New company soars in debut at Jacob's Pillow

August 22, 2008|Janine Parker, Globe Correspondent

BECKET - Recently a friend remarked that, given the economic instability that can often be part of an artist's life, one must be pretty brave to follow such a career path. But I think it's necessity, not bravery, that drives artists. They don't choose the life; it chooses them.

That said, it takes guts to take the reins like choreographer Trey McIntyre, who is launching his own company - the Trey McIntyre Project - as a full-time entity this week at Jacob's Pillow, after previously assembling pickup groups for performances during the off-season. The prolific McIntyre is much in demand among dance companies, having produced some 70-odd ballets since being named choreographic apprentice at Houston Ballet at the tender age of 19. It's perhaps auspicious that exactly that many years later - he's now 38 - McIntyre is leaping into the role of artistic director.

Wednesday's opening performance felt like finding a shiny new penny - lucky and hopeful. The dancers are appealing, eager performers: Moods and expressions look authentic, not pasted on; the dancers' training is candidly, easily displayed. There's no posturing - there's no time, given McIntyre's penchant for speed.

The program also highlights McIntyre's preference for walking on the sunny side of the street. Sometimes his works can be too much surface and not enough substance, but there's enough bite and edge to keep the program's three dances from simply evaporating without leaving an afterimage.

The lightest piece, the world-premiere duet "Surrender," gets laughs because of the unlikely pairing - Chanel DaSilva is a pink-gowned prom diva to Jason Hartley's helmet-wearing wrestling geek - and the wildly eclectic musical collage of Grand Funk Railroad, Tchaikovsky, and John Lennon. It all ends up fitting somehow, and that's the sweet point of this often wonderfully goofy dance: that convention may be safe, but it's not necessarily satisfying. DaSilva finally takes her heels off, Hartley his helmet, and thus metaphorically unveiled, they stroll off, DaSilva reaching for Hartley's previously too-icky/sweaty hand.