Primal, graceful piece is a must see

Change your plans, get the expensive baby-sitter, rent a car, charter a boat — take whatever measures you must to see the Emio Greco/PC show at On the Boards this weekend. Some of the finest modern dance to hit Seattle in years, "Rimasto Orfano" is truly astonishing in both its technical skill and raw humanity.

Every part of the performance is so thoroughly integrated (the set, the costumes, the score and the choreography), removing a single element would severely lessen the entire experience. This stands in stark contrast to many modern performances, which are all too often cluttered with the detritus of disparate concepts.

The set is adorned with three high walls of rumpled gray fabric, giving the impression of a cave or a crypt. It's both stark and apt, since the piece opens with a dancer in a blond wig announcing (with an audibly lipsticky smile), "Emio Greco is dead." But this tomb isn't claustrophobic. On the contrary, it feels limitless, particularly when the lighting changes the walls from opaque to translucent, revealing ghostly figures wandering slowly just behind.

Rimasto Orfano means "abandoned orphan" and indeed, the costumes give the impression of lost souls. Full-length, long-sleeved, plain linen shifts, worn by the three men and three women, have the appearance of burial shrouds. At times the performers appear angelic, as the frayed fabric resembles feathers.

The score, by Michael Gordon, is nothing short of masterful. A low drone is overlaid with the sound of frantic shuffling, then mournful violin chords. It moves from almost complete, tense silence, to shockingly loud blasts of what sounds like an orchestra gone mad. Perhaps the most beautiful section is a symphony of air-raid sirens, stretching endlessly in woeful rounds.

Greco's choreography has a sadness to it, too, embodied in the human yearning to both stand out and fit in. The dancers repeatedly thrust themselves into daring poses, then dart their eyes furtively to see if they are in synch with the others. They make constant self-conscious adjustments, turning a foot more outward, shifting an arm slightly higher, always seeking acceptance.

The movement is clearly derived from ballet but has been completely stripped down and re-sculpted into a much less rigid form, more unpredictable. Arms have become something else entirely. They spin like pinwheels, dive like pelicans and twist themselves into straitjackets.

Greco's dance taps into something primal, making you feel wound up, spooked and relieved all at once. There is humor, too, as when the dancers struggle to be front and center, then look terrified to be in the spotlight.

It's a gorgeous performance, gliding from graceful to spastic, from impossibly still to frenzied but remaining human throughout.

brangiendavis@yahoo.com