Cotton Mouth Club: Tribune
You expect high-octane performing in a Chicago Dance Crash endeavor, and, in their latest, “The Cotton Mouth Club,” you get it.
Whether the two-part scenario linking the halves of this nonstop rush tells a satisfying story or not is another matter. But Jessica Deahr and Robert McKee, the show’s chief choreographers, aided by Daniel Gibson and Brian Hare, bombard you with movement, relentlessly — and enjoyably — showcasing the speedy, athletic prowess of the company’s large, talented troupe.
Threadbare but effective enough in Act I, the plot sags via fairly simple repetition in Act II, winding up too abruptly. It’s as if the creative team ran out of steam — they don’t devise an effective or steamrolling conclusion in terms of suspense. The choreography still sizzles, the snow-white finale an intricate and invigorating modern dance. But we’re miles ahead of the pro forma plot.
But the choreographic tricks are so cagey you hardly mind, including the anachronistic melange of styles, mingling jazz age and hip hop in the ’20s and boasting similarly mixtures in the later setting. A short quote from the Charleston, for instance, comes in the 1980s-set Act II.
McKee and Tarpley are delightful leads, likable folks next door who happen to dance remarkably. His slippery, streetwise limbs make a fine complement to her whirling spins and barefoot acrobatics. The Crash boasts a quick-shifting and rich vocabulary, and their duets embody that.