The Brooklyn Rail

Since 1933, when founder Ted Shawn and his Men Dancers gave “Tea Lecture Demonstrations,” the summer festival at Jacob’s Pillow has been one of dance’s finest flagships. The 2024 season proved again how this Berkshires oasis thrives even in the wake of the pandemic, and despite the Doris Duke Theatre burning down in 2020 (it is currently being rebuilt). And somehow, the facilities feel state-of-the-art while still espousing a rustic campground aesthetic. This summer, I caught several shows in various venues, and yet it represented only a sampling of all the offerings.

Early in the festival, the Royal Ballet (UK) performed two different programs: one outdoors and one indoors. This highly lauded company rarely visits the US, and this time, it did not perform in New York City on the same trip, as can be the case. This canny and/or serendipitous scheduling move no doubt lured new eyes to the Pillow.

The repertory chosen for the outdoor Henry J. Leir Stage focused on smaller cast works, some of the choreography with undercurrents of nature or an organic flow. Thus, a pas de deux from Swan Lake felt quite at home among the live chirping birds and verdancy (despite the traditional tutu-and-tunic outfits). Frederick Ashton’s Dance of the Blessed Spirits evoked the arcing leaps carved by the male dancers of Ted Shawn. Partnering Viola Pantuso, Daichi Ikarashi seemed to sprout wings and soar through grand jetés in the pas de deux from Le Corsaire, leaving audiences gasping. And Christopher Wheeldon (Artistic Associate at the Royal) offered examples of his melting movement and partnering dexterity in After the Rain (a staple of Wheeldon’s choreography at New York City Ballet since 2005) and Us (2017).

Indoors at the Ted Shawn Theatre, the Royal danced an excerpt from Secret Things, choreographed in 2023 by Pam Tanowitz. Those familiar with her work might have recognized motifs such as dancers departing from the stage space (in this case, one walked through the audience to wave at the chamber group in the orchestra pit); snazzy, playful costumes by steady collaborators Reid Bartelme and Harriet Jung with details like sequined shin guards and dye-dipped toe boxes; and subtle movement experiments blending the quotidian with ballet. Here, as has often been the case in her numerous commissions by top ballet troupes, Tanowitz makes the most of the skills of these highly trained artists with heroic leaps and precise timing, but she also seems to poke fun at tropes of the ballet canon, coaxing Liam Boswell to preen and pose like Apollo. The scale of the work in the Shawn fit comfortably; in a larger house, such details might dissipate.

Lest we forget that the Royal has serious classical chops, they included several chestnuts from that canon—duets from Diamonds, Giselle, Diana and Actaeon, Manon, and Carousel—demonstrating impressive mastery of ballet (and musical theater dance) over time. Nadia Mullova-Barley danced Four Brahms Waltzes in the Manner of Isadora Duncan, a joyful gust of fresh air. Wheeldon popped up again; his For Four featured men darting on and offstage in crisp, graceful, athletic passages. Wayne McGregor’s (resident choreographer at the Royal) Figures in a Landscape found an apt setting once the barn doors slid open. The mesmerizing Sarah Lamb climbed a few steps up and onstage from outside. The choreography mixed a typical explosiveness with dreamy, mellifluous sections.

Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui recently became the artistic director of Ballet du Grand Théâtre de Genève. Sadly, the Antony Gormley sets for Cherkaoui’s Noetic didn’t arrive in time for the Pillow run, so an excerpt of it and his Faun were complemented by Sharon Eyal’s Strong. I associate Cherkaoui’s style with boneless bodies, ample floor work, and freely flowing pulses of energy, but here he offered highly structured tableaus with the dancers’ faces arranged in a matrix, their hands snapping into frames reminiscent of early Mondrian canvases with spiky, tree branch-like lattices. Two dancers made one Faun; the man (Oscar Comesaña Salgueiro) more organic, the woman (Madeline Wong) angular. The dance recalled Cherkaoui’s style, slithery and flowing, muscular and low-bound. The upstage barn doors slid open (again to oohs and aahs), creating another apt setting for fauna in this too-long duet.

Eyal’s Strong may have been a last-minute substitute, but it proved most mesmerizing. The seventeen dancers formed grids, blocks, and lines, making tiny movements that were nearly undetectable, and sharpening the audience’s focus and necessary concentration. A shoulder twitch, an inch-long step, the shift of a head, all added to this precise machine. The music (techno), costumes (blacks with sheer spans), and lighting (deep, cool hues and fog) created a club atmosphere, and the coiled energy felt as if it might explode at any moment. The company all walked on shoeless Barbie feet toward the end, enhancing the honed style. The absolute control and tautness gave way to explosive attitude kicks and échappés.

Torrential rain moved David Dorfman’s performance of (A)Way Out of My Body that I attended from the Leir Stage into the Perles Family Studio, a beautiful space with soaring ceilings and chairs on bleachers. His shows have always been inseparable from his personal experiences, and this felt ever more so. That it felt unusual is perhaps a sign that the confessional thread of modern dance has waned, and that I hadn’t seen his company in a while.

He and the witty mover Lisa Race (they are spouses) bookended four dancers, all clad in imaginative couture-worthy white separates. He spoke about his mother’s MS as a reason he developed such abandon in his dance. About how, after watching David dance, she dreamed so vividly she could walk that she awoke and fell after taking some steps. Dorfman has often incorporated contact improvisation in his work, which he does here, along with partnering requiring communication and trust. Lily Gelfand, a dancer, also played cello while being carried aloft. A dancer lip synced a zany song by Lizzy de Lise in an intentionally bad rendition.

Dorfman and Race shared a moving duet, and he (as always) broke apart and flung himself wildly while maintaining steady footing. De Lise wandered on stage to sing a wistful song, including the line “Could I be more than me?” Dorfman, more fit than ever, has always carried an everyman air about him. He reminds us of a generation of postmodern choreographers that, poignantly, recedes farther into the past every year.

Camille A. Brown’s I AM is essentially a Broadway-ready show needing a narrative. She has crafted an exciting, inspired sui generis style based on social dance, with threads of African, street, hip-hop, gesture, and everyday movement. Pairs emerge from the upstage murk—popping, snapping, jerking, krumping, skipping, kicking—I honestly don’t have the vocabulary to describe it adequately. It’s pure adrenaline and excitement, which is conveyed directly to the audience.

Women rule—whipping long braids extend a snapped head’s energy, deep squats, and track pants with cropped tops amplify the sporty, competitive nature of the sets. The female dancers often move in pairs or small groups. The men, by contrast, remain a bit more backgrounded and relate in spoken or gestural phrases, or in basketball riffs and ad hoc competitions over this or that. The band, crammed into a corner of the audience, kills it, blasting funky jazz and strong rhythms in music by Juliette Jones, Deah Love Harriott, and Jaylen Petinaud. Brown herself appears, dancing and also cuing the band members, or perhaps acknowledging them.

Discussing this work’s predecessor, ink, in a video, Brown noted that if you’re a superhero, and you’re flying, what comes next? “In the midst of oppression, Black people keep rising.” Brown has been steadily busy in recent years with projects not only for the dance stages, but also on Broadway and at the Met Opera, among other venues. She has great skill with creating dynamite theatrical spectacles grounded in her unique (but relatable) style built on the Black community’s myriad movement threads, a courageous musicality, and the ability to translate her whip-smart technique to her dancers. Do not miss the chance to see I AM if it comes along. And don’t be surprised if it hits Broadway down the road.

In addition to the two larger stages’ fare, this summer the Pillow offered free performances and workshops continually, plus exhibitions and talks. Given all the renovations and development, climate-controlled spaces, a huge tent for food service and events, and improved parking facilities, the Pillow is losing some of its “dance camp” charm. But the main focus—dance—is unwavering, as is the commitment to a broad curatorial vision while not forgetting classical ballet and modern forms.