Recent Stories with tag arianna lallone

There's a fake wholesomeness to classical performing arts that I've never quite understood. I've seen it at the opera, when older patrons complained about how a director "spoiled" a pretty aria by dramatizing the rape or murder that goes along with it. Similarly, all parents subscribe to the right to drag little girls in tutus to ballet, without glancing at the program--trained, perhaps, by ballet's preference for the romances of Barbies & Kens. But this cheats the childless, for one, and parents themselves, for another, of the chance to deal with adult emotions and situations.

Ulysses Dove's "Serious Pleasures" is not for kids. Not much about PNB's "3 by Dove" (through March 28) is. The suggested anal sex, fellatio, and masturbation aside, there's a keening sexual anguish that pervades the work. It assumes that you've been there, and done...that...and that...and that. Maybe not that, but you've heard about it. From the opening, when Lucien Postlewaite as the Narrator, hooked onto two bars on the wall, unwinds himself and his kinked imagination, there's space being made for an artistic perversity. The staging is by Parrish Maynard.

"No regrets, no retreats, no looking back," Dove once said, but "Serious Pleasures" is precisely that look back--in this case, to the '80s club scene, where as a sort of sexual Orpheus, the Narrator wanders among the shades of old passions and desires. (The '80s had that effect on people--see Whit Stillman's Last Days of Disco.) Louvered banks of dark gray doors burst or swing lazily open, revealing one tight, lithe body after another. Hair swirls in backlit cascades. Women pose as if in peep show booths. The music (Robert Ruggieri) is a pounding club beat. Men (Jordan Pacitti getting his satyr on) stot their way across the stage.

It's not, actually, to shock. Dove interpolates some Balanchine technique to further show off the body erotic, but it only emphasize the leaky libidinal boats we all sail in. As Freud noted, if it's not sex, it's death, and underpinning the spectacle in this underworld of statuesque desire is a remorseful knowledge that it's all already happened, already done. And the Narrator rewinds himself on the wall, restating Henry Miller's "rosy crucifixion."...

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Special to The SunBreak by Scott Bernard.

Pacific Northwest Ballet’s production of The Nutcracker kicked off its 26th season last (Black) Friday night (it runs through December 30; tickets are $26 and up). The date was especially fitting, in that a successful Nutcracker production is to most ballet companies what successful holiday sales are to Nordstrom.

If you haven’t seen it, what makes this production different from others done in countless cities--and from the New York City Ballet/George Balanchine version televised on PBS this time of year--is its depth. With sets and costumes by Where the Wild Things Are author and illustrator Maurice Sendak, this production benefits from his tendency to embrace the darker side of childhood.

Napping on Christmas Eve, young Clara dreams of her godfather, Herr Drosselmeier, who conjures a valiant Nutcracker character to protect the lovely Princess Pirlipat from the evil Mouse King. That doesn’t go so well, the Nutcracker is defeated, and the Mouse King bites the Princess. Fail.

Later that evening at a Christmas party hosted by her parents, Clara receives the gift of a Nutcracker doll from the dysfunctional, eye-patch-sporting Drosselmeier. Her little brother Fritz is given a Mouse King doll, and doing what little brothers do when egged on by their bizarre godfathers, chases Clara, breaking the Nutcracker doll. Drosselmeier bandages the Nutcracker with his handkerchief, and dancing ensues. The guests slowly leave, but not before Dosselmeier whispers to Clara something that seriously creeps her out. (Where is Chris Hansen when you need him?)

When Clara gets out of bed at midnight to find her Nutcracker, she trips over and injures one of the little mice scurrying about. This ignites sectarian tensions between the mice and Nutcracker loyalists. Battle ensues, and the Nutcracker army wins (Mission Accomplished!) thanks to a shoe thrown by Clara. As a reward, the Nutcracker takes the suddenly adult Clara (sorry, Drosselmeier) to what looks to be one of Saddam’s palaces, where dancers from various countries perform for their viewing pleasure.

As young Clara, Eileen Kelly had the right presence and grace. Daniel Bryson-Deane was terrific as her little brother Fritz, bringing a genuine touch to the role without going over the top. As the adult Clara, Carla Körbes danced with technical precision, lyricism and feeling. Stanko Milov was a perfectly fine Nutcracker, although there wasn’t much chemistry between Körbes and Milov. Arianna Lallone danced the role of the Peacock in the way that only she can. (Hers are seriously tough pointe shoes to fill.) The excellent PNB corps was a bit out of sync in the snow scene at the end of Act One, but was tight for the Waltz of the Flowers, led by Mara Vinson....

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