The Power of Pilobolus
by Nancy Larson
Normally, when you choose an evening’s entertainment, you have to pick one: Dance, music, performance art, circus, sound/light show or comedy. But Pilobolus, presented by Dance St. Louis, combines each of these genres —along with a generous dose of erotica and equal dashes of spirituality and psychology — if you’re paying attention.Formed in 1971, Pilobolus has been absent from St. Louis since 2002, until its recent two-night run at the Touhill Center for the Performing Arts. A much more intimate venue than the Fox Theatre, which housed the company’s earlier appearance, the Touhill allowed attendees in the furthest seats to view the many nuances of the choreography in which even a slight twitch or quick look corresponds meaningfully with a single beat of the music.
Knowing where to look when there is so much to see can be delightfully difficult. Such was the case in the first of Pilobolus’ five not-so-easy pieces, “Lanterna Magica,” a newer dance added to the company’s repertoire in 2008. In this segment, the four men and two women intertwine symbiotically in such a way — even while doing back handsprings — that it’s not always clear where one dancer begins and another ends. Chasing fireflies and handing off bodies from one small group to the next, the performers appear literally to float in mid-air.
Next came “Pseudopodia,” a 1973 revival, in which a single dancer showed astounding grace and strength while rarely elevating his body more than a foot or two above the floor.But it was the next piece, a 2008 collaboration called “Darkness and Light,” that seemed to steal the show. The dancers at first presented onstage holding what looked to be flashlights, disappearing as a white screen was lowered in front of them. What happened next was a bit confusing: I saw changing shapes, but were these silhouettes really the dancers? As a series of vignettes continued, company members’ body parts morphed into various objects including jellyfish, amoebas and even a huge, laughing, omnipotent-seeming head. In its near-final moments, a presentation of hand shadow puppets became a virtual kaleidoscope and completed this compelling examination of life, relationships and power.
After an intermission, four men wearing nothing but flesh-colored g-strings demonstrated an intimate interlude not often seen onstage among male dancers in “Ocellus,” a piece from 1972. For the finale, 2004’s “Megawatt” required performers to writhe rhythmically on the floor and contort themselves in a way that ultimately transformed them into something akin to demon-possessed Power Rangers living inside a video game.
If I had one criticism, it would be that each piece could have been cut by a minute or two before repetition set in — or maybe I just have an incredibly short attention span. Still, after the standing ovation, as the curtain closed, I was left with the feeling of having experienced something rare and wonderful, a powerful, whimsical and meaningful performance not soon forgotten.
