[pending receipt of performance photos from Programs III and V]

Balanchine: The City Center Years
New York City Center
New York, New York

November 1, 2, and 3, 2018
Program II: Apollo (The Mariinsky Ballet), Concerto Barocco (New York City Ballet), Tchaikovsky Pas de Deux (The Royal Ballet), Divertimento No. 15 (San Francisco Ballet)

Program III: Scotch Symphony (San Francisco Ballet), Tchaikovsky Pas de Deux (The Mariinsky Ballet), A Midsummer Night’s Dream  pas de deux (Paris Opera Ballet), The Four Temperaments (The Joffrey Ballet) 

Program IV: Apollo (The Mariinsky Ballet), Tarantella (The Royal Ballet), Agon  pas de deux (Paris Opera Ballet), Symphonie Concertante (American Ballet Theatre)

Jerry Hochman

Sometimes Gala “Events” such as City Center’s six performance celebration of Balanchine: The City Center Years fail to live up to expectations. Based on the three programs I was able to see, however, this one did. While there may have been a few missteps, overall this event, considered by many to be the centerpiece of City Center’s 75th Anniversary Celebration, was a huge success.

Since most of the Balanchine ballets or excerpted pas de deux are familiar, my focus here, with some exceptions, will be on the dancers, some of whom are relatively new to any stage, and some of whom are new to me (though I knew of them). To summarize the highlights (in rough performance order; and not including New York-based companies): To the surprise of no one who views social media, Maria Khoreva, who just graduated from the Vaganova Ballet Academy in June and immediately was accepted into the Mariinsky Ballet, was a standout as Terpsichore in Apollo; what may have been surprising, however, was how well her two fellow muses and June Vaganova graduates performed also. In her first New York appearance, Mathilde Froustey, a young Principal with San Francisco Ballet, made a stunning first impression (at least first to me) in Scotch Symphony, and The Royal Ballet’s Marcelino Sambé and Anna Rose O’Sullivan delivered noteworthy New York debuts as well. The Joffrey Ballet, which I found disappointing in recent NYC appearances, did superb work in The Four Temperaments. And then there was the Mariinsky’s Kimin Kim – and little more need be said beyond “explosive.”

Maria Khoreva
and Xander Parish
of The Mariinsky Ballet
in George Balanchine’s “Apollo”
Photo by Paul Kolnik

In July, 2017, during the Lincoln Center Festival’s 50th Anniversary Jewels Celebration, Alina Kovaleva, who graduated from Vaganova the previous year and went directly to The Bolshoi Ballet, stunned me and the rest of the David H. Koch Theater with her performance in Diamonds. Now there’s another noteworthy Vaganova graduate. While it’s far too soon to make realistic comparisons – between them or between either of them and other dancers more familiar to New York audiences (and wouldn’t be appropriate based on only one performance anyway), Khoreva has the same pristine clarity of execution and apparent technical facility that Kovaleva exhibited, together with a similarly serene stage presence that is remarkable in someone so inexperienced. It’s almost other-worldly, and it’s breathtaking to watch.

And Khoreva is not alone. As Calliope and Polyhymnia, Daria Ionova and Anastasia Nuikina also displayed technical ability and performance confidence that do not appear, if they appear at all, until a career is far more advanced than theirs. While I anticipated Ionova’s quality from various internet snippets, Nuikina was a huge surprise, with a sweet stage disposition that might be unsettling in her role had the requisite technical ability not been present as well. And overall, in this high-profile introduction to New York audiences, all three 18-year-olds appeared to be perfectly relaxed and enjoying the opportunity.

But more significant than whether they had discernable stage personalities is the fact that these Muses are true characters in addition to being representatives of their art.

(l-r) Xander Parish, Anastasia Nuikina,
Daria Ionova, and Maria Khoreva
of The Mariinsky Ballet
in George Balanchine’s “Apollo”
Photo by Paul Kolnik

In performances of Apollo by New York City Ballet that I recall seeing, the choreography alone provides whatever “characterization” might have been appropriate for the three Muses, and I assumed that this was the way the roles had to be. But it isn’t. If you stop to think about it, didn’t all Greco-Roman gods and demi-gods have personalities that complemented whatever was their particular role in the pantheon? And isn’t a particular personality part of what makes a muse a muse? So after awhile, seeing Nuikina’s engaging affect, Ionova’s playful and spirited demeanor, and Khoreva’s smile emerge like a slowly growing ember that melted any sense of icy distance all appear perfectly appropriate.

It’s also what may have been necessary to make this Apollo take notice.

From the beginning, Xander Parish’s Apollo was both different and problematic. This Apollo didn’t appear to be a nascent god as much as a rock star in training or some god-like wild child with flailing long limbs who happened to be suffering from ADHD and perhaps was off his meds. His force of personality was so dominant that at times I thought he was the one educating the Muses.

Maria Khoreva, Xander Parish,
Daria Ionova, and Anastasia Nuikina
(both hidden)
of the Mariinsky Ballet
in George Balanchine’s “Apollo”
Photo by Paul Kolnik

But at the second Apollo performance that I was fortunate enough to attend, I began to see the merit in Parish’s interpretation. There really was no other way he could have done it. While most of the Apollo’s I’ve seen are relatively compact and inward-focused (sensing a deficiency that needed to be addressed), that approach wouldn’t have worked for someone as tall and gangly as Parish, a Mariinsky Principal, is. So in this interpretation, Parish supplements the manifest physical difference between him and more typical Apollos with an emotional difference that needed to be addressed in order for him to mature as a god: he required a calming, distracting experience as much as an educating one to enable him to refocus his energy. Accordingly, after the Muses gain his attention, one can see Parish’s Apollo not so much grow in stature as the piece progresses as lower the ambient decibel level so he can fulfill his promise. The Muses didn’t just educate him in the arts, they civilized him.

One can agree or disagree with this analysis, but characterization aside, an Apollo/Terpsichore pas de deux that was as finely executed as it was here (Khoreva looked so relaxed balanced on Parish’s back that she seemed to be both unconcerned and floating on air (which is exactly where she should have been with this god and the impression she should have transmitted) would have made this performance memorable by itself…and made her promotion to First Soloist hours before her first appearance in New York perfectly justifiable.

Xander Parish
of The Mariinsky Ballet
in George Balanchine’s “Apollo”
Photo by Paul Kolnik

I don’t doubt that there were stylistic differences to this Apollo in addition to the emotionally-transmitted ones, but my primary concern as an audience-member is a coherent impression, and execution that’s consistent with the choreography (although if an important choreographic phrase is eliminated for some reason, that’s different), especially when the dancers make no claim to be “Balanchine dancers.” It was a meaningful, and delightful, performance all around, made yet more exciting by the spirited and perfectly-paced conducting of the NYCB orchestra by Clotilde Otranto.

And one last thought before I move on. While these comments focused on the young Mariinsky dancers, it would not at all surprise me if American-trained young dancers (at the School of American Ballet, the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis School, or other high caliber schools) accepted into major companies can execute as well, but audiences very rarely, if ever, see them in major roles until they’ve been in the corps for at least several years.

I had not seen Scotch Symphony in many, many years, and was pleased to see it listed as one of the dances to be performed in this celebration. The 1952 piece, to Felix Mendelssohn’s Symphony No. 3 in A Minor, is a very interesting Balanchine distillation and reimagining of La Sylphide that bears little relationship to that iconic Bournonville Romantic ballet beyond the Scottish ambiance and costumes, and its rough utilization of characters that, in an undefined, abstract way, relate to those in the La Sylphide. I thoroughly enjoyed it again at this performance: although there’s no Bournonville style to be found, seeing the piece within a relatively standard Balanchine framework of individual dances, duets, and corps work was great fun. But seeing it with Mathilde Froustey was icing on the cake.

I’d heard of Froustey, but had never seen her dance. Now I can’t wait for San Francisco Ballet to return to New York and bring her with them. Appropriate for a dance inspired by La Sylphide, the lead ballerina here, sans wings (and sans Madge), must be strong and fast and effervescent but also as delicate as a sylph. That Froustey is, executing the intricate choreography with ease. Aside from admiring her performance, as I watched I kept thinking that she’d make a captivating Giselle – which I found out later she’s already danced … captivatingly.

Her lead colleagues, Joseph Walsh and Dores André, made excellent impressions as well – Walsh for his partnering (the role doesn’t require the Bournonville explosiveness), and André for her handling of the extended rapid-fire Scottish cum Balanchine solo soon after the ballet began.

Anna Rose O’Sullivan
and Marcelino Sambé
of The Royal Ballet
in George Balanchine’s
“Tchaikovsky Pas de Deux”
Photo by Paul Kolnik

I saw the pairing of The Royal Ballet’s O’Sullivan and Sambé twice during the three performances: first in Tchaikovsky Pas de Deux, and the following night in Tarantella. Both were very fine performances, though not at the level of those routinely danced by NYCB. [And having only recently seen Tiler Peck dance Tchaikovsky Pas de Deux (with Joaquin De Luz) admittedly rendered any performance afterward less accomplished by comparison.] More significantly, when NYCB dancers perform these pieces, they’re delivered fast and smooth; the athleticism and power are there, but they’re not emphasized. As a general observation based on the performances I’ve seen by other companies, many treat Balanchine pas de deux like Petipa pas de deux, with the appearance of bravura strength and power dominating over finesse.

Anna Rose O’Sullivan
and Marcelino Sambé
of The Royal Ballet
in George Balanchine’s “Tarantella”
Photo by Paul Kolnik

In that vein, in Tchaikovsky Pas de Deux, Sambé, a First Soloist (who reminded me somewhat of Fernando Bujones, only more compact and muscled), brought down the house with his acrobatic leaps and turns and thoroughly commanding demeanor. O’Sullivan, an engaging red-haired sprite, seemed somewhat nervous as the pas de deux began, but settled in nicely, and did, or at least attempted, what the choreography routinely demands. And their flying horizontal fishdives in the coda were particularly spectacular, with Sambé seemingly saving his ballerina from crashing her head on the stage floor in the nick of time – both times. In Tarantella, O’Sullivan, a young Soloist, appeared much more at ease, and delivered a very fine performance. Sambé, on the other hand, while he executed very well and filled the piece with exceptional acrobatics, appeared more rough-hewn than is my preference in this role. Regardless, these pas de deux provided a intriguing introduction to these dancers, who I hope I have the opportunity to see again.

On this same program, and the night following the O’Sullivan/Sambé Tchaikovsky Pas de Deux, Viktoria Tereshkina and Kimin Kim, both Mariinsky Principals, danced the same piece, with mixed results. Kim, an occasional American Ballet Theatre guest artist, was simply extraordinary, leaping higher and driving faster and farther than I can recall anyone doing – and landing everything perfectly. He was electric. Tereshkina appeared far more confident than O’Sullivan in the same role (appropriately, considering her greater experience), but was overly self-congratulatory and omitted the backward chugs entirely.

Viktoria Tereshkina
and Kimin Kim
of The Mariinsky Ballet
in George Balanchine’s
“Tchaikovsky Pas de Deux”
Photo by Paul Kolnik

I was not optimistic about The Joffrey Ballet’s The Four Temperaments. First, the relevance of The Joffrey to this celebration appeared limited at best – although Balanchine has a connection with Chicago, it’s not as substantive as the connection with other venues and companies, and I’m unaware of any specific relationship that he had with The Joffrey (which was one of my favorite companies when it was venued in New York). Perhaps they were selected because of their connection with City Center, which was The Joffrey’s home base for many years.

Be that as it may, I was disappointed with the company when it returned to New York a couple of years ago, and doubted they could deliver this Balanchine classic. I was wrong. The Joffrey’s performance left an extraordinary impression: a much more emotional execution than I’ve seen in recent NYCB performances (which makes it different, not wrong) that displayed one of my favorite Balanchine ballets – one that was a watershed for him, and one that celebrates the human spirit as being far more than the sum of its humors – in a new light. In the Joffrey’s hands, this classic ballet became an anthem.

Following the opening “Themes,” danced by Anais Bueno and Aaron Renteria, Nicole Ciapponi and Graham Maverick, and a superb Jeraldine Mendoza and Edson Barbosa, Yoshihisa Arai performed an extraordinarily passionate and moving “Melancholic” variation, and Christine Rocas and Dylan Gutierrez a youthful and buoyant “Sanguinic.” Greig Matthews’s “Phlegmatic” and Victoria Jaiani’s “Choleric” led the other two variations, and The Joffrey corps performed admirably as well. These Joffrey dancers may not have NYCB’s polish, but they have pizazz and an emotional commitment that greatly enhanced this performance.

Members of San Francisco Ballet
in George Balanchine’s
“Divertimento No. 15”
Photo by Paul Kolnik

I will gloss over the remaining pieces on these programs not because they were poorly danced, but because I have less to say. San Francisco Ballet added to its luster with a beautiful performance of Divertimento No. 15, which closed Thursday’s program. Frances Chung, Sasha De Sola, Koto Ishihara, Ana Sophia Scheller (looking much more confident and commanding since migrating from NYCB), André, Benjamin Freemantle, Angelo Greco, and Lonnie Weeks led the cast, which included a fine eight dancer corps.

The two pas de deux danced by representatives of Paris Opera Ballet were disappointing. Neither the pas de deux from A Midsummer Night’s Dream nor that from Agon sufficiently represented the dances from which they were excerpted, and came across as relatively insignificant. Even in abbreviated form, the Dream pas de deux must provide a flavor of the characters involved, and while Hugo Marchand appeared well-suited to be Oberon, Sae-Eun Park seemed miscast as Titania. Granted as a standalone pas de deux the characterizations aren’t as critical, but this performance left a lot to be desired regardless. Their execution the following night of the pas de deux from Agon was much better danced by Park (Marchand executed very well, as he had in Dream), but out of context it lost significance.

Maria Kowroski, Russell Janzen,
and members of The New York City Ballet
in George Balanchine’s
“Concerto Barocco”
Photo by Paul Kolnik

Finally, the two New York City-based companies left a mixed impression. ABT’s performance of Symphonie Concertante, with a cast identical to the one I reviewed just last week (led by Christine Shevchenko, Devon Teuscher, and Thomas Forster), again provided a brilliant exhibition of dance artistry. NYCB’s performance of Concerto Barocco on Thursday, however, looked uncharacteristically strained, and did not represent the company at its best.

Overall, however, this was a beautifully-conceived tribute to Balanchine’s years at City Center, and my only regret was being unable to see the two performances by Miami City Ballet (Serenade on the Festival’s opening night, and the “Glinka” Pas de Trois on Saturday afternoon. I may quibble with some of the selections and omissions (Theme and Variations, created for ABT in 1947 and which premiered at City Center, is an obvious omission, as are Prodigal Son and Orpheus), and including the participation of the Royal Danish Ballet and La Scala would have been appropriate, but you can’t have everything. What was there was a fine and reasonably comprehensive presentation of Balanchine’s body of work from 1948-1964, and the celebration succeeded in communication Balanchine’s astonishing choreographic breadth, as well as that his dances belong not only to NYCB’s little corner, but to the world. All such events should be as rewarding.

The post Balanchine: The City Center Years – Choreographic and Performance Excellence appeared first on CriticalDance.

The Tenant
The Joyce Theater
New York, New York

November 6, 2018 (opening night)

Jerry Hochman

When I attend a dance performance that relates a story, the only pertinent baggage I bring with me is what I may already know about that story, or what the program tells me. In other words, I attend the performance as most members of the audience would.

I say this because having seen the new production of The Tenant at the Joyce Theater starring James Whiteside, Cassandra Trenary, and Kibrea Carmichael, all I know I know from what I see on stage. I’m aware that the “Dance Play,” as it is called, is based on a highly regarded novel of the same name by Roland Topor, that it was made into a film by Roman Polanski, that the action takes place in Paris, and that it’s considered somewhat of a horror story. The brief program note further advises that the story is “a descent into psychosis as the pathologically alienated Trelkovsky is subsumed into Simone Choule,” the previous tenant who committed suicide.

Cassandra Trenary and James Whiteside
in Arthur Pita’s “The Tenant”
Photo by Ian Douglas

With this limited knowledge, I have mixed reaction to the piece, which was directed and choreographed by Arthur Pita (with Nina Goldman, the Assistant to the Director and Choreographer), which might have been more positive had the program provided more detail. Suffice it to say that the choreography – essentially a series of duets and solos sandwiched by movement from one place to another within a confined space, is quite good if you appreciate choreography that’s as passionate about passion as it is about technique, and Whiteside, Trenary (both dancers with American Ballet Theatre), and Carmichael execute Pita’s choreography superbly and … passionately. And the score by Frank Moon (played live), punctuated here and there by snippets from three of Beethoven’s symphonies, is an extraordinary compilation of music and sounds that complements and enhances whatever action takes place on stage.

That being said, the staging – while at times brilliantly conceived, is too often needlessly confusing and just plain dumb. And perhaps most troubling, Pita’s conception, which may or may not be derived from the novel, raises questions about the genesis of so-called “aberrant” behavior that, intentionally or not, undermine current thinking.

Pita has a reputation as a highly expressive, and highly theatrical, choreographer who takes considerable artistic risks. I’ve seen three of his pieces (The Ballad of Mack and Ginny, which Pita choreographed for Wendy Whelan and Edward Watson, and which was presented at City Center’s 2016 Fall for Dance, Run Mary Run, performed by Natalia Osipova and Sergei Polunin at City Center two months after that, and Death Defying Dances, presented by BODYTRAFFIC at the Joyce Theater a few months later), and I found them to be exciting to watch and perhaps even more exciting to ruminate about later after the initial pain that was an intellectual consequence of viewing them and trying to make sense of it all dissipates (equivalent to the relief one feels after recovering from a bad headache). The Tenant does not change that assessment. That his staging and choreography may at times be seen as going over the top is accurate, but none of it, to my mind, is gratuitous, opportunistic, or particularly salacious: it’s appropriate for the story being told. That’s a thinly veiled reference to the fact that there is some nudity in this production, particularly by Whiteside, which certain members of the audience might find offensive. But to me there’s a difference between being shocking and offensive, and while I was appropriately shocked by a few images, in context – and with the exception of one sequence where Whiteside’s back was to the audience – they were not inappropriate.

The Tenant (unless otherwise indicated, such references hereinafter are to the “Dance Play”) begins before it formally begins, as Trenary paces around her apartment or curls up in her bed, obviously troubled about something, while members of the audience gradually take their seats. Once the theater darkens, the pace of her activity increases; she becomes more manic; eventually ingesting alcohol and drugs and attempting to slit her wrists. Suddenly, she decides to go out for the evening, changes into a dress, puts on a scarf, and heads toward the apartment balcony; then just as suddenly changes her mind, rips the scarf off, and, hysterical, runs out onto the balcony, opens the French doors (but of course) to reveal a beautiful Parisian nighttime panorama, climbs to the building roof, wanders around a bit, and, inspired or compelled by the opening of the second movement of Beethoven’s 9th Symphony, falls to her glass-shattering death, and the stage goes black. [The conception of the roof, and the staging relating to it, is highly effective, as is Trenary.]

After the stage brightens (and an upstage sign – presumably to mimic lighting atop one of the outside buildings – announces a new scene: “The New Tenant”), Whiteside enters his new apartment, looks around, unpacks a box and a suitcase, and looks around a bit more. He seems ordinary. Shortly thereafter he removes his pants, gets into bed, and goes to sleep. Or maybe he doesn’t, as a few moments later in stage time he gets back up, puts his pants back on, and dresses for a night on the town. At some point before he goes out the door he discovers a woman’s dress in the closet, which as I read Whiteside’s stage demeanor seems a little strange to him, but he puts it aside, unconcerned, as if he was aware that the apartment’s prior occupant was a woman and must have left it there. He later reacted similarly to finding a box containing women’s slippers.

James Whiteside
Photo by Matthew Murphy

That description reflects part of the problem. Not knowing the book, we don’t know whether Whiteside’s character, Trelkovsky, slept through the night and the following day (we know it’s night again in Paris because when he opens those French doors it’s dark out – but then again, it’s always dark out when those doors are opened), or whether he got out of bed because he was restless and couldn’t sleep, though there was no indication of restlessness. [In hindsight, it’s possible that the box containing women’s slippers was one he brought to the apartment when he first entered, and from my vantage point missed it – but even if it was, that doesn’t change my overall assessment.]

Anyway (and my ensuing description condenses the stage action), after returning from some wild, noisy party (we know that from the sound of a wild, noisy party emanating through the theater’s speakers) and going out again, preceded by removing his pants, going to bed, getting up from the bed, and then putting the pants back on), the apartment is invaded by a unitard-clad demonish creature who springs from nowhere. At first I thought it was Trenary, but this person was far taller. I even thought at one point that it might have been Whiteside, but he couldn’t possibly look that svelte in a unitard. Or could he? She / it (not a character identified in the program) stalks the apartment like some evil spirit monster or personified lightning bolt or nightmarish apparition of Christmas yet to come (sorry, it’s beginning to feel a lot like that time of year). She wrecks the place, plays with the knife that Simone threatened to cut herself with, and disappears. Who, or what, is this thing? Is she a spirit that haunts the apartment, dooming anyone who lives there? A force unleashed by Choule’s suicide? A figment of Trelkovsky’s imagination even though he’s not there to imagine her? [In hindsight once again, I suspect this demon was a visualization of Trelkovsky’s released inner demon, with the further possibility that this vision wasn’t just a horrific vision, but represented some predilection that Trelkovsky may have had toward being a woman, but at that point in time we don’t know that Trelkovsky even had an inner demon – he seemed simply a mild-mannered young man who happened to like wild parties. Nothing unusual there.]

James Whiteside
and Kibrea Carmichael
in Arthur Pita’s “The Tenant”
Photo by Ian Douglas

Later, after returning from yet another wild party with a wild young woman, in tow (after getting out of and into his pants a few more times), he subsequently has wild sex (after…well, you get the idea), presumably with the character identified as “Stella” in the program, played by Carmichael. It seems clear to me that Stella was the same person as the one who danced the role of that frightening monster – Carmichael appears the appropriate size and character, and the “wildness” displayed by the spirit matches Stella’s approach to lovemaking. But could Trelkovsky have imagined Stella as that demon before he seemingly first met her? Or, notwithstanding that they’re performed by the same dancer, are they intended to represent two different “forces.” We don’t know.

As the piece progresses during the course of these and other scenes, Trelkovsky sees the trance-like Simone Choule, before him, even dances with her, but also seems to move and behave in ways that echo what Simone did before she committed suicide. Clearly, maybe, he’s being possessed by her. Or just as clearly, maybe, he’s acquiring her character and appearance as his own – “possession” having nothing to do with it. After this gradual slide into madness (or more visualized madness) and after hearing to the same musical exclamation points from Beethoven’s 9th that appeared to impel Choule to her death, he climbs out on the roof and leaps off, committing suicide.

James Whiteside
Photo by Matthew Murphy

Except he’s back on stage afterward, dazed, brutally wounded, and subsequently is seen bandaged in black, with one eye open, matching an image that inexplicably had been displayed earlier in the piece of Choule bandaged and bedridden after he’d already moved into the apartment. Then, once more to the strains of Beethoven’s 9th, Trelkovsky climbs onto the roof and kills himself. Again.

I ascertained after the performance that in the novel, Trelkovsky visits Choule in the hospital, where she’s bandaged as described (and died shortly thereafter) before he moved into the apartment, so the image of Choule that Trelkovsky sees on the bed must, in the Dance Play, be a flashback, and his twice-told suicide must be some reflection of Choule jumping off the roof, surviving, but dying later. Admittedly it might have been difficult to present all that (and more) with some coherence, but what Pita chose to do by condensing the story and changing the narrative order and presenting characters without explanation (which might have been readily explained in a program note) makes it way too confusing.

If one eliminates all the stuff that makes no sense, or is just annoying and silly (like the pants coming off and on repeatedly), the piece is exactly as billed – a study in developing psychosis triggered by … well, either his own instability to begin with, his visions of Choule, his possession by Choule, his “becoming” Choule, or his reaction to living in a haunted apartment. Pick one or them all – in The Tenant, any possibility is justifiable. But the fact that I’ve spent so much time discussing what Pita and his dancers presented indicates, ultimately, how curiously fascinating this horror story told through dance is, and that many of its images are enduring – which is much more than I can say about more “successful” story-dances.

However, the greater problem I have with The Tenant is the piece’s manifestation of Trelkovsky’s descent into madness. Either as a result of his ingrained mental illness, or of circumstances outside his control, he transforms himself into Choule – physically. He becomes a woman – and maybe had that propensity all along (though that’s hardly clear). So is the message here that a man who dresses like a woman or “becomes” a woman does so as a result of mental illness (the program note described him as “pathologically” alienated) or of outside forces that compel him to do what he does? Does it matter? And is the further message that the transformation into a woman (including but beyond wearing woman’s clothing) is the real horror story, or at the very least a component of it? Somehow I don’t think that that’s the takeaway that any of the artists involved in the piece intended to provide, but it’s there.

And if dressing as a woman, or thinking himself to be a woman, had been “normal” for Trelkovsky prior to the “possession” by Choule (or her influence), why was there no clear evidence of it? Why doesn’t he put on a dress or a woman’s wig to go out on the town? All this may be perfectly explicable to the artistic team, but to me, rather than being whoever you believe you are, what The Tenant describes is clear cause and effect, with the cause being his preexisting condition or the acquired madness, and the effect being that dressing like a woman and/or a male’s thinking himself to be a woman is perceived as abnormal behavior (separate and apart from committing suicide). Is Whiteside really comfortable with this implication?

So not only is the staging of The Tenant confusing, the point is as well. And I recognize that in his novel Topor may have been commenting on something about Parisian society or human nature that might make this explicable, but this Dance Play doesn’t do it.

James Whiteside and Kibrea Carmichael
in Arthur Pita’s “The Tenant”
Photo by Ian Douglas

Aside from those observations, however, The Tenant is worth seeing for Pita’s choreography and the performances. Carmichael is a dramatic, powerful dancer (her dance background is extensive) who made an indelible first impression (she looks like a cross between a tall version of Thandie Newton as she appeared in Mission Impossible II and Grace Jones, a James Bond villain in A View to a Kill – youthfully slight and engaging but scary and a little crazy. Her role – both components of it – is explosive, and she nailed it. Trenary’s dancing talent is well known and apparent here – somehow she makes her manic depression and suicide both believable and somehow graceful. And the scene as she struggles with her demons on the roof before jumping off is beautifully (if that’s the appropriate word) and brilliantly (that is the right word) executed. Whiteside, the Dance Play’s centerpiece (and probably it’s raison d’etre), does a superb job making Trelkovsky’s mad descent into cross-dressing and thinking himself a woman, and then committing suicide – twice – credible (although he could use some French lessons: his few French exclamations were the only part of his performance that seemed artificial). It’s a role seemingly made for him.

So by all means see The Tenant (don’t bring the kids or the squeamish). But maybe read the book, or a good summary of it, in advance. And perhaps keep in mind that notwithstanding that the excerpts from Beethoven’s 9th either trigger or reflect the suicidal impulses of Choule and Trelkovsky (and perhaps the apartment’s next tenants), Beethoven’s 9th Symphony is commonly referred to as “Ode to Joy.”

The post The Tenant: Ode to Madness appeared first on CriticalDance.

In Conversation with Maria Khoreva

Jerry Hochman

True confession. Occasionally, and sometimes more frequently than that, I monitor posts by dancers and dance organizations on various social media platforms. Since I often find that I’m the last one to know of certain dance-related developments, doing so enables me, at least in part, to bridge that gap.

The first dancer previously unknown to me who I noticed after coming across a few of her posts was a young student at the Vaganova Ballet Academy named Maria Khoreva. I’ve often written that ‘sometimes you just know’ when seeing a dancer for the first time that the potential is there to be particularly special, but I’d never before gotten that feeling from photos or brief video snippets, but there it was.

Nearly two years after I first noticed her, Khoreva graduated from Vaganova, was accepted into the Mariinsky Ballet, and immediately began fulfilling that expectation, being assigned featured or leading roles that one would not expect a ballerina fresh from graduation to be given. One of these was the role of Terpsichore in George Balanchine’s Apollo. When I subsequently learned that The Mariinsky would be performing Apollo during New York City Center’s “Balanchine: The City Center Years” celebration, I thought it was unlikely that the company would select its newest members of the corps (Khoreva, Daria Ionova, and Anastasia Nuikina) to dance the Muses during these showcase performances. And then the casting was announced. After allowing a period of time to make sure it was really happening, I arranged to meet her during her stay.

Maria Khoreva (foreground) with
(l-r) Daria Ionova and Anastasia Nuikina
in George Balanchine’s “Apollo”
Photo by Daniele Cipriani
Courtesy of The Mariinsky Ballet

On the eve of her New York (and American) debut, Khoreva presented as a “typical” casually-dressed teenager, except she was much taller than I’d anticipated and thin as a string bean, albeit one without a blemish in sight. But she had an air about her – beyond the anticipated poise and bearing that most young ballerinas seem to learn as part of their training – that betrayed that she was hardly an ordinary teenager, or an ordinary member of the corps at one of the most prestigious ballet companies in the world. And she sat ramrod straight. We introduced ourselves (she arrived unescorted), and she suggested we move to a more private area to talk.

JH: Let me tell you a bit why I’m here. I was introduced to you via your Instagram posts. I’ve never seen you perform, but there was something about those images and the descriptions in your posts that made me want to see you dance live, and to know a little bit more about you.

First question, and maybe the most important: how did you learn to speak English so well?

MK: [smiles, and beams] Well, my mom is an English teacher by profession. She doesn’t work now because she was raising us – me and my sister, who’s three years younger than I am, and she wasn’t trying to teach us English on purpose. But she was always incorporating English words in her speech and helping us with our English lessons in school. That’s just how it came out.

JH: She’s Russian, isn’t she?

MK: Yeah.

JH: It’s amazing. You speak English better than I do.

MK: I was lucky.

At Lincoln Center
Photo by Xander Parish

JH: When I first started reading your posts, I thought they were written by a publicity person. I couldn’t believe they were written by a Russian teenager.

MK: No, actually I always write my posts by myself. It may take time; sometimes it might take an hour to write a post, but I try to make it, like, good – you know what I mean?

JH: Well, they are. Did you study English yourself at school, in addition to what your mother taught you?

MK: Well, at school they have a very weak level of English. For example, if you get like “5,” which is the highest mark in Russia, like an “ace,” you still may not be able to speak English at all.  So you need to learn it yourself, apart from school.

JH: I’ve seen posts by other dancers, either at Vaganova now or recently graduated like you, and they all seem to speak English well.

MK: Well, but you know Google-translate and all that helps. But I think most of us graduates learn English relatively well at some point in our lives because it’s very important – I think.

JH: What made you get on Instagram in the first place?

MK: Actually, my dad once said: “Masha, you need to register on Instagram.” So it just started. I was interested in sharing my story, sharing my life with people. At first it was very, like, strange. I made some silly posts, and silly selfies. I didn’t know what I was doing. I would tell people I was preparing presents for my classmates, or preparing to dance some roles at the Mariinsky – some kids’ roles.

Then, I think in 2013, I got a message from a woman who works for Instagram Russia and she said “Masha, can we do an interview with you?” And we did the interview and she posted it on Instagram Russia. I think it had maybe hundreds of thousands of followers. A few months went by, and then I see that my interview is on Instagram – the main Instagram account, a worldwide account. I think it had maybe 60 million followers at that time. It was incredible. And then on my own account the number of followers increased and I became a blogger (laughs). It’s been a long time now that I’ve been on Instagram.

JH: I forgot – are you 17 or 18 now?

MK: 18. I turned 18 the third of July.

In Times Square
with Xander Parish
Photo by Daria Ivanova

JH: Well, this is a first for me; the first time I’ve done an interview with someone born in this century. [we both laugh]

You’ve been in New York two days now?  Well, three actually – you arrived on Monday.

MK: But Monday was, like, crazy. We arrived in the evening and we just went to Times Square. So this is the second full day.

JH: So what do you think of New York?

MK: Well, it’s been a dream of mine since very early years to get to New York. And this place – it’s so iconic and so legendary. It’s like dreams come true; for me it’s unbelievable to be here. And it feels surreal, to see all these crazy high buildings and skyscrapers. But at the same time it’s a very different culture. And I already can say that the people are very different: they are friendly and communicative. I’m enjoying it.

JH: You don’t think people in St. Petersburg are friendly?

MK: It’s different. People in St. Petersburg are very nice also. I actually love St. Petersburg; I think it’s the perfect city to live in….except for the terrible winters we have.

JH: Do you live in the city?

MK: Yes.

JH: Do you live with other dancers or on your own?

MK: No, I live with my family.

JH: Oh – you’re still with your family in St. Petersburg?

MK: Yes. I was lucky. I was born in St. Petersburg and I’ve lived there my whole life. And I was trained at Vaganova Academy and it’s five minutes away from where I live. So it’s very comfortable; I’m very lucky to have my parents’ support and my sister always there with me. It’s made my life much easier. There are dancers who come from different areas of Russia and are living in the dorms, and it’s so difficult for them, I think. I can’t imagine myself living in the dorms, actually.

JH: Getting back to New York (we’ll get to the dance stuff in a minute), what have you been able to see?

In Central Park
Photo by Xander Parish

MK: Not a lot, unfortunately. We are having rehearsals and classes, so we don’t have plenty of time. We’ve mostly been shopping. Today we’ve been to Central Park, and Lincoln Center.

And we have huge plans for our day off, on Sunday. Maybe I’ll go to Central Park in the daylight, because I think it’s beautiful there. And we want to go to the Brooklyn Bridge, and the Statue of Liberty of course. And the World Trade Center.  I hope we can get to all of them.

JH: When did you know you wanted to be a ballerina?

MK: The idea of ballet was flying around me since I was like three years old, I think. I was doing rhythmic gymnastics for about seven years before I got to Vaganova Ballet Academy when I was ten.

Maria Khoreva
Photo by Anastasiya Livun
Courtesy of The Mariinsky Ballet

But I got to Vaganova Academy accidentally, actually. On a summer day we were walking by the Academy and we saw that there were auditions planned in a few days. And we decided, me and my parents, that maybe I should try. And then I went to auditions and got accepted.

But when I was doing gymnastics still, I think when I was about six years old, my choreography teacher (for gymnastics) said “I would not say this to anyone, but you have such light legs and they are very suitable for ballet, so maybe you should try to go to Vaganova Academy.” So the idea was always there, but we didn’t decide until a few days before the audition started when we walked by the audition notification.

JH: That’s incredible. You were just walking by and saw the sign, and now, eight years later, you’re a member of The Mariinsky Ballet and dancing in New York.

MK: Yeah.

Maria Khoreva
Photo by Irina Yakovleva
Courtesy of
The Mariinsky Ballet

JH: You said that your choreography teacher told you you have light legs? What did she mean by that?

MK: It’s a Russian expression, I guess. It means legs that go high easily, with no apparent effort.

JH: Well, she was certainly right about that.

What do you like about ballet? Aside from “everything.”

MK: (laughs, a lot) That’s a very easy, but very difficult question at the same time.

I love that through dance, through ballet, you can express yourself in a very unique way. You can share your story, and your feelings and emotions with people, and you can get their reactions and their emotions back from them. It’s such an energized form of art. After every performance you are filled with so much joy even if something hurts and you are not feeling great and even if you’re exhausted. It’s so uplifting. It’s what’s addictive about being a ballerina.

JH: It’s addictive also if you’re a member of the audience and decide it’s something you really love.

MK:  Mmmm.

JH: That’s the way it happened with me. Obviously I’m not a ballet dancer. I started going about 45 years ago, and got hooked.

MK: That’s great.

JH: Were your parents involved in the arts at all?

MK: No. Not at all. But they loved ballet very much, and they were always going to ballet performances. They just loved art, I guess.

Maria Khoreva
Photo by Irina Kovaleva
Courtesy of The Mariinsky Ballet

JH: Is that unusual in the St. Petersburg environment?  Said another way, is St. Petersburg a very arts-loving city?

MK: Definitely, definitely. It all revolves around the arts, if you know what I mean. St. Petersburg is the Imperial City, and it’s an “art” by itself, if I can say so. And there, Russian ballet is very important, and like a friend in a way.

JH: Before you started at Vaganova, did you and your sister (who I am aware is also a student at Vaganova) used to perform at home? Like put on little shows for for your family?

MK: Maybe a little when we were little kids. I was always performing on the carpet with gymnastics, and in the competitions. But I was a very reserved kid. I was raised that way – I was never really “showing off.”

JH: You graduated from Vaganova last summer, and were accepted into the Mariinsky right after that.

MK: Yes.

JH: And it seemed to me that you were given the role of Terpsichore in Apollo within a couple of weeks after you started there.

MK: Yeah. Actually, we started to rehearse when I was still at the Vaganova Academy. Yuri Fateev, the Director of our ballet company, offered me the opportunity to start rehearsing this role, I believe in March of this past year. So I started rehearsing, and he scheduled a performance for the 21^st of July. 

JH: Ahh. Then it all makes a little bit more sense.

Is it unusual for you and the other two graduates who were accepted into the Mariinsky …

MK: [interrupting] No, no. It wasn’t just the three of us. There were so many more. I believe it was around eight girls and five boys. It’s very unusual for so many graduates in one year to be accepted into the Mariinsky.

JH: What did you think when you started rehearsing Apollo? Did you know that you’d be performing it?

Maria Khoreva and Xander Parish
in George Balanchine’s “Apollo”
Photo by Daniele Cipriani
Courtesy of The Mariinsky Ballet

MK: At first, Yuri Valeriavich said that “we will just try something.” And then after a few weeks he said it would work, and he scheduled the performance. And then a few weeks later he said that it would be that cast; that the cast was fixed.

JH: How do you prepare for the character you’re dancing in Apollo?

MK: How do I prepare the role? I’ve been watching tons of videos, on the Internet and at our video class at the Mariinsky. It’s been very helpful to find some small details of other incredible dancers performing this role. I really try to capture this Balanchine style. I don’t know how it will turn out. Though I try to be in the Balanchine style, still we are Mariinsky Ballet, not an American company, and I’m sure we perform this very differently. Still, I guess I’m a perfectionist, and since the costumes are very minimalistic in this ballet, it’s very important to keep the form as clean as possible. So that’s a concern of mine.

JH: What other dancers have you seen dance Terpsichore?

MK: Suzanne Farrell, in a performance from New York City Ballet, and other dancers from more recent performances. And I’m sorry I don’t remember the names, but the cast that was performing with Baryshnikov. That was a very beautiful performance. And the cast with Peter Martins also.

JH: You’ve done other roles already at the Mariinsky. I know what they were, but could you tell us what you’ve danced so far?

MK: The trio of Odalisques from Le Corsaire, then the Pas de Trois from Swan Lake, and then Paquita.

Maria Khoreva
and members of The Mariinsky Ballet
in “Paquita”
Photo courtesy of The Mariinsky Ballet

JH: Are those roles you learned at Vaganova also?

MK: No, no. At the Mariinsky theater.

JH: It’s still pretty fast.

MK: Not really.

JH: Is that something that happens routinely at The Mariinsky; that they’ll give “new” dancers an opportunity to dance lead or featured roles in a ballet?

MK: I don’t know if it’s “usual,” but I think it’s really nice. It’s a way to get something new and interesting to the stage for the audience to see. And of course it’s great for the young dancers. It’s a great opportunity for us.

JH: Is there any jealousy between new dancers who get these roles – not necessarily you personally – and the older dancers who’ve been there awhile?

MK: I don’t think that at the Mariinsky there’s a lot of jealousy. People say that the company is not very friendly, but I personally think that it’s incredibly friendly, and people are very supportive and very generous with their time and their advice and their help at the Mariinsky. So personally I don’t think there’s any jealousy between us, and between the new dancers and the older dancers.

JH: You mentioned roles you’ve already done. Are there other roles in the pipeline that you’re beginning to learn and train for, or that you know you’re going to dance?

Maria Khoreva in “Paquita”
Photo courtesy of
The Mariinsky Ballet

MK: After these New York performances, seven days later, on the 12^th of November, I am joining the big Asian tour to Korea and China, Japan, and then back again to China. It’ll be more than a month – we don’t get back to St. Petersburg until the 15^th of December. And I’m going to be performing the Dryad Queen from Don Quixote, then again the Pas de Trois from Swan Lake, the variation from Paquita, and then I’m going to be performing the Rose Adagio from The Sleeping Beauty.

JH: The Sleeping Beauty. Naturally.

Are there roles that you would like to dance? And don’t say “everything.”

MK: (laughs, loud) Ha, ha! I was just preparing to say “everything.” My desire is to try as many things as possible, and when I see any ballet, I want to try to dance it, to prepare a role in it, whatever role it is. I’d love to do The Nutcracker with the Mariinsky in the future. I learned it at Vaganova, and so I already know the steps. Also, I love Giselle; I love La Bayadere, I love Swan Lake, I love Jewels, from Balanchine, especially Diamonds. It’s like I want to do everything, and if I had the chance to do any of them I’d be more than happy.

Maria Khoreva
Photo by Andrew Lush
Courtesy of The Mariinsky Ballet

JH: This is a dumb question. Have you attended ballet performances?

MK: Yeah, sure. I love doing that, because every time it’s a huge inspiration, no matter what ballet it is, no matter who is dancing. And seeing how much work is behind the performance – that is really fascinating for me. And when I see this work is transformed into a beautiful form of art, it’s the moment when I want to do it myself. I want to go tomorrow to work and perfect my movements.

JH: So is it the end product that’s most important to you, and what you have to do to get there is what you have to do to get there?

MK: No, I’m not working only for the result. I’m working because I’m getting a lot of inspiration and motivation, and I enjoy the rehearsal process as well because it’s so interesting to try something new and find something different in a rehearsal, and find what your body can do and what it cannot, and try to improve the flaws and try to correct the mistakes.

JH: What is a typical day like for you?

MK: It starts with the company class at the theater. It starts at 11, but not always, it can start at 10:30  if there’s a morning performance. So from 11 to 12 there’s the morning class, then we have rehearsals, The timing varies: we can have two rehearsals in the morning, or we can have one rehearsal in the morning and the other at 8 p.m., so it’s very different every day. And then if we have a performance it usually starts at 7 or 7:30. And there are morning performances sometimes, at 12 or at 1 p.m.

JH: Do you ever get tired of it?

MK: Tired? Of course. It’s the thing that makes ballet a little less of a happiness and less a joy. Not the tiredness – I would say pain and that a lot of things hurt, and they hurt on a daily basis.

Maria Khoreva
Photo by Irina Yakovleva
Courtesy of
The Mariinsky Ballet

JH: I was going to ask you about that. Are there challenges you have to overcome to be as successful as you’ve been so far?

MK: A very big challenge is to try to deal with the pain, and be mindful about when to stop and when to push your body a little bit more. It takes a lot of effort to sustain your body and muscle. Sometimes you just need to go through the pain and dance even when something is very painful. That’s a huge challenge for every dancer, I think. And everyone has their own ways of overcoming this.

JH: Do you have an interest in other forms of dance, or other performing art, like theater or film?

MK: I love drama theater, but from an audience. I went to performances of the students at the theater academy in St. Petersburg and it was an awesome journey. I really enjoyed it, and visited performances like three times and four times. It was very interesting. And I love watching movies.

I don’t know if I see a lot of potential for myself in drama or in movies, but I’d love to try. I love acting on stage. Like in Paquita. There are so many acting opportunities in this ballet. I didn’t expect to enjoy them as much as I did. I would love to try it sometime.

JH: Are there any ballerinas you particularly feel you want to become like, or particularly admire? Aside from everybody with the Mariinsky.

MK: (laughs) I don’t only look up to the Mariinsky Ballet. Thanks to the Internet I watch a lot of performances by dancers from all over the world.

Maria Khoreva with
her teacher at The Vaganova Academy,
Lyudmila Kovaleva
Photo by Irina Kovaleva
Courtesy of The Mariinsky Ballet

I’ve never actually thought about becoming “like” some ballerina. I always knew that I’m myself and working on my flaws and trying to work out the way I would like myself to dance rather than to, like, copy someone. But I’ve admired different ballerinas and ballet dancers as well.

One of the biggest inspirations of mine is Diana Vishneva, who was taught by the same teacher who taught me at Vaganova; we both radiate her knowledge and spirit. And also Ulyana Lopatkina, of course. Another great inspiration for me who I see at the theater every day is Ekaterina Kondaurova, who happens to be rehearsing with the same teacher as me at the theater. She’s very beautiful.

JH: I’m glad you mentioned Diana Vishneva before I was going to ask you about her. When I first started reviewing dance performances I saw Diana with American Ballet Theatre. I think maybe with the Mariinsky also, I’m not sure. I ended up writing an article that ended with: “If I could, I would travel the world just to see Diana Vishneva dance.”

MK:  Mmmmm.

JH: Have you ever met her?

MK: Yes, of course. We are even in the same dressing room in the theater. Can you believe that? Seriously. So we meet from time to time.

JH: Well, I’m sure that that wasn’t accidental. Obviously other people see what I see.

And with that, our 45 minute interview concluded, and I let Maria return to her hotel room to relax and prepare for her debut performance – and, as it turned out, to learn that she’d been promoted to First Soloist that same day, perhaps while the interview was taking place, since she seemed unaware of it when we spoke.

As I left, I kept thinking that there’s a long, long way to go and lots can happen, but maybe sometime I’ll write that if I could, I would travel the world just to see Maria Khoreva dance.

The post In Conversation with Maria Khoreva: The Mariinsky’s Precocious Young Ballerina appeared first on CriticalDance.

Pennsylvania Ballet
Merriam Theater
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

November 11, 2018 at 2:00pm
Petite Mort and World Premieres

Sigrid Payne DaVeiga

This month’s program by Pennsylvania Ballet was a selection of insightfully selected works choreographed by various artists. This was a dramatic and refreshing shift from the recently captivating and classic full-length production of Romeo and Juliet, demonstrating the breadth and depth of Pennsylvania Ballet’s ability to exquisitely capture the beauty of dance in so many of its facets. Each innovative piece was scintillating in its own right, but somehow seemed intricately tied to the others in a flawless and insightful web of human experience where the dancers were the instruments that compelled the story.

Petite Mort, choreographed by Jiri Kylian, to two of Mozart’s most famous and intentionally very different piano concertos, opened today’s production. Pennsylvania Ballet previously performed Petite Mort in 2014, but this year’s production was haunting and thrilling in a nuanced and exciting way. The delivery of every moment of choreography as well as the lighting and set design were so impeccable that one was able to concentrate completely on the vision of the dance itself. Like the other selections today, Petite Mort served less to highlight the individual talents of each featured dancer and more to showcase the impeccable power Pennsylvania Ballet currently holds as an instrument of artistic voice and insight.

Artists of Pennsylvania Ballet in “Petite Mort”
Photo: Alexander Iziliaev

Petite Mort opened on six male dancers, Peter Weil, Federico D’Ortenzi, Jack Sprance, Russell Ducker, Etienne Diaz, and Aleksey Babayev, in minimalist costume of gold shorts, barefoot and holding a sword. The sound of the swords whipping through the air in harmonious synchrony was impressive in its austerity against the sound of silence and then thunder. When the male dancers pulled a giant black curtain to cover the entire stage and then flip it over, while the women – Kathryn Manger, Alexandra Heier, So Jung Shin, Yuka Iseda, Thays Golz, and Ana Calderon – who had been standing stiffly in what appeared to be full strapless black dresses appeared out from under the flipping curtain in matching nude minimalist costumes, it was an extraordinarily powerful uncovering or laying bare of all of the dancers on stage. The sinewy muscular shapes of the dancers bare legs, arms and feet seemed beautifully and intimately exposed, but with a distinct reverence to their strength in a unique way which spoke most to the quality and the cohesiveness of this group of dancers in their force, talent, and relationship.

Kathryn Manger and Peter Weil in “Petite Mort”
Photo: Alexander Iziliaev

The dancer who seemed to draw the eye most readily today in Petite Mort was Kathryn Manger. Though petite, her stage presence continues to grow in each production where she is featured. She fills the space with her authenticity, enthusiasm, and precision of craft. Her legs and feet were exquisite as she was lifted into the first of many acrobatic lifts by her partner, Peter Weil. When Manger and Weil danced their pas de deux, one could feel the audience holding their breath as he manipulated the sword around her, for fear she would be injured or risk loss of limb with it so close to her beautiful legs and feet lifted high in extension.

Yuka Iseda and Russell Ducker in “Petite Mort”
Photo: Alexander Iziliaev

Ducker and Iseda danced an intriguing pas de deux with an impressive process of intertwining movements. Calderon captured another breath-holding moment from the audience as Babayev tipped her straight backwards and she balanced precipitously on his thigh by holding on with her straight legs alone, no other body parts touched. Overall, this group of dancers was simply incredible in their interpretation of Petite Mort. The stripping away, laying bare of the dancers created a perfectly vulnerable moment of transition to the second selection today, Evenings.

Artists of Pennsylvania Ballet in “Petite Mort”
Photo: Alexander Iziliaev

Evenings, a world premiere choreographed by Andrea Miller, shifted the audience into an eerily dark and quiet space with a dimly lit, black flowing curtain as the backdrop creating an aesthetic of a windy night. The curtain opened with the sound of a clock tower bell tolling on this backdrop of night matched by the haunting music by Arvo Part. Ian Hussey’s prowess in opening this piece dancing in solitude and leading the troupe of six dancers, including Jermel Johnson, Oksana Maslova, Albert Gordon, Kathryn Manger and So Jung Shin, was at once peaceful and foreboding.

Albert Gordon in Andrea Miller’s “Evenings”
Photo: Alexander Iziliaev

Miller’s choreography created an initial image of constant movement of men and women in dark flowing clothing and dresses that matched the movement of the backdrop. At times the stage appeared so dark that the dancers were more like shadows and the moving images reminiscent of what one might see looking out the window at night and questioning the shapes that appeared to us in our mind’s eye as the wind blows the trees and the world around us. The ensemble dancing was intensely beautiful and dark, stirring feelings of fear, loss, and sadness. The initial movement ended with all of them walking rapidly within their own individual circles while synchronously moving their arms through shapes as if they are trying to hold something to their ear to hear it, then moving their arms up to the sky and ultimately creating a movement with the hands of a pounding heart at the chest until they came to rest at the front of the stage looking out at the audience. The curtain closed on this quiet and deeply powerful moment of each person experiencing these emotions in their own space yet moving in complete synchrony reflecting the commonality of pain for every person.

Albert Gordon in Andrea Miller’s “Evenings”
Photo: Alexander Iziliaev

Gordon performed an intensely dramatic solo in Evenings. The curtain opened on him seemingly standing on his head with his legs awkwardly lifted into the air with one arm outstretched and the other periodically banging the floor as if trying to right himself and keep from falling. This moment lingered for an intentionally uncomfortable period as the audience could be felt to struggle with him in his efforts to find his way into a less cumbersome physical predicament. His entire solo was very moving, shifting from moments of smooth movement to awkwardly painful moments when his body took on odd configurations. Johnson and Maslova danced a gripping pas de deux as well, with a poignant movement in closure when she seemed to crawl under his open legs like a person trying to hide in a small cave.

So Jung Shin in Andrea Miller’s “Evenings”
Photo: Alexander Iziliaev

So Jung Shin performed the most intimate and brutally unsettling solo in Evenings. Her solo opened with her lying on the floor in a spotlight trying to crawl her way to standing which she managed to do on the very tips of her barefoot toes. Her interpretation of this piece was beautifully tragic and one found oneself hoping for her to find the strength to stand and dance on her own, only to see her repeatedly fall. Each time, just as she seemed about to hit the ground, Hussey would appear for just a moment on stage to lift her back to try and start again. This solo was a moving piece of beautiful tragedy expressed through a human body, and Shin’s interpretation was impeccable.

The entire group of dancers created a chilling end to Evenings as they danced synchronously to close the piece. Momentarily Manger broke off from the group and moved through a series of motions as she walked in rapid circles, moving her hands to listen in her ears, pound on her heart and then dramatically look like she was trying to suffocate something or close a hard box to aggressively hide something away. She rejoined the group that ultimately moved towards the audience creating movement reminiscent of rocking a baby with their arms, then holding something to the sky and then stopping completely in a shroud of smoke and darkness. Evenings was intensely powerful in its invitation of being lulled into participating in this dark and inevitable heart wrenching sadness. The powerful moments of watching someone in so much pain and despair that they are unable to stand or right their own path were universal in their ability to reach every audience member and the dancers perfectly presented the beauty in the intimate pain and awkwardness of battling forces over which we have no control.

The most startling moment in the production was the sudden shift into the third and final selection, the world premiere of The Divide, choreographed by Corps de Ballet member Russell Ducker. The audience was resting comfortably in the sadness and morose tone of Evenings when all of a sudden the curtain opened on Mayara Pineiro standing at a the top of a lone staircase in the dark, in a dark leotard and in pointe shoes, smiling enticingly at the audience with a bright light shining on her and an open bright white door in complete silence. Her facial expression was at once mischievous and adorably devious; she knew something the rest of us did not.

Mayara Pineiro in Russell Ducker’s “The Divide”
Photo: Alexander Iziliaev

All of a sudden with a loud “BANG” the door slammed shut and catapulted the audience into an entirely different space of energy from the first two selections. This moment in and of itself was worth the price of the ticket today. The build up through the first two pieces and the utter shock here was awesome in the effect it had, of carrying the audience through this process of being thrown into these different moments of human experience without choice. In a quick-paced and constantly moving piece of choreography, set to music by Glenn Branca, the audience watched the dynamic movement of the staircase all over the stage as the dancers on each side of the door struggled to become acquainted with one another.

Artists of Pennsylvania Ballet in Russell Ducker’s “The Divide”
Photo: Alexander Iziliaev

Zecheng Liang, Ashton Roxander, Lillian DiPiazza, Sterling Baca, and Pineiro held the showcased roles in The Divide, and their talents were set to be higher and separated from the onslaught of movement that transpired in this frenetic and fast paced piece. Liang and Roxander had some very athletic interplay with expansive jumps as they led each group of dancers from each side of the door in their processes of encountering one another. DiPiazza showcased herself in her precise and pretty technique. True-to-form, Pineiro was the shining star on stage. Pineiro’s technique is always exact and perfect, but it is her strength and her enjoyment of her process as a performer, which draws the eye and always captures attention. Ducker’s choreography was truly packed with so much movement that it was challenging to know where to look at times. Ducker’s refreshing new voice as a choreographer was welcomed today; his landscape and the support of this group of dancers, who he appropriately highlighted and challenged, clearly reflect an awesome space for his creative process to take place.

In every facet of today’s performance – the dancing, effects, structure of the performance, and the snapshots of the human story, which this impressive group was able to portray – Pennsylvania Ballet took the audience to places it has not been before. Every audience member was invited into the narrative and in some moments, might even have drowned in its emotional grasp, only to be ripped back to the ground with a rush of oxygen. The pieces selected and choreographed for this production were groundbreaking, meaningful, and provocative; showcasing the limitless opportunity in artistic innovation Pennsylvania Ballet is capable of. The company is a powerful tool as an artist’s canvas and the creative spark in the air there is truly electric, leaving the audience inspired and longing for more.

The post Pennsylvania Ballet: Petite Mort and World Premieres appeared first on CriticalDance.

Pacific Northwest Ballet
McCaw Hall
Seattle, WA

November 3, 2018
All Premiere Program: A Dark and Lonely Space, Silent Ghost, Cacti

Dean Speer

Kyle Davis pegged himself as a major new choreographic voice right from the get-go with his first piece, Sylvia Pas de Deux, made for PNB’s NEXT STAGE program. His 2018 world premiere, A Dark and Lonely Space, set to new orchestral and vocal music by Michael Giacchino, is excellent too and in this case, epic.

Pacific Northwest Ballet dancer
Leta Biasucci (center),
soprano Christina Siemens,
and company dancers in Kyle Davis’s
“A Dark and Lonely Space”
Photo by Angela Sterling

A soprano way up stage center (up, as in up high) whose character seemed to be that of an Erda, the Earth Goddess, invoked a kind of maelstrom of activity down on the planet, whereby earthlings came and went. She alternately entreated and compelled a lone male figure (Ezra Thomson) through what appeared to be a kind of birth, upbringing, and gifting him a female mate (newcomer to PNB, the amazing Clara Ruf Maldonado). It’s interesting to note in the cast listings that these roles are not gender-specific but are also performed female-female. This was definitely a showcase for the principal protagonist, and Thomson’s technique and artistic spirit were unbounded.

Davis builds the arc of the choreography very well, infusing the sense of the aural tones and rhythms into the solo, duo, and particularly effectively with the groups. The dancing really took off when the corps entered. Strong, strong, strong. The group I was with loved it with the only critical comment being that it was maybe about 10 minutes too long, having clocked in at about 50 minutes.

Pacific Northwest Ballet dancers
Noelani Pantastico
and Lucien Postlewaite
in Alejandro Cerrudo’s
“Silent Ghost”
Photo by Angela Sterling

Choreographer Alejandro Cerrudo is one of the nicest, most earnest, sweetest dance makers around, and I found his Silent Ghost (to music by Dustin Hamman, King Creosote & Jon Hopkins, Olafur Arnalds, & Nils Frahm) a reflection of that personality. A gentle work for five couples (Noelani Pantastico, Elizabeth Murphy, Rachel Foster, Leah Merchant, Elle Macy and Lucien Postlewaite, Dylan Wald, Steven Loch, Ezra Thomson, plus James Moore), it flowed and ebbed, pairing well with the Spanish language I believe I heard in the music. The work was heart-felt and deeply personal. I found, though, that it suffered by placement in this program. In contrast with Davis’s work, the palette was too similar, and I believe Cerrudo’s ballet might have found a better niche on another program altogether.

Pacific Northwest Ballet dancers
in Alexander Ekman’s “Cacti”
Photo by Angela Sterling

Cacti could be categorized as an absurdist piece, with choreographer Alexander Ekman thumbing his nose at standard convention. Set to music by Franz Josef Haydn, Ludwig van Beethoven, and Franz Schubert (with four musicians on stage, walking and playing sometimes through the action), it was at times amusing, funny, prurient, frustrating, and fun.

Kudos to the large ensemble cast of leads Sarah-Gabrielle Ryan and Christian Poppe, with Genevieve Waldorf, Elizabeth Murphy, Cecilia Iliesiu, Elle Macy, Amanda Morgan, Sarah Pasch, Leah Terada, and the male contingent of James Moore, Benjamin Griffiths, Lucien Postlewaite, Steven Loch, Christopher D’Ariano, Miles Pertl, and Ezra Thomson. These dancers were asked to do things (such as laughing out loud) that were out of box and quite challenging.

The mighty PNB Orchestra was led by Maestro Emil de Cou for Davis’s work (over 120 musicians performed in A Dark and Lonely Space, with 64 players in the pit, 60 singers in the side boxes, and one soprano onstage in a 12 foot-long skirt) and with Doug Fullingron conducting Cacti.

This was a fun and interesting program all around. Promoting and encouraging new work is vital to all the arts, in addition to curating the best of the past, upon which we build, continue to enjoy and love. I hope that all three works will be brought back in the future.

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Tom Gold Dance
Florence Gould Hall
New York, New York

November 10, 2018
Apparatus Hominus

Jerry Hochman

Most sculpture gardens that I’m familiar with are quiet places to rest, where the sculptures on display complement the calming experience, as well as provide a man-made contrast to the natural display around them. I’ve never seen the sculpture display at the TurnPark Art Space in West Stockbridge, Massachusetts that provided the inspiration for Tom Gold’s most recent dance, Apparatus Hominus, which I saw at the second of two performances last weekend in what was Tom Gold Dance’s introductory Fall New York season, but the sculpture / nature connection is both a good thing and a bad thing.

The good thing: like the best of sculpture gardens, Apparatus Hominus allows one to observe and reflect on nature’s simplicities, and complexities, in relative peace and quiet, with nothing to interrupt one’s thoughts except the ambient sounds of the wind rustling through the trees, the silent sounds of fellow-travelers, and the atonal drone of the occasional drone hovering overhead. The bad thing: Apparatus Hominus is a calming experience, maybe too calming.

Barton Cowperthwaite,
Shoshana Rosenfield,
and Mary Elizabeth Sell;
Joseph Liccardo (at piano)
in Tom Gold’s “Apparatus Hominus”
Photo by Eugene Gologursky

Two of the most significant components of any dance are the choreography and the performances. In this respect, Apparatus Hominus excels. The dance had its initial presentation last July, during what has become an annual company residency in the Berkshires. Originally set to four dancers, the piece now has been expanded to accommodate two more. Not having seen it in its original form, I can’t comment on how it initially looked, but increasing the number of dancers and dance segments probably was a good decision, if for no other reason than that it provided greater opportunity to see Gold’s choreography and the company’s superlative group of dancers.

Gold is a former soloist with New York City Ballet, but that fact doesn’t define his choreographic style, unless one considers that a certain level of artistic sophistication comes automatically from having been a member of that company. Not surprisingly, his steps are ballet steps, and his dancers are ballet dancers, but the choreographic result can’t be pigeon-holed that easily. In general terms, his choreography is balletic and lyrical, but it’s not exclusively that. Nor is it wedded to a particular orthodoxy that might illustrate how ‘contemporary’ or how avant-garde it might be, or how it might reflect the choreographer’s ‘unique’ vision. I suppose it comes within the ambit of contemporary ballet, but that term is so broad that it’s relatively meaningless. What it is is finely crafted workmanship that doesn’t draw undue attention to itself, but is multi-faceted and far more complex than it appears.

The choreography for Apparatus Hominus is consistent with that description. The piece is divided into seamless segments for a single dancer, subsets of the six dancers, or the entire cast, and no segment appears to be directly related, choreographically, to another. That degree of variety in a dance for six performers that lasts over an hour is difficult to accomplish.

Stephanie Williams
and Barton Cowperthwaite
in Tom Gold’s
“Apparatus Hominus”
Photo by Ani Collier

And the dancers are first-rate, with two who are new to the company, Tiffany Mori (a member of St. Louis Ballet) and Barton Cowperthwaite (ballet-trained; New York-based), joining company veterans Mary Elizabeth Sell, Shoshana Rosenfield (the first a current, and the second a former, member of NYCB), Stephanie Williams (a member of American Ballet Theatre), and James Shee (former member of National Ballet of Canada).

But more than solid choreography and superb execution by the cast is necessary to create a successful dance, and while there is a surfeit here of both, the overall impact of Apparatus Hominus is too much on a singular emotional level, and the few segments that seem to change the pace or introduce visual punctuations are overwhelmed by those that, notwithstanding the intelligence of the choreography, aren’t as exciting. In part, the fault, if that’s the appropriate word, is in it being too much like a leisurely walk in a park. More significantly, it uses a score that bathes the action in ennui. The selections from Nico Muhly – Drones and Piano, Drones and Viola, and Drones and Violin, would appear to be inspired choices to reflect a sculpture garden’s inspiration. But music comprised largely of similar sounds (I don’t doubt its complexity) can have a soporific effect (despite it’s being well-played, live, by Katherine Liccardo and Joseph Liccardo). Apply choreography intended to convey the emotional response to walking leisurely through a nature space with metal sculptures seemingly around every bend in every path and the result is something to look at and appreciate its detail and nicety, but generally not to get emotionally involved with.

The dance begins well, with a solo for Cowperthwaite that sets a tone of power and majesty. With his arms frequently stretched wide, I saw tree limbs, powerful avian images, and maybe both at the same time: perfect for an introduction to a nature space. The segments that follow are certainly pleasant enough, and as densely filled with choreographic variety as I’ve previously described, but they leave no lasting impression – maybe akin to the sculptures in TurnPark Art Space, they may stand out, but they also blend in so as not to distract from the natural settings that surround them. Every once in awhile another sequence emerges that’s particularly strong and interesting. The solo for Shee, for example, is quite powerful, and Shee here delivers his finest work since I first saw him with this company. And the pace of each segment was not completely monotonic: there were one or two segments when I could hear the pace of the music, and the accompanying choreography, increase noticeably. [There’s another Muhly musical component used in the piece – excerpts from the soundtrack to Kill Your Darlings, and perhaps that’s where this music came from.]  What was needed was the acoustic and choreographic equivalent of a bolt of lightning or a scary encounter between a couple of hyperactive squirrels, but that wouldn’t have been compatible with a peaceful walk through TurnPark Art Space, or from seeing the sculptures displayed there.

Tiffany Mori, Mary Elizabeth Sell,
James Shee, and Shoshana Rosenfield
(clockwise from bottom center)
in Tom Gold’s “Apparatus Hominus”
Photo by Ani Collier

And one would think that a dance inspired by the site-specific sculpture gardens at TurnPark would bring to mind the sculptures there. I checked TurnPark (vicariously via the Internet – it looks like a wonderful space; typically arts-focused for a location in the Berkshires), and although it’s certainly possible that Gold saw a different group of metal sculptures from those indicated in the mini-travelogue, I didn’t see anything in the choreography that was obviously connected to any of them.  Of course, there doesn’t have to be any direct connection: what Gold presented could simply have been movement “inspired” by the metal sculptures in an abstract way, or something reflecting the feeling of seeing or walking by them in a pastoral setting. But in this context, with the connection to TurnPark so significant, I expected a connection.

Every once in awhile I thought I saw such connections, but the references were too vague to be clear. For example, in a segment that included a group of women, I thought I saw circular patterning that would have fit “Heliograph 2” (artist: Vadim Kosmatschof); perhaps Cowperthwaite’s solo, coming at the piece’s beginning, was intended as a sort of gateway, and was intended to reflect, abstractly, “Talus Gate” (artist: Gene Montez Flores); and maybe Shee’s solo reflected “Don Quixote with a Flower” (artist: Nikolai Sillis), which segued into Shee and some of the women commenting on “Lazy Ladies” (artist: Nikolai Silis). But I saw nothing of the whimsy in these and other sculptures (like “Bohr and Einstein,” artist: Vladimir Lemport), and attributing specific segments to any of these or other specific sculptures is a stretch. About the only direct connection I could gather from Apparatus Hominus is the sense of moving along a path as the segments progress, and the dancers exiting the stage / the park unceremoniously when the piece ended, as if their journey would continue unseen.

Stephanie Williams
and Barton Cowperthwaite (center);
Tiffany Mori, Mary Elizabeth Sell,
James Shee, and Shoshana Rosenfield
(clockwise from bottom left)
in Tom Gold’s “Apparatus Hominus”
Photo by Eugene Gologursky

But the dance segments work on their own as abstract movement, so there being insufficient apparent connection to any of the park’s sculptures isn’t as concerning as the above description might sound. More problematic is the pace imposed by the music. To the extent everything sounded the same, even though the sounds were different (and certainly the sound of a violin differs from that of a piano), the segments of the dances left a similar impression. The “drone” sound in Muhly’s compositions dominated the other sounds, and “droned out” much of the choreography. Which is a shame, because the choreography itself is so good, and because the dancers shined. In addition to Cowperthwaite and Shee, I was particularly impressed with the work by Mori and Rosenfield, and the execution by Williams and Sell is always compelling.

I’m advised that Apparatus Hominus, which has no specific meaning beyond a general reference to the park’s metal sculptures (and by extension, the dancers in the piece) as ‘human apparatus’ is still an evolving work, so perhaps some exclamatory segments, and more musical variety, will be added later. Considering the caliber of Gold’s choreography and the members of the company, that’s something to look forward to.

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Heather Desaulniers

Oakland Ballet Company
Luna Mexicana – Día De Los Muertos
Paramount Theatre, Oakland
November 3rd, 2018

Downtown Oakland was abuzz Saturday afternoon as patrons flocked to the Paramount Theatre for Oakland Ballet’s program honoring the Day of the Dead. Entire families, including the youngest members, filled the aisles; the crowd was peppered with stunning Calaveras faces. Excitement and anticipation for the third year of OBC’s Luna Mexicana – Día De Los Muertos was palpable. What transpired over the next two hours certainly met those expectations – the dance and movement were truly delightful. I wish I could say the same about the recorded music. Not that it was recorded as opposed to live, but that the mix seemed off the entire show. The treble highs were piercing, loud and clippy, making the music uncomfortable to listen to. And that’s coming from someone who isn’t particularly sensitive to sound. It pulled focus from what was happening on stage, which was a bit of a shame.

Frankie Lee Peterson III in Luna Mexicana
Photo John Hefti

2018’s program brought an eclectic mix of four pieces, including a world premiere collaboration, and of course the return of 2016’s Luna Mexicana, the title work choreographed by Oakland Ballet’s Artistic Director Graham Lustig. Two guest companies were also featured on the bill, and it was they who kicked off the afternoon with a pair of extraordinary percussive performances. Using ritual, text and movement, Aztec dance ensemble Nahui Ehekatl and Co. provided the perfect introduction into the space – like a call or invitation to each audience member to quiet their minds and be in the moment. Goblets of smoke were offered up to the heavens; drums, reed flute and ankle bells provided the score; vibrant traditional Aztec feathered headdresses filled the stage. And because this was the one dance that didn’t have recorded music, there was nothing to distract from the grounded, pulsing physicality.

The sound mix notwithstanding, Ballet Folklórico México Danza was absolutely ebullient in Nuevo Leon. I don’t know whether the dance had any story or narrative component, but what I absolutely know is that the choreography by Martín Romero and the dancing from twenty-two company members was out of this world. Joyous in mood and tone; technically flawless in footwork, turns and extensions; dynamically intricate in stage patterning and partnering. And unlike some other percussive cultural dance traditions, the upper body was such a big part of the choreography, which made for a richer, deeper movement expression.

Samantha Bell and Landes Dixon in Luna Mexicana
Photo John Hefti

Lustig’s Luna Mexicana transports the viewer to a realm where its protagonist Luna (Jazmine Quezada, at this performance) has the opportunity to encounter and engage with those in her life who have passed on. Sometimes she danced with them, sometimes she simply watched. But in both cases, there was a distinctly uplifted atmosphere, with equal parts celebration, happiness and nostalgia. Costumed by Lustig and Christopher Dunn in skeleton unitards, these spirits entered and exited the space in a variety of distinct vignettes. Standouts were Frankie Lee Peterson III’s deer solo with its phenomenal double stag leaps along with the subtle yet striking bride and groom pas de deux, handily interpreted by Samantha Bell and Landes Dixon. This duet was imbued with incredibly detailed partnering, but what was most interesting was Lustig’s use of flexion – flexed feet, bent arms and legs. While choreographically intriguing on its own, the flexion also felt right in line with the skeletal frame of the characters. As the ballet reached its conclusion, Quezada lay sleeping in front of the candle and skull-adorned altar that had been upstage center throughout. Had Luna Mexicana been a dream or some other mysterious happening? The lights faded to black and the curtain fell. No definite answer had been provided, instead, a gorgeous ambiguity hung in the air.

Viva La Vida
Photo Alan Briskin

Oakland Ballet and Ballet Folklórico México Danza’s highly anticipated premiere collaboration, Viva La Vida, closed the program with a tribute to an iconic visual artist. “Inspired by the life and times of Frida Kahlo,” as the program noted, the large ensemble work (dancers from both companies, with choreography/direction by Lustig and additional choreography by Romero) certainly took a deep, and successful, dive into both personal and artistic stories. As a video collage of Kahlo’s paintings cycled on the scrim, different scenes would play out like living tableaux, most underscored by passion, urgency and volatility. For me, the most powerful chapter was subtitled “Portrait of a Marriage.” A 1931 painting of Frida and her husband Diego was projected at the back. Onstage, the image had been recreated – Nina Pearlman as Frida, Alberto Anguiano as Diego – a large metal frame surrounding them. One by one, Bell, Sharon Kung and Constanza Murphy appeared on the scene tempting Anguiano. He stepped out of the frame to dance a series of pas de deux with each of them – a fitting metaphor for stepping outside of marriage and relationship. While Viva La Vida was not too long overall, some of the internal vignettes could use a bit of editing. Dynamically and choreographically, a few were kind of flat, doing the same thing over and over again with no build. I also think a number of the scenes were somewhat obscure, unless you were a Kahlo enthusiast. I very much like her work and know some things about her life, yet, there were several moments that went right over my head. And I bet I wasn’t alone. Having said that, after seeing Viva La Vida, I was motivated to do some research. I wanted to learn more; I wanted to answer questions that had arisen during the performance. My curiosity had been piqued and that’s indeed a measure of good art.    

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Twyla Tharp Dance
The Joyce Theater
New York, New York

November 14, 2018
“Minimalism and Me”: excerpts from dances created from 1965-71; Eight Jelly Rolls

Jerry Hochman

As much as I enjoy seeing anything created by Twyla Tharp, I wasn’t really looking forward to a program titled “Minimalism and Me.” I anticipated an evening filled with … minimalism, which I frequently find as entertaining and/or illuminating as watching paint dry. I should have known better. “Minimalism and Me” is not only both entertaining and illuminating, it’s almost thrilling. It’ll leave you with a smile permanently etched on your face – at least for two plus hours, and one doesn’t need to enjoy minimalism to appreciate it. Simply put, it’s entrancing theater, illuminating dance, and one of the most entertaining programs I’ve seen in New York this year.

Above all else, “Minimalism and Me” is a history of Tharp’s choreographic (and to some extent personal) evolution during the early years of her performing and choreographing career. And the key to it being as wonderful as it is is that the evolution is presented in the form of a time travelogue narrated by Tharp, with the biting wit that she’s known for aimed squarely at herself.

My first acquaintance with Tharp’s choreography came via the Joffrey Ballet (its New York/City Center incarnation). Deuce Coupe, choreographed to music by The Beach Boys, had its New York premiere in March, 1973, and I believe I saw it shortly thereafter. Aside from that dance’s entertainment value, which was off the charts, I recall thinking to myself as I watched it that it was created by someone with a computer mind; the intricate movement patterns that appeared to have no rhyme or reason (unlike, say, Balanchine) but somehow worked beautifully had to have been the product of a computer program or a mind that thought like one. And the ensuing As Time Goes By and Deuce Coupe II, although not quite as successful (or surprising), only reinforced that assessment.

Turns out, I wasn’t far wrong.

(l-r) Mary Beth Hansohn, Kellie Drobnick,
Matthew Dibble, Reed Tankersley
and Kara Chan of Twyla Tharp Dance
in “Eight Jelly Rolls”
Photo by Ian Douglas

During the course of her presentation, Tharp displays her choreography at various early points in time both as produced by a real computer (albeit a prehistoric one), and as created and memorialized in her diagrams, which looked as if they’d been created by computer but did the job much more successfully. Many have seen choreographers’ creative diagrams of the placement of bodies on stage and the direction of movement, but rarely has anything looked quite so scientifically based.

But I digress.  As “Minimalism and Me” begins, and to the surprise of those in the audience who didn’t know it was coming, Tharp herself enters from the stage left wings and takes a position behind at a lectern. Seconds later, she begins what is to be a history of her early evolution as an artist / choreographer via snippets from some of the many pieces she created from 1965-1971. Tharp is intelligent enough to know that complete versions of these dances wouldn’t move the narrative ball forward, so excerpts are converted into examples that weave into her narrative. The entire production, from libretto to execution, is so accomplished (and just short of being overly slick) that I suspect it will, and certainly should, be memorialized in a more permanent form (perhaps a book/CD combination).

Twyla Tharp and Rose Marie Wright in a scene from “Dancing in the Streets of London and Paris, Continued in Stockholm and Sometimes Madrid,”
from “Minimalism and Me”
Photo by James Kravitz

Although I took extensive notes, there is no way to adequately replicate here that intelligence and wit, the pithy observations, the self-deprecation, and the nonchalant references to accomplishments that were interjected throughout Tharp’s narrative. It’s easier just to describe, in rough terms what the presentation looked like.

It begins with a photograph from one of her first performances, while she was thoroughly the minimalist revolutionary, which features her in a standing pose, aligned both vertically and horizontally to the floor at the same time – which was the artistic accomplishment. An excerpt from Tank Dive, which premiered in April, 1965, follows. Here, and in subsequent excerpts, Tharp enlists a group of 11 volunteers / dance students to act as an audience – and also to provide a critical counterpoint to the orthodoxy that Tharp’s movement then reflected. So in the Tank Dive excerpt, Kellie Drobnick replicates Tharp standing in second position, in releve, when the dance was performed at the Judson Memorial Church – the fulcrum around which post-modern, or post-post modern, dance turned. That’s it – for three or four long minutes – the length of the song that provided the piece’s musical accompaniment (Downtown, sung by Petula Clark, which has no relationship to the movement, such as it was, beyond being the most popular single in New York that month) – while the “audience” rebels at seeing one dancer standing in place with the only “movement” being her attempts to maintain her balance.

Twyla Tharp Dancer members Ron Todorowski (far L)
and Mary Beth Hansohn (far R) with volunteers in
a scene from “Minimalism and Me”
Photo by Ian Douglas

Recognizing that extreme minimalism, once movement has been eliminated, has nowhere else to go, Tharp gradually adds limited movement into her choreography, and recruits a company of women (eventually growing to six) who rehearse and perform wherever they can find space (rehearsal spaces and black box theaters did not then exist). Augmented with period photographs and fuzzy videos from the original performances, excerpts from Re-Moves (10/66), Disperse (4/67), and Generation (2/68; which was performed at the Wagner College gymnasium) follow, with Tharp’s movement vocabulary gradually growing (although initially parts of the movement were kept hidden from the viewing audience; part of the gestalt of being avant-garde). After After ‘Suite’ (2/69), included among a variety of presentations by modern dance companies at the Billy Rose Theater on Broadway (and as to which Tharp displayed a photograph of the contributing choreographers, including, among others, Martha Graham, Jose Limon, and Paul Taylor) and Medley (7/69), which was performed outdoors and produced the world’s first “flash mob” (except then, to my recollection, they were called “happenings”), came Dancing in the Streets of London and Paris, Continued in Stockholm and Sometimes Madrid (11/69), which featured Tharp’s dancers performing dance “installations” long before that was considered fashionable. The dancelogue concluded with pieces that more thoroughly reflected her stereotypical movement quality, The Fugue (8/70), and The History of Up and Down (1/71).  Throughout, dancers with her current company performed the excerpts, sometimes with men dancing pieces created on the original company’s women (as Tharp explained, the dances were not gender-specific).

Members of Twyla Tharp Dance
in “Eight Jelly Rolls”
Photo by Ian Douglas

A full performance of Eight Jelly Rolls (9/71), a Tharp classic that I’d not previously seen, followed after intermission, danced by her full company (Matt Dibble, Ron Todorowski, Reed Tankersley, Kara Chan, Mary Beth Hansohn, and Drobnick). The choreography is fabulous, as are the dancers, and is marked by the sense of the impromptu (though there’s nothing impromptu about it), the humor, and the non-reverential sense of American culture that has been a hallmark of many of her pieces since.

Finally, as a grand coup de theatre, Tharp joined her company in a performance of an added encore of sorts to Eight Jelly Rolls in which the seventy-seven year old Tharp danced with the same energy level and enthusiasm as her dancers. I don’t know if this was special for opening night, or if it will be repeated throughout the run, but it brought the audience (including me, creaking bones and all) to its feet, astounded by – and not a little envious of – her still abundant and accomplished physical ability.

Twyla Tharp in “Generation,”
as presented in “Minimalism and Me”
Photo by Bob Propper

“Minimalism and Me” left me wanting still more. While one can see the evolution of her choreography from minimal to magical, the initial impetus for her idiosyncratic movement quality seems to have just “happened.” That may have been the case, but some more clear indication of that development, to the extent there was one, would have been instructive.  And taking the steps further, it would have been nice to have witnessed the genesis of Deuce Coup, considered the first crossover ballet, and perhaps of the dance that put Tharp on the map, Push Comes to Shove, which she created for American Ballet Theatre, considered one of the best of crossover ballets and which I witnessed at its premiere performance. [For those interested, much of the opening night audience at the Uris Theater had no idea what to expect, and sat bemused for much of the piece’s 22 plus minutes. But the staid ballet crowd eventually warmed to it, and erupted at its conclusion. Why ABT has not revived it in recent decades is incomprehensible; the company has adequate replacements for the original leads Mikhail Baryshnikov, Martine van Hamel, and Marianna Tcherkassky – several times over.] Lastly, with respect to the Minimalism and Me production as well, the piece looks so well-rehearsed and produced (it premiered in Chicago, and was here having its New York premiere) that it borders on being a bit too polished.

But those observations are insignificant in the face of the artistry and entertainment that Tharp here presents. It should be obvious that this is one of the finer dance events in New York this year, a great way to kick off the holidays, and a must-see for anyone interested in dance, in Tharp, or simply having a great evening’s entertainment. The engagement is a long one (through December 9), so there are no excuses. Don’t miss it.

The post Twyla Tharp: Minimalism and More appeared first on CriticalDance.

 Sadler’s Wells Theatre
London

16 November 2018

Maggie Foyer

Mark Morris, always in search of a new musical experience, now turns east and teams up with the Silkroad Ensemble and the Azerbaijani story of Layla and Majnun. In one way this production is typical Mark Morris as the dancers move in his inimitable style: one that looks so laid back and easy you’d never guess the dancers went to class. But the concept is of the east. The love story is played out in formal poetic verse, the passions contained but nevertheless real.

Mark Morris Dance Group & Silkroad Ensemble: Layla and Majnun
Photo: Susana Millman

The performing space is shared: the dancers circle the musicians with singers, Fargana Qasimova as Layla and Alim Qasimov as Majnun, sitting cross-legged centre stage and leading the action with a presence that borders on the majestical. The raised platform behind and the adjoining stairs create a variety of levels, aiding the integration of music and dance and bringing a pleasing flow to the shape of the choreography.

The designs are by the late Howard Hodgkin and the austerity of the dancers’ costumes is offset by the vivid splash of colour in the backdrop, colours that are coded to change to suit the emotions and form a vibrant part of the whole. The music, initially a little strange to Western ears, is introduced in a long prequel to the action and the beauty of the Azerbaijani rhythms grow on you assisted by lively onstage performers.

Mark Morris Dance Group & Silkroad Ensemble: Layla and Majnun
Photo: Beowulf Sheehan

The lyrics lose much in translation, written up in clunky phrases fortunately placed well to the side and leaving the better option of just watching the story unfold in poetic dance. Morris taps into the folk elements in his ensemble choreography finding new elements and movements. However the most emotional expression is given to the roles of the lovers. These roles are shared between four couples, identified by a symbolic scarf passed on as the next chapter unfolds and a new couple brings a different flavour to the relationship of thwarted passion and forced separation.

The story is tragic, as the love of Layla and Majnun is never requited but Morris has scored again in this simple and eloquent telling of the tale.

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Viktorina Kapitonova set to make her Boston Ballet Nutcracker Debut

Carla DeFord

Recently hired Boston Ballet principal dancer Viktorina Kapitonova arrived in town just in time to perform in “Fancy Free” and “Glass Pieces,” two of the three Jerome Robbins works in the season opener, “Genius at Play.” Born in Russia, she trained in her native country and after dancing professionally with companies in Kazan and Moscow, spent almost a decade with Zürich Ballett. Currently she is preparing both the Sugar Plum Fairy and Dew Drop roles in Mikko Nissinen’s The Nutcracker, which is very different from the modernized version by Christian Spuck that she danced in Zürich. In fact, the Boston Ballet staging of E.T.A. Hoffman’s tale, with choreography based on Petipa and Ivanov, brings her back to her Russian roots. About two weeks before opening night, we chatted about her career as she looked forward to becoming part of Boston Ballet’s The Nutcracker, a lavish production whose sets, costumes, special effects, and live music make it a true holiday extravaganza.

Viktorina Kapitonova
with Ballett Zürich in “Giselle”
Photo by Maria Helena Buckley

Tell me about your training.

I was born in Cheboksary and started training a little bit late, at age 13. Normally, one begins at nine or 10 years old.  When I was five years old, my mom sent me to a school of the arts, where you go once or twice a week for instruction in painting, singing, dancing, and other activities. The teachers at the school noticed that I was talented and said it would be better to send me to a dance school. After searching for one, my parents found the Kazan Choreographic School in the nearby city of Kazan.

I went to that school for eight years. They have a big theatre in Kazan, and every year they do a Nureyev festival because Nureyev went there to conduct toward the end of his life. I started my professional career there and stayed for three and a half years. They sent me to study at the Bolshoi for a month to develop my technique, which was a great experience.

So you come out of the Bolshoi more than the Mariinsky tradition?

I wouldn’t say that. Of course, they’re a little bit different. My teacher, Davleeva Valentina, studied at the Vaganova School, and taught us Vaganova technique. I found that in Moscow the movement is more free and dramatic, not so conservative.

How did you end up in Zürich?

After I left Kazan, I went to the Stanislavsky Ballet [in Moscow] and worked there for a year. Then one of my friends left to find work in Europe and landed in Zürich. After a month he called me and suggested that I go there because at the time it was one of the best technical companies in Europe.  [Former artistic director] Heinz Spoerli offered me a principal contract, and I stayed for eight years.

Viktorina Kapitonova
and members of Ballett Zürich
in Alexei Ratmansky’s “Swan Lake”
Photo by Carlos Quezada

While I was there I created many roles in classical, neoclassical, and contemporary ballets.  One of the highlights of my time in Zürich was working with Alexei Ratmansky to create the role of Odette-Odile for his reconstruction of Swan Lake.  Another was the Giselle I created with Patrice Bart coaching me [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f1w-oAdcG18]. I really liked working with him; he’s very precise, but he wants the movement to look natural. In Giselle I also had the amazing opportunity of dancing with Roberto Bolle. He gave me a lot of freedom and confidence. I knew he was there to support me in whatever I did.  Since this was only the second time I had performed Giselle, his support made a huge difference.

Viktorina Kapitonova and Roberto Bolle
with Ballett Zürich in “Giselle”
Photo by Maria Helena Buckley

The acting you did in Giselle was really extraordinary. How did you develop the character?

The character of Giselle is so close to me as a person.  She is a simple girl from the countryside.  Her lightness and happiness came easily to me and helped build the drama of her devastation when she is betrayed as well as the heartbreak of her determination to save Albrecht in the last act. She is the character I identify with most in all of ballet.

Tell me about when Giselle, in her madness, pushes Albrecht out of her way. How did you come up with that detail?

It came from Patrice Bart. Giselle goes past him [Albrecht] and tries to understand where she is, but she doesn’t recognize the person in front of her.

Similarly, she pulls away from her mother.

Yes, she says to her mother, “Who are you? I don’t recognize you.”

What about that fall to the floor toward the end of the mad scene? I’ve never seen it done that way.

He [Patrice Bart] wanted Giselle to fall in the shape of a cross.

So she’s been crucified by the social forces arrayed against her.  That gives further resonance to the agony of her mental breakdown.  I also loved the shoulder bump that Albrecht gave Giselle at the beginning of Act I.  He completely revealed his character at that point – if only Giselle had understood him.

Patrice Bart wanted Albrecht to be a little bit brutal at that moment. The message is that he just wants to play, but she’s shy and doesn’t know how to behave. She’s a natural girl; she lives near the forest, loves the flowers, and believes a flower will tell her whether Albrecht loves her. She’s really naïve.

Viktorina Kapitonova and Alexander Jones
with Ballett Zürich in Alexei Ratmansky’s “Swan Lake”
Photo by Carlos Quezada

How did you end up in Boston?

After my pregnancy, I realized I would like to dance more classical ballets.  In Zürich it was getting a little bit too contemporary for me, and I missed the classical repertoire so I tried to find a company that would offer me that.  I think the ballet philosophy and atmosphere created by [Boston Ballet artistic director] Mikko Nissinen is really amazing, particularly the choreographers he invites here. In my audition class I had a great feeling of support and thought that the company was not only really talented but always working hard to improve. I am coming here to be a better dancer during the best years of my career.

You say you would like to do more of the classics, but Boston Ballet is known for doing contemporary works.

In addition to some contemporary repertoire, Boston Ballet performs many modern classics from wonderful choreographers, such as Jerome Robbins, which are based on classical technique and feature ballerinas in pointe shoes.  Also, this season Boston Ballet will present two classic works: Coppélia [choreographed by Balanchine and Danilova after Petipa] and Ashton’s Cinderella.  Few companies have such a mix of styles; it’s a perfect fit for me because my dream is to expand my technique and artistry.

The Nutcracker you did in Zürich is very modern. Is the traditional choreography done much in Europe?

Christian Spuck [current artistic director of Zürich Ballett] has his own artistic style.  He created the choreography in the Zürich version, and he wanted it to be more dark and modern.  I think this is the only version in this style in Europe or anywhere. Most companies in Europe have their own classical versions of The Nutcracker, but they are not danced every year.

Viktorina Kapitonova
in Christian Spuck’s “Le Grand Pas de Deux”
at the Dance Open Festival.
Photo by Jack Devant

Is The Nutcracker a big moneymaker in Europe?

I think the European model is different.  Most big companies there are supported by their government so they don’t need annual moneymakers. Each company has its own tradition and audience, and tickets for most performances are sold out no matter what they are dancing.

Boston Ballet will be doing forty performances of The Nutcracker this year. Do they do as many in Europe?

No, The Nutcracker is just part of the regular repertoire if it is performed at all. Most companies do not dance more than 10 to 15 performances of any ballet in a season.

Have you seen the sets and costumes for Boston Ballet’s The Nutcracker?

I’ve seen them only on video, but they look wonderful. The costumes are amazing. I’m really looking forward to dancing it.

Have you done a Nutcracker based on the choreography of Petipa and Ivanov before?

Yes, in Russia we have similar versions.  Early in my career as a principal dancer in Russia, I danced Clara, who did both the snow and the grand pas deux. They don’t have the Dew Drop character in Russia; instead four couples do the “Waltz of the Flowers.”

You’re learning the Sugar Plum Fairy and Dew Drop roles, which do you like better?

I enjoy them both.  Mikko’s choreography is really beautiful.  For me, it’s just pure joy. I will be dancing with Patrick Yocum, and he’s a wonderful partner. I’m very happy to dance with him.

I’m also working with [ballet master] Larissa [Ponomarenko]. At the beginning of Sugar Plum’s variation, Larissa says it’s as if Sugar Plum is in a place that’s full of sparkling crystals. Larissa finds words that help you develop your interpretation of the role.

Viktorina Kapitonova and Roberto Bolle
with Ballet Zürich in “Giselle”
Photo by Maria Helena Buckley

Boston Ballet’s production includes many children. Have you worked with children onstage before?

Yes, I worked with them in another production of The Nutcracker in Zürich under Heinz Spoerli. In that one I played the children’s aunt, who became the Sugar Plum Fairy.

When Clara is played by a child, I think of her as a baby ballerina to whom Sugar Plum, as a mature artist, passes the torch.  Do you agree?

A dancer’s career is very short, so it’s nice to be able to create that connection with the younger generation onstage.  The Nutcracker can inspire the children in the audience and onstage to keep their love of ballet burning, but I am not sure the torch passes directly from Sugar Plum to Clara because there is so much uncertainty in a ballet career.

What do you think of The Nutcracker as the first ballet many children (and adults) will see?

The Nutcracker sends you to another, happier world. I hope the children and adults who come will return to see another ballet. The Nutcracker is the best way to introduce people to the art form.

How do you balance motherhood and a career?

I have a wonderful husband who looks after our son when I am in the studio. It has been an adventure for us to come to Boston, which has so many great things for us to enjoy. When I travel to galas or go on tour, we go together as a family.

What do you want to accomplish at Boston Ballet?

First, I want to become a better dancer and work hard on my technique.  Second, I would like to repay Mikko Nissinen’s faith in me when he brought me here as a principal dancer.  I really trust him to choose the right roles for me to support the company. The best part of joining Boston Ballet will be learning a totally new repertoire and style of dancing.  Everything I am performing this season will be a debut, and that is not only a big challenge but also a great chance to grow.  I have learned so much from watching the dancers here; I will try my best to give back to the company and to the young dancers I work with.

What are your goals for the future?

I am focused on this new beginning because each performance in Boston offers me so many new experiences. I feel that I am starting a great adventure, and my horizons are changing. I am so happy to be a part of this company, and I am looking forward to all that it brings.

For tickets and further information, visit https://www.bostonballet.org/nutcracker

The post In Conversation with Viktorina Kapitonova: New Boston Ballet Principal Dancer appeared first on CriticalDance.

Studio Theatre
Graz

22 November 2018

Maggie Foyer

It’s an anomaly that the fluffiest of ballets in the classical repertoire, Coppélia, is derived from one of E.T.A. Hoffmann’s darkest tales. His original story of eyes pulled from the sockets of disobedient children and fed to the birds will make your blood run cold.

Oper Graz – Sandmann
Photo: Ian Whalen

Andreas Heise had adapted this story for the Oper Graz and it makes one of the most compelling evenings you are ever likely to spend in a theatre. Heise wisely avoids the blood and gore but finds equally dark material in the nightmarish twists of a disturbed mind.

Dispensing with fairy-tales and magic, this production focuses on the human aspects: how men view women, the deceptions of beauty, what we look at and how we shape our vision to suit our personal fantasies. It is also one of the saddest tales, of youthful promise denied.

Oper Graz: Sandmann
Photo: Ian Whalen

Played out in a small studio theatre, the impact is extreme and unremitting. The stage is bare except for a few domestic accoutrements: a table and chair, washstand and basin and a bed. The light comes up on the sleeping figure of Nathanael, curled in a foetal ball. After a short blackout, the light comes up to reveal the sinister figure of the Sandmann, (Paulio Sovari) and in the next lighting state he is joined by the Father (Arthur Haas). This is the stuff of nightmares as these adults, gazing intently at the boy, will manipulate his mind and destroy his life.

Oper Graz is a small company of around 16 dancers but fielded an exceptional cast. Heise has developed the character of Clara, played by Lucie Horná, the anchor of reality in a shifting world, and she and Enrique Sáez Martínez as Nathanael are on stage for most of the 70 minutes duration. These are challenging roles for such young dancers and their talent and commitment was hugely impressive. They have a number of demanding duets where the complexity of the choreography is matched by the complexity of the emotions as Nathanael drifts into his dream state and Clara tries to win him back. They inhabit their characters completely, giving meaning to every glance and touch. The complex play of emotions is extended in the trios: when Clara’s brother, Lothar, (Frederico Alves de Oliveira) joins in the fray or as Clara is brutally manhandled by the Father and Sandmann. And each time Heise finds the choreographic idiom to express the moment.

Oper Graz – Sandmann
Photo: Ian Whalen

Clara ultimately loses her desperate and unequal battle against the darkness and Nathanael returns to the Father and Sandmann. The sliding door in the back wall enables a quick reveal and we witness the Sandmann inviting Nathanael to put his head in the noose. Horná has the final minutes alone on stage coming to terms with his death. In a space beyond reason, she tears herself apart, frantically washing at the basin where she first wet the towel to soothe Nathanael’s brow. Coming to her senses, she carefully straightens the bed clothes and numbly climbs the stairs to exit.

Heise’s direction is simple and effective, and his choreography, rich and varied, expressing in movement the emotions that are beyond words. A twisted foot will touch your heart with its vulnerability and the close contact in partner work expresses the many shades of feelings between love and manipulation. The splayed hands of the Sandmann had particularly sinister connotations together with the Father, their four hands weave spells, fingers fluttering like the tentacles of sea anemones, drawing laughter from the audience in a rare moment of relief from the tension.

Oper Graz – Sandmann
Photo: Ian Whalen

The ensemble fill Nathanael’s dreams, duplicating the characters or becoming a ballet corps when, given the devilish spyglass, he thinks he sees his divine Olympia come to life. But these women are no more than a ballet pastiche. Fluttering their false eyelashes and wearing pink tulle and pointes, they mock his innocence. Martínez is blind to the deception and the radiance in his face as he gazes on these harpies, is heart-rending. Clara, too, dons a pretty skirt and pointe shoes and tries to become his Olympia but without the spy glass, she is just ordinary imperfect Clara and he rejects her and her loving heart.

No aspect of the performance has been overlooked. Each character was well cast: Sovari and Haas, as Sandmann and Father outwardly quite respectable, their well-dressed exterior disguising their moral corruption were an ever present evil, while De Oliveira, as the hapless Lothar was never in control in this maelstrom of deceit. The economical set and costumes, by Sascha Thomsen, suggest period and place but never overwhelm. Johannes Schadl’s lighting is mostly unobtrusive but fierce in the nightmare scenes. The commissioned music by Benjamin Rimmer, like a great film score, supports the action in sounds and musical phrases that are disquieting, unnerving and relentless.

This is a tremendously impressive production for a small company and has been playing to sold out houses with extra evenings added to cope with the demand. Don’t expect to sleep easy afterwards but kill for a ticket when Sandmann returns.

The post Oper Graz: Andreas Heise’s Sandmann appeared first on CriticalDance.

Pacific Northwest Ballet
McCaw Hall
Seattle, WA

November 23, 2018
George Balanchine’s “The Nutcracker”

Dean Speer

It takes a math whiz to calculate the total number of gifts given in the song, “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” unless you use the Internet, as I did: 364 total exciting and charming items. By number, this pales in comparison to Pacific Northwest Ballet’s production of George Balanchine’s The Nutcracker. As stated in its press release:

“99.97% of PNB’s new production of George Balanchine’s The Nutcracker® was built entirely by artisans, craftspeople, carpenters, painters, and animators in Seattle, WA

Over 50 drapers, stitchers, first hands, milliners, dyers and painters created the costumes. PNB’s shop was not large enough to accommodate the number of costumers required, so some of the costumes were constructed at the Seattle Children’s Theater and Seattle Repertory Theatre costume shops. There are 154 costumes in the show, not counting duplicates (i.e., multiple versions of the same costume, for different-sized dancers playing the same role – Sugar Plum Fairy, Cavalier, Dewdrop, etc.)

Pacific Northwest Ballet dancers
and PNB School students
in “George Balanchine’s ‘The Nutcracker'”
Photo by Angela Sterling

Clara’s dress and Drosselmeier’s coat lining required 10 light coats of red paint for each stripe.

Each Snow skirt has nine layers of various fabrics. There are 56 points on each skirt.

There are 174 velvet diamonds and 322 jewels on the Harlequin costume. The Harlequin’s partner, Columbine, has 160 velvet diamonds and 272 jewels.

640: Black pompoms on the eight Polichinelle costumes.

760: Petals on the Waltz of the Flowers costumes. (19 costumes, including extras.)

10 feet and 60 pounds: The width and weight of Mother Ginger’s skirt.

175: Number of snaps on the Mother Ginger costume.

4,000: Holes cut by hand to create the lace “doily” tutus and headpieces for the Marzipan costumes.

300: Jewels hand-sewn on the two Arabian (peacock) headpieces.

500: Yards of tubular horsehair used for the Party Mothers’ hairpieces.

1,428: Cabochons sewn onto the Spanish women’s costumes.

2,568: Appliques machine-sewn on the seven Spanish dresses.

Sewing the Nutcracker doll required a 16″ long needle.

Eagle-eyed audience members may spy one gold tooth on the Mouse King.

Speaking of mice: Seventeen mice (eight adult mice, eight young mice, and the seven-headed Mouse King) were built by Erik Andor and a team of fabricators in his Pioneer Square studio.

98 yards of “fur” have been used to create the mice. They have a total of 230 whiskers. Each adult tail consists of 25 segments. Each ear is made up of six pieces.

Laid end-to-end, the mice’s upper lips total 782 inches.

35 men and women in the PNB Scene shop built and painted the sets and props.

There are 22 painted drops.

3,000 square yards of fabric were used in the creation of the scenery.

343 gallons of paint were used in the painting of the scenery.

The corridor scrim at the top of the show depicts Nutcracker historical figures Alexander Dumas, E.T.A. Hoffman, Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky, Marius Petipa, Lev Ivanov, George Balanchine, and Lincoln Kirstein.

An actual walnut was used to model the construction and painting of the Nut Boat.

It took 400 hours to build the Christmas tree. At its full height it stands 40 feet. There are 450 lights on it.

30 cubic feet of “snow” will be deployed during the Act I Snow scene, per performance.

Pacific Northwest Ballet dancers
in “George Balanchine’s ‘The Nutcracker'”
Photo by Angela Sterling

As fun and interesting as all this is, for me the real magical transformation happens between the moment the house lights dim and when the curtain goes up. During this time I’m transported. It’s hard to believe that Balanchine created his ballet bon-bon to the world more than 60 years ago. With the production values (see above) refreshed by PNB, it seems indeed ageless. And, I have to confess: as much as I’ve clung to the former Sendak/Stowell production (which was truly amazing and awesome for 32 years), I have to finally admit that perhaps it was time for a change. All of the production values are out of this world, including two films — the first that plays during the Overture and the second that shows Clara trying to find her beloved nutcracker. The performance is pretty, bright, and cheerful, with a happy ending, too. (The Sendak, being Sendak, ended on a slightly macabre note, with Drosselmeier, who caused all of the furor in the first place, laughing at Clara).

Pacific Northwest Ballet dancers
Leta Biasucci and Lucien Postlewaite
in “George Balanchine’s
‘The Nutcracker'”
Photo by Angela Sterling

And the magic held together for me with the superb dancing by PNB’s top-tier talent, which permeates every level. This was so nicely demonstrated by the Opening Night cast, crew, and musicians, who all pulled together to make lift off happen. I heard more than one audience member exclaim,  “Wow!” During  the Grand Pas de Deux, when the Sugar Plum is pulled several feet en pointe, someone behind me said, “Oh, my god!”

I’ve enjoyed the dancing of principal Leta Biasucci ever since I first spied her on stage with Oregon Ballet Theatre, and it was rewarding to see her given the start of the run with the iconic part of the Sugar Plum Fairy, with her Cavalier, Lucien Postlewaite. Ms. Biasucci sparkled and seemed to enjoy her assignment. Mr. Postlewaite essayed a role that’s a bit subdued, yet his manner was appropriate and in keeping with character. Both the catalyst and glue for the arc of the story is Herr Drosselmeier, danced with clarity and zest by Seth Orza. It was fun observing the pairing of one of the newest corps de ballet members with one of the most experienced principals as the Grandmother and Grandfather, Clara Ruf Maldonado and the inimitable Jonathan Porretta.

The “real” dancing kicks off with Harlequin (Leah Terada) and Columbine (Angeli Mamon) with Kyle Davis’s Soldier Doll during the Party Scene of Act I.

Miles Pertl danced the slightly cartoonish character of the Mouse King. I don’t know why, but the gestures Mr. Balanchine gives him/it to do remind me of some of today’s political figures, pumping their arms out in defiance of the world.

Hot Chocolate (Spanish) is zesty, quick and fun. Margaret Mullin and Steven Loch led the corps, in contrast to the drawn out exotic Arabian Coffee, with Lindsi Dec who has length and extension that pairs well with the flavor of the choreography.

Pacific Northwest Ballet dancer Seth Orza
in “George Balanchine’s ‘The Nutcracker'”
Photo by Angela Sterling

Tea goes by way too quickly, and it’s a fun trio with a surprise that literally jumps out of a large tea box. Kyle Davis got to show off his elevation, jumping to second position in the air several times, and then diving back into his box.

While I personally prefer a Russian Character dance to the Russian music, Balanchine’s swooping and twirling Candy Canes are fun and impressive nevertheless, and Ryan Cardea was confident and assured as he horizontally twirled his Hula-Hoop, backed up by a small corps of “Hoopers.”

Marzipan contains probably about the most brilliant (as in the jewel sense) choreography of the evening, with Waltz of the Flowers coming in at a close second. Angelica Generosa unleashed her dazzling technique with the double gargouillades being no trouble at all. Great stuff!

Some Mother Gingers ham it up more than others, and typically PNB’s show a modicum of restraint, but Guillaume Basso hinted at the fun with over-acting arch (and an arched eyebrow), eliciting laughs and engendering fun as the little eight Polichinelles pop out from “her” skirt, prance around the stage and return.

Dewdrop is a major role — technically challenging and vivacious throughout. Laura Tisserand sailed her way through her assignment with aplomb, leading her corps and demi-soloists of petunias. I’d say that Waltz of the Flowers is the second-best chunk of invention in this ballet. Balanchine uses “panels” of the corps, making geometric designs that swoop as fast as they hook and unhook.

This festive occasion was brightened by preshow magicians in the foyer, several backdrop stops along the way to take photos and selfies, and the largest Christmas tree, outside of the one that grows on stage.

The mighty PNB Orchestra was led by Emil de Cou.

The post Pacific Northwest Ballet’s Nutcracker: It All Adds Up appeared first on CriticalDance.

[pending receipt of performance photographs]

American Repertory Ballet
McCarter Theater
Princeton, New Jersey

November 23, 2018 afternoon
Nutcracker

Jerry Hochman

I planned to take another “Nutcation” this year, but finding out that New York City Ballet’s Unity Phelan and Joseph Gordon would be guesting with American Repertory Ballet in nearby (relatively) Princeton in two performances on November 23 prompted me to reconsider. I attended the afternoon program.

First Nutcrackers of the season, as this performance was, can be tricky for any company. There’s no dearth of enthusiasm, although sometimes there can be too much of it, but a greater problem is an insufficiency of rehearsal time in general, and stage rehearsal time in particular. Add to that opening jitters and early winter illnesses and you have a recipe for potential disaster. None of these problems seemed to bother ARB at this performance.

This version of Nutcracker is a hybrid. Certain of the original choreography by Audree and Bud Esty (the Party and Battle) is maintained, and additional choreography (many of the character dances and the Snow pas de deux) has been added by Resident Choreographer/Ballet Master Mary Barton, with the remainder choreographed by the company’s Artistic Director, Douglas Martin. And Phelan and Gordon imported what appeared to be George Balanchine’s choreography for the Sugar Plum Fairy / Cavalier pas de deux to add to the mix. Nevertheless, the production held together well, with the ballet’s strong suits being the transition to Clara’s dream, the wonderfully conceived battle between the soldiers and the mice (including having the mice costumed as if they were the adult party guests who’d transformed into mice – perfect for a young child’s nightmare/fantasy), some of the character dances, and most notably, the magical ending.

That being said, and as I’ve previously stated, this Nutcracker doesn’t have the bells and whistles of other versions up and down the pike, or the technical performing polish of those productions, and shouldn’t be expected to. That was evident perhaps even more than usual by the appearances of Phelan and Gordon, who were this performance’s centerpieces (and the one that evening) and immediately eclipsed whatever and whomever was on stage with them. But that was to be expected as well. And they appeared as welcoming to the rest of the ARB cast as the cast was to them.

Unity Phelan (center, front),
here in New York City Ballet’s production of “Coppelia”
Photo be Erin Baiano

For Phelan, this was something of a homecoming. Born in Princeton, she was first schooled at ARB’s Princeton Ballet School, beginning at four years old, before segueing to NYCB’s affiliated School of American Ballet and then to the company in 2013, where she now is a soloist. Gordon, promoted this past Spring to principal dancer, is a native of Phoenix, AZ, who joined the company in 2012.  Reviewing their performances in this context is silly: suffice it to say that adjusting to the smaller confines of the McCarter Theater stage didn’t dampen their abilities or bravura execution, with superior solo work by both. And seeing Balanchine’s choreography up close provides a clear view of how wickedly difficult the partnering is for both dancers.

Also to be expected at this performance was evidence of the rebuilding now underway at ARB. I’ve seen three prior performances of ARB’s Nutcracker (the most recent two years ago) and the cast on Friday afternoon had few dancers remaining from those performances. That degree of inexperience, as well as opening nerves, had to have had an impact. Not surprisingly, the company dancers who performed with the greatest polish were also two who have been with the company for several years, Shaye Firer and Nanako Yamamoto, both of whom danced roles in which I’ve previously seen them. Firer’s Dew Drop was executed crisply and joyfully, while Yamamoto was as smoldering in “Coffee from Arabia” as she was previously (well-partnered by an appropriately lustful Aldeir Monteiro).

Of those new to me, Tanner Bleck, a member of the company, did multiple duty as Drosselmeyer’s Nephew, The Soldier, the Nutcracker Prince, and the Lead Male in Candy Cane – in his Nutcracker Prince costume (I presume none of the other dancers who alternate in this role was available), dancing with authority in each role. Emily Parker (not exactly new to me – I recall seeing her dance with ARB prior to formally joining the company) danced the lead in “Marzipan from Germany” with extraordinary clarity. Journy Wilkes-Davis showed promise as the Snow King (partnering Ryoko Tanaka as Snow Queen). And as Drosselmeyer, Edward Urwin, a company alumnus, was far more ebullient than sinister, which works well in this production.

American Repertory Ballet, here in Douglas Martin’s ‘Firebird’.
Photo © Leighton Chen

One of the hallmarks of this production is the thorough integration of dancers not yet with the company (ARB2 dancers, apprentices, trainees and school students) into the action – which appears to have been Phelan’s introduction to performing – and in this year’s production, the caliber of these young dancers was evident. Unfortunately, however, presumably for economic reasons, the program’s lists all dancers who rotate in each of the roles. Those dancers at a particular performance are indicated in a post outside the orchestra entrance, but that’s limited to dancers in lead roles, so, with four or five or more dancers indicated in the program as appearing in supporting roles that only require two, deciphering who they are at any given performance is impossible for someone not already familiar with them. With that in mind, and in addition to the engaging performance by trainee Mary Faith Wielgos as Clara, the young dancers who supported the leads in the “Coffee From Arabia” dance were particularly vibrant, and those in the other character dances, both soloists and corps dancers, were a highly competent group. And I note that one dancer presently with ARB2, Nina Yoshida, formerly danced with Gelsey Kirkland Ballet and I recall reviewing her performances there very favorably. If all members of ARB2 and company apprentices and trainees are of that caliber, ARB’s future, which includes being a founding constituent of the New Brunswick Performing Arts Center in New Brunswick next year, seems in good hands … or on good feet.

As for the Nutcracker, ARB’s is a comfortably, mom’s apple pie production, that provides a quality introduction to ballet for those not already familiar with it, and is a worthy destination for those who are.  And that delightfully appropriate and insightful ending is a heart-grabber every time.

As of this publishing, the remaining performances of ARB’s Nutcracker will be on December 7-8 (at South Orange Performing Arts Center), 14-16 (at Two Rivers Theater in Red Bank), and 21-23 (at the State Theater in New Brunswick, accompanied by the Princeton Girlchoir and a live orchestra).

The post American Repertory Ballet’s Apple Pie Nutcracker – With Special Guests appeared first on CriticalDance.

Dance Magazine Awards 2018
The Ailey Citigroup Theater
New York, New York
December 3, 2018

Jerry Hochman

Since 1954, the Dance Magazine Awards have recognized outstanding contributors to the dance world, primarily bestowed upon meritorious performers and choreographers, but also given to others who enhanced the presentation of dance. The tradition continued this year with the 2018 awards program at the Ailey Citigroup Theater on Monday.

Dance Magazine Awardee Crystal Pite
Photo by Christopher Duggan

This year, in addition to four awardees, the breadth of the awards was increased with the addition of the inaugural Harkness Promise Awards recognizing new talent at the “upswing” of their careers, and the inaugural Harkness Leadership Award to acknowledge the contributions of those who have enabled dance to flourish.  This year’s award winners were Michael Trusnovec, Crystal Pite, Lourdes Lopez, and Ronald K. Brown; the Promise Awards recognized Aphrat “Bounce” Asherie and Raja Feather Kelly; and the Leadership Awardee was Nigel Redden. The award presentations were preceded by brief performances (or, in the case of the Promise Awards, filmed synopses) that evidenced some aspect of their careers, and by speakers who introduced the awardees and summarized their achievements.

Since the awardees and presenters were announced in advance, there were no surprises in the program. As a general theme, the emphasis on inclusion in the dance world permeated the evening, from the opening remarks by American Ballet Theatre principal dancer Misty Copeland through nearly all of the spoken presentations, acknowledging and encouraging changes in perception and opportunity that have occurred in recent years.

It would be inappropriate to “review” the program, so except for a few adjectives here and there (or maybe a bit more), the following is limited to reporting that summarizes the evening. Quotations may not be exact, but they reflect the words I captured.

Dance Magazine Awardee Michael Trusnovec
and Parisa Khobdeh appearing at
the Dance Magazine Awards
in Paul Taylor’s “Promethean Fire”
Photo by Christopher Duggan

Copeland’s brief address referenced the love of dance that she’s had since she was a young girl, evidenced by her subscribing to Dance Magazine – never dreaming that she would one day grace its cover. She continued by emphasizing that the awardees exemplify those in the dance world who speak to change, and that “we all have a responsibility to move the art form forward.” Following additional remarks by Wendy Perron, Dance Magazine’s Editor at Large, the presentations began with the first performance, an excerpted duet from Paul Taylor’s masterpiece, Promethean Fire, danced by Parisa Khobdeh and the first of the evening’s honorees, Michael Trusnovec.  As brilliant, shattering, and ultimately uplifting a dance as Promethean Fire is, and exquisite as that duet is, I’ve never seen it danced better.

I recently described Trusnovec, who is retiring in June, 2019 after more than 20 years with the Paul Taylor Dance Company, as one of the most powerful dance presences anywhere. That power seemed to evaporate as he accepted his award. Following a compelling introduction by Patrick Corbin who informed that the honoree, his student, colleague, and friend, “changed my life in a profound way” (and described him as “living, breathing, gold”), Trusnovec exuded joyous humility, saying that “I never feel more alive when I’m dancing,” and thanking, in addition to friends and family, the late Paul Taylor “for allowing me into his genius world.”

An excerpt from The Other You, first performed by Pite’s company Kidd Pivot in 2010, preceded the presentation to Pite. Here the excerpt was danced by Andrew Murdock and Michael Gross of Hubbard Street Dance Chicago. I’ve not previously seen the full piece, but the male duet performed here was extraordinarily intricate, powerful, and moving. Whether the two characters are supposed to represent separate individuals or two sides of one person (onstage, the dancers looked like identical twins) might be more clear in the piece as a whole, but here it didn’t really matter: the impact was the same either way. The choreography provided a glimpse of Pite at her choreographic best.

Michael Gross and Andrew Murdock
appearing at the Dance Magazine Awards
in Crystal Pite’s “The Other You”
Photo by Christopher Duggan

In his introduction, Sean Curran, Chair of the Dance Department at NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts, described Pite’s choreography quite accurately as “dynamic and strange, a mixture of dark and light that digs into our body of hopes and fears” and Pite herself as an educator and mentor with an ability to challenge and nurture, who is extraordinarily generous and who will have a lasting impact. Pite spoke about being motivated as a young girl by her mother’s response to seeing a performance by Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater in the late 1970 – she spent hours following the performance of Revelations trying to replicate Judith Jamison. Pite said that the ability to create that kind of  impact was what made her want to be a choreographer: “to witness how the body can give shape to the soul,” and to catch “a glimpse of the divine.”

Dance Magazine Awardees Ephrat “Bounce” Asherie
and Raja Feather Kelly, with Joan Finkelstein
Photo by Christopher Duggan

Joan Finkelstein, Executive Director of the Harkness Foundation, then presented the Promise Awards to Asherie (whom I recall well from her appearances with Dorrance Dance) and Feather for their boundary-pushing choreography. [The presentation included filmed excerpts of their work which, unfortunately, consisted only of spliced images and video snippets.] The award provides rehearsal space rent free and apparently unlimited time to explore their creative impulses, with no requirement that either of them produce “a product.”  In their brief acceptance (delivered by the awardees in alternating sentences), they promised “we won’t let you down; we promise.”

Dance Magazine Awardee Lourdes Lopez
Photo by Christopher Duggan

The award to Lopez was preceded by a performance of an excerpt from George Balanchine’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream (the Titania and Oberon pas de deux) danced with both purity and reverence by Miami City Ballet principal dancers Tricia Albertson and Renan Cerdeiro, and by an introduction by Darren Walker, President of the Ford Foundation (who described Lopez as carrying herself in real life as she did as a dancer: with grace, character, and integrity) – which succeeded in marrying three elements of Lopez’s career (to date): her performing years with New York City Ballet, as Artistic Director of Miami City Ballet, and as a member of the Ford Foundation.

In her acceptance, Lopez acknowledged how thrilling it was to be accepted by her artistic community. She described dance, with one common language of movement to music, as ever-lasting and all-inclusive, evidenced by her own achievements as the daughter of Cuban immigrants: a full scholarship to the School of American Ballet in 1969, the first Latina principal dancer with NYCB, and the first Latina artistic director of a major ballet company. Lopez concluded her comments by thanking dance: “the most magical of the arts. It changes lives, and those lives will change the world.”

Annique Roberts appearing at
the Dance Magazine Awards
in Ronald K. Brown’s “She Is Here”
Photo by Christopher Duggan

Brown’s award was preceded by an excerpt from She is Here (2016), a solo danced exquisitely by Annique Roberts of Brown’s Evidence: A Dance Company. This solo was not unlike other examples of Brown’s choreography that I’ve seen, but the choreography and Roberts’s performance of it illuminated the choreography in ways I’d not seen in other contexts. There’s Brown’s slinky, liquid style of movement, but there’s also the repeated extensions of arms outward, which I saw for the first time as expressing joy and celebration rather than random exclamations. Sure enough, in introducing Brown, his longtime friend and colleague (and Associate Director and Dancer in Brown’s company) Arcell Cabuag emphasized not only Brown’s unique “manipulation of space,” but also the choreographer’s inclination to show dancers “pointing up – as if having a conversation with God.” His dances, Cabuag said, are about God and Love – which are the same thing.

Dance Magazine Awardee Ronald K. Brown
Photo by Christopher Duggan

Brown’s ebullient acceptance stressed how “blown away” he was that he was there accepting this award, especially since his career started as a journalist and he had limited experience as a dancer. But he described his continuing interest in dance since he was a child, and deciding at age 18 that “we need to start a legacy” by founded his own company.

Dance Magazine Awardee Nigel Redden
Photo by Christopher Duggan

The evening’s final award, the new Leadership Award, was introduced by an excerpt from Stone-Stepping, performed by three members of Gallim Dance. The excerpt is an intimate duet for two women, until one male dancer appears from out-of-sight (at least to me) downstage, separates one woman from the other and rolls her across stage into the wings, leaving the remaining woman in what appeared to be despair.

In his acceptance (following introductions by Jennifer Stahl, Dance Magazine’s Editor in Chief, and Frederic M. Seegal, CEO of Dance Media (who described the awardee as an “impresario”), Redden emphasized his connection with Gallim as exemplifying his approach to unfamiliar dance. At first, he said, he didn’t get it, but after repeated exposures, he had an epiphany – everything made sense, and he became excited by what he saw (perhaps the same will eventually happen with me). Redden, who, among other things, served as Executive Director of the Lincoln Center Festival from  1998-2017), and, since 1995, has directed the Spoleto Festival USA in Charleston, S.C., observed the continuing dialogue between American dance and dance around the world, and emphasized that all dance shared a common language of movement.

The awardees and attendees then adjourned to a post-award after-party.

For me, the evening’s greatest significance occurred before the festivities formally began. As attendees entered the theater, images were projected on a stage screen of dancers, and people connected with dance, for at least the past 60 years – Balanchine to Baryshnikov to Barnes (Clive) – all prior winners of Dance Magazine awards. These images were at the same time a moving panoply of icons of recent American dance history, and an encapsulation of the excellence that Dance Magazine awards recognize. The 2018 awardees are in excellent company.

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Sadler’s Wells Theatre
London

30 November and 1 December 2018

Maggie Foyer

Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui’s Icon is filled with that elusive ‘feel good factor’. The harmony between dancers and musician is palpable and the dancers meld in huddles of cosy bodies. Then there is modelling of clay figures: a child’s pastime and also one that takes us make to the very genesis of our artistic endeavours. Charkaoui has found the concept, found the artists and created the magic.

The other player are the dozens of ‘gorms’, tiny clay men in the image of set designer and long-time collaborator, Antony Gormley. They get squidged early on but the clay is reincarnated in many forms as headdresses and extensions for the dancers’ bodies. The final clay form is a giant human shape, sitting knees tucked under chin. Humans have always shaped their gods in their own form and in a neat closing moment, all the dancers assume the same shape. Homage or friendly empathy? Or a bit of each? Who knows.

Icon, Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui,GoteborgsOperans Danskompani and Eastman
Photo: Mats Backer

Around a third of the cast are from Cherkaoui’s Eastman company but the joins are barely visible as the dancers move in his signature street cum contemporary form with an injection of the quicksilver hand gestures that were so effective in Fractus V. The talented Patrick Williams Seebacher (TwoFace) is on hand to add facial flexibility and gentle teddy-bear softness to his large frame that moves with effortless ease. The ensemble moments bring the stage alive, filled with large ever-changing shapes of multiple working parts.

Noetic, the second evening of GöteborgsOperans Danskompani’s short visit, opens with a fiery burst of Japanese drumming from Shogo Yshii before giving way to Szymon Brzóska’s symphonic score and the voice of Miriam Andersén that buries into your subconscious. The setting moves from the earthy weight of wet clay to hi-tech sophistication and the dancers to urban cool in the bespoke tailoring of fashion gurus, Les Hommes. But norms are contested as stiletto heels become a statement, alternating with bare feet and occasionally borrowed by a suited gent. In this world of bohemian chic, dresses also resist regular gender classifications but never lose style.

Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui’s Noetic, GöteborgsOperans Danskompani
Photo: Bengt-Wanselius

Noetic is about things that matter, finding connections in a world of patterns and exploring the space between. The concept of humanity’s interconnection utilised to releases our potential and creativity runs through many of Cherkaoui’s works. This time in the startling contrast of a pristine twenty first century setting. The choreography is effectively built on the performers’ skill set and Gormley’s carbon fibre strips, bent into circles, add a brilliant display of ingenious shapes.

Solos, some quite brilliantly conceived and performed, skim the floor and the air and soon morph into duos, trios and ensembles as the dancers mould and manipulate each other’s bodies to generate a corporate body of movement. The dancers are extraordinarily versatile in moving freely and fluidly despite the heels and suits.

Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui’s Noetic, GöteborgsOperans Danskompani
Photo: Mats Backer

Swedish singer, Andersén, fits the bill flawlessly: the quality of her voice conjuring otherworldliness while her look is pure pop icon. The same duality of modernity and timelessness comes in Brzóska’s intensely beautiful score. Noetic offer the platform and the artists do it justice.

It was a thrill to see this company of excellent dancers in two such diverse evenings and their enthusiastic reception will hopefully bring further invitations.

The post GöteborgsOperans Danskompani: Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui’s Icon and Noetic appeared first on CriticalDance.

Sadler’s Wells Theatre
London

13 December 2018

Maggie Foyer

Swan Lake sells and Matthew Bourne’s version is no exception. The eight-week season at Sadler’s Wells is sold out with audiences drawn from well beyond the pool of regular dance fans. Bourne had the groundbreaking idea of transposing the ethereal beauty of a female corps of swans to a powerful and audacious male flock, enhanced by a hint of gay love, acceptable but still edgy in 1995, and the rest is history. Twenty-three years on and the bare chested men in shaggy, white breeches with iconic black face markings can still pack a punch.

Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake, Dominic North and Will Bozier
Photo: Johan Persson

As in the original ballet, the work finds its soul in the lakeside scene, but along the way there is plenty of fun to be had. Dominic North is the unhappy Prince, growing up in a court that makes the Hapsburgs seem almost functional. His mood swings, from utter despair to total ecstasy in one act, reveals his fragile ego in a sensitive performance. Will Bozier as the Swan/ Stranger creates an ambiguous character; by turns inviting and repelling but always holding our attention. The swans, a strong corps of fine dancers, seemed to have grown in assertiveness and are a formidable cohort.

Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake, Will Bozier and Dominic North
Photo: Johan Persson

The women are equally intimidating. Katrina Lyndon has the elegance and grace to play the Queen, a look that would curdle milk and the morals of a call girl, but it was Carrie Willis as the Girlfriend who threatened to steal the show. Outrageously dressed in a cerise pink bubble of a dress with a personality to match, she nevertheless manages to find a real heart in this celebrity seeker. The Private Secretary, Glenn Graham, is kept on his toes by this unruly mob but never misses the opportunity for a put down as Bourne displays his acerbic view of the ruling classes.

Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake, Will Bozier
Photo: Johan Persson

Bourne understands film and theatre like few others and packs in the gags. There is plenty of clever pastiche in the Moth Ballet and the clockwork corgi is a treat. The Royal Ball goes somewhat over the top with plenty of man-handling of leggy females, and in the Czardas Bourne misses a good opportunity to exploit this dynamic music. However, there is compensation in the vibrant Spanish dance. In the many and varied duets between guests and the Stranger, Bozier plays the field, displaying his talents both in dance and seduction.

Bourne’s choreography in the final act reminded me of Hitchcock’s The Birds in scenes of nightmare proportions. Swans clamber and crawl over the giant bed of skewed proportions, all increasing the Prince’s tenuous hold on reality. His death and the Queen’s belated anguish    balance the drama in this, still, very special work in the dance canon.

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The Nutcracker is a multi-layered and many-splendored thing. Many American communities have their respective versions which can range from the simple to the elaborate to the traditional or to the experimental and creative.

Oregon Ballet Theatre’s production of George Balanchine’s The Nutcracker falls into the conservative camp. Sweet, traditional, with a happy ending, it’s a “G” rated ballet that appeals to youngsters of all ages.

Oregon Ballet Theatre and OBT2 dancers
in OBT’s production of
“George Balanchine’s ‘The Nutcracker'”
Photo by Yi Yin

Virtually all ages are represented on stage, from the Bunny and the Angels who open Act II, to the 8 children who pop out of Mother Ginger’s skirt, to Grandma and Grandpa of the Party Scene and finally, to the Cavalier and his Sugar Plum Fairy, The Nutcracker is a ballet in which one can literally grow up through the ranks, as many have done and are doing. I was personally pleased and proud that Fay Ulibarri, the daughter of one of my former students, OBT School faculty member Robin Ulibarri, was making her debut as an Angel. She did great, as did they all, and it was fun to note that her grandmother commented to me that she was more nervous for Fay than Fay was for herself (already a trouper).

It helps that the lobby is filled with the aroma of sweet-smelling savory roasting chestnuts, the “Ballet Boutique” stations are chock-a-block stuffed with Nutcracker-related goodies, including the wonderful and unique OBT’s “tea” (get it?!) of which I purchased two cases. Christmas shopping done!

I attended the first of the evening shows, the run having debuted that afternoon. I found the company in great shape and in high holiday spirits. The ensembles looked tight, and the entire cast appeared very well rehearsed and “up” for the show.

Oregon Ballet Theatre dancer Xuan Chang,
here with Chauncey Parsons, in OBT’s production
of “George Balanchine’s ‘The Nutcracker'”
Photo by James McGrew

It’s been fun enjoying OBT over 15 years or so and seeing how some of my  favorite dancers have flourished and grown along with it. Some, such as retired principal Alison Roper, were always at the top of their game, while others gained necessary artistic maturity and form. It’s so much fun seeing them in both new and returning roles.

This time, Xuan Chang as the iconic Sugar Plum Fairy led the Act II cast and was totally in command of the triple demands — balancer, turner, and jumper; all three rolled up into one impressive package. Witnessing her was a rare treat indeed. Her Cavalier was Brian Simcoe in whom I have complete confidence. He is one of the company members who has demonstrated consistent growth and is now at the top of his game. I hope this lasts for a long, long time!

Oregon Ballet Theatre dancer Candace Bouchard
and members of the company in OBT’s production
of “George Balanchine’s ‘The Nutcracker'”
Photo by James McGrew

Another lead role is that of Dew Drop, leading the Flowers of Act II. Katherine Montague has endless legs and the sharp attack and balon required for its double rond de jambe sauté and turning manege at its conclusion.

I enjoy some of the small differences between OBT’s production and that of Pacific Northwest Ballet, both doing the Balanchine choreography but with completely different sets and costumes. One of most memorable is how the Grandmother is spun around by Herr Drosselmeier ’til she’s dizzy and falls into the arm of Grandfather. Cute, droll. I also crave and love OBT’s Mother Ginger of Poison Waters whose mild antics mesh with what I want and expect to see — on the silly and mildly naughty side. Totally still “G “rated but funny and fun. Putting on powder — face and under arms; puckering up to a mirror for lipstick; having a swig (or two); shaking both her/his shoulders and the tambourine.

Oregon Ballet Theatre dancer Poison Waters
in OBT’s production of
“George Balanchine’s ‘The Nutcracker'”
Photo by Yi Yin

And now for the dancing. Top drawer from beginning to end. Dancing dolls and soldier of the Party Scene to the Snowflakes, to Act II’s divertissement: Spanish Hot Chocolate; Arabian; Candy Canes (Russian); Mother Ginger, her enormous skirt and Polichinelles; Flowers and finally, the Grand Pas de Deux and Finale. I mentioned the one “gimmick” and that’s how at the end of the Grand Pas de Deux, the Sugar Plum Fairy steps onto a device that allows her to be pulled and slid across the stage for a bit…on full pointe. Very impressive and exciting, indeed.

350 plus roundtrip miles and totally worth it to relax and enjoy one the of best Nutcrackers around.

The mighty OBT Orchestra was led my maestro Niel DePonte.

The post Oregon Ballet Theatre’s Nutcracker: It’s Generational appeared first on CriticalDance.

Sleeping Beauty Dreams
The Beacon Theater
New York, New York

December 14, 2018

Jerry Hochman

Dreams can be interpreted in multiple ways, and, if describable, could mean different things to different people. The same holds true for works of art. So it was in both respects with the performances of a visualized “dream” presented at New York’s Beacon Theater Friday night: the New York premiere of Sleeping Beauty Dreams. The project, conceived and directed by Rem Hass and created by an artistic army on the cutting edge of technological development, featured Diana Vishneva and Marcelo Gomes dancing a stone’s throw up Broadway from Lincoln Center, where both gave so many memorable ballet performances.

On one level, that of visual performance art, the venture was a great success with much of the opening night audience, which gave it a standing ovation. It was exactly as described: “a contemporary dance and art show; a fusion of performance art, electronic music, new media art, and ‘revolutionary Real-Time Digital Avatar technology’.” If an artistically radical explosion of light and color and movement fueled by technology that appears activated by and an amplification of the movement performed by Vishneva live on stage is what audience-members anticipated, which appears to have been the case, that’s what they got. As something to look at, it’s often stunning, and all the artists involved (some of whom are identified below) deserve credit for the creation and execution of a ground-breaking visual experience.

A scene from “Sleeping Beauty Dreams,”
with Diana Vishneva and Marcelo Gomes,
from its December 14, 2018 New York premiere
Photo courtesy of SBDart

But as a piece of dance and theater, and as ground-breaking as it is, Sleeping Beauty Dreams comes across as an initial experiment in the possibilities of the technology as it relates to both, not the optimization of the art form as it may eventually appear. Anyone looking for something resembling the magic that Vishneva and Gomes provided and continue to provide, separately and together, in other dance performances won’t find that here (to the chagrin of many in my seating vicinity). And anyone looking for something resembling a coherent narrative beyond the presumed overall context of the fairy tale itself won’t find that here either. Indeed, Sleeping Beauty Dreams bears only the flimsiest of relationships to the fairy tale. Even if one assumes that the “story” of the piece, theatrically, is limited to being the visualization of a 100 year long dream during which, and within which, the protagonist evolves emotionally from being a teenager to someone 100 years older, give or take, the result, at least for an audience member for whom the advancement of technology is not an end in itself, is something to look at from a distance, not something to become emotionally involved in or to share the moment with.

Aside from a demonstration of technological wizardry, Sleeping Beauty Dreams is interesting – even at times exciting –  to watch, but it can also be numbing and tedious. And the best parts of it – other than the oohs and ahhs prompted by watching the technology work – is when it’s liberated from the technology and Vishneva and Gomes, within the confines of their costumes, and an accompanying chorus of ten male dancers, just dance.

A scene from “Sleeping Beauty Dreams,”
with Diana Vishneva and Marcelo Gomes,
from its December 14, 2018 New York premier

At the outset, it must be emphasized that the idea of exploring what happens within Aurora’s mind as she sleeps is both wonderful and long overdue. I’m not aware that the idea has been previously explored (publicity indicates that this is the first time), although more avant-garde productions of The Sleeping Beauty have hinted at the emotional and sexually-charged evolution that had taken place. Of course, a visualized dream is hardly new to dance in general and ballet in particular. Where would classical ballet be without Petipa dream scenes during which a central character’s dream is the subject of choreographic (and /or thematic) exploration? And such dreamy side-trips, or concepts for the piece as a whole, aren’t limited to male characters: for example, much of the raison d’etre to the vast majority of stagings of The Nutcracker is Clara (or Marie’s) dream, and Michel Fokine’s Le Spectre de la Rose is visualized entirely within the parameters of a young woman’s dream. I can’t explain why it wasn’t done before with respect to The Sleeping Beauty beyond the desire to avoid lengthening an already lengthy (in many incarnations) ballet, or, more likely, an aversion to visualizing the taboo subject of a teen-age girl’s emotional and sexual evolution.

But whether Sleeping Beauty Dreams accomplishes what it claims it sets out to do, beyond the technology involved, is another matter. To me, technological accomplishments notwithstanding, it doesn’t.

In a sense, the piece begins before it begins: with the theatrical environment. The Beacon Theater opened in 1929 and seats nearly 3000 over three or four levels. Its size, however, is not its most distinguishing feature. The cavernous floor-to-ceiling lower orchestra space is guarded on both sides by bronzish elevated, heroic-sized statues of watchful but emotionless Greco-Roman goddesses bearing staffs (or spears) that could, individually, kabob an entire orchestra row. Above them (and above a row of oversized coin-like heads of four warriors /politicians on each side, with slightly different poses between one side and the other) there are large rectangular vertical cascading panoramas of people on a dark and stormy night either fleeting a city from some terrible barbarian invasion (complete with an elephant or two) or scrambling all over themselves to be first to score the day’s catch in the harbor – or both, since, like the coins, the paintings/ frescoes on each side are not exactly identical. The stage itself is flanked by what appear to be metal receptacles (empty suits of armor?; huge but nondescript urns? – I couldn’t tell because the lighting was theater-dim, and looked even dimmer in contrast to banks of powerful stadium-like lighting facing outward from the area above the stage so audience members could find their way to seats without tripping over themselves – like the people in the paintings) filled with super-sized spears.

The ambiance was classical / gothic, melodramatic / ominous, and a highly appropriate venue for the Sleeping Beauty Dreams presentation.

A scene from “Sleeping Beauty Dreams,”
with Diana Vishneva,
from its December 14, 2018 New York premiere
Photo courtesy of SBDart

When the program actually begins, Vishneva is sprawled downstage center on a slab of a bed (or just a slab), wearing a sort of patchwork body suit (looking like sections of it were stitched together to make the whole)  – no celebratory tutu, which is the costume the audience would have last seen her character wearing in the purported dramatic context; and in a somewhat fetal position –no arms crossed across her body, the position in which the audience would have last seen her. [Given the presence of Vishneva and Gomes, I’m placing Sleeping Beauty Dreams in the context of Petipa-derived productions of The Sleeping Beauty ballet.] I thought more of Juliet in the Capulet tomb than Aurora asleep in a royal bed.

As Vishneva, here identified as “The Princess” rather than Aurora, rises from her prone position, the area surrounding her (from above and behind) becomes illuminated with white light. When she moves her limbs the light splashes and fractures across the “screen” (I don’t know if that’s the correct term) behind her like a cascading movement spray that generates additional sprays of white light every time she moves her arms or legs (at various points her costume is embedded with “sensors” that track her movement which is simultaneously transferred to the movement of the sprays of light above her). The torso moves as well, but globally, looking on the screen like an amorphous blob that changes position as she does.

A scene from “Sleeping Beauty Dreams,”
with Diana Vishneva,
from its December 14, 2018 New York premiere
Photo courtesy of SBDart

As I recall, the color and shape of the images that are the visualized transformations of Vishneva’s movements soon change shape and color, corresponding to a change in tempo of the electronic music that accompanies all this. Some of the visual images (by Tobias Gremmler) are quite beautiful (particularly when Vishneva moves circularly); others are the visual equivalent of the electronic music –pounding and portentous, with a hint of vulgarity and a surfeit of artistic excess. At some point the background screen is replaced by a scrim behind which Vishneva sometimes moves. While it’s interesting to see the color evolution based on Vishneva’s movement, the sound at this stage (and largely throughout the piece) makes it seem more horror story than dream.

Accompanying another change in the music tempo, these flashing or kaleidoscopic image transformations of Vishneva’s movement yield to a wall of greenish grayish bluish cells of “air bubbles “ (a little – just a little – Kandinskyish) that alternatively change position or implode and which, at least initially, her movement doesn’t control.  And then these images break apart and yield to a visual cacophony of body parts and wild animals.

All these images (except for the initial phase of the “wall bubbles”} are accompanied by sounds that are noteworthy for their aural aggressiveness (translated – they’re mercilessly loud), and which reach repeated crescendos, perhaps an overused electronic equivalent of clashing cymbals, whenever Vishneva’s body movement is punctuated at its apex or there’s a change in movement emphasis. The panorama of images and sounds would be enough to awaken even one under the influence of an evil fairy’s curse.

A scene from “Sleeping Beauty Dreams,”
with Diana Vishneva,
from its December 14, 2018 New York premiere
Photo courtesy of SBDart

If there’s any meaning to this presentation that says something beyond being nightmarish, it eluded me. And, worse, notwithstanding what the technology was supposed to be doing, I saw the technology and the electronic music dictating the action rather than the other way around.

And then Vishneva leaves the stage, replaced by a gaggle of men in white.

At this stage in the piece the accompanying electronic music (by Thijs De Vlieger) is still overly vibrant and percussive, but now there seems to be a direction to it, and a semblance of choreography appears beyond the earlier angst-ridden movement designed to be transformed into images. But the movement that accompanies it is strange – on its own, and in context. With their white costumes (all costumes designed by Bart Hess), including floor-length white skirts, the men bring to mind whirling dervishes. And although there’s little swirling movement, the effect of the men moving either in unison or with varied sequencing is ceremonial, contemporary, ritualistic — and very Middle-Eastern. The choreography (by Edward Clug) is quite good here for what it is, the execution was superb, and the respite it provided from the prior images was most welcome – but what a Middle-Eastern (maybe a little African too) chorus is doing in the middle of the Princess’s dream (particularly if one still is under the impression that the princess is the fairy tale’s Aurora) is, at least, a conundrum.

A scene from “Sleeping Beauty Dreams”
from its December 14, 2018 New York premiere
Photo courtesy of SBDart

Then something almost wonderful happens. Vishneva returns, and eventually appears to wander among the ten men looking for something. Aha! She’s searching for the man of her dreams, just like danseurs do in so many ballets! Neat. Well, it’s not exactly that clear, but we’re grasping at thematic straws.

And then, emerging from the wings, her Prince (identified simply as “The prince”) appears: in white tights and a bubble-laden jacket that looked like the upper half of some misbegotten space suit.

The pas de deux that Vishneva and Gomes dance is … gentle, especially compared with what preceded it, but nondescript. What choreography there is was limited by the dancers’ respective costumes, and there was no expression of emotion. That being said, Gomes can still partner even when unable to measurably move his torso. And the changed tone was accompanied by a change in visuals. Instead of sparkles or blobs of color, there were gorgeous cosmic pinpoint flashes of color. Her prince from inner space gave her cosmic goosebumps.

A scene from “Sleeping Beauty Dreams,”
with Diana Vishneva and Marcelo Gomes,
from its December 14, 2018 New York premiere
Photo courtesy of SBDart

And then the space prince just walks away. It was time for intermission (and, perhaps, time for the seed that the Prince’s appearance may have represented to grow in the Princess’s evolving mind).

When the second Act begins, Vishneva has changed – or at least her costume has. In the intermission’s intervening 99 years or so, the princess has matured, and is now wearing a glittery golden body suit that oozes sensual evolution. And with sensors now spread all over her outfit, her accompanying imagery has changed as well. Instead of flashes or blobs of moving light, all around her are giant avatars (digital avatar technology by ‘fuse’) that multiply and move through space as she does on the stage floor. Maybe the transition from lights to bodies moving in space (within the Princess’s mind) is indicative of maturity as well as fantastic technology; but aside from that, there’s not much else to these images beside the fact that they’re there. The avatars look like stiff mannequins (somewhat like the balloons in Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, except weird) and although their bodies move as Vishneva does (moving their limbs and walking on air), they bear no physical resemblance to Vishneva beyond general shape.

A scene from “Sleeping Beauty Dreams”
from its December 14, 2018 New York premiere
Photo courtesy of SBDart

The ten men in white eventually reappear, except now they’re more playful. The Prince soon joins them – still in his space suit. The Princess and Prince dance – much more intimately than the prior pas de deux though still emotionless – but he again leaves her. Then, to yet another crashendo of electronic music (and far more animated movement resulting in a far more dynamic stage), the Princess turns to the back of the stage and sees a huge floating head (in her mind), with its face to the audience. From my angle, the face was devoid of any character but looked like it belonged to a different, older, woman. The music rises, the head slowly disintegrates, and the Princess moves upstage through the space the head occupied into her now mature future (in darkness, maybe because it’s unknowable). The end. It’s a dynamite image, but if the princess was going to shatter her previous teen age image of herself (which I assume the head was supposed to represent), why make the head look like that of an older woman? We don’t see her get kissed – I suppose that’s on the other side of the void.

A scene from “Sleeping Beauty Dreams,”
with Diana Vishneva,
from its December 14, 2018 New York premiere
Photo courtesy of SBDart

I’ve gone through this exercise of recounting the piece in more than usual detail in the hope of demonstrating what Sleeping Beauty Dreams really is – a concept that pushes existing technology to its limits, but that translates into a sound and light show that makes little sense as dance or theater. There’s a story there, as there’s supposed to be, but, as I saw it, that “story” can be summarized in a couple of sentences. The rest is technological filler.

I admit to being somewhat critically dishonest here. What I’ve recounted is my observation of what I saw, absent any indication of what the artistic team was trying to do beyond exploring Sleeping Beauty’s 100 year dream. But as intermission ended, theater ushers distributed programs that identified the players and the artistic team, and that provided a summary of the piece’s “plot” (although this libretto, such as it is, is not credited). I was unable to read it until the piece ended, but I suspect had I seen it in advance, it would have made things even more confusing, and the piece appear even less successful.

In summary: in Act I the Princess’s soul separates from her body as she dreams (and moves around), but her soul immediately battles three “Demons”: Fear; Violence; Greed (why not the Seven Deadly Sins?)  – presumably the demons are the different garish shapes and colors accompanied by the equally garish sounds. So, I suppose, her body movement isn’t controlling the images, it’s battling them. And Soul Princess wins – although you wouldn’t know it from seeing the action on stage, since one “battle” immediately segues into the next, and since, after it’s over, the three Demons come right back. [Maybe they’re the men in white, who aren’t mentioned in the Act I description.] Soul Princess and the Prince together vanquish this Demon-act redux, but “harmony does not last,” the Prince vanishes, the Princess (presumably the real one, not her soul) goes back to sleep, and the audience enjoys intermission.

In Act II, the Princess, with or without her Soul, faces Three Temptations: passionate lovers, sweet dreams, and ardent fans (each Temptation personified, somehow, by the ten men in white). This really gets the Princess furious, and her fury transforms her into a heartless Goddess of Destruction [that face), but the Prince kisses the Princess and the Fury dies away. (There was a kiss? Where? When?)

I liked what I thought I saw better. And even had I known what the “story” was supposed to be, I wouldn’t have seen it – any of it – as it was presented.

What should be obvious by this point is that Sleeping Beauty Dreams is technology in search of a theatrical way to show it.

Not all is lost here. I see Sleeping Beauty Dreams as the first stage of an experiment that may eventually be refined into a program of dance theater that explores Aurora’s dream in a way that makes sense, and in which the technological bells and whistles are subservient to a story and the dancers performing it. And maybe some way for an avatar to interact with the dancer rather than “simply” (and I don’t mean to minimize the accomplishment here) move as the dancer does in a technologically enhanced way. All that’s needed is refinement, artistic control, and that sense of humanity that makes fairy tales timeless.

The post Sleeping Beauty Dreams: The Dream Deferred appeared first on CriticalDance.

Urban Nutcracker
Shubert Theater
Boston, Massachusetts

December 21, 2018

Carla DeFord

Urban Nutcracker, brainchild of retired ballet star and current dance educator Anthony Williams, is a hybrid of several performances.  A showcase for a variety of dance idioms, including hip-hop, flamenco, jazz, swing, and sophisticated tap, it’s also a retelling of the classic E.T.A. Hoffmann tale with lots of twists and modernizations.  Beyond that, it’s an opportunity to hear some of the Duke Ellington-Billy Strayhorn Nutcracker Suite played by a jazz combo. And, last, but definitely not least, it’s a classical ballet featuring two principal ballerinas who would grace any professional company in the world.  With tasteful choreography created by a team of dance makers as well as colorful costumes and sets with a retro vibe, Urban Nutcracker is a winning combination that certainly helps to make the season bright.

Perhaps the most noteworthy aspect of the show is that it’s not a low-budget traditional production.  This Nutcracker is completely reimagined, from the plot to the music to the character of the divertissements.  It also includes lots of delightful surprises, the first one being the appearance of a jazz combo that marches from the back of the house to the stage while playing a New Orleans second-line version of Tchaikovsky’s overture.  The combo was soon ensconced in a perch above the stage, and hearing their music (minimally amplified) was one of the great pleasures of Act I.  In Act II the frequent switching between the combo playing offstage, with much more aggressive amplification, and recordings of the original score was less successful.  I was told that one of Mr. Williams’s goals is to have more live and less recorded music in the future.

Erika Lambe, Junichi Fukuda,
Marcus Colimon, and Mae Anthony
in Anthony Williams’s “Urban Nutcracker”
Photo by Corwin Wickersham

A second surprise came as a result of my not reading the program carefully.  In the Act I party scene I was immediately impressed by the actress playing the mother of the family.  Although she didn’t do much dancing, every gesture she made was so elegant and precisely placed that it struck me as luxurious casting to have such an accomplished performer in the part.

Ruth Bronwen Whitney (far left), Gianni Di Marco,
Kirsten Glaser, Mae Anthony, and cast
in Anthony Williams’s “Urban Nutcracker”
Photo by Corwin Wickersham

Then all of a sudden I realized who she was … Erika Lambe, whom I remembered seeing many times as a party guest or snow flake in the Boston Ballet Nutcracker when she was a company member from 1993 to 2005.  It was such a treat to see her onstage again.  In the party scene she often interacted with her mischievous onstage son (traditionally named Fritz, but here called Omar) who, as played by Marcus Colimon, was full of energy and enthusiasm; he’s definitely a young performer to watch.  The other junior stars, Stella Kotter (named Ruby this year in honor of Williams’s late aunt) and Echo Kirke-Sofer as Samantha, seemed to be ballerinas in the making.

Khalid Hill and dancers
in Anthony Williams’s “Urban Nutcracker”
Photo by Corwin Wickersham

Other highlights included Khalid Hill, a tapper whose style seemed similar to that of Savion Glover, and indeed the program states that Hill was in the first national tour of Bring in ‘da Noise, Bring in ‘da Funk, Glover’s Broadway show of the 1990s.  Hill danced in an Act I face-off with hip-hop dancer Omar “Firelock” Thomas and in the “Tip-Tap Top of the Hub” construction-workers scene (set to Tchaikovsky’s Mother Ginger music).  Whenever he appeared, his footwork was rhythmically interesting, with his ability to travel on the tips of his toes being especially thrilling.

Ruth Bronwen Whitney and dancers
in Anthony Williams’s “Urban Nutcracker”
Photo by Peter Paradise

Guest artist Ruth Bronwen Whitney in the Arabian divertissement and Kseniya Melyukhina as the Sugar Plum Fairy, both of whom I saw in Midsummer Night’s Dream last June are ballerinas of the first rank.  Melyukhina, who is a member of Williams’s City Ballet of Boston company, might have injected a bit more jazz into her variation, which was set to Ellington and Strayhorn’s “Sugar Rum Cherry,” but in the grand pas de deux (danced to the Tchaikovsky score) she could not have been more exquisite.  The move that stuck with me most was an astonishing, rock-solid balance that both punctuated the music and demonstrated her power as ruler of her domain.  If her dark-colored tutu decorated with what looked like city-building windows was any clue, that domain would seem to be firmly situated in the urban landscape.

Kseniya Melyukhina and dancers
in Anthony Williams’s “Urban Nutcracker”
Photo by Corwin Wickersham

One feature of the choreography in the grand pas gave me pause, however.  Sugar Plum traditionally dances it with the Nutcracker cavalier, but here she interacted with two cavaliers and Drosselmeyer.  Since this sequence is set to some of the most romantic music Tchaikovsky ever wrote, one expects to see a love duet.  Inevitably, the intimacy implied by the music is vitiated when Sugar Plum has three partners.

Ruth Bronwen Whitney and Joe Gonzalez
in Anthony Williams’s “Urban Nutcracker”
Photo by Corwin Wickersham

Whitney was as sinuous as possible in the Arabian divertissement.  As when she played Titania in Midsummer Night’s Dream, her laid-out positions, here including a spectacular upside-down split lift, were perfectly placed and seemed effortless.  Her partner, guest artist Joe Gonzalez, got her securely into the air, and he had some impressive moves of his own, but for the most part the divertissement belonged to Whitney.  The final tableau of the two of them behind a chiffon screen was reminiscent of Rodin’s “The Kiss” in its freezing of an erotic moment.

Gianni Di Marco and cast
in Anthony Williams’s “Urban Nutcracker”
Photo by Peter Paradise

Keeping the whole show together was Gianni Di Marco as Drosselmeyer.  Frankly, I’m happy to watch him in anything he does.  As Bottom in Midsummer Night’s Dream, he achieved a nice balance of comedy and pathos.  In this production, decked out in a red top hat, he reminded one of Dr. Seuss’s immortal Cat in the Hat, who proclaimed, “It’s fun to have fun, but you have to know how.”  Di Marco knows how.  A selfless performer, he is not merely willing but downright eager to create all kinds of virtuosic silliness onstage for the sake of his audience and fellow cast members.  During his time at Boston Ballet he created a toweringly malevolent Carabosse, and he brought the same kind of over-the-top energy and disciplined physicality to this role.  Urban Nutcracker is fortunate to have a character dancer of his distinction.  One wishes that Boston Ballet would invite him back the next time it needs someone to do Carabosse, Madge, a wicked stepsister, or similar role.  He is definitely the man for the job.

Take it for all in all, Urban Nutcracker Is an enjoyable, entertaining, well-staged production that fulfills its mission of presenting diversity onstage while upholding high professional standards.  In its set projections it’s also a tribute to the city of Boston, and residents of the Hub – not to mention tourists – are bound to appreciate the compliment.

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Royal Opera House
Stockholm

December 19, 2018.

Maggie Foyer

Sweden does Christmas brilliantly, blending snowy landscapes with Nordic and Christian traditions and now Pär Isberg’s Nutcracker is becoming a fixture in the Yuletide calendar. Developed freely from Elsa Beskow’s Petter and Lotta Christmas and E.T.A. Hoffman’s tale, the ballet celebrates its 300^th performance in January, playing, as ever, to full houses. The designs replicate Beskow’s book illustrations, as popular in Sweden as Enid Blyton in England, and guarantee a nostalgia rush.

Madeline Woo as lead snowflake in “The Nutcracker”
Photo: Markus Gårder

The setting is domestic but far from orthodox as the two orphan children are adopted by three eccentric aunts and on Christmas Eve are entertained by Uncle Blue. The magic is diffused in fanciful ways, it is the children’s friends, the house maid and charcoal burner, who are transformed into the ballerina and cavalier and the divertissement are danced by the Christmas tree ornaments neatly avoiding the current concerns of cultural appropriation.

Dancers of the Royal Swedish Ballet in “The Nutcracker”
Photo: Markus Gårder

The humour works on many levels exemplified in Petter’s dance with three harnessed mice, captured from the earlier battle. The combination of the Mirleton’s music, hairy chests and pointe shoes gets the giggles but for the sharp eyed there are shades of Balanchine’s Apollo and his three muses. And I’m sure I spied a hint of Massine’s Tales of Hoffman, in the three sleep-walking aunties who drift through the languorous Arabian dance.

Luiza Lopes, as the house maid, is the model of brisk efficiency in Act One. In the kitchen scene it is Lopes who bats the rat and later comes to the rescue in the dream scene to dispatch the larger, fiercer variety with a smack of her broomstick. In this version there is no visit to distant foreign lands and the snowflakes simply fly in through the open window. They create their magic in the transformed living room in intricate patterns of crystalline sparkle led by a vivacious Madeline Woo. Right on cue the housemaid dispatches the last wayward flake out the window then comes into her own when her drab coat, cap and broomstick are whisked away to reveal a princess figure in glittery dress.

Jérémie Neveu and Alessa Rogers as Petter and Lotta are fully part of the action. They bound through the two acts alive to every moment stretching their dance and dramatic skills to encompass the fun, the danger and the fantasy. In the divertissement the spicy Gingerbread pair, Kaho Yanagisawa and Hiroaki Ishida, were a treat in their racy duet while Christmas crackers, Snowmen and Candy Sticks all have their moments.

Dancers of the Royal Swedish Ballet in the final scene of “The Nutcracker”
Photo: Markus Gårder

Dragos Mihalcea was a dynamic Uncle Blue. He charms the ladies at the Christmas party and although upstaged temporarily by the real Julbok (Christmas Goat) he proves his worth as the master of magic once he dons his silver cloak. Dawid Kupinski as the Charcoal Burner/ Julbok and Prince develops from an amiable and unprepossessing character to excel in the grand pas de deux. Tchaikovsky’s music for the duet is some of his finest and Isberg’s choreography doesn’t disappoint, softening the aristocratic formality while matching the music with soaring lifts and moments of sublime beauty and tenderness. Lopes and Kupinski do it justice. The magic of the dream partnership comes down to earth in the final scene as maid and woodsman sit side by side in the departing sleigh heralding a blossoming romance. Isberg’s Nutcracker with its gentle charm, delightful choreography and witty narrative is a winner in a crowded Christmas market.

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