Joyce 2024 Ballet Festival: Curated by Calvin Royal III

The Joyce Ballet Festival
The Joyce Theater
New York, New York

UNITE Program:

August 19, 2024 afternoon, Program B: Pas de Quatre, Catch/Release (world premiere), Le Parc, Griot, Romeo and Juliet Balcony Pas de Deux, Turning to the Light (world premiere), “Electric Eel” (excerpt from Dreamachine), Valse Masquerade (excerpt), Touché

August 19, 2024 evening, Program A:  Apollo (excerpted solo and pas de deux), Night Pieces, Impatiens (world premiere), Moonlight, Rozzi Suiite, Manon (Bedroom pas de deux), Single Eye (Epilogue Pas de Deux excerpt), Petalwing (world premiere), Flight (excerpts), Tchaikovsky Pas de Deux

Jerry Hochman

Presenting some 25 dancers spread across a total of 19 pieces, all divided into two distinct programs, each of which included two world premieres and a significant number of dances that were new to this area, this year’s incarnation of the Joyce Theater’s end-of-performance-year Ballet Festival was almost too much to digest. The Festival, collectively titled “UNITE,” was co-produced (with Joyce Theater Productions) and curated by American Ballet Theatre Principal Calvin Royal III.

Although all that sounds impressive – and it is, like most galas I’ve seen (which this year’s Festival resembled) the dances presented were frequently excerpts or standalone segments from larger dances, and had little if any connection with each other. Consequently, reviewing it all is a challenge because of its breadth, and possibly inappropriate because these dancers, whether remunerated or not, are appearing on their own time. However, I’ve always taken the position that merely listing a gala program’s contents seriatim cheats both the reader and the dancers/ choreographers. Consequently I’ll proceed here as I have with respect to most other galas I’ve reviewed: I’ll consider each piece individually and to the extent I feel is appropriate. However, in the spirit of the Festival, I’ll also try mightily to limit my usual curmudgeonly criticisms.

I saw Program B on Saturday afternoon of the performance week, and Program A on Saturday evening.

I’ve divided the discussion into three general groupings: First, those six pieces that were particularly memorable with respect both to choreography and execution (and in two cases interweaving another similar but separate excerpt into the discussion because in context it was appropriate to do so). Thereafter, I’ll discuss those ballets that have various positive qualities, but for one reason or another in my estimation don’t rise to the level of the prior group. And the third is a grouping of ballets in which the dancers assayed well-known pieces they might not usually perform, or might perform with a partner only from his or her own company.

There is no category for “failures,” because, remarkably for a collection of 19 disparate dances, there weren’t any.

Within each group the dances are discussed primarily, but not exclusively, in my order of preference, and in the amount of depth I felt appropriate. And I apologize to the reader for the length of this review – but there are an abundance of dances to consider, and I saw no alternative.

Group 1: Griot (also referencing Single Eye (Epilogue Pas de Deux excerpt), Le Parc pas de deux (also referencing Manon Bedroom Pas de Deux), Impatiens, Rozzi Suite, Pas de Quatre, Valse Masquerade (excerpt)

The finest dance and performance on the combined programs was a solo performed by Adji Cissoko, complemented by live music played by Youba Cissokho. This wasn’t just any solo or any accompanying music. Griot, which premiered at the 2023 Vail Dance Festival and here was a component of Program B, is in every respect a knockout.

First there’s the instrument, a “Kora.” Often described as a hybrid harp and lute, that description doesn’t tell the half of it.

Reportedly was developed in the 1700s (although I’ve also read that its history goes back to the 1400s), the kora typically has 21 strings that are plucked with four fingers. Its source of amplification is a gourd, and its sound (judged by the sound produced here) is a relatively unique fusion of a harp and a sitar (but without the sitar’s twang) that registers as almost otherworldly. Imagining the kora as a bass, with the bass’s body replaced by a gourd (sliced in half and covered with animal hide), and with some 16 or 17 additional strings provides a rough idea of the instrument’s physical appearance as it’s played.

The kora used here was all that, but much more. This particular kora necessarily must have had a gourd body, but it had a pure round shape (photos I’ve seen of other koras may have asymmetrical gourd shapes) and was decorated (or painted – I couldn’t tell) with embellishments that looked, from my viewpoint, like precious gems. This kora is one of the most exceptionally beautiful-looking musical instruments I’ve ever seen.

The kora is one of the instruments used within Jali families of the Mande people in West Africa – found in Guinea, Guinea Bissau, Mali, Senegal and Gambia. As stated on the site  https://thekoraworkshop.co.uk/about-the-kora/history/          (from which much of the above was taken): “Jali are also referred to as ‘griots’ [ergo the dance’s title], but this is a French word and the term ‘jali’ is often preferred.” Continuing, “The kora is part of an oral tradition, passed down through family generations.  Children in Jali families grow up with the history, the stories and the music and begin to learn an instrument at a young age. These stories and songs tell the tales of great warriors, of kings, of Jalis themselves and of the patrons who supported them.”

According to his web site ( https://www.youbakora.com/ ) Cissokho “was born to a Jali storyteller family in Senegal, [and] is a 72nd generation Kora Player.” That’s not a typo.

As the kora was being played, it was tempting to focus on that instrument to the exclusion of everything else. But there was another instrument on stage even more compelling than that kora.

I first saw Adji Cissoko dance during an Alonzo King LINES Ballet program at Lincoln Center’s Rose Theater six months ago, and raved about her unique performance qualities (as well as noting her unusual height). Her most exceptional quality was the serenity that she brought to the role she played on that occasion, even more remarkable in view of her extraordinary physical presence (mostly provided by limitless legs that stretch forever and, where appropriate, explode into 180 degree, or greater, penches). Her performance here displayed the same qualities, but with considerably more soul.

The dance itself seems simple. Cissoko embodies the music of the kora as played by Cissokho. Nothing unusual there. But Griot is more than that. When she moves, Cissoko often (but not always) visually replicates the sense of the music (and even, at times, the look of the instrument), but she also deeply responds to it. [Free plug. New York City Ballet will present Balanchine’s Duo Concertant, which, in part, conceives something similar. See it.] Cissoko’s character also dances with a pole-like piece of wood that I took as the equivalent of a staff. Consequently I sensed not just the connection with this kora and this music (the music is attributed to Cissokho, and the choreography to Cissoko), but to untold generations of emotional, and exceptional, musicality.

Regardless of any “meaning” it may or may not have, between Cissokho’s heartfelt kora-playing and Cissoko’s rare combination of musicality, strength and tenderness, coupled with the serenity that is part of her stage persona, Griot’s performance quality is off the charts.

[For those interested, my understanding is that Cissoko’s last name and that of the musician may be indicative of a common clan, though not necessarily of any direct familial connection between them. Indeed, Cissoko, Cissokho, and multiple additional variants are not uncommon surnames in the parts of West Africa mentioned above.]

Cissoko also appeared in a piece in Program A, an excerpt from Single Eye (Epilogue Pas de Deux excerpt), partnered by her Alonzo King LINES Ballet colleague Shuaib Elhassan. While she again executed brilliantly, the excerpt (apparently reduced from a “greater” excerpt) was far too brief, leaving no significant impression. I note that Single Eye has been presented by ABT in two different seasons; I punted as to its merits both times.

I’d never seen Sae Eun Park (a relatively recently anointed Paris Opera Ballet etoile) dance live; this Festival presented a golden opportunity. Park danced in excerpted pas de deux from two dances, one on each program – the Le Parc pas de deux in Program B, and the Manon Bedroom Pas de deux in Program A. Park was partnered in each by another Paris Opera Ballet etoile, Paul Marque.

Although both pas de deux were brilliantly executed, as I’ll explain below my preference was the Le Parc Pas de Deux.

Le Parc, the complete ballet, was choreographed by Angelin Preljocaj and premiered with the POB in 1994. It’s a three-act ballet. The pas de deux performed here (and the one that has been performed as a standalone worldwide) appears to have been taken from the complete ballet’s concluding Act III (although it may be a combination of pas de deux from all three, or two of the three, acts – I haven’t found anything definitive one way or the other). My only objection to it is that it is so sensual, and so sexual (without being salacious), that I question whether it belonged on a program that was billed as a Family Matinee (as I did with another very different piece, which I’ll discuss later).

Other than that, Park is a miracle of sensuality, somehow conveying both innocence and uncertainty combined with aggressiveness and determined submission. I’ve seen this pas de deux a few times previously, but have never been transported as completely as I was by Park’s performance.

The only reason I prefer the Le Parc pas de deux to the Manon Bedroom Pas de Deux is that I’ve seen the latter many times (as I’ve written previously, it’s one of my favorite ballets), and the presentation of Sir Kenneth MacMillan’s choreography here seemed a bit different – somewhat more disconnected — from many other performances of it I’ve seen – most recently by Hee Seo and Sarah Lane. Park’s execution, however, was top notch.

Although I haven’t focused on it, Marque’s partnering in each pas de deux was exemplary, as was his emotional stage connection to Park.

I was not familiar with Aleisha Walker prior to seeing her, and her choreography, in Program A. She became a member of the American Ballet Theatre corps in 2023 (following a year as an apprentice), and if she appeared on any program I attended, she didn’t stand out. Her performance here did. And based on Impatiens (as well as the knowledge that she won the 2023 Prix de Lausanne Young Creation Award), she stands out for her choreography as well.

Impatiens is choreographed to violin music by Nathan Milstein (“Paganiniana (Variations) for Violin Solo”), here played live by Kobi Malkin. I’m not sure what, if anything, Walker is trying to say in this piece. I also saw no explanation for the dance’s title (though I’m aware of rare impatiens plants the flowers of which are said to resemble “dancing girls”). But here it doesn’t matter. Walker’s movement responds to the music Malkin plays while on stage with her, and both move from time to time (not necessarily in tandem) around some invisible circle, which adds a sense of physical drama to the drama inherent in Milstein’s composition (as well as, at times, a sense of competition of cultures). As In Griot, in Impatiens the movement that Walker creates isn’t completely tethered to the music, instead reflecting its aura as well as its tempo.

While Impatiens lacks the sense of spirituality and exoticism evident in Griot, that’s not a criticism; it’s the nature of the dance. For its physical drama and indicia of internal power, Impatiens is memorable – and, more significantly, a harbinger of greater choreographic efforts to come.

Rozzi Suite, which premiered in 2019, is another example of the talent and wit of ABT’s James Whiteside. To a suite of three songs (“Joshua Tree,” “Hymn for Tomorrow,” and “Mad Man”) written by Rozzi and sung live by her to piano accompaniment by Jacek Mysinski, Whiteside manages to stuff bravura ballet and humor into his piece, particularly in the dance’s first segment, which is performed solo by Whiteside. It doesn’t quite work as well in the other two segments – the second danced by both Whiteside and Isabella Boylston and the third by Boylston herself – but it’s evident nonetheless.

Rozzi is the performing name of Rosalind Elizabeth Crane, a young (born in 1991) American singer/ songwriter based in San Francisco, who self-describes as a soul singer. Reportedly “discovered” by Adam Levine when she was 19, she’s been performing/ writing consistently since then.

Aside from the tone and ambiance she communicates through her breathy, often understated delivery, I was unable to decipher the lyrics to Rozzi’s songs, so to the extent they are reflected in Rozzi Suite, I can’t comment on that – although by its title, the third segment’s song accounts for much of the faux posturing evident in the third segment.

The last of the pieces in this section was the first of my double-header day. Pas de Quatre, a take-off on Jules Perrot’s original, is here danced by four members of a company I’d not previously heard of: Ballet Eloelle/Grandiva. [Eloelle, as in LOL.]Comprised of men dressed in ballerina outfits, the group is remindful of Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo (the Trocks), but based on this example they appear to be a more gut-busting group.

Not only does Ballet Eloelle/Grandiva resemble the Trocks, it has a direct connection to it. It was founded, and is directed, by Victor Trevino, a former Principal Dancer with the Trocks.  According to its website, the Florida based company’s mission is “to expand dance to more communities globally, all while continually searching for new ways to make people laugh through our dance works and performances.” That it successfully does with its Pas de Quatre.

Perrot choreographed the original Pas de Quatre in 1845 for the four most prominent ballerinas of the day:  Lucile Grahn, Carlotta Grisi, Fanny Cerrito, and Marie Taglioni. [Fanny Elssler was invited to participate, but declined.] Although the dance was in the Romantic style, it recognizably (and intentionally) highlighted the personal styles of each of its four ballerinas. Since then, Pas de Quatre has been the subject of, and subject to, many versions which either play it somewhat differently or morph it into a parody. Joyce Trisler’s Four Against the Gods, which substituted modern dance pioneers – Isadora Duncan, Ruth St. Denis, Doris Humphrey and Martha Graham  – and their respective styles for the Romantic ballerinas of Perrot’s day is an example of the former. [Its 1976 performance at New York’s Riverside Church Theater first introduced me to Jacqulyn Buglisi, who, of course, danced in the style of Martha Graham.] There are innumerable versions of the latter, including that presented by The Trocks

Here, with choreography by Trevino after Perrot (way after), the dance featured Paloma Carrera (Jonathan Mendez), Marianela Moreoless (Walter Battistini), Teresa Carino (Estefano Gil), and Maya N. Ruinskaya (Kevin Ortiz), and is a model of highly conceived, unadulterated, humor; it’s not slapstick, but there’s nothing subtle or understated about it. If you don’t laugh at and with this, your situation is both humorless and hopeless.

The characters don’t necessarily replicate the original cast or their styles (although the opening and closing pose copies the famous Chalon lithograph of the original group), but that matters not at all. Mendez (who was arrayed in the Taglioni position in the original lithograph) and Gil (in the Grisi position) were particularly funny, but all four delivered flawless comic performances.

Also in Program B was a solo excerpt from Valse Masquerade. What makes the piece significant is the youth and talent of the choreographer and the dancer.

Valse Masquerade was choreographed by Brady Farrar, a former member of ABT II who formally joined the main company this year, and who obviously is both an already accomplished dancer as well as a choreographer of considerable potential. As I’ve mentioned previously, I first noticed Farrar at a YAGP program, where he was awarded the Hope Award for that year. What I saw that distinguished his performance then, when he was 11, was his attitude that stressed, even at that young age, artistry over athleticism.

To make the circle complete, the excerpt was performed by 15-year-old Crystal Huang. In this year’s YAGP New York Finals (the “Final Finals”), she was an overall finalist in her age group, winning a silver medal. She’s currently a student at ABT’s Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis School. Here, Huang danced Farrar’s choreography, which required physicality and intricacy as well as speed, impeccably.

I must add that this piece premiered, and was performed by Huang, at one of last spring’s YAGP galas. At that time I don’t recall it being described as an “excerpt.” Since the dance shows no indication of it being a part of a greater whole, it may well be that the dance presented was not an excerpt. But whether it was or not doesn’t really matter: for what it is, it’s quite portentous.

Group 2: Catch/Release, Turning to the Light, Moonlight, “Electric Eel” (an excerpt from Dreamachine), Night Pieces, Petalwing, Touché

The following dances, while performed and/or choreographed well, lack some quality that those dances above possessed. They’re not in any way deficient; they just didn’t fully communicate something that in my estimation might have taken them to a higher level. If that’s too subjective a standard, so be it. Most of the program’s dances fit within this category.

Catch/ Release, a world premiere choreographed by My’Kal Stromile, a member of Boston Ballet’s corps, to music (“Summon”) by Jerrilynn Patton, is a fine example of a dance that’s well-choreographed and performed (by Boston Ballet Principal Chyrstyn Fentroy and Second Soloist Tyson Ali Clark), but that, whatever its merits, is cold as ice. In its intentional absence of any degree of emotion, Catch/Release comes across as both sterile and academic, more concerned with form and process no matter how well-choreographed and executed it may be. Its anomie and impersonalization displays a kinship to Merce Cunningham, as well as to William Forsythe, who has choreographed several pieces for Boston Ballet.

Nevertheless, I recognize that Catch/Release, even if only in anonymous examples of catches and releases to and from some entanglement, seems to have fully fulfilled its apparent intent. Its movement qualities are clear as crystal, albeit without any semblance of significance, and Fentroy and Clark masterfully execute it. Stromile, who won three choreographic awards (in a row) while at Juilliard (2014-2018) and who joined Boston Ballet in 2019 (after a year in Boston Ballet II), has a definite choreographic future, particularly if he adds some emotional gloss to the mix.

Turning to the Light, also in Program B, was choreographed by ABT Soloist Zhongjing Fang to music by Ezio Bosso, and performed by ABT corps dancer Luigi Crispino.

I’ve seen two prior examples of Fang’s choreography – two pieces created for New York Theater Ballet: Painted Within, and Song Before Spring (the latter co-choreographed with Stephen Melendez, then a member of the company), and found both to be highly commendable. Turning to the Light (one of the Festival’s world premieres) is similarly well-crafted, but as good as it is, I saw too many examples of emphasized repeated choreographic images, even though Bosso’s music (“Clouds” and “The Mind on (Re)Wind) encourages that.

Be that as it may, what makes Turning to the Light as compelling as it often is is Crispino’s performance. Bare-chested and accompanied by a rectangular table that sits horizontally across the stage until just prior to the dance’s end, when Crispino moves it to a vertical position (for no apparent reason beyond being able to stand on one end of it as the piece ends), Crispino presents as a model of bravura physical expressiveness and intensity, seemingly never pausing in his quest for … something. And that’s the problem I have with the piece – what exactly is Crispino’s character searching for? Identity? A future? A Light on the horizon? That this isn’t clear isn’t fatal, but to me it limits the dance’s significance.

Moonlight, choreographed and performed by Royal to the third movement of Claude Debussy’s “Suite bergamasque,” commonly known as “Clair de lune,” is another dance relating to searching for something, but the object of the search is clearer … some light (as in, perhaps, a light at the end of a tunnel). Moonlight is inoffensive and positive (rare qualities), and is pleasant enough to watch, but relatively bland – which may be why inoffensiveness and positivity are rare qualities.

“Electric Eel” is a component of Dreamachine, a dance choreographed by Lauren Lovette for Paul Taylor Dance Company. I reviewed the complete dance in its entirety following its 2023 premiere, and commented about this segment seeming not to fit within the dance as a whole. Performed here by the same PTDC dancers who created the roles, Jessica Ferretti and Kenny Corrigan, “Electric Eel” appears, at least to me, to be far more interesting as a standalone than it did as a component of the larger dance. As they were at the dance’s premiere, Ferretti and Corrigan are a strong, compelling pair of dancers – isolated as they are in this standalone, the presentation is more impressive.

Although I’d not previously seen choreography by Duncan Lyle, a member of ABT’s corps, I’m aware that he’s done extensive choreographic work. Night Pieces, In Program A, was my introduction. Based on this piece alone, I have a mixed opinion.

Night Pieces is choreographed to an assortment of music by Robert Schumann, including the opening composition, “Nachtstucke,” Op. 23 No. 4. [Nachtstucke, translated, means “Night Pieces”.] It’s a strange musical choice that unfortunately overstays its welcome and impacts the piece as a whole. During the composing of “Nachtstucke” in 1839, Schumann was anticipating – effectively already mourning – the imminent death of his older brother. Accordingly, the composition sounds funereal, and Lyle’s dance, at least at its outset, reflects this.

Danced by ABT Corps dancers Ingrid Thoms, Kyra Coco, Tristan Brosnan, and Duncan McIlwaine, with costumes designed by Lyle that made the two men look like they were wearing military cadet uniforms, the movement quality in the first segment is wooden. Eventually, and gradually, the pace of the dance picks up to the point where, in the final segment (to Schumann’s 1848-1850 “Waldszenen” – Op. 82 No. 8. it’s somewhat jaunty. [Segment 8, titled “Hunting Songs,” is described as to be played “fast, strong.”] Except for that opening segment Night Pieces is pleasant to watch (although, curiously, it brings to mind Robbins’s In the Night), but by then the damage had been done.

There’s nothing wrong with Night Pieces beyond that painful beginning, but there’s nothing I can recall as being particularly distinguished about it either. Each of the dancers (at times together, at times separate, at times changing partners, at times dancing solo) did excellent work.

Thoms and Coco also appeared later in Program A in Petalwing, a brief dance choreographed by Adriana Pierce to music by David K. Israel (“Hallelujah” – a beautifully melodic instrumental piece, different from the well-known song of the same name by Leonard Cohen). The pair are costumed identically (long-sleeved unitards) but in different colors – Thoms in purple; Coco in orange – and frequently move as mirror images; less frequently partnering each other. The piece, and the performance of it, was beautiful to watch, with nothing particularly noteworthy about it beyond that.

I understand that some assert that Petalwing (a reference to conjured fairies or elves) is a Sapphic pas de deux. While that’s a possible interpretation, I don’t see it except by assumption that when two women partner each other it’s ipso facto a sexual exploration (any more than I’d label male/male partnering to be necessarily reflective of homosexuality). There is nothing in Petalwing to indicate anything beyond it being a lovely dance performed by two highly capable ballerinas; there’s no “coupling” or anything even close to that.

All that being said, Pierce is founder of Queer the Ballet, and has acknowledged having “grown up queer in ballet.” So I suppose that based on that information alone it might not be an inappropriate leap of logic to assign Pierce’s personal qualities to Petalwing, but, again, I saw nothing in Petalwing (beyond beauty, simplicity, and an aura of overall gentleness that matches Israel’s music) to support that.

On the other hand, Touché, which closed Program B, is as obvious a homosexual piece as one might conceive. Choreographed by Christopher Rudd (described on NYU’s “Ballet Center” website as is a Jamaican-born dancemaker whose work is informed by his experience as a queer Black man in dance), the piece, though undoubtedly heartfelt and well-crafted and executed, is obvious to a fault. Rudd leaves little to the imagination.

Performed by Royal and his ABT colleague Joao Menegussi, the piece appears to be intended to break barriers, and does. Whether that’s a good idea or not is debatable.

Touché opens with the two characters (identified in the program as “Adam” and “Steve,” for no apparent reason beyond making the dance’s allusion to “Adam and Eve” even more obvious than the choreography does on its own) initially huddled together (to my recollection on the stage floor), who quickly rise to face each other. They embrace. I heard Menegussi scream out something like “Why, God” in obvious pain at his realization that he’s been born attracted to men rather than women (but, if the characters are Adam and Eve surrogates, how would he know that that’s in some way painfully unusual?).

Thereafter, the dance settles into a homosexual pas de deux, the finest part of which is Menegussi’s character’s looking into the face of Royal’s character and clearly communicating that Royal’s face is the face of love. Nicely done. But soon both remove their shirts, and then their pants, and succumb to an abundance of cuddling, writhing, and kissing, all in an undeniable display of bliss. [I note that the artistic credits for the piece include “Intimacy Direction” (by Sarah Lozoff).]

Although I prefer pieces that address a similar subject but are far less obvious (like Joshua Beamish’s profound Saudade), there’s nothing inherently bad about Touché beyond it being included in what was billed as a Family Matinee program, and Royal and Menegussi are obviously committed to it.

Group 3: Tchaikovsky Pas de Deux, Romeo and Juliet Balcony Pas de Deux, Apollo (Solo and Pas de Deux), Flight (excerpts)

The remainder of the programs I lump together because, with one exception, they’re all excerpts from larger pieces and represent attempts to perform something different from the dancers’ normal repertory.

I was particularly interested in the ballet that closed Program A: Balanchine’s Tchaikovsky Pas de Deux, because it was performed by dancers who I haven’t seen dance together much (if at all), Chloe Misseldine and Royal, and who are here dancing a piece that, although in ABT’s repertory, is more familiar as a piece presented by New York City Ballet.

While the pair got through it without any obvious failure, I can’t say much more than that. Each did what they were supposed to do, but somehow the dance looked choppy, lacking the speed and fluidity routinely presented by NYCB. [Even discounting that not every ballerina can be Tiler Peck.] And it was hampered by two factors – first, although he handled his assignment reasonably well, Misseldine appeared to be something of a stretch for Royal.  Unlike, say, Boylston, Misseldine needs a partner, and Royal didn’t always keep her centered or lift her as high and as painlessly as others. But in this context that didn’t impact the performance. More important is the size of the Joyce Theater stage, which constricted the usual Tchaikovsky Pas de Deux performance space such that it appeared obvious that the dancers were necessarily holding back. I’d like to see both dancers attempt this piece again on a larger stage.

A similar problem befell the presentation of the Romeo and Juliet Balcony Pas de Deux, here performed by Royal and Boylston. Royal’s performance appeared much as it does in his other Romeo portrayals I’ve seen, partnering either Cate Hurlin or Cassandra Trenary. That is, he was filled with fervor and infatuation. I haven’t seen Boylston’s Juliet in many years, but I didn’t find fault with her portrayal (other than my usual criticism that Juliet is supposed to be, or at least look like, an impetuous 13 year old – or, to conform to contemporary sensibility, an impetuous 16 year old).

But try as they did, the limited proportions of the Joyce Theater stage, as well as the absence of any set, resulted in a constricted presentation. MacMillan’s choreography, as performed here, lacked much of its usual passion, evidenced particularly when Juliet throws herself at Romeo (three times). Instead of appearing to be a daring leap into Romeo’s arms, Juliet’s action is reduced to a short jump. Moreover, the absence of a balcony in the Romeo and Juliet Balcony Pas de Deux deletes much, if not all, of the thrill that the scene usually elicits.

Program A opened with combined excerpts from Balanchine’s Apollo, performed by Royal and Fentroy (accompanied by Mysinski on piano and Malink on violin). The combined excerpts didn’t belong together. The first was an excerpt from Apollo’s introductory solo; the second an excerpt from Apollo’s dance with Terpsichore. There was no opportunity for the dancers to develop character, much less any evolution of character (the program doesn’t bother even to identify the characters). But, considered as a pièce d’occasion, the excerpts showed the potential for Royal to be an exceptional, and unusual, Apollo.

Finally, Herman Cornejo performed excerpts from Flight. Choreographed by Jae Man Joo to music by J.S. Bach, the piece premiered in 2012. The excerpts selected, while adequately displaying Cornejo’s passionate running around from one part of the stage to the opposite end, then from another part of the stage to its opposite end, and then from a different part to its opposite end, seemingly awestruck and searching for … something, displayed as much flight as one might see from an ostrich. If Cornejo’s feet left the ground more than as may be necessary to constitute a “run,” I missed it. Perhaps in context in the dance as a whole these excerpts may have some significance, but here they didn’t.

But the audience at the program I attended clearly appreciated seeing Cornejo and his undeniable passion. And it should be kept in mind that this program was a gala that happened to be repeated four times in a week, so energy conservation may have been essential. And the evening gained a measure of cachet by having Cornejo participate in it.

Finally (finally finally), Royal merits respect and congratulations for putting this varied program, and bringing these exceptional dancers, together. It was a Herculean artistic effort, and one that exceeded the scope of most such programs that I’ve seen. Bravo.

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