[Performance photographs will replace those below upon receipt.]
American Ballet Theatre
David H. Koch Theater
Lincoln Center
New York, New York
October 25, 2024
Program – “Choreographers of the 20th and 21st Centuries: Ballet Imperial, Neo, In the Upper Room
October 26, 2024, afternoon
Program – “Signature Works”: The Kingdom of the Shades (from La Bayadère), Sylvia Pas de Deux, Great Galloping Gottschalk pas de deux, Neo, In the Upper Room
November 2, 2024 afternoon and evening; November 3, 2024: Crime and Punishment (world premiere)
Jerry Hochman
The final two weeks of American Ballet Theatre’s Fall 2024 Season at the David H. Koch Theater presented audiences with a pair of eclectic programs, and six performances of the season’s third world premiere, Helen Pickett’s Crime and Punishment.
Of the two repertory programs, some conclusions can quickly be drawn. First, Catherine Hurlin is a certifiable star. If that wasn’t already clear based on her performances during this season’s first week and in prior seasons, it is now. She can do anything she’s asked to do. Second, recently promoted Soloist Léa Fleytoux demonstrated, in Kingdom of the Shades, why she was promoted: startlingly superior technique as well as a compelling stage presence and crystalline execution, enough to prompt roaring approval from an audience that seemed to have been taken by surprise. Last, just when you think Alexei Ratmansky can be pigeon-holed into one particular style or another, along comes his Neo, which, with Hurlin and Jarod Curley, blasts any stereotyping into the stratosphere.
As for the world premiere, from what I’ve heard mine may be a minority view. But for the reasons expressed below, Crime and Punishment should be seen if and when it returns. Its positive components far outweigh its not insignificant flaws, and it creates opportunities for many magnificent performances, including yet another performance of a lifetime from Cassandra Trenary.
Normally the premiere would be the first dance discussed. But if I did that, comments about the repertory programs may be effectively buried. Consequently, I’ll proceed in performance order and begin my discussion with the repertory programs.
The Repertory Programs:
Ballet Imperial seemed a strange choice for ABT’s “Choreographers of the 20th and 21st Centuries” program, since New York City Ballet’s incarnation of Balanchine’s piece, Tchaikovsky Piano Concerto No. 2, was presented across the plaza earlier this fall (and in immediately prior seasons). Surely there were other ballets by Balanchine (e.g., Theme and Variations) and by other 20th Century choreographers (Robbins, de Mille, Tudor, and many more) in its repertory from which to choose.
But as it turns out, maybe it wasn’t such a bad choice. Every so often I think Balanchine went too far in “streamlining” his pieces to eliminate unnecessary components (e.g., the opening birth scene in Apollo) and/ or superfluous stylistic accoutrements. The latter is the case here, and this ABT performance reminded me that I prefer the version before Balanchine took a hatchet to it.
Christine Shevchenko, here with American Ballet Theatre
in George Balanchine’s “Symphonie Concertante”
Photo by Rosalie O’Connor
Be that as it may, this performance had lots to recommend it. Leading the way were Christine Shevchenko and Calvin Royal III (replacing the indisposed Isabella Boylston and James Whiteside). Both leads did justice to the imperial costumes they wore (by Jean-Marc Puissant). Royal in particular has grown in obvious confidence; Royal was royal. And in the third lead role, Skylar Brandt presented a fine example of one of her many strengths: confident and powerful technical ability. The featured dancers, Breanne Granlund and Carlos Gonzalez, and Betsy McBride and Patrick Frenette, also acquitted themselves well.
And then the fun began.
Neo was created by Ratmansky on Boylston and Whiteside during the pandemic, and, to my understanding, was streamed to interested viewers. This run of performances was its company debut.
One might expect a dance filled with disparate elements perhaps stitched together via social media, to look like a dance filled with stitched-together disparate elements. Indeed, if dissected, much of the movement quality throughout Neo is a series of disparate elements stitched together. But there’s a unity in the seeming disunity; a sense of a whole being greater than the sum of its parts, that is apparent – as is an overall sense of the dancer pushing him or herself to the max without it being in search of the perfectly executed classical ballet combination or generating sweat energy sufficient to power a rocket, instead creating something undeniably entertaining to an audience, and having a great time in the process.
Catherine Hurlin and Aran Bell (center)
and American Ballet Theatre,
here in Alexei Ratmansky’s “Of Love and Rage”
Photo by Gene Schiavone
I can’t break-down Neo, because that would diminish those qualities that make it such a delightful piece to watch. Suffice it to say that the dance, overall, requires a positive, upbeat delivery, pinpoint timing, steps that seem impossible to execute, much less execute well, and movement sequences that most audiences (and I suspect most dancers) have never before seen. With the cast I saw, Hurlin and Curley on Friday in their role debuts (and on Saturday afternoon’s program as well), the little (maybe 5 or so minutes) dance packs more fun into it than one had any reason to expect from any choreographer today. And it’s high-class fun; not slapstick.
We’ve already established that Hurlin can do anything, and is a marvelous comedian as well as an impeccable technician. For Curley, however, this seemed more of a stretch. He delivered his assignment exactly as he was supposed to, though at times seemed surprised that he’d gotten through a particular sequence. His performance on Saturday looked considerably more confident, less a miracle than evidence of his evolving breadth of talent.
And sitting across the aisle from me at Friday’s performance was the choreographer, wearing a grin from ear to ear.
This program ended with Twyla Tharp’s magical In the Upper Room. I won’t repeat what I’ve already written about this contemporary ballet masterpiece. Suffice it to say that it’s filled with imagery that requires one to think about what Tharp is doing here, and then to recognize that thinking is the opposite of what a viewer should do. Just let the brilliance, in choreography and execution, waft over one’s eyes as if one were in an airplane 50,000 feet high, passing through a cloud.
This piece was also repeated on Saturday afternoon. Even though the excellence was equal, overall, and with one exception, I preferred the “smaller” Saturday cast, which to my eye looked somewhat tighter than the other. The exception: the twin sprites who race on and off the stage like nuclear particles suddenly separated from their home atom. On Friday they were played by Anabel Katsnelson and Kanon Kimura, and on Saturday by Fleytoux and Kimura. Here I don’t have a preference. Both sprite sets were equally … sprite-like.
Saturday afternoon’s program opened with what was deemed the 50th Anniversary presentation of Natalia Makarova’s production of Act II from La Bayadère, called “The Kingdom of the Shades.” I’m aware that this Act was initially presented separately from the complete ballet – the rest of it hadn’t yet been completed. And I was there. But when it was placed where it belonged, the whole was glorious. I was there too. It’s scary to think that ABT may yield to political correctness and not present the full ballet, at least not until some subsequent round of artistic correctness overrules it. Tacking an ersatz ending (the apotheosis from the full ballet’s conclusion) onto this “Kingdom of the Shades” excerpt leads me to think that that’s the case. I hope I’m wrong.
The performances here were worth seeing, excerpted or not. Hee Seo delivered her usual quality Nikiya portrayal (although it too would have looked even better in context). Isaac Hernandez’s Solor marked the first time I can recall seeing him in this role, and his performance has me looking forward to more. Most, but not all, of Solor’s role is technique here – which he performed powerfully – but Hernandez made the most of what characterization was necessary as well. In particular, Hernandez’s slow procession into the wings as he follows Nikiya to wherever was one of the finest I’ve seen. Unfortunately, what came next, introduced by softly flowing clouds (as in the complete original), didn’t lead to Solor’s awakening from his opium-induced dream to find the imperious Gamzatti, whom he must marry, waiting for him, but to that phony ending.
Léa Fleytoux (right), here with Allessandra Ferri
in Wayne McGregor’s “Woolf Works”
Photo by Kyle Froman
As fine as Hernandez’s (and Seo’s) performances were, the performance that rocked the audience the most was by one of the featured soloists, the first to perform her individual variation during the concluding classical pas de deux: Fleytoux. This variation requires a set of pirouettes en pointe (in attitude, as I recall) – I think two consecutive times. Many stellar ballerinas come off pointe in between them. Not Fleytoux. She completed the pair of identical sets of turns flawlessly, without stopping or coming off pointe, accompanied by a communicated sense of serenity that was perfectly appropriate for the story. And after she completed those consecutive double turns en pointe, the choreography requires her to do a third set. Not only did Fleytoux deliver that, she added about three additional turns en pointe without stopping, and with no change of demeanor at its completion. The absence of any sign of self-congratulation was perhaps the most extraordinary aspect of her performance here.
This was not your normal soloist outing: this was special, and the audience recognized it. There’s an undefinable something about her stage persona – perhaps that sense of serenity, although I think there’s a fire beneath that – that makes her stand out, and that moved me to highlight her the first time I saw her in deep corps, roughly a month after she joined the company. What an exciting adventure it will be to watch this talented young ballerina continue to grow. There’s a long way to grow yet, but I can not only visualize her as Giselle or Nikiya, I see her potential as Odile or Kitri.
The sublime performances continued thereafter with the Sylvia Pas de Deux (by Balanchine, not from the Ashton version), impeccably danced by Chloe Misseldine and Aran Bell. Bell executed with particular power, but this was Misseldine’s show. Seen reasonably close-up (by seating or binoculars), she’s an imposing presence: tall, exotic-looking, and supremely confident. If there were any flaws in her (or Bell’s) performance, I didn’t see them. When one watches Misseldine, one sees an important component of ABT’s future.
Chloe Misseldine,
here in George Balanchine’s “Ballet Imperial”
Photo by Kyle Froman
Next of the program’s three pas de deux was one excerpted from Lynne Taylor Corbett’s Great Galloping Gottschalk. I recall seeing this piece performed in its entirety many years ago by the Joffrey Ballet (in New York), though I don’t remember any significant details. This excerpted pas de deux is a delightful little bit of merriment, joyfully executed by SunMi Park and Royal. It was simply two lovebirds at play, but this was sufficient to make it highly entertaining, and it provided a fine contrast to what preceded it, and Neo, which followed it. The evening concluded with In the Upper Room.
Now on to that world premiere.
Crime and Punishment:
I attended the performances by each of the three Crime and Punishment casts – the final three ABT performances this season. The piece, which Pickett choreographed with her “creative partner” James Bonas (who is credited with the piece’s “Direction and Treatment”), is disappointing in many ways, but it’s hardly the failure that I’ve heard some think it is. I suspect that many were expecting, or hoping for, something different – though how a dance choreographed to Fyodor Dostoevsky’s “Crime and Punishment” could be presented in any significant way differently from the way it was presented here would have been, at least, fanciful thinking.
I’ve seen several dances choreographed by Pickett, and have come away with a mixed opinion. A relatively common thread is my view, expressed in my review of a 2015 Ballet West program, that Pickett’s choreography is neither choreographically complex nor unusual, but it works. That is, the style doesn’t dominate the action – it both reflects and propels it. That’s a fair summary, I think, of her choreography here: except here I didn’t find any indication of it propelling the action – rather, the action moves under the power of Dostoevsky’s essential story, which directs and overwhelms everything else.
For those unfamiliar with the novel, the following is the barest of bare summaries: The character Raskolnikov (think “rascal”) contemplates committing murder, and eventually does murder two women – a pawnbroker and her sister – for reasons that are unclear to Raskolnikov himself as well as the reader. Potential motives include: to help his impoverished family; because he resented the pawnbroker and her sister’s apparent wealth in the face of the poverty that surrounded them; his sense of entitlement; simply because he could; because it’s a reflection of his being of a “superior race” and had the right to do it (which raises all sorts of issues that are best not dealt with here); or all of the above as well as others I’ve left out.
Thereafter, the novel deals with his sense of guilt (or absence of it), his paranoia that everyone knows he did it and is out to get him, his efforts to avoid punishment, and the impact the crime has on him and others, some related to him, some not. [I’ll identify the most significant of these characters during the course of the discussion below.] The factual punishment he receives after ultimately confessing is almost an afterthought: many believe the real “punishment” to which the novel’s title refers is the weight of Raskolnikov’s own pervasive sense of guilt. And the moral of the story is two-pronged: ‘Confession is good for the soul’, and ‘Gimme that old time religion’.
I’ve divided my observations, roughly, into a few general comments about how Pickett and her artistic collaborators appear to have approached the challenge, some specific criticism relating to several of the decisions made, and, finally, what I see as the dance’s positive qualities, including encouraging, if not mandating, the superb cast performances that overshadow in significance everything else.
Classic narrative ballets generally tend to distill the narrative into a set of individual scenes, and if that results in narrative gaps, so be it. [e.g., Sir Kenneth MacMillan’s Romeo and Juliet.] And the underlying stories also include a set of events that not only permit distinct emphasis; they effectively require it. Such stories easily fit within a “typical” narrative ballet framework.
Catherine Hurlin and American Ballet Theatre,
here in Christopher Wheeldon’s “Like Water for Chocolate”
Photo by Marty Sohl
“Crime and Punishment” doesn’t fit. Try breaking up “Crime and Punishment” into a limited set of discrete scenes on which to focus that, with nothing more, present a compelling and coherent story that’s consistent with the novel. I don’t think that it can be done. Maybe there have been some such dances that attempt this – Christopher Wheeldon’s Like Water for Chocolate comes immediately to mind, but that also contained far more of these scenes than one might expect from a typical narrative ballet because the underlying story wouldn’t permit anything less.
Interestingly, there is at least one other ballet incarnation of Dostoevsky’s novel, one essentially developed concurrently with, but independent of, Pickett’s. Boris Eifman premiered his Crime and Punishment in September this year. Based on a teaser I viewed online, and knowing Eifman’s style, it’s far more aggressive-looking than Pickett’s, and the overall movement is expressive and dramatic. Neither of these qualities is at all surprising in an Eifman ballet. [I once wrote that Eifman is to ballet as El Greco is to painting.] But aside from choreographic stylistic differences, the narrative, scene-telling process, based solely on that brief rehearsal teaser, appears similar, and I doubt it could have been otherwise. Perhaps some day we may see it performed live in NYC. [For her heads-up in this regard, I’m indebted to my seat-neighbor for the first of these performances, the distinguished former chief dance critic for the New York Times, Anna Kisselgoff.]
So creating a narrative ballet the “usual” way was not an option here. Pickett was obligated to include many more scenes than usual because isolating or condensing them would have compromised Dostoevsky’s story and the manner in which he tells it. She did eliminate what might have been considered unnecessary for a ballet, but in many of those respects what she came up with was not helpful.
Skylar Brandt, here with American Ballet Theatre
in Christopher Wheeldon’s “Like Water for Chocolate”
Photo by Marty Sohl
The quality that may really have compromised the ballet in the eyes of certain viewers is that Pickett’s Crime and Punishment is a “downer.” There is nothing in the ballet to feel good about, or that would make anyone feel uplifted, grateful, or even smile. There’s no apotheosis (we’re in the wrong century for that), and no catharsis; a brief measure of sympathy for one character may be the most positive feeling the dance provides. Otherwise, and with one exception, anything in the story that she has included here that might qualify as uplifting is handled in such a matter-of-fact manner that it’s overwhelmed by the presentation of it.
I’m reasonably sure that the final scene of reawakened faith (and a little love) was intended to accomplish this “uplifting” quality, but it was delivered in such an understated manner in each of the performances I attended – despite the pretty falling Siberian snow in the background – that its impact was limited to creating the expectation that something more impressive would follow. I appreciate the restraint – I think the final images were beautifully conceived and executed. But it’s so matter-of-fact that the immediate audience response at the performances I attendance was silence; it wasn’t clear that that was the piece’s ending until the curtain began to fall and the audience realized that the anticipated follow-up wouldn’t be there. I suspect also that the triumph of faith (as in religion, not inner fortitude), by itself, doesn’t immediately carry the uplifting quality that may have been the case in the recent past.
A corollary of this “downer” observation is that the dance is relatively monochromatic. Except for the opening scene and the “dream” scene (no, not a Petipa dream scene) it’s visually dull. All the “movable dividers” that are arranged and rearranged to create appropriately restricted performing spaces are the same shade of plywood; there are no sets, fixed or otherwise, beyond those dividers, and only a few props – a bare table and chair or two, and an unkempt small bed with a metal-looking bed frame and lived-in mattress (maybe there was also a dull-looking blanket; I’m not sure). And the costumes are similarly dull (with the possible exception of the costumes for Sonya, which change, albeit minimally, during the course of the dance. [Dunya’s costume is colorful – maybe the only “color” throughout the dance other than the coat coverings for Sonya’s father and the police detective –but it remains the same in every scene in which she appears.]
But what else would one expect? All this dismal ambiance is because the story, as Dostoevsky tells it, is dismal. The characters all live in poverty, and in identical boxes comprised solely of bare walls. Could Pickett have displayed the scenes and costumes differently? The plywood-look dividers (which may have been plywood-looking paint applied over a lightweight metal) actually provide a level of interest that may not have been intended – the staging of the divider movement, and the fact that these walls are moved, primarily if not exclusively by dancers in the piece, provides intriguing focal points when nothing is happening in between scene changes.
To her credit Pickett didn’t follow the book literally in all respects (although that creates a different set of problems). That’s appropriate. But she also changed or added action or stage references, certain of which, to me, don’t so much eliminate problems as create new ones.
The first of such problematic distractions is its opening video presentation, its prologue of sorts, in which someone is sitting at a typewriter, occasionally typing letters (in Cyrillic), which eventually lead to the novel’s title (in English). In a created atmosphere filled with the stench of rumpled air, the writer destroys what must have been early drafts of the novel, and keeps examining a broken, chained timepiece clicking seconds away. To my recollection, there also are very brief images of a pair of garish-looking women (expanded upon during the “dream” scene), and of blood first dripping onto the paper, and later overflowing from its paper parameters.
I took this as intending to portray Dostoevsky himself “introducing” the story (as Cervantes initially appears in some iterations of Don Quixote). For awhile it worked well. But at some point the person typing the story became conflated with the character of Raskolnikov — those images that appear in addition to the writer are revisited later in Raskolnikov’s dream as components of the murders, and the manner in which Raskolnikov is visualized celebrating the publication of an article he wrote makes it appears as if he’s celebrating the publication of the novel referenced in the prologue video, because there’s no build-up to what the published article may have been other than that.
Drawing parallels between Dostoevsky and Raskolnikov is certainly doable, and not as far-fetched as it may initially appear. Dostoevsky’s situation is similar to Raskolnikov’s: he’d been convicted (not of murder) and served time in a Siberian prison camp, he lived in poverty, he destroyed early attempts to write his novel because he wasn’t satisfied with them and/or to satisfy the prospective publisher, and he was working under a publication time deadline. But if this is where Pickett was going, there should have been a more clear effort to connect the dots.
Second, in an apparent effort to reduce the number of characters present in the novel, Pickett creates a new one to account for one perceived plot-essential matter: that someone else confessed to the murders. The character is called “Ever Watcher.” Why? That implies something that isn’t there – some mystical force or guardian angel who watches over and protects Raskolnikov, or who is a stand-in for Raskolnikov’s conscience. But Pickett doesn’t connect the dots here either. Ever Watcher (portrayed by Takumi Miyake in one performance and by Melvin Lawovi in the others) simply watches from various positions, and is the one who confesses to the crimes. There was no need to invent this character (the false confession could have been handled differently, or not referenced in the dance at all), and his presence is not only a distraction; it’s a conundrum.
Cassandra Trenary, here with James Whiteside
in Arthur Pita’s “The Tenant”
Photo by Ian Douglas
Third, each (or close to each) scene change is accompanied by “supertitles” projected over the stage action that explain where the scene is and/or what’s happening. I suspect that somewhere along the way it was determined that the scene changes happened so quickly, particularly at the dance’s outset, that some direction or explanation was essential to a viewer’s understanding of what was happening. I agree with that assessment. But the cure for this doesn’t help – the projected notes are ridiculously simplistic: a drastic, and somewhat insulting, “dumbing down” of the scene’s contents.
Last of the major criticisms, and the only one specifically related to staging/ choreography, are the “larger” ensemble scenes (other than the opening). The scenes in the bar are presented as a sort of three-ring circus, and the action occurring in one “ring” is accompanied by significant action in the other two rings (e.g., in the first bar scene, Sonya’s soliciting a customer – or vice-versa – is accompanied, in another part of the stage, with Raskolnikov’s “reunion” with his friend Razumikhin). Desiring to recreate the multi-action atmosphere of a bar is understandable, but here it’s narratively (and visually) confusing. It could have easily been mitigated by, for instance, sequential overhead spotlights
And two other “minor” criticisms that are more annoying than significant. At one point Raskolnikov “saves” a woman intent on committing suicide off a bridge. The set includes a projection of a bridge, but that projection, or any part of it, is totally absent from that scene. It’s a nice scene, nicely executed by each of the Raskolnikovs and each suicidal woman identified as “Woman on a Bridge” (compassionately portrayed by Fleytoux one night, and Kimura on the others), so I can understand the desire to present it downstage center. But where’s the visual connection to that bridge (particularly since the audience knows it’s available)? Why not project something of the bridge at the same time? The other: Dostoevsky gives the character of Sonya’s father the name “Marmeladov.” We can’t blame the dance’s creators for that. But why have him outfitted in an oversized coat (or blanket) colored orange, thereby begging a viewer to think: orange marmalade?
The significant mistakes or miscalculations made me angry, because I think they could, and should, have been handled better (except for being a “downer,” which the creative team inherited). But the fact that they angered me, as opposed to being things I simply took notice of, reflects that the piece prompted me to care enough about the characters created and their misfortunes to get angry. This is a reflection of what, ultimately, is the measure of Pickett’s ballet’s success.
Pickett’s choreography not only is not bad, it’s pervasive, and it’s targeted to the particular character(s) and/or situations for which the choreography was created. This should be normal, but from what I’ve been led to believe some criticism has been, it requires amplification here.
It begins with the opening scene (the beginning of the dance itself as opposed to the video prologue). It’s stunning. Nearly all the dancers (except the leads) fill the stage, with the choreography for them introducing a viewer to the local citizenry in a highly dynamic, and dramatic, way. And the introduction of Raskolnikov from within a scrum of “corps” dancers is also handled well, visualizing that he comes from the same environment as the others. This quickly evolves into the corps fueling Raskolnikov’s paranoia – everyone, it appears, is looking at him and judging him, and aware of the murders he’s committed (which here, as opposed to the novel, have already occurred).
And appearing “dull” has certain advantages – it encourages a viewer to focus on the dancers and the choreography Pickett has created for them, and here that’s a significant plus.
Christine Shevchenko and Calvin Royal III,
here in Alexei Ratmansky’s “Piano Concerto No. 1”
Photo by Rosalie O’Connor
Dunya, Raskolnikov’s sister, is betrothed to (or solicited by) unsavory characters in return for funds that would help support the family. Eventually she falls for Raskolnikov’s friend. Dunya was portrayed by Shevchenko at two of the performances I saw, and Hurlin at one. The role had significant dancing responsibility (clearly ballet), and each Dunya delivered a superior performance.
But I must emphasize Shevchenko’s performance in particular. As I watched her in the first of the performances I attended, she astonished me with the depth of character she communicated, as well as her flawless execution.
Shevchenko always performs to the hilt, and to me receives insufficient credit because her quality performances are routine and easily taken for granted. That was not possible here. Between her character evolution and the precision of her execution in all of her dancing sequences, whether battling her suitors (Luzhin, portrayed by Joseph Markey and Jacob Clerico) and Svidrigailovov (played with glorious villainy at each performance by Patrick Frenette) or gradually falling for Raskolnikov’s friend, her Dunya blew me away.
As Raskolnikov’s friend Razumikhin, Royal (at two performances) and Aran Bell were both wonderfully understated characters (for Royal, in a sense, it was similar to his Dr. Brown in Like Water for Chocolate). But here the emotional reserve evolves over time as his attraction to Dunya grows into something far greater.
The role provides many ballet opportunities, but the one most critical is the one that should, by itself, dispel any criticism that the dance is in some way choreographically insufficient.
At one point, Razumikhin and Dunya, alone together, dance a ballet love duet appropriate for the dance’s time and place (without any over-the-top bravura excess) that was flawlessly executed by both casts – one of the finest of such duets that I’ve seen. No part of it wasn’t “right.” Containing breathtaking swings above the stage floor and sweeping, soaring lifts, as well as appropriately visualized emotion, the quality of this choreography made this viewer, and I suspect others, not just like or appreciate it, but believe it. It’s the ballet’s centerpiece, and couldn’t have been choreographed or performed better. [It also made ABT’s apparent unwillingness to cast Bell opposite Hurlin in other narrative ballets inexplicable.]
National Ballet of Canada dancers Heather Ogden
and Christopher Gerty in Helen Pickett’s “Emma Bovary”
Photo by Bruce Zinger
Sonya, orange marmalade’s daughter, is an interesting character. She’s filled with guilt (at having to sell herself) and soul (what keeps her alive in light of her father’s death and her mother’s sickness and death), and is the unexpected rock of the ballet. Her religious devotion, and her devotion to Raskolnikov, are essential to the story, and were vividly communicated.
The choreography for Sonya is secondary to her character evolution and not nearly as pervasively present as the choreography for Dunya, but it was sufficient. Far more than sufficient were the glowing portrayals of Sonya by (in viewing order) SunMi Park, Skylar Brandt, and Fangqi Li. I was more astonished (in a positive way) by Park’s portrayal, but I suspect that’s because hers was the first I saw. The others were equally brilliant.
There are many other characters in the ballet, some more significant than others. Some I’ve referenced above. Although I can’t give the rest the detailed recognition they deserve, they should be recognized. Orange marmalade aka Marmeladov (Roman Zhurbin and Alexei Agoudine) is a thankless role – he was drunk, and he was dead. But he had family. Aside from his daughter Sonya, his wife, Katerina, suffered through his death and after until she, too, died. The role was compellingly played by Claire Davison and Courtney Lavine, the latter being particularly, and appropriately, melodramatic). Raskolnikov’s mother, Pulcheria, stronger and prouder than others, was neatly played by Ingrid Thoms. And the police detective, Porfiry had isolated dancing, but significant narrative responsibility. Thomas Forster and Curley communicated the essentials of the role well.
And then there’s Raskolnikov.
When I’d heard that the casting for this production included female dancers as Raskolnikov, I assumed that the purpose of doing so was to show that women were capable of the same acts as men. Wrong. Here, the women aren’t committing and reacting to the murders, they’re portraying Raskolnikov, and it’s the man Raskolnikov, played in two cases by women, who commits the crime.
Cassandra Trenary, here with Herman Cornejo
in Jiri Kylian’s “Petite Mort”
Photo by Rosalie O’Connor
I saw a bit of a difference between Trenary’s characterization and Granlund’s – the former looked and acted like a man, the latter, in my view, like what used to be called a tom-boy. But those are distinctions without a difference. In both cases, as well as, obviously, the male dancer who portrayed Raskolnikov (Herman Cornejo), the choreography and characterization appeared to be the same.
Cornejo did fine work here, but nothing that was unexpected. And he delivered the stereotypical male ballet execution with the greatest power of the three, and in this context his reduced bravura capacity (which is natural, not a criticism) didn’t show.
But it also didn’t matter; with respect to the ladies, it did. Both Trenary and Granlund executed the stereotypical men’s choreography far more powerfully than one might have anticipated. And with Trenary, possibly with more power, more brute force, than many male dancers.
But Trenary delivered something more – maybe just a question of degree compared to Granlund (or Cornejo, for that matter), but evident: she became a male dancer, not only a female portraying a man. I don’t mean that literally, of course. One look and one knew. But Trenary not only danced like a man and looked like a man (at least from the neck up), she acted like a man. That is, she adopted male mannerisms. At one point, when she sat down in Porfiry’s office, I saw her deposit herself over her chair as a man would – at least a man with a background and an attitude like Raskolnikov. That is, she slouched in the chair, spread her legs somewhat, and displayed a combination of nonchalance and disdain (not quite contempt, but close) that neither of the other Raskolnikov’s did, whether because they couldn’t or didn’t try.
Each of the three Raskolnikovs was intense – it went with the territory. But Trenary’s intensity went beyond that: she maintained a consistent level of credible intensity – she may not have matched the physical description of Raskolnikov that Dostoevsky provides, but she was Raskolnikov.
I don’t mean to suggest that she was the only one of the three who demonstrated intensity. The others did too – it apparently was drilled into them with the choreography (which, for this character, was ample – she/he rarely stopped moving, and burst into balletic movement where it was appropriate to do so). But Trenary was a time-bomb ready to explode; a percolating reservoir of emotion that was light-years beyond what any viewer might have expected. Her portrayal was in a league of its own.
Finally, I haven’t yet commented on the ballet’s score, which is credited to Isobel Waller-Bridge, a contemporary British composer well-known for her scores for film, television, and theater. Sometimes such scores work; sometimes they don’t, even when specifically composed to reflect specific stage action. This one does – it fits this ballet like a glove. But that’s only part of what makes it a superb score: even assuming segments were tailored specifically to match certain choreography, here the music does more than just accompany the movement – it enhances it, without overwhelming it. It’s one of the finest such scores that I can recall.
Overall, Crime and Punishment is a noteworthy effort that succeeds far more than it fails, and that includes exceptional performances that should not be missed.
Also overall, ABT’s Fall 2023 season proved far more interesting than could have been anticipated – something that, to ABT’s credit, seems to be happening with increasing frequency under Artistic Director Susan Jaffe’s watch.
And for ABT’s and/or Pickett’s next new major project, I’m aware of a few efforts to create a ballet based on Boris Pasternak’s “Dr. Zhivago,” but none, apparently, has made it to major venues. It would make a compelling ballet. Just a suggestion.
In the meantime, for a Fall Koch Theater season, the company might well consider evenings devoted to Tudor (Jardin Aux Lilas, The Leaves Are Fading, and others – including his one-act Romeo and Juliet), de Mille (Rodeo, Three Virgins and a Devil (to h_ll with political correctness) (get it? Devil…h_ll), excerpts from Oklahoma and Carousel; La Sylphide (maybe paired with another Bournonville)… Like this review, the wishlist could go on and on.
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