New York City Ballet’s fall gala Thursday night had a passion for fashion, both on the stage and the red carpet. Three international designers clothed new ballets while glittery guests — Natalie Portman, Martha Stewart and 50 Cent among them — showed up in their finery.
And the winner? Ballerina Ashley Bouder took the gown competition, tiered and feathered in a stunning dress by b michael.
Kicking off onstage, Nepalese designer Prabal Gurung teamed up with company soloist Justin Peck for “Capricious Maneuvers,” a brief romp for three women and two men. In light flouncy skirts or T-shirts with straps, the quintet danced playfully, even sliding under the onstage piano a few times.
As its title promised, the dance was carefree, right down to a version of Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies” strut. But Peck put so many maneuvers into his caprice that the emotions seemed canned, enforcing one of ballet’s weakest stereotypes: dancers as overgrown kids.
Dutch designer Iris van Herpen’s costumes of shiny black strips for Benjamin Millepied’s “Neverwhere” gave dancers what looked like an insect’s carapace. They also gave a “Blade Runner” look to the ballet, which was fascinating to watch, but the plastic material squeaked. The cast sounded as if it were dancing inside a balloon.
Unintended consequences aside, “Neverwhere” was fluent and fluid, one of the best pieces Millepied — Portman’s husband and soon to be director of Paris Opera Ballet — has made in a while. To music by frequent collaborator Nico Muhly, three couples moved through short vignettes punctuated by darkness.
Tyler Angle and Sterling Hyltin had a moody encounter to a droning viola, while Joseph Gordon — a company member for just a year — danced a duet with Angle with a sharp, off-kilter attack that turned it into a breakout role.
French choreographer Angelin Preljocaj teamed with the most famous designer of the night, Olivier Theyskens of Theory. Alas, their “Spectral Evidence,” inspired by the Salem witch trials, was a waste of the dancers.
The cast of four couples, including some of the most interesting dancers in the company, moved in block-like unison so you could barely tell them apart. Preljocaj’s modern movement was weighty and repetitious, and his tale of sexual repression seemed particularly hackneyed in front of a gala audience of fashionistas.
In an evening with better wardrobe choices, it turned out to be What Not to Dance.