BALLETIC NOSTALGIA : THE JOFFREY REVIVES ARPINO’S ‘SECRET PLACES’

Gerald Arpino’s “Secret Places.” Ah.

It conjures up warm memories of idealism and innocence in the 1960s, of romantic encounters and quasi-kitschy sentiment, of gently erotic poetry and lyrical athleticism, of serene Mozartean Nachtmusik and “Elvira Madigan”. . . .

Los Angeles first saw and loved the duet at the Ahmanson 16 years ago. Inexplicably, “Secret Places” disappeared from sight--and from the repertory--a year or two later. Now it is back, in all its irresistibly drippy glory.

Thursday night at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, it served as the central novelty in an otherwise familiar and very mixed mixed-bill. It looked particularly ethereal amid the modernist rigors of Paul Taylor’s “Arden Court,” the whimsical caricature of Pilobolus’ “Untitled” and the East/West trendiness of Arpino’s “Light Rain.”

The curtain rises, you may recall, on a shadowy stage. A solitary girl is draped against a superstylized Ming Cho Lee tree in the background. Soon the girl wanders about. She is looking for something--more likely, someone.

A boy enters. He too is lost and lonely. The two pass, as it were, like strangers in the night. Most important, they pass in silence.

Suddenly and unwittingly, as if drawn by a magnetic force, the girl flies into the boy’s arms. At the precise moment of contact, the orchestra begins the exquisite, rippling Andante from Mozart’s Piano Concerto, K. 467. It is a magical coup de theatre .

For the next 12 minutes, the two intertwine in a fluid network of balletic embraces. They also roll together on the floor, in what can best be described as languid urgency.

The scene brightens, for a while, in atmospheric splotches of Thomas Skelton light. Finally, the music fades to its cadence and the couple slowly strolls upstage to the shadows, in cover of silence.

One can argue that Arpino’s devices seem a bit naive in the harsh light of 1986. One can regret his tendency to contradict slow music with a lot of fast steps (we didn’t see that as a cliche in 1969). Still, there is no denying the evocative impact of the choreographer’s imagery, the suavity of his craft, or the instant appeal he enjoys with a mass audience.

The current revival finds the feathery elan of Dawn Caccamo suavely complemented by the muted ardor of Glenn Edgerton. In the pit, Stanley Babin tends sympathetically to Mozart under Jonathan McPhee’s stylish guidance.

A less-than-capacity Music Center audience adored “Secret Places.” Too much, perhaps.

The throng destroyed the enchantment of first embrace, dispatching Mozart with a volley of ill-timed applause, and repeated the musical insult at several subsequent points.

What does it take, one wonders, to make clap-happy balletomanes listen as well as look?