Contrary to its promising title "How to Pass, Kick, Fall and Run", Merce Cunningham's choreography, which premiered in 1965, contains no movements reminiscent of football or other ball sports.

Of course, everyday steps and gestures have always been an important source for the dancer, who was born in 1919. Just like combing hair or sweeping, they were part of the big, inclusive book of consciously executed movements that the choreographers of American postmodernism in the 1960s and 1970s wrote so thoroughly studied.

MCDC, the Merce Cunningham Dance Company, had already produced works that were as virtuosic as they were strange and in any case exceptionally beautiful, such as "Antic Meet" and "Summerspace" and amazed Europe on their first world tour in 1964.

John Cage was responsible for the music and had introduced the application of chance operations to the artistic process, and Robert Rauschenberg would search for finds from the urban environment by day in order to compose sets for the famous "events" by night.

Anything could get in the way of the dance, including Rauschenberg himself, who sometimes stood between the dancers at the ironing table.

Great Times, and How to Pass .

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.” has an exceptionally fast-paced, virtuosic and entertaining character, even without passes, throw-ins or shots on goal.

You could see this for yourself at the Oldenburg State Theater, where the piece formed the conclusion of the new, three-part ballet evening "Verklärte Nacht".

Originally, the dancers wore private sweatshirts and leg leotards.

There was no stage set, the theater's firewall was supposed to be clear, and there was no music either.

Instead, John Cage and David Vaughan sat at a table in the front left of the ramp and read witty one-minute excerpts from Cage's "Indeterminacy" lecture, a kind of "Diary of a Composer."

Dance like Cunningham

Merce Cunningham wanted to make a play that would be easy to perform anywhere.

It showcases the typically quicksilver jumps, the big hops, the deep, soft landings, and the typically other difficulties that make watching a more exciting experience than any photo safari.

Cunningham was a lion of dance, and his royally animalistic and movement-intellectual skills amaze to this day that a body can move all extremities and the head so freely and so independently of each other in rhythm and spatial direction.

Unfortunately, this is definitely a challenge for all dancers who have not been trained in the Cunningham technique for a long time - it is too big for the Oldenburg ensemble.

Robert Swinston was Cunningham's last assistant and, after his death in 2009, led MCDC's two-year world tour before dissolving by will.

However, he can't do magic either.

Learning the Cunningham technique to a level which permits the rehearsal of plays is impossible within a few weeks, even with a German theater company's rehearsal time.

All that glitters is not gold

"How to pass .

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.” unfortunately reveals every technical weakness in Oldenburg.

It is most likely the best classical dancers from large companies who master something like this because they can jump without tiring, because their core is made of steel instead of flesh, because they can hold endless difficult balances without batting an artificial eyelash pull out.

Oldenburg, with its fourteen dancers who are likeable and present, but visibly overwhelmed, simply cannot do it.

The ensemble looked much better in Guillaume Hulot's world premiere of "Ogami," full of offbeat and witty movement phrases and physical interaction banter on their knees or back-to-back.

The burgundy long sleeved leotards and slightly roomier unisex pants made everyone look like male figure skaters, a fun idea and very ironic,

when you consider how much more breathtaking jumps and spins can be performed on the ice.

Dancers on blunt ground may be stepchildren of the double Rittberger in this respect, but they're having a good time at Hulot.

The large filmed pair of eyes that initially looks down from the curtain at the audience and then closes their eyelids as the dance begins on stage seems to say the art is just a dream, but Hulot's original dream is one to dream along with, even if it is may be confusing that it is a different set of eyes that opens at the end.

Unfortunately, Antoine Jully's choreography to Arnold Schönberg's “Transfigured Night”, played somewhat emotionlessly by the orchestra, did not exude half as much charm.

The ensemble is packed in glittering costumes, but they don't manage to shine like dancing stars brought down from the sky.

Jully is too undecided, a bit classic, but very broken and post-postmodern confused like his former boss Martin Schläpfer.

Jully's choreography also exudes the conviction that you can't think anything through because everything has already been done, the constant tossing back and forth between "It's no longer possible" and "But still!".

This is what makes it so exhausting for the audience to follow and ultimately so fruitless.

Luckily, over the past few years, you can see that a whole range of young choreographers have overcome this either/or and simply think and formulate as themselves and with their history and education in motion – like Hulot!

What the ballet director Jully rightly reminds with this evening is the immeasurable loss of the complete absence of the Cunningham repertoire on German and European dance stages.

You are shocked and sad.