Tuesday evening the Paul Taylor Dance Company presented four of Taylor’s masterful choreographies at the Lensic Theatre in Santa Fe. The company recreated Taylor’s magic on stage with his 1962 “Aureole,” a dance in five sections to music by George Frederic Handel, and the joyful “Esplanade,” created in 1975 to music from two concertos by J.S. Bach.  Two newer pieces presented Taylor at his rambunctious best in the humorous “Troilus and Cressida (reduced),” first performed in 2006, and his emotional and gripping “Banquet of Vultures” introduced in 2005. Considered by many to be the greatest living choreographer, Taylor demonstrates that at 76 he is still energetically producing magnetic, dynamic and deeply moving works. 

“Aureole” is all about the music. The space-devouring movement swirled with his distinctive swinging runs on and off stage, and punctuated musical accents with delicate, airy, side scissons. The second section, an adagio solo danced by Orion Duckstein, was a nostalgic reminder of Taylor in the same role years ago. The tall, muscular body seemed to open to the world, arms lifted in a high V shape, welcoming the space and the audience. With hip-initiated lunges, and arms weaving together above his head, Duckstein sculpted the air with slow, deep plunging arabesques and turns.

“Troilus and Cressida,” to “Dance of the Hours” by Amilcare Ponchielli, was an hilarious slapstick tale of a bumbling mythological couple. Troilus, danced by Robert Kleinendorst, was always losing his pants and forgetting that he was supposed to be rescuing his lover, Cressida, danced with beautifully timed falls on her face by Lisa Viola. Three golden haired Cupids, danced as winged female beauties, try to bring the couple together, when three sneaky Greek invaders abduct Cressida. The cupids use female wiles to seduce the less-than-enthusiastic Troilus into action, finally beating the floor in frustration. Delightful and raucous humor here was skillfully manipulated as it balanced along the tricky edge of farce.

A dark stage, with candle lights moving hesitantly across the floor, then a sudden cone of light from above, as though breaking through a bombed-out building, introduced “Banquet of Vultures,” to an  angst-ridden score by Morton Feldman for Oboe and Orchestra. The dancers are dimly seen, wearing dark camouflage costumes and blindfolds as they search for each other in the darkness and struggle to save themselves in violent, gravity-bound movement. Two dark suited men, emerged, one at the beginning and one at the end, to manipulate, attack and eventually even to murder.  These are the vultures, the power figures behind wars. Michael Trusnovec danced the first vulture, stamping one foot as he approached the group, a kind of moral cripple. His gestures were violent, striking out, killing, and driving the group to collapse. Julie Tice danced the one figure who kept reappearing with the one candle left to spark new life, but she is murdered with a stabbing motion.

The second vulture, danced by Kleinendorst, appeared in a pool of broken light stage right, tying himself into knots and throwing his body violently into the air and to the floor. He finally emerged to take over the devastation and begin the horror all over again.

“Esplanade,” to music from two Bach violin concertos, brightened the atmosphere as nine dancers moved in a lighthearted interplay of games and flirtations. Sharp directional changes moved the dancers into ever-changing patterns with deceptively simple walks, runs, hops, skips, and speedy exits and entrances. The fifth section ended with exciting jumps and catches with carefree abandon. 

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