Word: stage
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Ugliness, deliberate, sustained ugliness is surely a sin, and the Harvard-Radcliffe Dance Concert at the Loeb last weekend was just that. Every now and then--when the dancers stopped running straight across the stage, jerking like epileptics, teetering on the verge of toppling, then toppling (whether purposely or not)--the evening did provide some fleeting moments of pleasure. But there were...
...last three dances. But they shatter these moments of beauty as soon as they regroup the performers. Changes 1 probably illustrates best what is wrong with the choreography. To a quite unmemorable sound collage by David Maxwell, the dancers as a tightly interwoven group walk diagonally across the stage while a film projects closeups of the maze of heads and necks onto the screen behind (mixing media is apparently an irrestible temptation these days). The patterns are admittedly beautiful, but with the static beauty of a painting. The result is a series of movements, mostly unaesthetic, leading...
...somewhat relieved by Molly Maddox (Wheaton) with two numbers--Scarecrow and Subway. While amusing, the choreography was cliched and the whole not so much a ballet as a mediocre pantomime. Also amusing, though unoriginal were Phoebe Barnes and Christina Starobin in Miss Starobin's Phoebe and Christina Pal on Stage or, America Remembers Mary Heavtline. Unfortunately, the number was as over-long as is the title...
...started the whole thing as a last-minute fill-in for a vacant slot at a Johannesburg theatre, play the show as if they had never seen it before. Equally enthusiastic is Kendrew Lascelles, the chief comic, who also devised some of the choreography. Mr. Lascelles, periodically strolling on stage wearing a floor-length black coat and carrying a tuba that he cannot play, looks like a banana waiting to be peeled. He also has a way of bunching up his entire torso into his breast, a trick he's likely to pull anytime, anywhere, and for no rational reason...
Whenever they can, the singers of Wait a Minim sneak on stage to express their musical thoughts about love or hate or anything else that happens to strike their fancy. Michel Martel clowns around, but also finds time to display a voice that can find its place in any octave. Helen Ireland, throaty and soothing, and Nigel Pegram, quiet and cynical, handle the familiar folk songs with an unfamiliar sense of style...