DANCE REVIEW : Erick Hawkins Co. at UCLA

A woman sensuously strokes her body, her fingers moving slowly upward until she caresses the air. A man proudly strums a lyre, his fingers rising until they quiver in empty space.

These brief, kindred passages, from two works presented by the Erick Hawkins Dance Company, Thursday in Royce Hall, UCLA, help clarify some of Hawkins’ enduring creative preoccupations: his emphasis on image, mood and quality of movement; his knack for making the simplest actions thoughtful and rich in feeling; his belief that human experience and the natural world are inseparable.

At 78, this American modern-dance pioneer still dances (though unfortunately a recent foot injury will keep him offstage during this three-night UCLA engagement). And he still makes what he once called “the pure act of movement” a thing of wonder.

When Gloria McLean balances on one foot in “Summer-Clouds People” (1983) with the gnarled solidity of an ancient oak, or when the eight dancers in “Heyoka” (1981) execute bold unison movement with such rapt singularity of impulse that they embody ideals of human harmony, the dancers are absorbed into something greater than themselves.

Yet no playacting or expressive agenda clouds the dancing in these two Abstract Expressionist octets. Hawkins makes the movement itself meaningful--from the synchrony (and the significant exceptions to it) in “Heyoka” to the jumps like skyborne spurts of water (and the contrasting weighty sculptural groupings) in “Summer-Clouds People.” Hawkins is a master of nuance, allusion and implication, so while he merely seems to be celebrating the act of dancing in these two works, there are profound statements about freedom, leadership and communal solidarity to savor.

In contrast, “God the Reveller” (1987) has the obvious hallmarks of a magnum opus. It is based on ancient Greek myth, depicts death and rebirth in ceremonial dance-mime and includes glorifications of love, art, the animal kingdom and the human body--all expertly performed by Hawkins’ full, 11-member company. It plays to all our notions of importance.

But all the expressive freight that the dancing must carry somehow diminishes it. Movement here is rarely something with intrinsic beauty and meaning. Instead, it is now mostly a language used to convey a relatively conventional, linear narrative. It is the means, not the end.

Except in the magical stillness of the opening solo for Michael Moses as Eros, and perhaps, too, the “Contest with Death” that focuses less upon physical conflict than the victim’s awareness of his defeat--this quasidramatic approach represents an incalculable loss. And it is so needless: Hawkins no longer needs to define scenarios or roles; his genius is for free-flight.