Emerson Cutler Majestic Theatre, Boston, MA.
November 23, 2024.
Some call Martha Graham the “mother of modern dance.” Scholars and dance enthusiasts may (and do) reasonably debate the claim. Perhaps more assuredly, she’s the mother of American modern dance — first presenting work in 1926, and from there inspiring countless American dancemakers to create something of their own. 2026 marks the company’s Centennial.
The dance company, the oldest in the U.S., is in the midst of a three-year Centennial Celebration — complete with touring, commissioning new works, expanding the company’s repertory, cross-disciplinary collaborations, public outreach initiatives and more. I was blessed to experience part of this celebration in Boston – in which, quite fittingly, I saw reflected a certain kind of American spirit. Each work resonated with a slightly different timber of that spirit, but full of Americana each remained.
Graham’s Dark Meadow Suite (1946) kicked off the program. Emblematic of Graham’s pathbreaking voice, it offered both mystery and comfort. It began with dancers spread out across the stage, the only score their feet and breath. As they moved at molasses-speed, an atmosphere built as enigmatic as the title. Their costumes of earth tones and motley line, shape, and image (by Graham) added to that enigma.
Graham signatures were also evident right off the bat — grounded weightedness, clarity of shape, expressiveness in spinal rise and fall. Her musical affinity was also clear, with the movement vocabulary – as it gradually gained speed and intensity – meeting various layers in the score. That harmony of movement and music, full of clear accents and strength, offered something predictable in the midst of ambient uncertainty. Soloist Anne Souder was a particularly sure anchor; she brought generous and sensitive subtlety to each arch, contraction, and far beyond.
Also notable was the work’s partnering, a sure example of Graham’s innovations building on – and then fully shaking up – the classical ballet tradition. Dancers angled their bodies forward, straight as plywood, with the support of partners. From that stable place, they swept arms across space before them, alternating right and left. Amidst the mystery and unease, there could be trust and care…perhaps there needed to be.
That had me beginning to think about the American spirit within this program. On one level, yes, it all felt like such quintessential Graham, her being (I’d argue) the founding pioneer of this nation’s modern dance tradition. Beyond that, the experimental project of American democracy can be full of darkness and uncertainty – yet, in each other, and with persistence, there is also light and tranquility.
Also striking to me were the almost earthy and animalistic qualities at hand – feeling like something from a much different time in human history. In an age of ubiquitous smartphones and tablets, it is no bad thing to interface with those elemental parts of us.
Agnes de Mille’s Rodeo (1942) came next, which Artistic Director Janet Eilber had noted would bring quite a different tone than the preceding piece. (She was quite correct there.) Eilber also noted that the work was the first major concert work to incorporate American vernacular movement forms, many deriving from the nation’s immigrant and enslaved communities.
Immediately clear in the work were the influences of those vernacular forms, as well as lovely little moments building character and narrative. Movement and theatricality danced together, no seam in sight – from the work’s beginning to its end. The fluid meeting of the vernacular and concert-based forms, which then so wonderfully served the work’s theatricality, demonstrated how de Mille became a true master of choreography for the screen.
Yes, there were turns, leaps and shapes that must be perfectly precise to read. Yet, that virtuosity seemed to live within the gestural and body-level nuance, that which stood as an unshakeable foundation for the ever-evolving drama at hand. Joy could then burst from the stage, and I couldn’t help but smile along; it was plain infectious. Particularly delightful were The Cowgirl (Laurel Dalley Smith), teaching a masterclass in comedic timing, and her eventual love interest (Richard Villaverde), exuding a spot-on blend of bravado and warmth.
All of the little moments of drama built to a nighttime square dance, complete with a backdrop almost Starry Night in the ethereality of its moon and stars (by Beowulf Boritt), and a daytime dance before a barn. The “ugly duckling” cowgirl there found her footing, danced with aplomb, and ended up with not one but two suitors. She was the “everygirl” who stepped up, claimed what she wanted, and came out on top because of it. That’s the quintessential American story after all, isn’t it?
Graham’s iconic Lamentation (1930) followed, quite memorably performed by So Young An. As Eilber had also shared, the entire solo takes place on and right before a bench – the soloist spotlit and the stage otherwise pitch-dark. The pathos escalated as the soloist’s movements became more taut and staccato.
Smooth rib cage rolls and lateral torso shifts became angular reaches, hands clasped with tension and arms spreading against the tubular costume’s constriction. Young An delivered all of that with full generosity and command. It was clear that she had absorbed the short solo’s every nuance into her very being – so that she could then offer each to us in turn.
At one point, she stood, and I almost had hope that she would find the agency to step away from the bench. Yet, that was not to be. The taut qualities, the battling of the costume’s constriction, only increased – until she slumped forward from the waist, folding over legs. Not all endings are happy, and some don’t see the light on the horizon that will come. Dr. Martin Luther King knew that he might not see the mountaintop, yet he led us toward it nonetheless. That long-sighted struggle for something better is another indispensable part of the American story.
It could be my modern bias, but of all the program’s works Jamar Roberts’ We The People (February 2024) felt most explicitly illustrative of this country — its tensions, its purported values, its vision of what it could be. The piece therein felt like a great closer, providing both hope and food for thought as we step forward into the next American chapter.
Movement oscillated between the aqueous and something more convulsive. Dancers rode the line between the refined and frenetic, coming back to the calm of control after the thrill of almost losing it. They moved tenaciously, independently, then together danced something softer.
All the while, supple receptivity made accented strength pleasantly continuous — a kinetic intelligence at hand that melded all of these qualities and contrasts into a harmonious whole. Those dynamics intensified as a solo shifted into the full, busy stage of the whole ensemble moving together – yet also which Roberts keenly shaped to remain digestible.
The score (from Rhiannon Giddens) and costuming (by Karen Young) were a supportive container for all of those choices, and also sharpened the poignancy at hand. Electronica-peppered bluegrass tones and denim felt modernized, but also grounded in something older – the Americana tradition ringing through to our present day. America is full of contrasts and contradictions: from sea to sea, past and present, community to community. We find something fluid and fruitful when we bring some kind of reconciliation to division.
Toward the work’s end, a thoughtful, unrushed, unforced solo filled the stage. That shifted into another tenacious group section, resonating with even more hope and vivacity. I could feel the dancers’ pure joy vibrating off the stage, ecstasy from the simple experience of moving in community. That’s something to remember as we move forward into a more perfect union.
It can also simply be the moving art that’s entrancing and invigorating to experience – and that’s valuable too. We need both. Thank you to Martha Graham Dance Company for offering both, and congratulations on an indelible legacy. Our oldest dance company is now woven into American fabric, telling its singular stories – and also remaining a shining creation of its own.
By Kathryn Boland of Dance Informa.
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