Theatre in Review: Illinoise (Park Avenue Armory) Park Avenue Armory specializes in events best described as unclassifiable, and you won't find a better example than Illinoise, a narrative dance-theatre piece that nods in the direction of the jukebox musical. If anything, it most closely resembles two of Twyla Tharp's Broadway offerings, Movin' Out and The Times, They Are A-Changin', in using the work of a specific songwriter to tell a story through movement. And yet, to compare it to anything seems futile because Illinoise engenders a brand of enchantment all its own. Even when, early on, it doesn't quite come into focus, it is never less than captivating; when it hits its stride, it delivers the kind of excitement native only to an artwork that is entirely new and utterly itself. Call it the season's most delightful unicorn. The choreographer Justin Peck and playwright Jackie Sibblies Drury have devised a scenario around songs from Sufjan Stevens' concept album Illinois. (The extra "e" is meant to distinguish the stage production from its source.) Part of a proposed survey of American states, the album focuses on aspects of the past and present, materials that the show's creator put to uses of their own. The premise assembles a group of young people in a sylvan setting, gathering around a campfire (suggested by a gaggle of lanterns at center stage). The participants read from their journals, revealing their most personal feelings and fears; the songs, performed by three vocalists and an eleven-member band, act as a soundtrack, a far more honest and nimble way of dealing with found musical materials. The songs -- dreamy, haunted, filled with longing and a sense of wonder -- are free to set a tone without struggling to directly address the characters and their situations. At the same time, Peck's choreography takes ideas from various dance forms, fusing them into something highly singular and attractive; everything comes together to create a spellbinding mood. It takes a bit of time to establish the evening's conceit, and, for a while, it appears that Illinoise will consist of discrete turns as one character after another comes to the fore for a moment of self-expression. The most exciting of these features the Black dancers Rachel Lockhart and Byron Tittle in a kind of challenge between modern dance (her) and tap (him); the combination of styles, set to the song "Jacksonville," is electrifying. But the great Robbie Fairchild, exuding sheer technical skill and a goofy sort of charm, is equally fine as a Clark Kent figure who rips off his shirt and tie for a little Superman action keyed to "The Man of Metropolis Steals Our Hearts." For sheer, unforced star power, Fairchild is hard to beat. On a darker note, Jeanette Delgado acquits herself beautifully while being menaced by a pack of zombies, although I could have lived without them being revealed, via signs, as Joe McCarthy, Andrew Jackson, Woodrow Wilson, Ronald Reagan, and other dead white males. This is one moment when a sometimes-enigmatic production becomes much too on the nose. Then again, there's something eerily effective about a sequence led by Alejandro Vargas about John Wayne Gacy, who sexually abused and killed dozens of young men while also working as a birthday clown; in its un-exploitative way, it's a powerful reminder that under a "Midwest nice" demeanor, monsters sometimes lurk -- in this case, self-hatred, induced by internalized homophobia, curdling into evil. Illinoise comes into focus during the emotionally binding second half, featuring Henry, a young man in love with his best friend Carl. They are first seen roughhousing together, an activity that, Peck makes clear, means something different to each participant. Oblivious to Henry's feelings, Carl's attention drifts toward a lovely girl named Shelby; soon, they are an item with Henry perpetually cast as second fiddle. Then Carl, in a burst of exuberance, announces a road trip to the big city. Shelby declines to participate but Henry goes along for the ride, first to Chicago and then New York. There, Henry meets a charmer named Douglas, and mutual sparks are struck. The incident reframes Henry's friendship with Carl, especially when the latter gets terrible news and insists on returning home: For the first time, Henry refuses to join Carl, a decision that will come to haunt him when tragedy strikes. This sequence is filled with telling details: The look of unconscious love on Ricky Ubeda's face as Henry stares at Carl; Ahmad Simmons' disarming smile as Douglas, and his gentle way of holding Henry during one of his night terrors; Ben Cook's swaggering manner as Carl, brought to a halt when a terrible phone call makes him fall to his knees; Gaby Diaz's Shelby, boldly asserting her independence yet breaking down in mid-dance as ill health overtakes her. The story of this quartet bookends the entire piece -- we are introduced to Henry and Douglas at the beginning, without being told who they are -- a strategy that allows for a graceful return to the campfire for a moment of healing. All this unfolds on Adam Rigg's whimsical two-level set, which combines upside-down pine trees, a billboard, an upstage field, and plenty of graffiti. Brandon Stirling Baker's highly inventive lighting, making use of a wide-ranging rig, hits the stage with colorful bursts from a row of upstage bricks and punctuates the dancing with rhythmic bursts of color; a series of upstage vertical chases add punch to certain sequences. Costume designers Reid Bartelme and Harriet Jung create a series of carefully crafted looks from piles of T-shirts, shorts, jeans, tennis dresses, etc. (The butterfly wings on certain musicians are, apparently, an allusion to Stevens in performance.) Garth MacAleavey's sound design is generally punchy without being overwhelming, although occasionally I wished that vocalists Elijah Lyons, Shara Nova, and Tasha Viets-VanLear stood out more clearly against Timo Andres' appealing arrangements and orchestrations. What makes Illinoise stand out is its entirely fresh and youthful sensibility -- inviting, casually sensual, and filled with a loving sense of community -- that it brings to the stage. In its lightning-in-a-bottle way, it captures something essential about being young and entirely open to the world at this exact moment. That it does so without being precious or cloying is the best news of all. It's a boundary-breaking work with a beguiling point of view, and I hope it finds a way to last well beyond its limited run at Park Avenue Armory. --David Barbour 
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