful contemporary jazz. There seemed to be so many possibilities at hand in styling and staging – and Thorp capitalized on them. It almost felt like a postmodern version of the joyful femininity of the last piece; embracing any level of power or tenderness, if truthful to oneself, is just fine.

Why shouldn’t the full bounty of those possibilities be available to us? This writer has no answers there. On the contrary, after viewing this performance, I’m even more keenly aware of the joy that such opportunities engender – and thus their singular, and vital, impact. Thank you for showing us the way, OnStage Dance Company!

By Kathryn Boland of Dance Informa.

Adi Wollny, Andres Calderon, Austen Starr, Boston University Dance Theater, Catherine Shortliffe, Contemporary dance, dance film, dance films, dance review, dance reviews, Danielle Doody, Emily Chang, Erica Thorp, Jennifer Kuhnberg, Lexine Brooks, Lizzy Thaman, Melissa DeFriesse, Mykala Cohen, online dance review, online dance reviews, OnStage Dance Company, review, Reviews, Sara Kirubi, Stephanie Howell, Tyla Tognarelli