Just Dance Me: "ILLINOISE"

Illinoise, the new dance-musical choreographed and directed by NYC Ballet master Justin Peck, that recently came to Broadway for a limited run (and, now, a Best Musical Tony nomination), is so breathtaking for long stretches that my mind shut down, gratefully, surrendering to the movement; just watching and feeling it deeply. Later, I found myself grappling for words to convey this experience. (I am, I admit, a fool’s slave to words. Maybe because I can’t really dance.)

Here's what I’ve got:

The first half-hour or so of Illinoise is just about the most joyous half-hour of dancing that I can recall encountering in all my years of theatergoing. (Early Twyla Tharp kept popping into my head — and, apparently, as I have read recently, into Justin Peck’s head too.)

Illinoise is set to the sounds of the 2005 Sufjan Stevens indie concept album, Illinois. I knew the album going in (and like it). Still, I chose not to read very much about (or into) Illinoise beforehand, not even about its basic storyline. The visceral power of Peck’s choreography proved alchemical. No story is really needed — the dance taps into wells of emotion (at least it did for me) with little literal translation required.

There is a thread of a narrative around which Illinoise is woven (credited as a “Book” to Peck, in collaboration with one of my very favorite playwrights, Jackie Sibblies Drury, author of the Pulitzer Prize-winning Fairview, among others). Peck’s troupe of twelve exquisite dancers portray friends dancing their youthful memories for one another, recalled around a metaphorical campfire. The transition from childhood to something more adult and responsible is at play continually for these friends, but I chose not to let that get in my way either (or theirs). Each memory unfolds more or less cathartically. Many are sweet, even funny. The final half-hour, or so, comprises the longest and most excruciatingly poignant, delineating a memory of youthful small-town pals and their growing sexual kinship, leading tragically to suicide.

The image of phantom leapers continuously levitating and launching themselves in varying suicidal postures off the precipice that the suicidal small-town pal clings to before finally killing himself is a nightmare vision unlike any dance I have ever seen. I doubt I will ever forget it.

The expressiveness of all the dancers, individually and as a group, was thrillingly symbiotic — I felt privileged to be included in their connection, even as just their observer. And witness.

The music is played live, by a 14-person band scattered on staggered scaffolded platforms mounted on both sides of the stage. The band members play (and sing) like a dream, and look kind of fabulously ridiculous, costumed in diaphanous butterfly wings but that, too, is the self-conscious point, I guess. The music, operatically arranged and orchestrated by Steven’s longtime collaborator Timo Andres, envelopes Illinoise as the dance envelopes the audience. I felt as if sound and movement had somehow surrounded and subdued me. In a good way.

Illinoise is not a musical, because it steadfastly does not want to be one. It inescapably is musical theater. The fact that it largely dispenses with words and just dances proves to be a very good move. Afterwards, I found myself thinking that more musicals should just toss their lame books and simply dance. But you gotta dance really well to do that. Illinoise really, really does.