A Dance Their Senior: A New Generation takes on Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker's "Fase"

A means of finding her choreographic voice, “Fase” has been Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker’s signature since its 1982 debut. After 37 years, she passed the steps to a new generation—tonight, Yuika Hashimoto and Laura Maria Poletti. Blending 21-year-old energy and 59-year-old wisdom, the two dance with regard for freshness and legacy, cementing “Fase’s” timeless resonance even in De Keersmaeker’s absence. 

Fase, Four Movements to the Music of Steve Reich - © Anne Van Aerschot

A sparse vocabulary and penchant for repetition characterize both music and dance, emphasizing their variations: Steve Reich’s phase music constructs itself by succinct phrases slipping progressively out of synch, a device reflected in De Keersmaeker’s choreography. Yet adherence to formalism reveals moments of rupture in these seemingly automated systems—belying their façade, uncovering their humanity.

Strict geometry underlies each section: parallelism in “Piano Phase,” axial rotation in “Come Out,” the work’s single solo of circles, “Violin Phase,” the diagonal progression of “Clapping Music.” The lights rise, revealing two nearly identical dancers in linen dresses and cuffed bobby socks, their androgynous frames as current today as they were in 1982. They begin in unison, straight arms pivoting the bodies of two dancers, three shadows. The central composite shadow flickers as one dancer accelerates, emphasizing their discord. Tense inhales and sighs of relief emanate from the audience as the dancers lose their connection, find it again. But the breaths stem from the movement’s essence, anchoring each dancer to the other, unveiling the secret of their almost-perfect connection.

The gentle enigma of “Piano Phase” subsides into the frantic corporal gestures that compose “Come Out,” set to looped tape describing police violence incurred after a wrongful arrest. The loops—analog to the dancers’ revolutions around their stools—coalesce into an indecipherable drone: logic fades, but the dancers cling to the confines restricting them. Muted lighting obscures Hashimoto’s solo entrance, signaling the work’s third chapter. Through seamless arcs (on herself and the stage space) punctuated by moments of repose, she concentrates fully on herself, revealing her quiet awe of what is happening and what she is making happen with a hint of a smile or the brief steadying of an arm. 

Prefiguring its imminent response, “Clapping Music” holds the audience rapt through its final notes. Once more, Remon Fromont’s lighting unifies movement and sound, swaths of light guiding dancers and shadows through space and time. Percussive layering builds to a sort of ecstasy as each dancer both disappears within and remains hyper present. It’s in this exalted state the character of the dancers—and the work—manifests. The structure, rigor, and processes constructing the work illuminate the fragile humanity of the dancers and the legacy they represent. As the lights come up, two women, sweaty and exalted, join hands, bowing at last to unaffected applause.