Emergence
Pacific Northwest Ballet
McCaw Hall March 14, 2025

Contemporary ballet was on the menu for the packed house of stylish patrons at Pacific Northwest Ballet's opening night of Emergence, a program that presented four exciting approaches to modern classical dance. All ages were present at McCaw Hall: parents with children, young dancers in training, jazzy corporate types, curious newcomers, and lifelong supporters of PNB – a pretty good cross-section of Seattleites and their dance-loving friends.

First-night excitement was rewarded with a fascinating mix of contemporary works that transported the audience into strange, emotional, and beautiful new worlds. Choreographer (and PNB soloist) Price Suddarth's compelling premier of Dawn Patrol was followed by Jerome Robbins' louche and elegant Afternoon of a Faun, Marco Goecke's hilarious Mopey, and the astonishing return of Crystal Pite's Emergence.

Dawn Patrol, with music by Alfonso Peduto and a swooping, tent-like set by Chrisoula Kapelonis that suggested a WWII hangar, reached far beyond its inspiration as an homage to aviators, creating a universal sense of anxiety in the face of duty. The male sextet was especially remarkable as the pulsing tension crystalized the sense of courage in the face of danger. Suddarth's choreography took me to a gripping place I couldn't have imagined without it.

Afternoon of a Faun, set to music by Claude Debussy, was originally choreographed by the famous Russian Vaslav Nijinsky, whose erotic movements scandalized the dance world of 1912. In 1953 Jerome Robbins reimagined this sexy faun as a dancer in the studio, watching his own movements in a mirror. The audience becomes that mirror as the fourth wall disappears and the Faun (Lucien Postlewaite) studies himself as he stretches and postures. When a Nymph (Clara Ruf Maldonado) joins him in his self-absorption, a delightful merging of dance and mythology occurs. On opening night, the audience was as delighted as the Faun.

Mopey (don't ask me what the title means) was as weird as it was fascinating. Choreographer Marco Goecke must have both qualities himself to have set this one-man dance to both C.P.E. Bach's Cello Concerto in A minor and The Cramps' shrieking, ear-splitting version of "Surfin' Bird." Soloist Kuu Sakuragi took on the brave, exposed role of a solo figure who rolls, twirls, flaps his arms, and beats his chest through a fantastic series of emotional movements as he tumbled on and off the stage. When the music suddenly went from a momentary silence to an especially bonkers version of "Surfin' Bird," I felt like it had finally caught up with the strangely affecting wildness of the dance. Kudos to Kuu Sakuragi, whose athleticism and vulnerability made the whole crazy thing quite touching.

Emergence, by choreographer Crystal Pite, was presented here in 2013 and never forgotten by those of us who saw it. I said then (and I'll quote myself): "Words cannot express the thrilling strangeness of this astonishing work."

From the literal emergence of a winged creature from a chrysalis to the military formation of opposing swarms, this monumental dance builds and builds to a massive, somewhat scary climax. It's part sci-fi, part entomology: The bare-chested men are in black, many-winged pants, rolling and organizing into troops. The women, in black tutus with layered flaps, stand on their black point shoes, using tiny steps to suggest the strange unity of bees. They whisper repeated counts along with Owen Belton's low drone music, creating such an impression of otherworldliness that when the two cohorts integrate in a militaristic formation of impressive gestures, you don't know whether to applaud or run from the room. It's an especially apt dance in the new reality we're living with in 2025: scary, uncertain, fascinating. Emergence is more relevant than ever–and a tremendous contribution to contemporary ballet.