Classic Idiom, Prodigious in Its Variety

Classic Idiom, Prodigious in Its Variety

Surupa Sen and Bijayini Satpathy, at Skirball Center

Paula Lobo for The New York Times

Samyoga Bijayini Satpathy, left, and Surupa Sen performing “Vibhakta” on Saturday night at the Skirball Center.

For the last 20 years, the dancers Surupa Sen and Bijayini Satpathy have lived in Nrityagram, a village in southern India dedicated to the classical Odissi style of dance. The commitment shows. Only decades of single-minded devotion could explain the perfection of each of these artists alone. Only decades of shared practice could account for their uncanny coordination together.

Nrityagram dancers usually tour as an ensemble, but “Samyoga,” the concert presented by the World Music Institute on Saturday at the Skirball Center, featured only Ms. Sen and Ms. Satpathy, accompanied by four sterling musicians. Who could ask for anything more Beyond displaying the talents of the two performers and of Ms. Sen as a choreographer, the brilliantly arranged program encapsulated â€" and expanded â€" the possibilities of Odissi style, danced alone and in tandem.

The opening duet, “Namo Narayana,” was both invocation and introduction. The sinuous, sculptural poses that distinguish Odissi have too many different curves to be described by the letter S. In this dance, images from the poem that inspired it (a giant bird in flight, the vanquishing of a demon) were integrated into a rhythmic composition that was periodically kicked into another gear by the slap of feet against the floor in a sudden squat. The two women mirrored and chased each other. They danced side by side or with one of them in front, with one high and the other low.

In the duet that followed, “Rati Sringar Pallavi,” these variations were pushed further, one dancer turning on her feet next to the other turning on her knees. The mix was thrilling, dizzying â€" a new height of formal invention for Ms. Sen and a rebuke to anyone who might imagine Odissi to be limited. When one woman put an arm around the other, friendship colored the formality like a blush.

Ms. Sen’s solo, “Khandita,” showed how the formal plenitude she has developed might be selected for dramatic purposes â€" in this case, the goddess Radha confronting her consort, Krishna, with his infidelity. You could write an essay just about the different effects of Ms. Sen’s shaking hands: musical like vibrato or trills, expressive of emotional agitation, giving a shimmer to images like flames or the love marks left on Krishna’s body by scratching nails.

“Khandita” once again confirmed Ms. Sen as a great actress capable of conveying several layers of emotion at once. She communicated Radha’s despair but also her power, sending Krishna away with pained gestures so voluptuous as to make him crave what she is denying him.

After intermission Ms. Satpathy’s solo, “Priye Charusheele,” answered Ms. Sen’s by embodying Krishna’s attempt to make up. This situation was essentially comic, and thus suited to Ms. Satpathy’s broader acting. Krishna won Radha’s forgiveness but only in the posture of a supplicant.

According to the program, the final duet, “Vibhakta,” and the evening as a whole were meant to express the union of male and female principles. But in Ms. Sen’s art, which a Westerner might read as feminist, men are always a bit ridiculous. The conjoined poses of “Vibhakta,” one dynamic composition after another, did express a connection, but it was between two breathtaking women.

A version of this review appeared in print on April 9, 2013, on page C7 of the New York edition with the headline: Classic Idiom, Prodigious In Its Variety.