Choreographer: Kyle Vincent Terry
Company: Chicago Dance Crash
At: Storefront Theatre, 66 E. Randolph
Phone: 312-742-8497; $15-$20
Runs Through: July 15
By Eric Eatherly
Even seasoned choreographers find the prospect of an evening-length production daunting, but the relatively new leader of the five-year-old Chicago Dance Crash troupe, Kyle Terry, has pulled off an ambitious feat with panache, attracting a mix of long-time dance fans and dance newbies with the allure of a kung fu-modern dance hybrid.
Four dancers play the title roles with traditional Kung Fu totems, backed by seven black-clad Kouken; two live percussionists (Andrew Reidenbach and Ryan Deeter); and a narrator, Dan Waller, whose voice sounds like it came right out of an action movie trailer. The Kouken, like a Greek chorus, play a variety of roles, including enigmatic tutor, comic relief and filler in between scenes with more abstract dance elements, contrasting the stage combat-heavy interactions of the title characters. The story follows Tiger Prawn, danced with passionate grace by Marissa Moritz, who starts as a clumsy adolescent and then, through diligent training, becomes a mighty martial arts master. But her newfound prowess alienates her from her former friends and she must navigate a balance between companionship and enlightenment.
The movement of the show blends traditional kung fu attack motions—like flashy high kicks, quick-jabbing punches and low-scooting crouches—with traditional dance elements, like pirouette turns and decorative arm patterns. The final scene of the first act is one of the most striking fight interactions, as Moritz battles the petite powerhouse Stinging Swan (Sarah Keating) in a seamless exchange of weight, trust and believable conflict. Other high points include an innovative use of green fans by the Kouken to create the illusion of a forest, and a funky street-beat solo by Sleeping Panther (Christopher Courtney), who exhibits a mastery of isolated movement impulses that ricochet throughout his body. The final totemic character, Laughing Crane (Laura Maceika), lacks the subtextual complexity of her counterparts, but makes up for it with the technical precision to make even the most accomplished dancer envious.
Unfortunately, the production yearns for editing, as many sections go on long after the point has been made. Moreover, the show relies too heavily on ’70s-style pop-music recordings when talented percussionists are on hand (but underutilized). The first act unfolds smoothly, but a murky plot bogs down the second act as Tiger Prawn is adrift in a sea of isolation. Yet a strong Jean Claude Van Damme-esque fight sequence in the final scene redeems the show.
To its credit, the show is immensely entertaining (albeit in an After-School Special-meets-Japanime sort of way); the dancers all perform with intensity and virtuosity; Nick Matonich’s beautiful lighting brings the stage to life; and the company brings accessibility to an all-too-often opaque world of modern dance.