Toward the end of Pina Bausch’s “Rite of Spring,” a woman in a wispy white shift walks up to a man and hands him a red dress, a look of terror in her eye. The woman has elected her destiny: To be the “chosen one,” the sacrificial victim who ensures the survival of the collective. But that doesn’t make the outcome any less brutal.
For the next five minutes, she convulses, flings her arms violently, pounds at her legs, and runs in circles, until, with the last note of Stravinsky’s score, she falls, like a stone. It’s harrowing…
