When you put flamenco in a big theater, you risk turning an intimate art into an Iberian “Riverdance.” But maybe that’s not always such a bad thing.
As part of New York’s 12th annual Flamenco Festival, City Center imported the Ballet Flamenco de Andalucía for a splashy, theatrical evening that downplayed the art’s moody, tragic aspects in favor of its upbeat, virtuoso side. Much is carefully choreographed in unison, so there isn’t a lot of spontaneity. But there’s tons of colorful spectacle, and — at least in the evening’s first half — live musicians, perched on a platform above the dancers.
Big or small, flamenco is sexy. The five male dancers postured in unison, stamping, grabbing their lapels, tendrils of sweaty hair dropping into their brows. They flick their hands into curlicues of testosterone.
The six women held their own, smiling proudly and arching their backs before lifting their skirts to show off the rapid attack of their heels.
Then there are the featured artists. Company director Rubén Olmo is tall and thin like a whippet. He drifts about in a balletic solo before a burst of stamping, then he leaps through a latticed archway to exit.
Compact Rocío Molina’s solo was all flashing arms and fluttering hands. Her form-fitting, updated flamenco dress, with its whirling skirt would have made Charo proud.
But the craziest diva of all was the first out, Pastora Galván. She entered all in red ruffles, grimacing from passion and flapping her enormous fringed shawl like some Flamencosaurus Rex.
Coming out a second time in blue and purple, her solo was an affirmation of unapologetic sexuality. After hip-shaking flourishes, she turned around and smacked her rear. When she hiked up her skirt in front, she nearly flashed us. Yet she was so proud it didn’t feel vulgar.
The lesson: If you’re going to supersize flamenco, have a supersized performer.