HQ Review: Webster BFA Concert
80s rock and roll, a disappearing moon, a thunderstorm, a trickle of laughter, a prop gun, and the indecisiveness of being a libra. All disparate elements that collectively contribute to the daring artistry of Webster University’s BFA concert “The Paradox.” Featuring three works by BFA candidate Ally Lamkie, as well as four works by recent Webster alumni, “The Paradox” is a fitting title to illustrate how these imaginative works existed beside each other. At times dramatic absurdity took hold as comedic expressions were undercut by tensions of seriousness. Elsewhere, the ecstasy of dance reigned supreme as the electricity of movement bounced from one dancer to the next. Though containing a hodgepodge of dance theatricalities, this concert’s contradictory features depicted the reality of existing in an illogically serious world.
The dance theatricalities began with “What Echoes Back,” choreographed by Zoe DeYoung. Opening the night with a pulsating groove, late night aesthetics unfold as a full moon lights up the back wall of the stage. Four dancers, adorned in white, appear entranced by this moon as they contract towards it with Graham-like affectations. Soon enough, the mood shifts, the groove fades and ambient melodies arise. The dancers form duets and encounter each other with a radiating sense of care. Madi Maetten and Skylar Powers interlock fingers as they crawl across the stage as a single specimen. Keshaun Brooks whisks Eilee McVey into the sky, spiraling harmoniously into space. Then, a lightbulb descends from the ceiling and Brooks encounters the lightbulb as though it is a microphone, going on to verbalize his wish for a million dollars. One by one, the other dancers go up to this “microphone,” wishing for the music to be quieter, or that cybertrucks would cease to exist. When McVey speaks, she wishes for unlimited wishes, confessing that “I have a scarcity mindset,” and fears that what she desires could drastically change from one day to the next. Though embedded with humor, this monologue takes on an air of poignancy as McVey addresses the endless desires we have as contemporary creatures of society. And the desire only grows as the moon projection shrinks out of view as the dancers wistfully reach towards it vanishing locality. Now, with no moon in sight, they only have each other. But they make due, continuing to radiate care towards each other’s soft and supple bodies.
Next up, “I’ll Keep You,” a solo choreographed and performed by Ally Lamkie opens with muted dramatism. She is draped over a stool. Not entirely lifeless, but weary and forlorn as a buzzing drone sound emulates from the stage. Quivers start to accumulate inside her torso as her hands and feet shudder and crease. These textural emulations are captivating, yet something unknown draws her away from the stool to the other side of the stage. She looks out into the distance, grabs at her skin, then anxiously escalates this behavior as she throws herself to the floor, bent legs whipping behind her. Lamkie is entangled in an enigma of distress that is expressing itself physically. Alternative metal instrumentations by Deftones kick in, doubling the anxiety-inducing atmosphere that seems to control Lamkie. A voice arises from the distance asking if she is ready as she frustratingly responds “YES!” These dramatic simulations reoccur as she moves back and forth from the stool, using the stool as a sense of support and entanglement before she finally erupts to state “NO!” she is in fact not ready. For all the intensity this work harnesses, it concludes itself rather starkly with Lamkie sitting at the front of the stage, enacting out a conversation with an imaginary other. As they attempt to make plans, Lamkie continually ignores her own needs, whether it be finances or schedule, in order to appease the demands of the other individual. She nervously confesses that she is a libra, thus often quite indecisive. What a fitting way to conclude a piece that was wrapped inside its own indeterminate nature.
Properly placed next in the lineup was Sarah-Faith Peterson’s work “tumble, regroup, tumble again.” Through gentle manipulations of movement material and directional facings and groupings, Peterson’s work was a sustaining force of tranquility for this concert that contrasted the more cacophonous elements of the night. Echoes of meditative qualities unearth themselves as six dancers find over curves in their bodies and gentle waves of movement that travel through their limbs. A brief moment of tension arises as sounds of flickering flames lead the dancers to tumble and swirl in a clump of standing bodies. This elevated moment quickly subsides as muted sounds of thunder and rain hang over them. These dancers, however, appear unbothered by these rumblings. Despite the distant storm, warm tones light the stage, giving a sense of comfort to this group’s presence. It is clear that whatever storm is occurring on the distant horizon does not bother these dancers’ sense of peace and calm with each other. And though they may tumble and momentarily be lost, they will regroup again amidst the oncoming storm.
Sometimes when you encounter something so ridiculously horrible in life you can’t help but laugh a little. “An unbecoming” by Lexie Hoehn felt wrapped up in this kind of incredulous horror as her dancers take in the chaos of their surrounding world. The piece unveils itself to Keshaun Brooks appearing lost in a dream as he shuffles his feet, rotates in place, and brushes his hands down his face and shoulders. Though the four other dancers on stage appear calm, there is an undercurrent of unease that ruminates from their bodies. They begin to shift through space, cautiously at first, but soon with momentum as they bump into each other and let out audible gasps that are both genuine expressions of surprise, and slightly absurdist affectations. As they continue, the gasps grow, and even occasional giggles begin to exude from their mouths. Gravity begins to loosen its grasp as they execute lifts that float effortlessly upward, lengthen their bodies into headstands, and hold heel stretches for an exorbitant amount of time. Though these dynamic physicalities are impressive, the way they are formulated within the work do not feel overly showy, but essential to the dramatics of the world this piece employs. And what exactly is this world we are encountering? On one level it feels impossible to pin down, while simultaneously being so grounded in its eccentric, yet unsettling atmosphere, that the legitimacy of this world does not demand to be questioned. As the work draws to a close, the dancers’ heads clump together as their faces contort in a grotesque, over the top manner. Yet no noise leaves their mouths. They are trapped inside the ramifications of this absurdist horror.
Sparkles, shimmers, and lips pursed like a fish bring Ally Lamkie’s group piece, “and salt the earth behind you,” directly into focus. Dancers’ faces sparkle like fish scales. Others wear tank tops that glisten with aquamarine blues and white ruffled skirts. The density of the air feels thicker here as these seven dancers mull through the space. The tone feels ethereal as airy voices blend into the music. An alluring duet between Alivia Fletcher and Vivian Birch brings this tonality into focus. They huddle together as hands smear, clasp, and grapple at each other’s torsos. There is an element of sensuality to their exchange, yet embodied with a subtlety that leaves an air of mystery to their relationship. All the while, the other dancers slowly pass upstage of them, swimming through space in entrancing lifts and hazy meanderings. Both intoxicating and tranquil, this work folds you into the ambience of its desire, then leaves you floating into the ether above.
“Does this have whole milk in it? You know I like almond milk.”
“Hmm, the gun isn’t reading.”
“What is it? I just said I don’t know!”
These are just a few of the lines spoken in Reuben Thomas’ work “Episode,” that plays out like a surrealist Black Comedy. Trenton Hampton brings the work to life as they glide through space to the sultry voice of “Close To You” by Dreezy, wearing a black robe spotted with flecks of pink. Bella Shea joins Hampton onstage, dressed in black pants and a white button up shirt, looking like a businessman who just got off work. Shea gazes towards Hampton with an almost licentious manner as the two muddy the landscape of gender roles. Drama ensues as Hampton finds a note in Shea’s pocket that is clearly upsetting. Hampton demands “What is it?” to which Shea continually responds “I said I don’t know!” Though fully committed to the dramatic antics as their voices get aggressive, there is also an intentionally ridiculous quality to their interaction. A quality that is furthered as they are interrupted by the sound of a TV commercial which Marina Leonardi comes on stage to mimic, physically capturing a tongue in cheek representation of this TV commercial. From there, things only get wilder as focus is brought back to the argument at hand, and Hampton pulls out a prop gun and directs it at Shea. Now having a prop gun on stage has the potential to feel quite serious, (and unavoidably there is still an element of that), but within the antics of this piece, this object’s connotation momentarily shifts and is able to exist differently within this surreal world. This is only furthered when the choreographer themself, Ruben Thomas, appears from where the audience is seated to interrupt and redirect the drama that is occurring on stage. “No, no, the gun isn’t reading,” they casually remark, as though everything taking place was just a rehearsal for a movie they are filming. Sustained modern movement vocabularies break out, demands to readjust the placement of chairs occur, and Thomas’ damn coffee is delivered with whole milk instead of almond. It’s challenging to explicate all these different elements, yet for all its nonsensical structure, it manufactures a world, like our own, that is at once gravely serious and utterly absurd.
The finale of this BFA concert ruptures all the dramatism of the previous works and delivers three rapturous solos. This work, “Three-Headed Goat,” choreographed by Ally Lamkie, in many ways is “the goat” of this concert when it comes to electrifying dance movement. Each solo is accompanied by 80s rock and roll music that carries bits of musical nostalgia into the space. With exceptional clarity and knack for rhythm, each dancer evokes the driving playfulness of these rock and roll rhythms, while also adding their own individual flair. Alivia Fletcher begins as though she is attempting to rouse a crowd of concert goers as the punk rock melodies of The Ramones play. Trenton Hampton comes out next, hips swinging and wrists flicking. Accompanied by the groovy funk of the X, Hampton lets these sounds resonate through their body with a confidence that is thrilling to witness. The final solo by Ahren Sims is just as revelatory as they swing their head and fall into a jazz split before popping right back up again. Each solo evokes the funk of the 80s rock and roll spirit, while seamlessly contemporizing these nostalgic sounds through their individual style and representation of race and gender. These solos culminate in a rousing trio as they join together in movement, making their way off the stage and into the aisle of the audience, as though we were at an actual rock concert. The electricity of these three dancers is fully felt by the crowd as genuine cheers and claps erupt from everyone’s bodies.
And though your typical dance concert is quite different from a rock concert, the physical and creative abilities of this cohort is something worth demanding an encore of. Though I am personally a bit biased, as I graduated from Webster’s dance program six years ago, for me, this concert harnessed the fullness of what these students are capable of in ways I had not seen before. The ability to create abstract worlds with such clarity and exactitude is no simple feat, yet each work did so in a manner that made them feel approachable, even in their atypical formulations. Though Webster’s dance program has undergone many organizational shifts since I was a student there, this concert was clear evidence that this institution continues to be a thriving contributor to the physical creativity of our St. Louis community and beyond.
Photos by Carly Vanderheyden