“Death isn’t the elephant in the room; it is the room.” Alok Vaid-Menon
ODC Summer Sampler 2025 was a homecoming for three distinct choreographers: the former Co-Artistic Director, now ODC Fellow, KT Nelson; Mia J. Chong, who started dancing at ODC at age five; and Catherine Galasso, who revived her 2024 dance, “10,000 steps.” Galasso’s history with ODC is about as long as Chong’s, going back to her professional career when, straight out of college, she participated in the organization’s Pilot Program, followed not long after by a three-year ODC Theater artist residency under the mentorship of Brenda Way.
Among these three, Nelson’s world premiere, “Nothing’s Gonna Make Sense (Reflections on Grief)” was the most anticipated because this is her first new work with the company in eight-years and the first since the sudden loss of her fun-loving, motorcycle-riding husband of 47 years, Doug Winter.
I had only seen Nelson a few times during the years she worked as a freelance choreographer, so I was eager to see her on opening night and maybe sneak in a squeeze. “You look great,” I couldn’t resist saying, noticing her glow. “Grief helps to lose weight,” she smiled. Undoubtedly, Nelson’s radiance emanated from returning to her nest, to the familiar Ohlone soil on which ODC’s theater stands, and within the arms of a community she has been instrumental in forming, and, most of all, to movement—to the creative flow of life that is dance.
Within its title, “Nothing’s Gonna Make Sense (Reflections on Grief),” suggests a compassionate acceptance, along with an allowance for the piece to evolve and exist as it wishes. In this dance, grief isn’t the enemy but a burdensome friend that creates the space needed for messy experimentation. In a way, Nelson, was compelled by circumstance to make this dance, a challenge she undertook gradually, with an open heart and a troupe of ten dancers. Together they helped shape the nature of loss into a dance, wearing lime green costumes (Jamielynn Duggan) and by playing with white sheets of fabric in various ways: sometimes swirling, sometimes like clouds gathered under their feet, occasionally rolling themselves into it like a cocoon, and most powerfully, as a shroud draped over a corpse, the veil that separates the living from the dead.
In “Nothing’s Gonna Make Sense,” the role of the soloist shifts from that of a featured dancer, given a spotlight with unique choreography, to someone set apart from the others, not by choice but from the weight of sorrow and the emotional distance left in its wake. Both Rachel Furst and Jenna Marie danced the role of the protagonist, perhaps because it’s a task too heavy for one person to bear, or to show the non-discriminatory, universal nature of loss. For moments, they danced, seemingly uncertain about how much they wanted to engage with the others, sometimes pushing comfort away and at other times surrendering completely into the open arms of those around them.
Furst, who wore a magenta wig which visually set her apart from the others and contrasted with the green costumes, made several attempts to run up the brick walls of the stage, as if seeking to escape pain or the over caring of others. How could they possibly understand her suffering? Could she let them in, let them support her? Meanwhile, Jenna Marie delicately danced with a passionate, grief-stricken expression—mirrored at one point by Colton Wall as her sympathetic double, who collapsed upstage at the same time, Marie did the same downstage before their partners tenderly peeled both off the floor.
Nelson isn’t new to starting a work on wobbly ground, in the land of unknown territory, letting chance and circumstance reveal themselves. Here, she has produced a narrative that unfolds with a graceful touch, at times bubbles with unexpected relief, like a duet between Colton Wall and Ryan Rouland Smith, who leapt like leprechauns without distracting from the honest reckoning driving the piece. Solid in its footing, “Nothing’s Gonna Make Sense” made perfect sense and resonated with many.
In contrast, “Theories of Time,” Mia J. Chong’s world premiere, felt notably dated and lacked substance. Despite its fast-moving, sometimes explosive duets and the company’s well-established dancers, who seemed held back even while competently carrying off the choreography, the dance remained thin. The hollow techno music of Henrik Schwartz and the airy ambient sounds of Pascal Shumacher accentuated this shallow quality despite the choreography’s attempt to deliver a lyrical performance. The most striking aspect of “Theories of Time” was Thomas Bowersox’s lighting design, which effectively built tension and mood by illuminating the stage or silhouetting dancers in ways that the choreography did not.
Catherine Galasso’s revival of “10,000 Steps: A Dance About Its Own Making” provided perfect comic relief and a playful counterpoint to the previous pieces, demonstrating that something light in topic can still be innovative and fresh. Galasso has had the luxury over the past year to finetune her 2024 dance, polishing rough spots while keeping its Squid Game motif intact. Set to a digital countdown clock on a movable cart upstage, ten dancers had the task of completing 10,000 steps. At first, the dancers tried to outsmart the ticker by rolling across the stage or leaping out of the taped-off area that resembled a boxing ring.
Galasso and Kyo Yohena’s choice of bubble-gum-colored street wear added a vibrant and joyous element to the performance. The dancers, who often wear serious professional faces, overflowed with delight, both in their movements and expressions. In particular, Jeremy Bannon-Neches showcased a new side of his talent, with his understated comedic timing and a mischievous glint in his eyes, making the audience laugh without playing to them.
When the clock hit 1000 steps, they moved in formations of patterns. At 3500, the squeak of their shoes screeched across the stage, adding to Dave Cerf’s music and sound design that included the repetitive rhythm of Terry Riley’s keyboard. Dancers stuck out their tongues, made veils with their fingers in front of their eyes, climbed up each other’s backs, and had a hard time deciding if they wanted the piece to end or keep it going beyond its cutoff.
David e. Moreno
