Moving and provocative work from A.I.M by Kyle Abraham

The April 6th performance of A.I.M by Kyle Abraham at the Performing Arts Center at SUNY-Purchase College felt like a homecoming of sorts, with works by Abraham, Keerati Jinakunwiphat and Rena Butler – all SUNY-Purchase alumni – playing to a packed house.

Among the dances that made a profound impression, Shell of A Shell of The Shell, a world premiere by Butler described in advance publicity as “a journey of self-decolonization” through a reimagining of the narrative of the title character of ‘King Kong.’ A community of five dancers, clad in billowy white shorts, stretchy, strappy white tops, and knee pads, clambered over each other, often reaching skyward as if searching for an escape route out of a subterranean prison. The sounds of hollow pinging, playground voices distorted as if coming from the depths of a well, and a gridded fence-like pattern of shadows projected on the stage floor reinforced a sense of confinement. The lighting design by Dan Scully – which relied heavily on haze, tight spotlights and dancers’ silhouettes sharply cast against a stark white cyc – proved as dramatic and menacing as Darryl J. Hoffman’s throbbing, eerie soundscape.

The dancers convulsed as the haze enveloped them – and to some extent, the audience – evoking the imagery of the gas bomb used in the 1933 movie to subdue King Kong. In a hard-charging duet, Gianna Theodore & Keturah Stephen struck a ruthless alliance. In another, the diminutive Olivia Wang and towering Donovan Reed pressed foreheads together, presaging an epic battle, their faces contorted in silent screams. But through their gravity-defying duet, Wang seemed to comfort Reed.

Fear appeared to dissipate with the haze. Reed, alone onstage, stared out at the audience inquisitively, kicked up their heels, examined their costume as if transformed, then sashayed down an invisible runway. The ensemble returned to what seemed a new and welcoming space. But even as they hugged each other, they scanned the ground, as if searching for landmines. “It was beauty killed the beast” goes the final line in the movie. The colonised and exploited, for whom Kong was a metaphor and whose allies cannot protect them, remain wary.

From Abraham came the searingly introspective If We Were a Love Song and the surface-shiny Show Pony. The former, set to Nina Simone at her most vulnerable and most resolute, underscored the dancers’ mercurial qualities: Keturah Stephen alternately wistful and cocky in ‘Keeper of the Flame,’ her expansive back and liquid arms punctuated by small, abrupt gestures; Gianna Theodore cool, acrobatic and controlled in ‘Little Girl Blue,’ then a glorious burst of spiralling movements. ‘Don’t Explain’ sang Nina Simone to a wayward lover, radiating hurt and acceptance, as Mykiah Goree and Donovan Reed wound in and out of a tender, complicated embrace. Limbs unfolded in concert into the generous arcs of an attitude derrière that seemed to suspend the dancers in air. It doesn’t end well, the relationship severed by what could have been betrayal, illness or death. In ‘’Wild is the Wind,’ Amari Frazier is a force of nature, embodying both stillness and the storm.

A force of robotics engineering is how one might describe powerhouse Olivia Wang in her debut in Show Pony. The soloist, in a gleaming gold unitard, grinds out a limited inventory of self-conscious moves; when her energy appeared to flag, or a look on her face hinted at rebellion, a shrill whistle sounded to jolt her back into line. Like many in the competitive dance world, at the elite level of competitive sports or working an assembly line, she is stuck in the “On” mode, controlled by an unseen puppetmaster. Composer Jlin’s ‘Hatshepsut’ – like a marching band drum corps on acid – makes a hilariously apt soundtrack, for Hatshepsut was a rare female pharaoh, legendary for her self-promotion and the frenzied pace of her construction projects.

Against these richly layered and provocative works, Jinakunwiphat’s Someday Soon felt flimsy. The physical and dramatic gifts of her dancers were largely squandered on a gimmick involving flower bouquets that snake along the ground, tethered to invisible wires, or lobbed onto the stage from the wings like hand grenades. At first suspicious of these random objects materialising on a sidewalk, as any New Yorker would be, dancer Jamaal Bowman soon observed other dancers coveting said bouquets. A stand-in for things you don’t realise you want until you see someone else has them (fame; a cryptocurrency account; a blue checkmark on Twitter-now-X.) Athletic moves like upside-down lifts and supported cartwheels were not enhanced by a lacklustre soundtrack overstuffed with samey pop-rock beats. If you’re going to toss in the ‘Flower Duet’ from Lakmé, the concept had better be dynamite; otherwise its long association with British Airways commercials, the ‘Bad Santa’ movie and scores of funky remixes are going to crowd this dance completely out of your head.