NYCB New Combinations Review
February 1, 2024 | David H. Koch Theater – New York, NY, USA
The much-anticipated Tiler Peck company premier for New York City Ballet’s New Combinations bill, placed in good company between choreography veterans Justin Peck and Alexei Ratmansky, felt like a shout and a giggle all rolled into one.
Peck seems to say, “I’m here!” in choosing Francis Poulenc’s eclectically brash and sweet Concerto for Two Pianos (the piece’s namesake as well). The first note is a dramatic and dense plunk of the piano, one that makes your eyes widen and back straighten.
NYCB New Combinations Review
As soon as light pools between curtain and floor, the dancers begin moving: seven couples already in their element, whatever Peck has decided that is; but it appears to be urgent and playful. Decked in Zac Posen designs, the dancers looked almost old-Hollywood in pleated cocktail dresses and mock turtleneck unitards.
Stacked in traditional ballet rank form (principal, principal couple, two demi-soloists, corps de ballet) the work teeters between balletic and quirky, willingly crossing the line back and forth.
This is much like the music which is in one moment tinkling pianos and the next vibrating castanets. In one of the more literal interpretations of the score, the dancers snap their fingers to mimic the percussive instruments.
Peck’s strongest moments are when she leans into the more peculiar forms: a delicious, flexed foot chaîne turn, prickly prances on pointe, a tall lift evoking a Greek statue.
It is also without question that Peck has a flair for musicality. You can see it any night she is on stage performing herself, she magically extends every millisecond between notes, reconducting the score through her body. She’s had her dancers do the same and their accents are unmistakably hers.
Roman Mejia, as the principal lead was pure voltage in gravity-defying leaps.
It was in these moments where Peck reverts back to classicism, harkening back to a Ballet Russe parade of tricks.
On the flip side, Mira Nadon and Chun Wai Chan were all drama and draping bodies. In a pas de deux which at times sought the help of seven men, Chan laid Nadon across a row of dancer’s backs which she languidly rolled off. This section was the highlight for me: the couple partnering in the center and the men prancing and spinning in their orbit.
Brandon Stirling Baker’s lighting design offered crispness in the brazen sections but a cool underwater blue tone for the pas de deux, laying a soft blanket of darkness over the dancers.
Another highlight, in a duet featuring the spritely India Bradley and Emma Von Enck, the two dancers complemented each other through light partnering, speedy footwork, and delightfully bouncy runs on pointe.
Although the corps de ballet sections offered little to the texture of the piece, opting instead for straightforward coupled dancing, overall, it worked by molding together athleticism, classical shapes, and whimsical nod. Certainly, something Peck should celebrate as her first work for the company.
Justin Peck’s clever Rotunda is like viewing the trail of an artist’s pencil come to life. Anchored in circular shapes, dancers formed and dissipated circles across the stage: an artist drawing a circle, only to draw a new one and erase the old.
Essentially, it’s a revisited version of flocking (think of birds or fish when they shift direction as a group) that relies on clear geometric shapes rather than amoeba-like forms.
The mismatched rehearsal-wear costumes by Reid Bartelme and Harriet Jung bring a relaxed casual vibe which flowed nicely with Peck’s organically cascading formations.
The eight sections set to a vibrant Nico Muhly commission were each uniquely layered and punctuated with signature Peck moves (partnered leg-switching lifts, threading arms) but the transitions between are almost as intriguing. Large groups wander in and out to leave behind a couple in center stage, choreography starts and blends into something else entirely.
Megan Fairchild and Gilbert Bolden III have a lovely pas de deux in which they explore each other, delicate and tender at first, then calculated and precise as they grow more comfortable against Muhly’s score. Bolden acting as motor and Fairchild the propeller, her arms expand sideways like the letter T as Bolden ensures she cuts through the air like a steady blade.
But it is the solo by Daniel Ulbricht that gives weight and solidity to the piece.
Introspective and meditative, Ulbricht uses his natural bounce for height in jumps when needed but also gets grounded, pensive, and sensitive.
It reminds me of the times when I would get a studio to myself or even when I could watch a colleague practice on their own. Different than a typical rehearsal, your eyes cast down more often, your brain works to translate what the body is saying, you are in conversation with yourself.
To close the piece, Ulbricht non-committedly reaches out to the audience, only it didn’t feel like a reach to us, but perhaps more a reach to himself.
Accompanied by Leonid Desyatnikov’s cinematic Sketches to Sunset, Ratmansky’s Odesa is both aggressive and loving. Something about his work always evokes village life for me (perhaps it is the sprinkling of folk-dance gestures) and mimics the intricacies, and sometimes simplicities, of human plight.
An echo of a narrative is present, seemingly inspired by the score’s original form in a 1990 film about organized crime in Odessa but the story is soft against the wonderfully complex movement.
Five of the six principals were on double duty that night, appearing first in the clear and quick Rotunda and then in Ratmansky’s whirlwind of athleticism.
The bright Indiana Woodward and precise Anthony Huxley play a tempestuous couple, veering on the abusive side when she is rough tumbled around and then physically shoved to the ground. She has an applause-inducing section of difficult turns which she accomplished with gusto and a smile.
Fairchild and Ulbricht are more cautious, in fact Ulbricht offers his hands to her in the first few minutes of the piece only to be denied and avoided. It’s not until he tries again that she accepts, their pas de deux anchored in that hand connection.
In a beautiful moment, the corps de ballet men hold Fairchild in an arabesque and Ulbricht is lofted above their heads, as the couple hold hands they are spun in circles.
Often, the female dancer is positioned chest forward like a figurehead on the front of a ship; most memorably seen when Ulbricht balanced Fairchild’s foot in his hand and hip in the other, pressing her overhead, the duo becoming twice as tall.
Similarly, we see this idea again when the luxurious Unity Phelan and stoic Adrian Danchig-Waring become slow-moving statues amongst the large group who are completing classical tendus and adagio.
Presenting more as shadow figures because of Keso Dekker’s mostly black costumes against the leads in pastels, Mark Stanley’s dusky lighting, and a sneakiness intertwined in their knotted steps, Ratmansky’s corps de ballet movement remains as detailed as the leads.
I particularly enjoyed a daisy chain of dancers who filed in upstage, each dancer with a hand on another dancer’s hair bun.
Although there is tension in his work and often an underlying sense of gloom, Ratmansky doesn’t deny himself a cheeky moment – that is part of human plight as well.
Featured Photo for this NYCB New Combinations review of Roman Mejia, Mira Nadon, and Chun Wai Chan in Tiler Peck’s Concerto for Two Pianos. Photo by Erin Baiano.
