Uneasiness is McIntyre’s enduring subject. In “Mercury Half-Life,” his dancers whipped themselves into mini rainstorms of sweat, their red-and-white jackets flapping around them like nets. Chanel DaSilva kicked her leg to her ear and caught the foot in one hand; she stayed there, balanced at full extension, while you held your breath. They do not make these feats look easy. They show us the effort. There is a certain honesty in that.
’ll miss Trey McIntyre Project, for its original works that dive into life’s dark side and don’t resolve easily. All kinds of crazy little things have found vivid expression in McIntyre’s hands. I’m eager to see what he does next.”
T is for Trey who is just terrific, and for thanks, for the memories.”
In crisp whites (men in short shorts, women in short skirts, all in reversible tailored jackets that flip to red) the dancers look like a marching band-cum-cheerleading squad, which the choreography’s symmetrical compositions, frequent group lifts and presentational “Look at me!” spirit supports. (An occasionally intricate duet hints at McIntyre’s capacity for developing more nuanced relationships.)
Here, as in The Vinegar Works, dancer Brett Perry acts as a sort of an emcee; in the first work, he shrugs, pouts, gestures and spins with marvelous speed and precision. In Mercury Half-Life, he taps and scuffs around the stage with vim. In both, he’s the consummate showman. In other words, he’s like Trey McIntyre.
As with other TMP works I’ve seen, the program at Jacob’s Pillow felt authentic in that the work is exactly what we see, no more. You don’t get the impression of deeper layers or subtle commentary (on life, relationships, society, whatever) or larger metaphors. It is dance as entertainment, which sounds obvious and easy but, on the concert stage and in the world of contemporary dance, is actually rare and difficult.”