Martin Sherman's play "When She Danced" takes a glimpse at a turbulent moment in the twilight years of that American modern dance pioneer, Isadora Duncan. Along the way it poignantly suggests how difficult it is to conjure the magic of live dance, that most ephemeral of all art forms and one that, before the advent of film and video, lived solely in the memory of audiences. It also suggests the ludicrous but seemingly eternal struggle faced by artists continually distracted by the search for financial support.
But more than that, Sherman's tragicomedy of artistic manners is an engaging look at human communication and all its attendant malfunctions. And on this level, TimeLine Theatre's ambitious revival of the 1985 play -- under the spirited direction of Nick Bowling (the 2009 Jeff Award winner for his staging of "The History Boys") -- is especially delicious.
Consider the very basic matter of language. On a single day in 1923, the 46-year-old Isadora (Jennifer Engstrom, glamorous and blowsy with her chiseled features and seductive voice) must deal with the following assortment of extreme personalities who speak a veritable Babel of languages: Sergei Esenin (Patrick Mulvey), her volatile, energy-sapping husband of two years, a famous poet who speaks only Russian and spends most of his days drunk or taking her to bed; Jeanne (a deft Jeannie Affelder), her French maid; Alexandro Eliopolus (Alejandro Cordoba), the 19-year-old piano prodigy who speaks Greek, Italian and English and has come to pay homage; Mary Desti (the forceful Mary Willliamson), her American confidante, who loathes and is loathed by Esenin; Luciano Zavani (a zesty Mark Richard), an Italian she hopes will become her benefactor; Christine (Jessica Steans-Gail), the little Swedish girl who has slavishly studied "the Duncan technique" and, most crucially, Miss Belzer (Janet Ulrich Brooks), the prim, penniless emigre who speaks English, Russian and Hungarian and is recruited to be Duncan's translator.
While you might think dance is the universal language, that is not the case. One of the funniest scenes in the play has Isadora attempting to describe the sort of dance she does to her Italian guest, only to conclude that it is impossible to do so.
Of course those who saw Isadora dance, or heard first-hand accounts of the transformative experience it seemed to be, try valiantly to explain the magic. Brooks is magnificent in her fevered memory of such a performance, recalled from years earlier. So is Williamson. And Cordoba, an enchanting young actor who plays Chopin like a pro and nearly steals the show, winningly recalls his mother's memories of seeing Isadora while he was in the womb.
As Sherman suggests, it is love that is even more difficult to communicate than dance. And the permutations of love and devotion in this imperfect but ingenious play are many and varied. They would be farcical were they not so painful.
