Back in that brief, shining moment when Twyla Tharp was making dances for Mikhail Baryshnikov, everything she choreographed for him was also about him.

You’ll forgive the clash of styles, the mix of periods, even Death in hot pants—because St. Louis Woman is so exuberantly performed.

At Lincoln Center’s Ashton Festival, a second-ranked company steals the show. Plus: Thrilling Kabuki!

At the Next Wave Festival, Berlin dance phenom Sasha Waltz tempers the bleak, impersonal vision of Körper ("Bodies") with an ambivalently upbeat ending (we think).

When Sara Michelson is at work, dance is likely to be happening everywhere inside—and out—of the theater. Boris Eifman’s Russian variation on Some Like It Hot is barely tepid.

Everything I'd read about Maguy Marin's new work, including a rave review, made it sound ghastly: an hour of grim-faced walking around, inspired by Latin American dictatorships.

Laura Shapiro reviews the New York City Ballet's 2002 version of "The Nutcracker."

Two haunted retrospectives kick off the dance season: one with Bill T. Jones and his late partner, Arnie Zane; the other with Twyla rocking out.

Richard Move’s glorious, goofy homage to Martha Graham; Boris Eifman’s distinctly un-Balanchine Balanchine.

An artistic sensibility as beautiful and unforgiving as the Scottish moors informs Christopher Wheeldon’s new work for the City Ballet.