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Thus is quickly revealed one of the show’s prime assets: Ms. Srinivasan’s beauty. Even adorned, it is the inviting rather than the intimidating kind. Her eyes smile, and she can seduce without trying too hard. That she is also a well-trained dancer is almost a bonus.
Presented at the White Box at 440 Studios as part of theNew York International Fringe Festival, “Being Becoming” is minimal in means. A fabric curtain can also be worn. The music is traditional — and unfortunately taped, though Ms. Srinivasan and her two dancers respond to it sensitively. Poems projected onto the back wall in an antique script, as if they were title cards from a silent movie, offer a few basic hints, but those audience members less familiar with Indian gods, stories and mime conventions aren’t given much guidance.
The five dances of the 75-minute performance are tied together by the theme of transformation: a devotee’s seeking to become one with the object of her devotion, a dancer’s disappearing into a character. In a duet for Kadhambari Sridhar and Umesh Venkatesan, it’s clear enough that Radha (Ms. Sridhar) is trying to get Krishna (Mr. Venkatesan) to play his flute. She plies her charms; he plays hard to get.
And in another dance you don’t have to know that Mr. Venkatesan (dancing his own choreography) is portraying the spiritual guru Ramana Maharshi to see him as a holy man, communing with birds and snakes. Facial expressions in Bharata Natyam are properly broad, yet while Mr. Venkatesan’s cat-that-got-the-canary grin works for Krishna, I found some of his labile mugging less than conducive to spiritual contemplation.
As a devotee of Vishnu, Ms. Srinivasan makes her desire palpable, quaking. Storms of expectation, disappointment and fantasy pass over her. Reverse turns and the way sections of her body slip as sections beneath them shift are particularly captivating.
The show opens and closes with nonnarrative pieces. In the first Ms. Srinivasan skillfully adapts solo choreography by her teacher, Sri C. V. Chandrasekhar, for all three dancers, demonstrating a feel for the interactive possibilities of unison and counterpoint.
In the second there’s a potent alternation between complicated balances, like those depicted in ancient Indian sculpture, and intense rhythmic activity that doesn’t just match but also contributes to the music.
Even during the bows, the dancers remain mute, miming their appreciation for various members of the crew. It’s a characteristically winning final touch.