Guy Stuff.('Rabbit and Rogue')(Dance review)

For the past two decades or so, Twyla Tharp has tended, in her new dances, to recycle features of her earlier successes, but in "Rabbit and Rogue," which just had its premiere at American Ballet Theatre, she seems to repeat every single thing that has worked for her before. It's as if she had made a list and then checked off each strategy as she reused it. Tharp's last two projects have been failures. Her Bob Dylan musical, "The Times They Are A-Changin' " (2006), closed after just a few weeks on Broadway. Then, earlier this year, she made a piece for Miami City Ballet--"Nightspot," about Miami club life--that, while it was warmly applauded by the Florida audience I saw it with (it had an Elvis Costello score and lots of red costumes), was actually a desperate-looking mess: a fact that she was probably aware of. In both pieces, Tharp explored a territory relatively new to her--dream, hallucination. It is therefore no surprise that, having had so little luck there, she chose, in her next ballet, to do nothing new to her.

"Rabbit and Rogue" is led by two men, both of them ballet virtuosos--in the first cast, Ethan Stiefel and Herman Cornejo--who, however, mix their ballet steps with humbler material, at times vaudeville, at other times just guy-guy moves reminiscent of the bowling alley, the batting cage. Joining the two men is a male-female couple making a stab at ballroom dancing. Then there are various squadrons: a quartet, an ensemble of twelve that may break up into fours or sixes or whatever. From minute to minute, these units will enter, either from the side (and then dance to the opposite side) or, spookily, from a sort of blackness at the back of the stage (and then dance forward). Their routines are whiz-bang numbers--witty, acrobatic--and also quite inconclusive, but, what the hell, because here comes another group to entertain you. The units rarely connect, or even notice each other. They are a miscellany, and so are their steps, which, like those of the soloists, represent a great ragbag of styles--jazz, sock-hop, tango, you name it, all laid over a ballet base. The commissioned score, by the film composer Danny Elfman ("Edward Scissorhands," "Batman"), is a similar jumble, part recorded, part live, part Western orchestra, part gamelan. Toward the end, another element is added: a male-female couple, in ballet costume, performing a pure and decorous ballet number. The program identifies these two as "the gamelan couple," because they are called forth to the gamelan music, but what they look like are Greek gods alighting, as in a myth, on a busy, crazy world. Throughout "Rabbit and Rogue," the dancers, mysteriously, change bits of their clothing between entries. To an array of black costumes--gorgeous creations, by Norma Kamali--more and more elements of silver are added. Once we see the gamelan couple, dressed in silver and white, the mystery is solved. This is where the others have been headed: to that couple's world--ballet, paradise. Accordingly, in the last few minutes of the ballet, the stage is opened to its fullest depth; all the dancers come out, in silver and white, and all of them do unadulterated ballet. Clearly, what we are supposed to see here is an achievement of unity, as opposed to the pluralism that reigned before. We don't. The unity is just imposed, but it makes for a nice ending.

Even the most casual dancegoer could tell you which prior Tharp works those features come from: the stress on guys, doing street moves and then surprising us with bravura ballet steps ("Movin' Out," "Push Comes to Shove"); the inclusion of vaudeville ("Bum's Rush"); the lateral entries ("Baker's Dozen"); the dancers materializing from upstage darkness ("Fait Accompli"); the ballroom routine, with fumbles ("Nine Sinatra Songs"); the clothes-changing ("In the Upper Room"); the contrasting of heaven and earth ("The Catherine Wheel," "How Near Heaven"); the framing of that difference as a difference between ballet and popular dance ("Deuce Coupe"). I have limited myself to one or two precedents. Believe me, there are more.

Still, it was good to see those Tharpisms again. ...