Dance--child

DANCE DOESN'T EASILY take the lead in the arts at Harvard, but when Rika Burnham steps on stage, as she did Monday night with her three dances entitled "Curved Wind," she stole lights, music and drama--taking dance with her to the top in a stunning leap. Her fellow dancers gave more than adequate support, as did the musical sections composed by David Evans '75 and played by H.R students. Rika's Dance showed what four years of dedication and concentration can be--even at Harvard, where dance is a field of concentration, still with a small "c."

"Curved Wind," divided into three parts--"Aires," "Epic in Twilight," and "Celestial"--takes us from astrological and classic proportions to the contemporary level of blue jeans and sewon emblems. Rika brings to these works the past experience of "Air" '69 and "Winter" '70 that she performed with Lindsay Crouse, her summer studies over the past three years at Connecticut College, Colorado College, in New York, and currently with Claire Mallardi at Radcliffe.

The May 8 program does not lack for humor: "Celestial," the last of the three parts, breaks the more serious, introspective mood of the preceding works with a jab at ballet and even at rock dancing. From the wings leap blue-jeaned, mod T-shirted dancers to the classical strains of Tchaikovsky while simultaneously, pastel lights expose large cardboard stars, ringed Saturn, a large puffy white cloud, and a smiling crescent moon dropping down from the heavens. When the mock Corps de Ballet appears together--barely a semblance of unity--they cause bursts of laughter by purposely bumping into one another and getting out of step.

Rika captures the essence of ballet in her parody and when the company forms a chorus line, that boasts stars and crescent moons on their chests, that bumps and grinds its way to comedy through subtle shifts of the hips, then even 20th century styles are forced to let down their hair under audience scrutiny. The jeaned-segments could have been precise and emphasized since the dancers' over-clothed bodies lost the clarity and graceful curves of the leotard. Yet the combination of jeans and ballet brought the expected hilarity, and the dance treatment--a pointed, self-criticism--showed historical and critical perspectives, a credit to the maturity of Rika's choreography.

Comedy aside, the group's technical skill came into clearer view. "Epic in Twilight" was their strongest performance, and the most creative and absorbing of their works. The opening pas de deux. "Aires," danced by Rika and Harry Streep III, set an intimate tone--not only between the couple on stage, but also between the audience and the dancers. At one point, curved over one another, coupled by their breathing, the two dancers expand and contract in a harmony of spherical shape that results in a burst of free movement as the two separate. These coupled sequences are the beauty of "Aires." Finally our emotions are left unresolved. The abruptness of her departure leaves us as unsettled as Streep's half-bent stance and semi-opened arms.

"Epic in Twilight" effectively resolves these inner conflicts, strongly and lyrically through the explicitness of dance movement. Reminiscent of surreal landscapes--curvy, wriggling plants and fairy-tale, almost anthrophomorphic animals of prey--the scenes are washed over by pastel lights and costumes running together like dew dripping from blades of grass. The dancers paint a moving tableau, a soft flowing watercolor with occasional sharp lines that cut at the pastel mist recalling the surprise surreal of Rene Magrette's imagery, the playfulness of Paul Klee's animal compositions, and an accent of slithery, lurking evil. The opening scene contrasts the quiet curves and calm glow of a sun slowly appearing above the earth.

From blackout, the dance moves to a striking processional--two men (John Noran, Kenneth Train) carrying a stiff Eugenie Doyle, her arms stretched beyond her head, fingers spread. They tilt her up and she slides down the backs of the two men, down the closely following Thaddeus Bartter, to the floor where she lands gracefully: the earth has absorbed all shock and accepted her into its fallow ground.

A mood of figures submitting to the earth and supernatural forces prevails throughout "Epic." Weakened by some unearthly power, the dancers take turns falling out of the dance; two male dancers grasp the arms of a girl, she falls straight back like a statue knocked over, and is dragged dramatically off stage. Players move on and off the stage, a recurring theme of growth and decay as the numbers of dancers increases and decreases.

GROUP SEQUENCES excelled above individual performances or movements. In one superb silouhette the dancers become a bouquet of budded plants slowly nodding in the wind as they grow. The curved bodies curl around each other and amalgamate in a group on the floor. The dance embodies the fury of the Orestian trilogy as two males slither from the group back into the wings.

The climax of this epic is a fight between Bartter and Alejandro for Rika, with the sharp, pointed-foot Bartter the victor over the flexed- foot Alejandro. Bartter executes some stunning leaps, but comes down a little hard on stage; no longer is mother earth so accepting.

The piece finishes with tints of twilight as it has begun, yet the tones have become muddied, and stand out strongly against the light-colored background, raised hands with spread fingers slowly lower to the dancers' sides. The mood cools as twilight ends; the imagery remains vivid, a drawing now sprayed with varnish.

THE PERFORMANCE May 2 presented some shorter, more sketchy student works. "American Gothic" choreographed and danced by Arthur Bridgman and Eugenie Doyle doesn't quite stare at us with the starkness of Grant Wood's painting of an American couple--man holding pitch fork and woman wearing granny glasses and tight hairdo--but captures rather a younger spirit in this pas de deux of a couple, whether American or Gothic we can't tell. What the dancers retain is the constant look, that stare that the painting gives to the audience; this time the stare is primarily between the couple, as their necks turn simultaneously, abruptly, glancing at each other across the floor. Whimsically, the two dancers tilt their arms in opposition, teetering from side to side in almost airplane-like glides as they continue down what seems a make-believe runway directed into the audience. Doyle is fluent and controlled. Bridgman a little stiff-legged at times, but they form a dynamic team--a strong portrait.

TORY FROHTINGHAM, choreographed and danced "Improvisation" to Eric Satie's music "Trois Gymnopedies." This mood dance-piece uses the music's constant pitch by reiterating upward motions of the arms and legs. Such interpretive repetition works well, the dance becomes three movements of gymnastics for the feet. Yet as a whole does not take us beyond the first movement.

"Can't Elope," was the spiclest of the dances. This time a solo, choreographed and danced by Julie Hanlon, who showed far more competence in this mime-dance style than in "See-Saw." In black stretch overalls and green leotard top, she showed a clean, precise figure, characteristic and obligatory for mime.

Petite Rika Burnham, svelte and blonde, has stolen Harvard's arts for an evening. That is the nature of dance, ephemeral like theater, only living as it is performed. The Loeb has sponsored visiting troops, like the Paul Sanasardo Dance Co., the Utah Repertory Dance Theater, and Louis Falco who is to appear later this month. Rika's Dance and the four sketches showed us that the dance-child is growing here at Harvard; it only needs nourishment.