Chicago Tribune from Chicago, Illinois • 45

9 '9 9 i i Pr 'r Cncago ifiDune. Hxiav. ar en 14, 1353 Sec on 4 3 Movies Dance 'Simon Woody Allen sidekick flies low in first" solo effort 'teV-L Marlins 'intriguing TRIBUNE MINI-REVIEW: Spoiled banana "SIMON" Vut: frotoqfphad to Adam Hofndf ma to Htnm. ares. by ftantn Swiwwn, produced by rwi Md to fcaojuto and iton MMad PO.

CAST: Judy Greuawl REMEMBER THAT scene towartl the end of Woody Allen's "Manhattan" in which Woody lists the things that make life worth living? That scene was written by Allen and his screenwriting colleague Marshall Brickman. "Simon," Brkkman's first solo effort at writing and directing, turns that scene upside down as Alan Arkin, playing sort of the last angry man on Earth, rails against everything phony in society you know, Hawaiian music in elevators, junk on TV, and so forth. The result, alas, is neither a funny nor insightful film. In fact, "Simon" is a scattershot mess as Brickman working alone covers the same sociological territory that he and Allen covered better in "Annie Hall" and "Manhattan." The film starts out as a comedy adventure, opening with an exterior shot of a mysterious government-supported think tank, the Institute for Advanced Concepts, in which five brilliant scientists are running amok. They're sick and tired of trying to find a solution to world famine; they would rather try to figure out a way of distorting the Nielsen TV ratings Van Doon9n Gwynn Conwwj An interview with "Simon" screenwriter-director Mar-shall Brickman will appear in Sunday's Arts Fun.

PROFESSOR ALAN ARKIN is selected to be the spaceman, but the practical joke backfires when Arkin takes his role seriously and begins a series of nightly broadcasts of personal opinion on the quality of life in the United States. The U.S. military is brought in to get rid of Arkin and to shut down the institute and its strange scientists. What "Simon" lacks is a strong relationship between two characters. Arkin flirts with Madeline Kahn, a would-be actress employed by the institute as a hooker.

And Arkin's New York City girlfriend (Judy Graubart) tries to shake his delusions of being born in outer space. But neither relationship is sustained. What Woody Allen seems to have figured out in his comedies is that it's a lot better to have his jokes and insights delivered by characters who are deeply involved with another person. Otherwise, instead of a movie you have a monolog. Some people may argue that it's unfair to compare Alan Arkin as the title character in the would-be comedy "Simon." Brickman's first film with Allen's last.

OK, then let's compare Brickman's first with Allen's first the Money and The. verdict: "Simon" stUl isn't very funny. The script wanders all over the place, with a particularly boring side trip to a hippie-style commune in which the members worship television. The Campbell Soup song is one of their hymns. Arkin is at his best in an extended mime scene in which he travels through history, following man from his beginnings as an amoeba through the discovery of speech.

But that sequence is more of a tribute to Arkin than to Brickman, who has a long way to go before he can call himself a filmmaker. Gene Slshel and make "Donny and Marie" the nation's No. 1 show. So far so good, and the film still looks promising as these wacky scientists get yet another brainstorm they want to provide the world with a visitor from outer space. Their solution: Find an adult orphan, brainwash his memory, and foist him on the public as a man from the galaxy of Orion.

THVRSDAY WAS Btw-dance night at the New York City Ballet, which meant premieres by Peter Martins and Jerome Bobbins. It also meant a lot less George Balanchine than makes sense in the com- pany created in his multiple image. City Ballet does not grace the Auditorium Theater often enough. When we capture 100 plus Balanchine virtuosos here for such a short engagement, it's crazy to fill so much of an evening without him. That said, this great company literally is a moving experience.

Anything it does is worth watching, and Thursday's pro- gram was far from just anything. From peripheral Balanchine, there was Sur- anne Farrell abandoning her grand self to his 1951 kitch glamour dance of death, "La Valse," and a little gallery grandstanding by Martins and Merrill Ashley in the "Tchaikovsky Pas de Deux." The rest of the choreography was by the troupe's two other creative powers: Bobbins, the veteran, in a lesser effort called "Opus The Dreamer" and Mar-; tins, master dancer-turning-' choreographer, in a young work of fascinating intricacy, "Sonate Di Scar-, latti." THE SCARLATTI is Chicago's first look at a Martins ballet and it explains why, at 32, he has been discussed as heir-apparent to the troupe. The abstrac- tion looks more over-thought than spon-; taneous at times, but it's easier to grow from too much intelligence than the other way around. Musical as a dancer, Martins transfers the intangible into his vision of 11 perfect miniatures by Scarlatti the 18th Century progressive who pushed keyboard tech- nique with crossed-hands, surprise clashes, and polyphonic invention within an intentionally restricted form. Gordon Boclzner uses a piano, not a harpsichord, but the touch is lovely.

Martins has a subtle taste for counter-'. point, the way human melodies can work together by seeming to be in opposition. The ballet begins with courtly formations and line dances between eight of the company's youngest women and men, plus Heather Watts and Joseph Duell, then breaks into different groupings, cou- plings, and solos. THE MOVEMENT is complex, but mostly close to the ground, with tensions built between limbs darting into space belonging to other bodies. Only Watts (with her strong jump and flowering hands on squared-off lines) gets lifted much (by the smoothly boyish Duell).

Mostly, the floorwork telescopes and ex- Merrill Ashley and Peter Marlins in Tchaikovsky Suite No. 3 by George Balanchine. pands into tension-release canons that keep the eye guessing. The breathless overlappings can be hard to watch fussy, but worth it. Judging from the number of onstage slips, it also can't be easy to dance.

"Opus 19' The Dreamer" will be remembered as the only work created for Mikhail Baryshnikov during his cram course at City Ballet. I do not think posterity will recall much more than that. Robbins, the stylistic chameleon, is never less than polished. But these moody yearnings were tedious when I saw Baryshnikov in them last year. With the golden, selfffacing purity of Helgi Tomasson in the role, even the angular showoff potential is gone.

IF MARTINS is working with body orchestration, the Robbins is all solo-versus-mass. The mass, a corps in midnight blue, seems to reflect the isolated man's ambiguity (wavy arms) and anguish (demonic right angles and slouches). Patricia McBride appears. The two face each other and lunge past. There are archaic profiles, as if off an ancient vase or Nijinsky's Faun, but nothing seems to hold together.

Nothing, that is, except Tomasson. With Baryshnikov gone, it is good to see Tomasson getting the short-noble roles again. And McBride. She is the crystal through which one sees Balanchine's choreography. In Robbins, she gets to be flesh and blood, too.

Ashley has exuberance (and possibly nails under her feet) in the "Pas de Deux" to the music that never made "Swan Lake." Martins has the grandeur, especially in the hard partnering, but, emotionally, he seems just a bit above the tricks. "La Valse" is a kick macabre, melodramatic, silly, but gorgeous, with Adams Lueders rising to the elegant role-playing, and Farrell double-backing her spine until her pony tail touches her party gown. The dancers perform five programs this weekend. Then, just as we begin to separate the Kyra Nichols from the Judith Fugates, they'll be gone. Consider yourself warned.

Linda Winer Dance Osgood's 'Domestic deceptive in its softness THE PROGRAM LASTS about an hour and includes two new solos. The best is "Jemima Beige," which the program tells us is a fantasy name for a child. Osgood fantasizes about being pregnant, but not in any literal or cliched sense. She is first a dancer, checking out the different ways a shift in her chic-funny diaper-shorts would change her silken points of gravity. Midway in the silence, Debussy's "Gollywog's Cakewalk" begins to bob her around the open space.

That solo and "Culling" have a summery feel. In the latter, Jan Erkert also explores the quick changes of dynamics and balances in short segments. That one uses found object movements like digging in the sand, though the raised-stomach gestures are one pregnant pause too many for one program. The evening opens with "Shuckin," an Osgood solo from 1977. Here, again, is the kid esctasy, the joy in watching a body pull itself around in complications without ever looking contrived.

Linda Winer DON'T LOOK NOW or, on second thought, do because Amy Osgood rapidly is turning into one of the most substantial modern-dance choreographers around. There is a soft look to the brief "Domestic and Other Dances" at the Columbia College Dance Center Friday through Sunday, but the softness is deceptive. Osgood only appears to have rolled out of bed and made a casual decision to dance. Even in her baggy undershirt and tousled, dishwater hair, the former Mordine dancer is in complete control of her taste, her imagination, and the rigor with which she explores what bodies can do. "Naachanaa," which was reviewed last fall, remains her most ambitious piece.

By now, the Hindu-inspired ensemble is even more confident in its combination of pliance within a structure, good humor with serious intent. Osgood seems to use movements as found objects, new ways to fit people together, explore the possibilities, then put them aside for more. Such a method would seem to work against a sense of form, but nothing looks random in her design. Nonchalant, yes, but not accidental. Amy Osgood in "Jemima Beige." GET-AWAY-GUIDE GET-AWAY-GUIDE GET-AWAY-GUIDE GET-AWAY-GUIDE DINING OUT DINING OUT PINING OUT AMUSEMENTS AMUSEMENTS lit The Kendalls 1 flVICTORIA STATION! 4 IAN A simple promise.

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