Washington University Dance Theatre (WUDT) presented an eclectic mix of dances in their annual performance this weekend titled “Coalescence,” ranging from emotionally impactful to humorous to strange.

The first performance, “Emergent Action,” started the night off on a strange note. Designed by professor David Marchant and inspired by the dancers’ responses to the forest at Wash. U.’s Tyson Research Center, the choreography had dancers mimic the motions of nature. Dressed in greens and browns with dimmed lights that never fully illuminated any dancer and often left dancers completely in the dark, the performers captured the otherworldly feel of the forest. For the most part, the dancers were synchronized, slow and deliberately moving in place. Sometimes, though, a dancer would abruptly begin running, or dancing so quickly and with such sharp motions that they felt almost violent in comparison. The dancers’ performance so completely captured their forest inspiration that it became ethereal in a way that didn’t feel at all human.

The return to the human world was almost jarring in the second performance: “Interludes,” choreographed by Director of the Master of Fine Arts (MFA) in Dance Program and professor Christine Knoblauch-O’Neal. The first of the piece’s two scenes centered on a girl in a blue dress, junior Kendall Pomerlau, as she waited by a streetlight for a date that never showed. The dance captured her progression of emotions, from excitement to impatience to despair. There were no words, but they weren’t needed to show how she felt when another man arrived at the scene and danced off with another girl. The second scene was less emotion-focused and showcased a lot more of the technical aspects of dance. Senior Ella Rosenkranz, dressed in a green, danced with a man while the girl in the blue dress danced alone before joining them, all three dancing together. The sadness of the first piece was gone, replaced by the pure happiness of dancing.

Grace Bruton | Student Life

Dancers from “Serenity” flit across the cooly-lit Edison stage in billowing chiffon dresses. The dance was envisioned by Wash. U. ‘s Distinguished Performing Artist Kirven Douthit-Boyd.

The next performance, “As we drift,” was by far the most painful act of the night. The dance, choreographed by alumna and Wash. U. postdoctoral fellow Elinor Harrison, focused on the experiences of detained immigrants at the border, specifically those of children separated from their parents. When the curtain rose, the six dancers lay in individual rectangles of harsh white light, wearing neutral-colored, baggy clothes. Although the dancers were not in uniform, the scene was clear: these were detainees. Set to music by St. Louis immigrants and refugees, the dance sometimes progressed to vibrant songs, sometimes in silence and, in some moments, to audio clips from inside a U.S. Customs and Border Protection facility.

The dancers pushed and pulled each other across the stage as an audio clip of a crying child grew louder before exiting, only to later re-enter a line mimicking lifting heavy objects. They mimicked the performance of this hard labor, first working individually before coming together to help each other. This moment of community was undercut when one dancer broke away, grabbing a microphone from offstage. As the other five desperately army-crawled across the stage, she shouted questions from the United States Citizenship test. The emotional climax of the piece, however, was yet to come. Dancers embraced in the center of the stage only to be ripped apart, and the lights faded on two dancers being torn apart, unable to hold on to each other as the sound of a child crying grew almost deafening. The lights came up once more, on the six dancers laying on the same rectangles of light in which they started the piece.

When the lights came up for intermission, I found that there were tears in my eyes. While that wasn’t the only performance that would touch my heart, it was one that was the hardest to get over—which, I assume, was the point, to draw light to the plight of immigrants to this country, a story that everyone needs to hear.

After intermission came “The Two Kingdoms: Snake and Bird,” which once again left the human world altogether and was a celebration of life in all its forms. Choreographed by Diadie Bathily and first performed in 2010, this was the only piece of the night that did not premiere in this year’s performance, and I can understand why it was brought back. Drummers provided the soundtrack, accompanied by noises of snakes hissing and birds cawing.

Grace Bruton | Student Life

Two WUDT performers combine to strike an imposing and vibrant figure in “The Two Kingdoms: Snake and Bird.” The dance, choreographed by adjunct faculty member Diadie Bathily, was revived from its inaugural performance in WUDT’s 2010 showcase.

In what was easily the funniest moment of the night, the dance opened with three dancers in snake costumes pulling themselves across the stage on their stomachs. In addition to their snake bodysuits, they wore large, green cobra models on their heads, whose mouths they could open and close by pulling on a string. Their choreography mimicked the movements of a snake, sinuously swaying in a circle until the lights and the drums died out. When they picked up again, the birds had taken the stage. Red and orange where the snakes had been green, the birds flapped their brightly colored wings and soared across the stage.

The next piece, “Dragonflies,” returned to the human world. Choreographed by professor Jennifer Medina, “Dragonflies” acted as both a celebration of the progress the women’s movement has made since 1848 and a recognition that the fight is not yet over. Images of key moments and figures in women’s rights played on the screen, slowly moving from Seneca Falls to 1920s suffragettes to recent photos of the 2017 Women’s March, Indigenous Women’s march and a 2018 photo of gun control activist Emma Gonzales. Much of the choreography involved the five dancers holding hands and physically supporting each other as they shed their jackets, long skirts and blouses to stand on-stage in outfits emblazoned with five phrases, one for each dancer. Unite. Love. Empower. Persist. Rise up. The lights faded on them kneeling, separately folding the clothing they had discarded.

The night ended, not on an emotional note or a humorous one, but one as strangely ethereal as it began. “Serenity,” choreographed by Wash. U.’s Distinguished Performing Artist Kirven Douthit-Boyd, was exactly that—serene. Black curtains divided the stage into small sections, and the dancers’ orange dresses provided the only spot of color. Beginning with a composition that sounded like a bell tolling, the dancers were separated from the audience by a screen, which lifted along with the curtains to reveal a bright orange backdrop. Calm but energetic, the performance felt strangely urgent, the stage filled with dancers that all dropped to their knees. The lights faded on all of them kneeling, one arm outstretched.

This weekend’s WUDT performance did something I’d forgotten dance could do. At diffe rent times, it brought tears to my eyes and made me laugh out loud. It told seven wordless stories, each channeling a powerful emotion. And above all, it did so energetically, with passion for the stories the performers were telling.