Mirror, mirror, on the floor, what holiday dance spectacle is the fairest of them all? Company XIV, under the direction of Austin McCormick, has created a lavish fairy-tale feast for the eyes in a remounting of its dance-circus-theater hybrid Snow White at 303 Bond Street Theatre, a sleekly refurbished warehouse space in Carroll Gardens near the Gowanus Canal.
In terms of production values and sheer visual splendor, Snow White could give a Madonna concert a run for its money, and that may be McCormick’s intention: at one point a video projection apes an image from her “Vogue” video: We see the Queen from behind, slowly writhing in a lace-up-the-back corset—an image Madonna borrowed from the iconic fashion photo by Horst. There are an abundance of corsets in this “Snow White”—black for the male dancers, glitter-encrusted for the evil Queen, and red satin for the corset-turned-weapon with which the Queen attempts to squeeze the breath out of her young rival. For anyone who grew up watching actual music videos on MTV, the visual references to the aging Queen of pop music would be hard to miss.
It’s a little ironic that McCormick’s take on a story about the dangers of vanity is itself all about looks. The drawback of this crowd-pleaser is that there is not much going on underneath its stunning surfaces, however original or well-executed they may be. For all its beauty—and the talent and vivid imagination that clearly went into creating it—the show feels a little hollow, as if the hunter had actually plucked out this Snow White’s heart instead of sparing her life.
That isn’t to say the show doesn’t have its enchantments, just that its thrills come from seeing Snow White (Gracie White) dangle from a hoop suspended from the ceiling, or execute an impossible looking lift in which her prince (Joseph McEachern) balances her on one arm while she is upside-down, legs dramatically splayed. Audiences should see “Snow White” for the impressive aerial feats, sumptuous costumes, solid dancing, and rich visual world it creates. Just don’t expect to be drawn in or emotionally stirred by the story.
Zane Pihlstrom’s set, combined with the impressive space, makes us feel we’re entering a magical world. A giant silver tree, some of its branches detached and suspended in mid-air, overhangs the large square of black Marley that serves the stage. Near the tree hang translucent orbs of grayish glass; a large hoop, that becomes Snow White’s main perch; and long silks waiting for an aerialist to mount them. Opposite the tree, towering antique chandeliers dangle low enough that the performers unintentionally jostle them.
We all know the story—the princess Snow White’s mother dies, leaving her with a vain and jealous step-mother Queen (Laura Careless), who won’t rest until Snow White is dead and the Queen can be assured by her magic mirror that she is the “fairest in the land.” Snow White lives in the forest among the animals—no dwarves here—after the Queen’s henchman fails to kill her off. This Queen hatches three plots to take out Snow White—the corset (because every girl needs one of those when she is hiding in the forest), a poisoned comb, and the poisoned apple.
The Queen’s machinations are great fodder for the spectacular costume designs of Olivera Gajic. First the Queen and her entourage pose as Parisian couturiers, then as Spanish flamenco dancers with long ruffled skirts—there is a nice bit of choreography here in which the dancers array themselves in a line across the stage and hand the cruel comb over their heads, from one to another, until it makes its way to Snow White. The Queen’s last guise, as the best-dressed Russian peasant fruit-seller ever, makes for some of the show’s most spirited and heartfelt dancing. The Queen and Snow White engage in a pas de deux—apparently, despite a famine, the Queen needs to make sure her victim works up an appetite before she feeds her the apple. Here we see a flash of a mother-daughter-rival dynamic that cuts deeper than the rest of the production’s flights (many of them literal, thanks to the aerial work) of fantasy. Leading up to this, the peasant dancers push baby carriages containing tiny, glowing apple trees around the stage.
As the Queen, Laura Careless’s movements look whiplash inducing; she conveys ferocity in her tiny frame and giant orange mane of hair. As Snow White, Gracie White couldn’t be prettier, and she has a wide-eyed blankness about her that can read as innocence. Her real talents lie in her acrobatic feats, as she twists herself into fetching contortions on her hoop, polka-dotted legs scissoring in the air. If only she could be more emotionally expressive with her face and body, we might feel more engaged by her story. Ensemble member Lauren-Michelle’s glorious soprano, the show’s only live music, is a standout. Every time she opens her mouth, we feel struck by the clarion beauty of her voice. Amid a costuming tour de force, she also gets to wear one of the highlights, a chapeau that looks like a sailing ship.
As the Prince, McEachern does a dazzling hoop dance of his own, this one on the stage floor. Forming a letter “X” with his arms and legs, he stands inside a giant hoop and cartwheels around inside it, at one point turning and hovering very close to the floor. It’s mesmerizing. The ensemble of dancers—Davon Rainey, Marisol Cabrera, Sean Gannon, Ashley Handel, Cailan Orn, and aerialist Sam Hilbelink—are all strong, though they look more surefooted when not wearing heels (which even the men don for a few numbers). As a choreographer, McCormick’s contemporary movement style isn’t strikingly original; what’s different here is how he blends dance with visuals, as in the Queen’s final turn, when she steps from one high-heeled shoe to another, and another, until she meets the pair that is her undoing.
There’s wit and some lovely turns of phrase in Jeff Takacs script, almost all of which is spoken by him in the role of the narrator. He welcomes the audience by thanking the children for bringing their legal guardians, and later has this wish for them: “May you never be cursed with good looks.” Takacs has a commanding voice, but like so much here, his storytelling feels a bit removed.
There are times when McCormick needs to better hone the smorgasbord he’s created for us. As the narrator introduces the queen, for instance, his speech distracts from her movement, with both competing for our attention. Later, as Snow White finds herself in a snow storm, our focus is split between Hilbelink on the silk ropes and the dancers below him. It’s fine to have more than one thing going on, but unless the desired effect is of a literal three-ring circus, McCormick needs to better direct and shift our attention. Otherwise, we don’t know where to look, and have the sense we’re always missing something.
The show makes great use of Corey Tatarczuk’s projections—on the floor, for the Queen’s magic mirror, and on a white sheet that gets unfurled, where we see animal figures saving Snow White from the Queen’s attempts on her life. Gina Scherr’s lights help define the wide open space but don’t always quite let us see what’s going on, especially in an early mourning sequence that features black-clad dancers against the black floor.
Austin McCormick deserves high praise for such an ambitious, physically well-executed, and imaginative undertaking. If he could capture audiences’ hearts as well as our eyes with all that dazzle, that would really be something to see.
Snow White
conceived, choreographed and directed by Austin McCormick
with new text by Jeff Takacs
December 2 to January 15 (opens Dec 4) in a limited 7-week engagement
at the 303 Bond Street Theatre (303 Bond St.) in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn.
TICKETS
Olivia Jane Smith is a writer, editor, and lifelong theater lover (her parents borrowed her name from "Twelfth Night"). She has written about theater for the New York Daily News, Backstage, and the Gambit Weekly in New Orleans, Louisiana. Follow Olivia at ojanesmith.tumblr.com
0 comments:
Post a Comment