NYCB: Winter 2025 – Final Two Weeks: When Swans Fly

New York City Ballet
David H. Koch Theater
Lincoln Center
New York, New York

February 18, 19, 26, and 27, 2025
Swan Lake

Jerry Hochman

New York City Ballet concluded its Winter 2025 season with 13 performances of Peter Martins’s Swan Lake. I saw four of the five different casts, including three Odette/ Odile role debuts, and two new Siegfrieds.

Two observations should be recognized and emphasized up front.

I’ve written many times that Swan Lake is bulletproof; tickets always sell well regardless of the production, the dancers, the performances, or reviews. But the NYCB Swan Lake performances I attended this season (and, from what I’ve heard, the others as well) took that to an even higher level. The excitement about this production was palpable, and tickets were tough to come by: the performances I saw were effectively sold out – including partial view tickets in the fifth ring (which is where I sat for one of the performances). And for the final weekend, since demand was so high, the company announced that it would be selling standing room tickets (where standing room is at the back of the fourth ring – I know because I stood there on several occasions decades ago). I haven’t seen that since the Koch Theater was the New York State Theater.

Of course, the house might have been papered to one extent or another, but still…these seats weren’t filled by curious summertime tourists who have a tendency to applaud at the wrong times because they just don’t know. That didn’t happen here. These appeared largely to be NYCB ballet audiences gone wild. There was something about this production this time around that left viewers unusually ecstatic. Whatever prompted it (social media, positive reviews, word of mouth,…), the excitement itself produced more excitement.

The other observation is that if you only attend one performance, given the overall quality of all those involved, that one performance would be the best ever, and it would be difficult to believe any critic who says otherwise. But critics (and many audience members) see a single performance in a context of multiple performances, past as well as current, which provides the opportunity for a more comprehensive evaluation. Moreover, the differences are by degrees, not chasms, and at times subjective. Finally, an initial evaluation isn’t written in stone; dancers often vary their characterizations and nuances from performance to performance, even in the same season. That’s why, for example, a performance by a ballerina dancing Odette/ Odile can earn one evaluation in one year, and a different one in another.

I’ve previously discussed Martins’s version comprehensively, so I won’t repeat all of that here. Rather, below I’ll briefly explain certain areas of concern I found in this production in my initial reviews that I’ve revisited or rationalized since then. Thereafter I’ll delve into the specific performances I attended. But for those who prefer to cut to the chase promptly, with the above observations in mind (and somewhat trepidatiously, since performance quality is not a contest) I’ll state my conclusory opinions as to relative performance success up front (or close to it). Of the four excellent Odette/ Odiles I saw this season, the finest overall was Mira Nadon (Miriam Miller and Unity Phelan delivered superb role debuts), and to me the finest overall Siegfried was Joseph Gordon.

Martins’s Swan Lake has been controversial since it premiered. The litany of complaints by a wide range of critics and veteran ballet-goers included the abominable sets and costumes (by famed Danish artist, the late Per Kirkeby), the elimination of almost all mime and overt emotional displays, the neither here nor there ending, the elimination of various roles and the addition of others, the excising or reordering of parts of Tchaikovsky’s score, and significant modifications to what’s considered “standard” Petipa/ Ivanov choreography.

In my initial reviews, I joined the chorus.

But after repeated exposures to it over the years, particularly this season, I’ve begun to enjoy this roguish Swan Lake, appreciating it for what it is rather than bemoaning what it isn’t. I even got used to Kirkeby’s set (I’m working on the costumes), and learned to appreciate the choreographic changes. Well…most of them. The near renunciation of emotion is still too high a mountain for me to climb, particularly as to Act III, but then, this is what NYCB essentially did, or was seen as doing, under Balanchine, who’d strip a story of any “superfluous” narrative and accompanying choreographic accoutrements (like emotional responses), leaving only the essence of whatever story is being told. Think an opera with little recitatives and no arias. [That’s not completely true, but it’s what people think, and this goal of eliminating unnecessary excess baggage appears to have been his clear intent in creating his one-act Swan Lake, which Martins’s ballet adopted and adapted for its White Acts.]

Following my first series of exposures to Martins’s Swan Lake, I wrote that here the story is transported from its usual idyllic setting to a cold and dreary mountaintop swan aerie (I saw no ‘lake’), as if Scottie had beamed up the production to a planet where no swan had gone before. The scenery (and act curtain) feature jagged and elongated white zigzags that look like nerve endings that had been struck by lightning and spread vertically across various irregularly-shaped blocks of muted colors, and that carry with them a perception of angularity that clashes with the conception of Swan Lake on its most basic levels – it visually conflicts with the score (increasing the orchestral pace only makes the performance move faster; it doesn’t change the character of the Tchaikovsky music), and wrests the story from its romanticized central European roots and plops it in the middle of nowhere.

The last time I saw the production, however, I began to get used to it. It’s not all gloom and doom. For example, looking at the Kirkeby curtains again, I thought I saw what might have been a lake toward the center of the miasma of electric-charged twigs. And this time around, on several occasions viewing the production from levels high above the stage, I saw something intriguing: I think the act curtain (the one, if there is one, immediately behind the house or theater curtain) presents a view where the action ultimately occurs from the top down, rather than laterally (or as a pure abstraction). That is, the above-stage view enabled me to see not only corps patterns (which is usually cited as a benefit of sitting on levels above the stage), but to consider the Kirkeby curtain as providing a “top-down” view as well – the view one might get if one were a swan flying above the ground area, and which, from this top-down view, includes an small open patch that could be a lake viewed from far above.

Seen this way, Kirkeby’s creation is ingenious: Rather than being an impenetrable mess of abstract tree branches, it’s a flying swans’ eye view as they scout for a comfortable (and maybe familiar) resting place on which to land, find the lake below and eventually land on that lake (that small area of the scrim that I’d seen previously). It’s the opposite of the view the hunters have as they look upward and track the swans flying in the distance above them at the beginning of Act II.

[For those interested, swans are flying birds (strong flyers, faster than any other waterfowl according to the International Fund for Animal Welfare web site – ifaw.org), though they’re usually viewed swimming on lakes. There they pass the time while they moult for a few weeks following the breeding season, posing for flocks of photographing humans and/or encountering swan-hunters for whom they’re sitting ducks.]

This top-down observation is ratified by something else I noticed for the first time. From this upper view, it’s evident that the stage is lit as if the light is entering from the above down through the angled branches that dominate the act curtain – the stage floor shows “shadows” of the branches and leaves that might be blocking light emanating from above.

I have no idea whether this evaluation is right or wrong (or if there is a “right’ or “wrong”), but it’s … intriguing. Maybe it can be chalked up to overthinking, but I’d prefer that there be a purpose behind Kirkeby’s apparent abstraction, albeit one well-camouflaged, than a random assortment of streaks of nerve endings.

I still dislike the costumes, but even here I now see them as an eye-popping riot of color rather than a color cacophony (for the prince’s birthday party in Act I), or as pseudo “period” costumes for the nobility attending the prince’s highfalutin ballroom party in Act III, rather than gross bulbous eye-fillers to hide the fact that there’s no real set. Indeed, because I no longer viscerally hated them, I first thought some of the costuming had changed – but there’s no reference in the program to any such change. So either I’m losing memory brain cells (a distinct possibility), or I’m just getting used to them. [Note – this version condenses the usual Acts I and II, and Acts III and IV, into combined Acts I and II, each containing two scenes, and Balanchine’s one-act version merges what is usually Acts II and Act IV, eliminating what are usually Acts I and III. I refer to the four separate Acts here for clarity.]

The absence of mime is a more difficult row to hoe. But I see now that this applies primarily to Balanchine’s revisions to the White Acts because, arguably, such background information is tangential and unnecessary to the basic story, which here is a love story between a human and a human-looking swan. With that understanding, what difference does it make how Odette got there or how the lake was created? That’s the most prominent example of mime-elimination, and it stands out since the Tchaikovsky music continues as if there should be mime there, but there isn’t.

In other respects I see now that there’s plenty of mime, particularly in Acts I and III, but also as revisions in, or options to, Balanchine’s more ascetic White Acts. Indeed, in Act I there’s a surfeit of “dance” miming (as in, “let’s dance” or “join us and dance”…). Further, except for that background /history mime in Act II, mime to a limited extent seems optional. In this version Siegfried still swears his love for Odette in Act II, except he does it after everyone else leaves the stage – except for one Siegfried who did it at the “appropriate” point, and then again after everyone leaves. [There’s no “swearing love” in Act IV (there is, but Odette stops him) because at that point it’s irrelevant.] And the “mother’s tears” mime is there too at one or two of the performances I saw– except they’re not “mother’s” tears; they’re Odette’s tears. And

And, apparently – judged by the performances I attended – a show of emotion in Act III is somewhat optional as well. There’s no question that it’s less than the “norm,” but I saw some attempts at seduction, albeit limited, from three of the four Odiles I saw. And Act IV includes certain emotional responses that are mandated by the choreography.

So what to make of all this? Frankly, not much. Except for purists (whatever that means considering the multi-conceived and reconceived versions of Swan Lake), the bottom line is what I consider a ballet commandment: though shalt not be boring. This Swan Lake is, at worst, strange, but it’s never boring. On the contrary, it’s as exciting and fast-moving as any (except for retaining certain Petipa “dead spots” in Act III that stop the action cold). I usually take audience cheers and standing ovations with a grain, or an entire box, of salt – but not this time. The abundance of enjoyment coupled with satisfied (or exceeded) expectations, was apparent.

That being said, there were significant differences between specific dancers in specific roles. I’ll discuss them in performance order.

Tiler Peck is a magnificent technician and a world-class ballerina. Her phrasing is impeccable; she controls time. I considered her Odette/ Odile role debut in 2017 to be one of the finest performances of that year. Here, however, although her execution was impeccable, as usual, her performance overall was disappointing because she rarely changed her decidedly pensive demeanor.

It’s one thing to be melodramatic, which carries its own problems. But it’s another to provide little emotional expression at all. In Act I, I saw her demeanor change somewhat where the “how she got there” mime would have been; and in the concluding act, when she stopped Siegfried from swearing his love (a neat choreographic moment and an example of emotion built into the choreography). Other than that, her face was monochromatic. Even in Act III, where Odile would be expected to exude something resembling a personality (and, more importantly, a seduction), there was nothing. From my point of view (and I was in the Orchestra for this performance, focused on her at all times during Act III), she didn’t crack anything resembling a smile until she’d completed her fouettés, and that smile was a happiness smile, not a seductive one. [The fouettés shouldn’t matter as long as there’s a fair effort, but to many audience-members they do. What she accomplished here in that regard was far less seismic than in her 2017 debut, but not deficient. She did 33 (by my highly unreliable account), singles after an initial double, no port de bras variations, but traveled significantly downstage.]

This is a criticism I’ve made before – specifically in 2022 when Peck danced the Black Swan Pas de Deux. I wrote then that she failed to deliver any characterization at all. That might pass muster for an excerpt, but not in an evening-length, including Martins’s version. And she’s certainly capable of showing emotion beyond what may be provided within the choreography, as she demonstrated in her 2017 role debut. As technically perfect as her performance here appeared, it wasn’t at the same level as that 2017 blockbuster portrayal.

The following night I paid attention to the same “emotion” issue in Phelan’s role debut. Right out of the box in Act III, Phelan looked at Siegfried with a seductive grin. Later, she did the same directly through her eyes. There wasn’t much more (in terms of seduction) than that, but it was undeniably there.

The rest of Phelan’s performance was commendable. While she may have lacked the sense of technical perfection that Peck had shown, and her overall execution displayed more internalized emotion than one might expect in a role debut. As for those fouettés, she completed 22 (again, unofficially), and also traveled considerably. Curiously, and maybe intentionally, she was behind the music while doing the fouettés, but reached her last fouette just as the orchestra completed its comparable component part; it was a smooth segue). Part of the success of her portrayal was the support she received from her Siegfried, which I’ll discuss below.

The following week, the Odette/ Odile was Nadon. She’d debuted in the role four days earlier, although in reality it was more of a half-debut; she’d already danced the Black Swan Pas de Deux (in 2022). In my subsequent review of that 2022 performance, I commented on her brilliance in the role, that it exceeded even the wildest expectations, and that it was scary to think she’d even improve that performance over time. However, I opined that she may be one of those rare ballerinas for whom portraying Odette (in a full-length Swan Lake) would prove more difficult to carry off than Odile, but that I wouldn’t bet against her.

Good thing. Abetted by her Siegfried, Nadon’s Odette in both Act II and Act IV was sublime. Although she too maintained a relatively straight face throughout, it was qualitatively different from the other Odettes: one could sense, if not see, the emotion that percolated within. There was no melodrama, but her performance displayed far more than being mired deep in thought (or misery). As for her fouettés, compared to the others she turned on a dime, and, again by my highly unofficial count, finished 36, with alternating doubles until close to halfway through. Like Phelan, her flickers of seduction, although minimal, were there. But with Nadon, all she needed to do was glare at him to make her Siegfried go weak in the knees.

The final Odette/Odile was the following night. Miller surprised me. I thought her casting here was premature, and that she’d have difficulty with Odette as well as Odile. But with the aid of her Siegfried, she carried that portrayal off particularly well, especially for a role debut. Indeed, there was an admirable crystalline quality to her execution, and a noble bearing that made her a more believable Swan Queen than any of the others, even Nadon.

Her Odile was a bit disappointing, but only because, given her success as the Siren in Prodigal Son and the Novice in The Cage, I expected more. Then again, those roles are character-constricted, and don’t require overt displays of seduction beyond what might come naturally, so I think my expectation wasn’t valid. In any event, it was a highly commendable first outing, because, again to my surprise, a lot of Miller’s Odile displayed a natural radiance that, coupled with her limited expressions of seduction, was sufficient – at least for this production. [I’ve seen this season’s 5th cast, led by Sara Mearns’s Odette/ Odile, on many prior occasions: it’s her finest role.]

As for the Siegfrieds, Roman Mejia, in his role debut opposite Peck, did everything he was supposed to do right, from partnering to displaying his usual super-danseur explosiveness. But, rightly or wrongly, I sensed that he was holding back a bit compared to other roles with similar opportunities for bravura execution – perhaps to make sure that the emphasis, as it should be, was on Peck’s Odile.

But what concerned me most about his performance is that in Act III, Mejia was hooked as soon as Peck/Odile appeared in the pas de deux. Before anything else happened, he smiled, and his eyes opened wide as if they’d been turned on like a lightbulb. That isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. He should be convinced, won over, overwhelmed; in short, he must be seduced.

Gordon’s Siegfried, opposite Phelan, did convey that sense of being won over, and more. His was a passionate portrayal evidenced by his actions, and his dazzling execution during Act III looked like he was pushing himself to the limit without strain or a sense of overdoing. His Siegfried came across as the princely equivalent of the little engine that could, and even though he may not have soared as high as Mejia, his turns a la seconde were the finest of this batch of Siegfrieds in that he maintained a secure 90 degree angle or very close to it, and did so consistently. Whether he kept Phelan centered during pirouettes was difficult to determine – from where I was seated; everything looked off center. But, adjusting as is sometimes required based on vantage point, his partnering was flawless.

To me the finest aspect of Gordon’s portrayal, however, was his communicated sense of sincerity – a quality that in this company he owns.

Peter Walker’s Siegfried, opposite Nadon, appeared to fade into the woodwork in Act I. Although that is this version’s conception (In Act I Siegfried really doesn’t have much to do), Walker was more wooden than others. But he discarded any sluggishness I sensed thereafter through the balance of the piece. He was an excellent partner (Nadon is tall, but Walker’s height provided plenty of room), and delivered solid Act III embellishments. Based on those I’ve seen, this was one of Walker’s finest performances.

In a role debut, Chun Wai Chan was Miller’s Siegfried. I thought he’d be too short for her, and in performance he did appear shorter (again, taking my high-above stage position into account), especially when she danced on pointe. But that didn’t get in the way. My assumption is that the two of them dealt with that issue during rehearsals, and there was no evidence that it negatively impacted their performance in any way. His partnering was secure, as were his lifts, his virtuosic Act III, and his attitude. It was a highly commendable debut. Most importantly, it fulfilled the promise he displayed when he partnered Nadon in that 2022 Black Swan Pas de Deux that I referenced above.

After Odette/ Odile and Siegfried, the most important character in this production, choreographically, is the Jester. In Act I, he carries the celebration and is the Act’s dominant force – and he has an important role in the indoor celebration in Act III as well. I disliked this character intensely on my first exposure to it, but now I look forward to seeing him command the Act 1 action

From first moment to last, the Jester in the first performance I attended this season was, to put it mildly, spectacular. This Jester was tall and lanky, but he hurled his bones as well as shorter Jesters do, so with all those bones to move around, the visual impact was more significant than the others. But his face was unfamiliar; I had to check the program during intermission to see that he was Spartak Hoxha, a familiar name, and my disbelief increased. Hoxha has been a member of the corps for a long time (since 2011), but I’ve never seen him before in featured roles (my understanding is that he’s had recurring injuries). His performance here was eye-opening, to say the least.

Troy Schumacher has assayed Jester previously, and his performance here, on the 21^st, was comparable to his others: he delivered undeniable quality, but not quite as breathtakingly “out-there” as the other Jesters I saw in this run.

In their February 26^th and 27^th performances, KJ Takahashi and Sebastian Villarini-Velez respectively, executed their roles splendidly. Takahashi, who debuted in the role the prior week, did very fine work, but Villarini-Velez, whom I’d not previously seen as the Jester, provided yet another reason to merit a promotion. He too had been injured (to my understanding), but there was no negative impact of that in his outing here. And his interpretation, beyond the steps, was a little different from the others, though they all did the same choreography. The other Jesters provided quality humorous entertainment for the court (not to mention the audience), but Villarini-Velez added what I saw as an interesting collateral quality. In addition to being an agile comic, Villarini-Velez’s Jester was part conniver; a Jester with an edge.

The other major character, Von Rotbart (I suppose if the company can add an “s” to Tchaikovsky, it can subtract an “h” from the more common Rothbart), has much less to do here than in other versions. Again, from the moment he first appeared in the February 20^th performance, Preston Chamblee made his Von Rotbart important, and impossible to ignore – even though the silly orange chicken-head costume is something one might want to ignore. All the Von Rotbarts do the same thing, but I’ve not seen a Von Rotbart in this production exude such dynamism and power. The other three, in performance order Aaron Sanz (his role debut), Alec Knight, and Christopher Grant (his role debut) were perfectly satisfactory, but not as dramatically striking as Chamblee. [And perhaps the company should reconsider whether, after he’s vanquished, Von Rotbart surreptitiously exits the stage, leaving his orange cape behind (something like the wicked witch of the West melting away in “The Wizard of Oz”). All four appeared to have had considerable difficulty removing their cape and running off at the appropriate time (in between moving swans), and Grant was unable to do it – and ran off taking his cape with him. The empty cape’s presence on stage after Von Rotbart is vanquished is a statement to be sure, but if it’s that hard to jettison, perhaps that statement should be eliminated; or, alternatively, an easier way should be found for the Von Rotbart of the night to remove it.]

I’ll spend less time with the other characters, even though they dancers in them deserve more, to avoid the opportunity to double the size of this review.

All the dancers in the Pas de Trois I saw: (respectively, with the “jumping” ballerina listed first, then the evening’s “Benno” – here a relatively insignificant role, and then the second ballerina) – Sara Adams, Takahashi, and Erica Pereira; Dominika Afanasenkov, Villarini-Velez, and Allegra Inch; India Bradley, Jules Mabie, and Mary Thomas MacKinnon; and Baily Jones, Harrison Coll, and Rommie Tomasini – all did fine work, as did the two sets of “Four Small Swans” (“Cygnets”) that were spread over the four performances: Lauren Collett, Jones, Shelby Mann, and Claire Von Enck; and Inch, Mann, Grace Scheffel, and Tomasini, each set earning substantial audience roars of approval.

Lastly the divertissements/ character dances, which here are generally very well-choreographed compared to most of those I’ve seen in other productions, were all well-executed, with Alexa Maxwell’s role debut in the “Russian” dance being particularly commendable.

Finally, I must recognize, as did the audiences at each performance I attended, the reliable competence and consistency of the corps of swans; the already-superlative work by the young dancers from the NYCB-affiliated School of American Ballet, and the continuing excellence that is the New York City Ballet Orchestra.

The post NYCB: Winter 2025 – Final Two Weeks: When Swans Fly appeared first on CriticalDance.