Hot Wax by Patrick Burns
A single stage light circles an upside down, leafless tree suspended in the air. This is the opening image of contemporary choreographer Jiří Kylián’s Wings of Wax, performed during the Boston Ballet’s All Kylián. Upstage, eight dimly lit dancers stand facing away from the audience. A jittery wave of elbows, hips, and shoulders travels through one of the female dancers. The piece has begun. This jitteriness continues, making its way down the line of dancers, who will continue to defy the definitions of sharp and fluid movements over the course of the piece. There is urgency to the movement, as if some foreign, unwanted energy is found within the dancers, causing them to periodically shake and jerk between moments of suspension and fluidity. This urgency carries into partnering work between the dancers in duets of manipulation and control; a jerking female dancer is captured by a male’s arms, lifting her by her thighs as her feet sharply flex in the air. There are moments of intense fluidity, where the partnering becomes so smooth and effortless that it is nearly impossible to tell who is supporting the other’s weight as the four pairings of male and female dancers travel across the floor intertwined.
A single stage light circles an upside down, leafless tree suspended in the air. This is the opening image of contemporary choreographer Jiří Kylián’s Wings of Wax, performed during the Boston Ballet’s All Kylián. Upstage, eight dimly lit dancers stand facing away from the audience. A jittery wave of elbows, hips, and shoulders travels through one of the female dancers. The piece has begun. This jitteriness continues, making its way down the line of dancers, who will continue to defy the definitions of sharp and fluid movements over the course of the piece. There is urgency to the movement, as if some foreign, unwanted energy is found within the dancers, causing them to periodically shake and jerk between moments of suspension and fluidity. This urgency carries into partnering work between the dancers in duets of manipulation and control; a jerking female dancer is captured by a male’s arms, lifting her by her thighs as her feet sharply flex in the air. There are moments of intense fluidity, where the partnering becomes so smooth and effortless that it is nearly impossible to tell who is supporting the other’s weight as the four pairings of male and female dancers travel across the floor intertwined.
However, the fluidity is soon interrupted by the most striking visual in
the piece. A male dancer grabs his partner’s face, lifting her nimble body off
the ground as she extends into a back arabesque. The moment is brief, but
sensational. The aggressive nature of
the face grab, paired with the classical ballet beauty of the arabesque
illustrates the tension between beauty and darkness, a summation of Kylián’s
choreography. The rest of the piece is stunning, challenging the viewers’
perceptions of beauty as the clash of heavy and light, dark and pretty, fluid
and rigid become more apparent. Spasms,
body rolls, slaps, stomps, and exasperated breaths are woven through more
conventional ballet movements, crafting a truly original piece of dance theater
that isn’t trying to be original.
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