Beyoncé, Adele, Shakira, and... Twyla. It takes a special artist to be recognized by just their first name. Unlike those pop stars, Twyla Tharp is a choreographer with over 160 pieces to her credit. These include everything from 1965’s Tank Dive, where she, then an experimental creator, balanced in an X, to 2002’s Movin’ Out, a jukebox musical of Billy Joel songs.
Now 81, she could retire to Florida, yet she continues to revive older works and occasionally premiere new ones. For her 2022 run at New York City Center, she pairs In the Upper Room (1986) with Nine Sinatra Songs (1982), shown in that order. Explaining the choice to program the crowd-pleasing number before the introspective one, she told The New York Times, “The Sinatra is a series of relationships. The pandemic was about individual survival and extended community survival, but not really about relationships.”
Well, that’s one way to sell tickets to a performance of two well-known yet middle-aged works. Both captivate at moments; however, they comment more on who we were than who we have become. I felt disillusioned as I remembered what these pieces meant to me then and how slight and showbizzy they register to me now.
Unspooling to a riveting score of electronica by minimalist master Philip Glass, In the Upper Room features 13 lissome beauties. They sport prison stripes with flashes of red that ultimately overtake the palette. During this Jane-Fonda-meets-George-Balanchine romp, they fan-kick, they jeté, they shuffle, and they shimmy – all with toothy grins. The latter isn’t a critique. I was smiling, too, because Glass’ music revs like a sonic bullet train, sweeping up anyone listening into a cascade of propulsive rhythms.
Tharp leaves no razzmatazz trope unrepresented. Cliques of dancers, some in pointe shoes, others in sneakers, play with counterpoint and whip through canons. Fog machines labor extra hard to keep the stage drenched in mist.
Fortunately, the cast was seasoned enough to sell the schmaltzy exuberance. Lloyd Knight, Reed Tankersley, and Richard Villaverde were a slick-with-sweat, bare-chested trio, barreling here and there with winking verve. Cassandra Trenary could do no wrong as the ballerina whose body is manipulated like origami. The legacy of Louis XIV lives in Daniel Ulbricht, who breathed literal life into the balletic academicism peppered throughout.
For all the punchy performances, the downsides of a pick-up company became apparent pretty much immediately. The dancers included hotshots from New York City Ballet, American Ballet Theatre, Martha Graham Dance Company and Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater. Freelance artists, a circus star, and regular Tharp collaborators rounded out the lively miscellany.