DANCE REVIEW : Ballet Theatre Shows Four Faces of Twyla Tharp

Look Tharp. Be Tharp.

American Ballet Theatre is sending out a new aesthetic message these days. It is, of course, all about Twyla.

Which Twyla? That is the question. Thursday night at Shrine Auditorium, a large and happy crowd saw at least four of them.

“In the Upper Room,” introduced in its balletic incarnation in Orange County last December, found the choreographer delving in a piquant oxymoron: sophisticated minimalism. To the deafening, relentlessly repetitive strains of Philip Glass, she oversaw a delirious rumble that pitted the prim pointe-shoe gang against the loose-limbed stompers in sneakers.

For “The Bum’s Rush,” which received its premiere last month in Chicago, Tharp turned to quaint and fussy vaudeville turns. Some of them turned out to be beguiling.

This quasi-narrative venture--call it a super-skit--dabbled in jazz-pop indulgences, hobo-clown routines, sight gags (the best ones involving a truck tire that sprouts ballerina’s feet), verbal counterpoint (some of it intentionally intelligible), survival metaphors smothered amid ancient burlesque rituals and beneath the slam-bang pratfalls of a little break-dancing.

By normally tough-and-tart Tharp standards, this was sweet and indulgent if diffuse. Also cute, cute, cute.

For a taut formalist antidote, our heroine offered “Quartet,” first seen in Miami five weeks ago. This was stark Tharp plotting a cool, vigorous, rigorous, analytical exercise. It looked abstract in style, probing in content, uncompromising in structure.

Inspired by the Kronos-esque impulses of Terry Riley’s “G Song,” Tharp tried to celebrate the clarification of complexity. She often succeeded. In the process, she explored the expressive possibilities of fragmenting balletic gesture and compartmentalizing balletic movement. She constantly juxtaposed nonchalant point with frantic counterpoint.

Finally, there was the Broadway-baby Tharp of “Everlast,” a period piece first seen here on Tuesday. On second viewing, it still seemed spiffy, flimsy, amusing and a bit hyper-extended.

It left some quandaries unresolved. Why does the choreographer bother with the seemingly arbitrary pretense of a performance within a performance? Why is the scenery on the mock-Palace stage set up backwards? Why aren’t the Jerome Kern warblers-- over -amplified this time--relegated to the pit?

Since opening night, this writer--a shameless non-aficionado in matters pugilistic--has been enlightened regarding the meaning of the title. In case you care, “Everlast” is the name of the company that manufactures, among other amenities, the boxer’s shorts. As for the subtitle: “A Gypsy Run-Through” is what the folks in the great white way call a dressy rehearsal presented for an audience of chorus dancers employed elsewhere.

Not since “Rosebud”. . . .

The second time around, the innocent observer could ignore some of the clutter and savor some basics: Kevin O’Day’s spectacular rope-skipping solo, Susan Jaffe’s insinuating blues variation, the blissful appropriation of prize-fight maneuvers and ball-room rhetoric, the busy-body duo functioning as connective thread as well as Greek chorus. The Kern tunes continued to charm, even if they threatened to overstay their welcome.

Getting Tharp invention in four generous, eclectic portions in one long sitting was stimulating. She obviously represents a bracing presence for the dancers, and she certainly pleases the audience. She is, if nothing else, clever. On the basis of this sampling, however, one must wonder if she still wants to be a challenger and a provocateur.

“In the Upper Room” exploits the trendiness of the postmodern cliches it quotes. Though different in scope, both “Bum’s Rush” and “Everlast” resort to candy-coating. “Quartet,” the smallest piece on this bill, is the most demanding and the least accessible. It forces the participants on either side of the proscenium to do a little stretching. In the long run, we need, and deserve, more of that.

The performances on Thursday were appropriately dazzling. Ballet Theatre seems to be in fine fettle, even though the boss, Mikhail Baryshnikov, doesn’t happen to be on the premises. He is busy creeping around a Broadway stage in the reportedly inspired guise of a Kafka insect.

The democratic ensemble of “In the Upper Room” no doubt could have danced up the wonted stage smoke by itself. The offstage machines that belched all those gray clouds were probably superfluous.

The trivia of “Bum’s Rush” was pursued with special bravado by Shelley Washington, Richard Colton, Gil Boggs and Kevin O’Day as the primary dancing derelicts. Sandra Brown provided the slippered tippy toes of the rubber tire. Elaine Kudo suffered the back-breaking, leg-crunching tortures of the mock-ballerina with stoic cheer.

Everyone looked cozy in Santo Loquasto’s funky junkyard decors. The set meowed, incidentally, in meek evocation of “Cats.” Dick Hyman wrote and supervised the execution of the witty musical sleaze.

Cynthia Gregory, Cynthia Harvey, Ricardo Busatamante and Guillaume Graffin served as the virtuosic, hard-working quartet in “Quartet.” They even mustered individuality in the face of anonymity.

The ensemble in “Everlast,” the same as on Tuesday, again oozed snazz and pizazz. In context, Susan Jaffe’s knowing refinement provided a particularly useful jolt.