Review of: The Judgment of Paris

The first thing one notes about Austin McCormick’s deliciously lush dance/theater piece The Judgment of Paris is its near perfect setting in the Duo Theater. The floors somewhat slant, the lighting is appropriately dusky, the chandelier slightly dirty and the overall decrepitude of the place makes an evocative setting for this neo-burlesque, baroque reinvention of the Helen of Troy myth.

The narrative tells of how Paris of Sparta won the most beautiful woman in the world, Helen of Troy, by giving a golden apple to Aphrodite, goddess of love. Menelaus, king of Greece and Helen’s husband, embarks on the Trojan War to insure her return. It’s Greece vs. Sparta and years of warfare and chaos. It’s also this simple yet literal storyline that becomes a springboard for McCormick’s impressive theatrics.

What he has basically done is choreographed the piece within an inch of its life yet to marvelous effect. Three women and one appropriately androgynous male are outfitted in corsets and hoopskirts (later in can-can skirts) and at times the occasional toe shoe. It’s McCormick’s passion for the repertoire of French Baroque dance (an esoteric form at best) that infuses the piece. The structure is an early form of classical ballet but carries a lower center of gravity and precision and while extremely erotic is also physically taxing. It should be noted at the onset that all the dancers are exceptional.

The acting falls upon Seth Numrich who opens the show as a master of ceremonies type (ala Cabaret) but later plays Paris and near the play’s closing Meneleus. Elyssa Dole is the delicate Helen. But holding center court is Gioia Marchese as Aphrodite who is a cross between Mae West and a Brighton Beach yenta. However, she never lets us forget what truly fuels the action as when she imparts in her thick Russian accent: “lust is the animal reality that will never be tamed by love. This is where we live, in the lush disorderly fullness of the flesh…”

Laura Careless, Yeva Glover and Davon Rainey.

Photo: Steven Schreiber

For the most part McCormick is successful in his mis-en-scene. It’s a taut script; the narrative is interspersed with wildly energetic dance sequences (there’s nothing quite like those intoxicating can-can numbers). He can turn on a dime when needed; as when choreographing the Trojan War scenes. They are executed with thrusting, staccato movements, low to the ground with chop-like gestures vaguely evoking Bob Fosse. The piece ends on a misstep, however. Helen ends up in a brothel (with Aphrodite as the madam, of course). She is degraded and even raped while Marlene Dietrich vocalizes in the background. It overreaches in its use of symbolism: women as chattel (with Numrich becoming an audience member who borders on pornographic).

Still, it’s a wild, exotic tantalizing evening in performance art. The gorgeous use of music runs the spectrum from such classical giants as Pergolesi and Offenbach to Cole Porter’s Can-Can. The lavish production design includes Leigh Allen’s haunted lighting which often evokes a gas-lit effect and Olivera Gajic’s decadent, deconstructed costumes. But even with all the talent on display, The Judgment of Paris is McCormick’s lovechild and it's his fertile imagination that brings it all together.

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