by Mike Steele
Minneapolis StarTribune
Staff Writer
May, 1997
To call something poetic is dangerous, given the preciously gauzy, hazily dreamy connotations that word usually summons these days. But the dances by Ranee Ramaswamy and the dancing of her Ragamala Music and Dance Theater are in the finest sense poetic, so let’s try it.
With concise images and subtly colored movement, always backed by David Whetstone’s insinuating, expressive sitar, the dancing has the suggestive power of poetry, stimulating the senses through allusion and deftly chosen metaphor.
At first viewing, the Bharatanatyam style of southern Indian dance, like one’s first confrontation with poetry, may not easily expose its secrets and powers. In a culture used to disco and hip hop, not to mention car crashes and exploding volcanoes, the subtleties and nuances of Bharatanatyam can well seem slow going. But as it unwinds, pulling you into its world like some ancient Indian temptress, it becomes one of the most sensual, engaging dance forms I know.
As the finale of the O’Shaughnessy Dance Series, Ragamala is doing its signature work, “Ragamala”, an evocation through dance of poetry based on medieval Indian paintings that in turn tried to capture the essences of Indian music or ragas. In this intelligently presented program, company codirector Whetstone not only plays the sitar (joined by Ty Burhoe on tabla, Indian drums) but also reads the poetry, most of which is about women reveling in their beauty and the power it gives them. The six dances are played against six beautifully painted backdrops of medieval paintings by William Stille that could well have stimulated the poetry.
Ramaswamy is not only the choreographer but the company’s lead soloist, a dancer of unusual clarity and power. She’s a dancer with a quiet center and a serene demeanor which makes her fluid, darting gestures and the quick punctuations of the text by a sudden stomp on her heel, a flip of the wrist or a flick of a flexed foot seem as powerful as a Jackie Chan karate chop.
Increasingly Ramaswamy has been bringing other dancers to the fore. In an opening offering of flowers the company’s five dancers perform a mostly unison ritual and all five return for the finale, a wonderfully evocative tale about a wise king who enjoys his life, enjoys dancing with the maidens around him, enjoys the drums and clapping hands and, finally, the rain it all brings.
And she now has two fine soloists who can share the stage with her. The first is her daughter, an exquisite and dramatic dancer. A highlight of the concert is a poem about a beautiful queen who secretly marvels at her own beauty. Aparna Ramaswamy gives her a springy, upbeat, coyly witty personality that ultimately makes the work more about the joyousness of youthful self discovery than narcissistic self love.
The other is the company’s sole male dancer, Kats Fukasawa, a young, strong and charismatic dancer who brings muscularity and weight to the company without losing the sense of lyric flow. With him, Ramaswamy can enlarge the scope of her works as in the wonderful “Bhairav,” with its male protagonist, in this case a dancer born from the mouth of the god Shiva. It’s a dramatic trio for him and both Ramaswamys, showing off the storytelling skills of the form and the excitements Ramaswamy is beginning to find in her increasingly dynamic group designs.
