The Brooklyn Rail

As we file into the cavernous arena, a group of skaters runs drills onstage, where curved ramps of varying size and slant have been constructed to resemble a public skatepark. A narrow balance beam stretches out at ground level. The artistic team has invited local community skaters to practice their skills on the set of Skatepark, the first event of a new performance series at Powerhouse Arts, once a power station in Brooklyn’s Gowanus neighborhood. Running through December 13 are US premieres by international dance, music, art, film, and theater artists, including the opera Sibyl by William Kentridge; Good Sex, by the Irish theater company Dead Centre; choreography by Christos Papadopoulos, the French/Malagasy Soa Ratsifandrihana, and Hofesh Shechter; and street dance with Amari Marshall.

The local skaters on the set for Skatepark display both comradery and bravura, giving each other a nod, pulling out a phone for a quick video, lending a hand when someone falls. At curtain time, they recede to the front row, and a professional cast of thirteen takes over the stage. This is the final show of a three-night run, and the house is completely full—a good number of kids and parents. Skatepark is the latest project of Danish choreographer Mette Ingvartsen, who likes to work with performers not trained as dancers. Some of us are curious about what a choreographer will make of skateboarding culture. Some are here for a vicarious thrill.

The cast of skaters snakes through the space, gliding down one ramp and up another, shifting directions at the apex, crouching low to coast down. They are quicksilver—skater and skateboard are one. To gain speed, they push off with one foot—or maybe a little buck of the hips is all that’s needed. A pair circles in tandem, floating like figure skaters. One shows off how long he can balance with a wheel in the air. Two women weave through in roller skates. One swings her weighted ankles into a cartwheel. The blend of athleticism and grace mesmerizes.

The cast ranges in age from eleven to thirty-five. Right away, my eye goes to a tall blond man in denim overalls, and the daring Aline Boas, who skates with the posture of a boxer. A young kid darts in and around the other skaters. The designated clown of the group rolls in on two hollow tires he’s pulled over his torso. Several skaters appear in hoodies, their faces covered with latex Halloween masks. One carries a guitar up to the ledge and begins playing. Ingvartsen recruited the intergenerational cast from skating communities in Brussels, where she is based, and rehearsals began in a skatepark run by Mary Pop Wheels, who performs in the show. Electronic techno music courses through the show—the kind you might expect skaters to listen to through headphones. (Before the show, ushers handed out ear plugs.) Skaters often join in to sing the lyrics. Wheels and Júlia Rúbies Subirós are versatile performers who dance on skates while belting out songs. For one number, they take up handheld mics for some head-thrashing metal.

The skateboards look like flying carpets as the skaters catch air at the peak of a ramp, sometimes changing directions with a slick twist of the torso. Their knees work like springs to cushion a landing, before roaring toward the next curve. Between rounds, they hang out congenially. A spontaneous basketball game arises—the object seems to be how many times the ball can be passed before scoring a goal. The clown turns out to be a gifted acrobat. Amid the active swirl of skaters, he repeatedly runs up the steepest ramp, throws himself into a handstand, then slides back down face first on his belly.

At one point, the group devises a high jump event, where they take turns sailing over a stack of skateboards that gets taller with each round. There’s about a sixty-forty success rate. We hold our breath at each jump. Ultimately the question arises: is this dance? I can see the choreographer’s hand in designing patterns in space. There’s a pleasing traffic flow, for instance. The sequencing of skaters as they face escalating challenges builds drama in a way that isn’t prioritized in the quotidian wild. Yet the movement vocabulary of Skatepark never leaves the realm of the sport. The balance, the musculature, the shape of the body as it skates is completely in service to the athletic purpose at hand. Ingvartsen simply points to how artfully beautiful it is.

Just as might happen at a public skatepark, the group lingers in the space long after dark. A couple of skaters recline on the floor. Others sit together and make music that gradually rises to a driving, repetitive beat. They re-don the hoodies, and cycling headlamps obscure their faces as they revel. Overhead, a glaring light flashes menacingly. A police car arriving? Chaotic and loud, the movement of this section isn’t well defined and goes on too long. Skatepark succeeds in capturing a day in the life of skateboard artists—a kind of documentary theater event. But as dance, it works best when the performers simply skate.