Founding Choreographers II and Short Stories

In the past couple weeks I went to a couple of programs at the New York City Ballet, the first consisting of Ballo della Regina, Davidsbündlertänze, and Glass Pieces and the second consisting of Swan Lake, The Steadfast Tin Soldier, Romeo and Juliet, and Slaughter on Tenth Avenue. So no more Vienna, happily. I'm not sure that I was in the mood for any more of that.

I was particularly interested in seeing Ballo della Regina again because although I've seen it before it's always been with ABT on the smaller City Center stage. It was a pleasure to see it with more room to spread out. And Davidsbündlertänze was beautiful although something I need to see again while Glass Pieces was so energetic and felt so much, for all it's Egyptian whatever, like a ballet born from New York. 

I think though, that the program was something that would have been more enjoyable from, well, somewhere other than the cheap seats. It doesn't normally bother me--hey, you get used to your spot--but for this particular program I think the lower angle would have been nice. Partly because I would have liked to see Davidsbündlertänze from closer and partially because I think it would have made the silhouette effect in Glass Pieces nicer. Also, I really need to find my little opera glasses. They're in a bag somewhere in my apartment (much like most of my possessions) but I certainly have no idea where.

I enjoyed the Short Stories program rather less for the most part. I like Maria Kowroski fine, but didn't particularly love her as Odette and I didn't like the corps that much either for all that the choreography they've been given isn't the problem. The way they used their arms felt sort of perfunctory to me and didn't quite create that poetic feeling that Swan Lake seems to call for. And then you've got The Steadfast Tin Soldier which is a nice little bit of fluff and the Romeo and Juliet pas de deux, which was bland through no fault of the dancers. I was glad I went though, because Slaughter on Tenth Avenue was a lot of fun. I'd never Robert Fairchild dance before that I can recall but I thought he was great tapping away. And I'm always happy to see Sara Mearns who I think is wonderful (not exactly a controversial opinion there). I normally think of her as being the perfect dancer for romantic roles and parts that call for a smooth, flowing quality of movement, so Slaughter isn't really something I would expect her in. Yet she was fantastic in it. 

Speaking of dancers doing well in unexpected things, it's something that Macaulay touched on briefly in his season wrap-up of NYCB. But it's mostly other things he wrote that are stirring up the discussion. (A few links to commentary about it:  Turned In, Swan Lake Samba Girl, Dancing Perfectly Free.)I don't necessarily disagree with his comments about several of the dancers--in fact I agree with most of them--but I do wish that he'd used the space to write about things he hasn't written much about previously, rather than returning to that well again. Anyone who reads the dance criticism in the New York Times regularly knows how he feels about those dancers. I'd rather not be bored. 

Four Voices @ NYCB

I had planned on going to the ballet Friday and just picking up a ticket when I got there. Then I was so enjoying the book I started on the subway ride to Lincoln Center that I almost turned around and went home so I could keep reading. (I bought the two John Williams books I didn't already own the other day--I figured if I'm googling interviews with him at 4 o'clock in the morning it's probably a sign I should read more of his books--and I just started Augustus.) Anyway, I did end up going because I very much wanted to see Concerto DSCH, but while sitting through the first couple ballets I seriously questioned that decision.

Well, I questioned that decision while not busy thinking about how my hands smelled like bleach and how sad it was to be thinking about that rather than enjoying what I'd paid to see (during Chiaroscuro) or how I really wished I hadn't worn stockings because my left foot was itchy and I couldn't itch it properly (during Papillons). I'm not, as a general rule, opposed to seeing things I dislike, but I found myself feeling a slight bit resentful when it came to these two. I mean it's one thing to see a new piece that isn't good. Or to see something that just isn't to your taste. Or even something that fails in an interesting way. But I'm just baffled as to why these first two ballets were revived: It's not that they're awful, it's just that they're bland and somewhat tedious. And since the audience didn't seem particularly full and the applause was tepid compared to what the other ballets received I can't imagine it was the huge audience demand either. Well, so it goes. I'm sure there are people who enjoyed it far more than I did.

I was glad then, that it was all uphill from there, and particularly that I liked Concerto DSCH as much as I did. I love that the dancers are shown as normal people, in a way; they're doing incredible things but they're not elevated. And while many people have already noted this, it's a treat to watch the community Ratmansky creates on stage. And the dancers look like they're having a great time. Who knows if that's actually the case--not I--but the impression makes it fun for me as a member of the audience. I also enjoyed the variation of tone over the course of the ballet. And getting to see Wendy Whelan who, solely by chance, I haven't seen that much of but always enjoy when I do see her perform. I feel a little Vienna-ed out between the Brahms-Schoenberg Quartet and Vienna Waltzes. The last movement with Sara Mearns and Amar Ramasar was a blast. So the night at least ended on a high note. 

All Balanchine + Coppelia

Getting myself to the ballet on Saturday was a bit of a comedy of errors. I was planning to head out early so I could buy a ticket and then head over to Barnes & Noble for a bit (I have a gift certificate). Thanks to that plan, while I didn't make it to the bookstore, I did manage to get to Lincoln Center on time.

The problems started when I decided that I wanted to bring Nancy Goldner's Balanchine Variations with me so I could re-read her essay on The Four Temperaments during the subway ride. (As a sidenote, if the world were a perfect place someone would offer Goldner an exorbitant sum of money to write about many more Balanchine ballets, because her book is wonderful but I wish it were three times the length.) Unfortunately, during the bedbug invasion I became thoroughly paranoid about my books getting infested--it does happen!--so I heat treated all of them and put them in ziploc bags. But they don't all fit on my bookshelf to begin with and the bags are slippery so I can't stack them on top of the shelf like I used to. Thus there are piles of books all over the apartment. Unsurprisingly, it took a while to find Goldner's book--behind the kitchen table, shoved up next to the shelf the plants live on. It was in a ziploc with a biography of Henning Kronstam, so I was clearly employing some kind of logic in my bug-addled state.

Anyway, then I went to get on the subway and the F & V weren't running in either direction due to a "police action." So I had to walk a ways to get the D in the--admittedly minimal--snow and while wearing not terribly practical shoes. I eventually got there and got my ticket with just enough time to look over the program before the start so it was all fine.

I'm not sure how I feel about Chaconne. I enjoyed Maria Kowroski--she's such a beautiful dancer--but didn't particularly like Marcovici as her partner. I wanted him to be smoother and more expansive so he would be a better match for her. For the most part though, the ballet just seemed perfectly lovely but no more and no less than that.

The Four Temperaments though, I loved. And to go back to the Goldner book, reading such a clear-eyed exploration of the work is something that's so helpful to a person like me who has very little technical knowledge because it gives me things to look for and focus on. So much writing about ballet is flowery and metaphor-filled and I get that, because dance is hard to describe in writing (I certainly can't do it well), but it doesn't help me much. Goldner's descriptions are so concrete that it's easy for me to know what she's talking about. Here, for example, she writes about the three initial duets:

Whereas the drama in the last four parts resides in its play on emotive qualities, the first part is most dramatic for its play with the academy. The knee, for example, is all but invisible in textbook ballet. It is prominent in The Four Ts from the start, when both of the dancers in the first duet move with one knee on the ground. It's just one step they take, but its slight awkwardness brings what could be a transitional move into high relief. Placing a woman on pointe with a bent knee is even more unorthodox, since the very point of dancing on pointe is to create a streamlined image. Balanchine develops the bent-knee motif as the three duets progress, starting with big ronds de jambe, moving to pirouettes, and finally to pirouettes in which the woman plunks her foot on top of her supporting bent knee.

Well I can understand and appreciate that. It gave me something to look for, and think about, while watching. Later, she writes about the roles of the temperaments themselves. Here too, she's clear without being either fussy or authoritarian. Of Melancholic, she writes:

His main problem is that he can't get anywhere, can't get out of his own body. And when he's not thwarting himself, the ensemble of six women does the job for him.

I like that idea. I liked watching the Melancholic variation and considering the ways in which he is stuck, and incapable of forward progress. It's not that I particularly want someone to tell me what to think about particular ballets. I don't, because that would be boring. But I do like to be given things to think about. That provides me with an entry point of sorts into these non-narrative ballets.

Vienna Waltzes I liked, but I think it would be possible for me to like it more. I thought I would after the first section with Sara Mearns, who is one of my favorite New York City Ballet dancers among those I've seen and seemed perfect for the role. And I enjoyed the second waltz and the polka as well. But the Merry Widow section didn't particularly work for me. And then came the last section, which was thrilling once the ensemble was dancing--although I think the mirrors probably create a more dramatic effect for those below the fourth ring--but not so much before that. The solo sections with Darci Kistler didn't seem fully realized. So there was kind of a dip there for me.

All in all though, it was one of those days when I left the theater happy to have been there and seen the show, which is always a good feeling to have.

I also went to Coppelia (on Tuesday) and it was cute enough--Megan Fairchild makes a perfect little pretend-doll; the peasants are, as is usually the case in ballet, very happy--but I had a headache by the third act and was mostly just ready to go home. (This week has been a long one for me because I've been feeling generally not good.) Teresa Reichlen was beautiful as Dawn. And, in a somewhat related plus, it meant I missed watching the Sabres lose to the Red Wings. That was definitely a good thing.

Jerome Robbins

During my vacation I managed to finish up Deborah Jowitt's Jerome Robbins: His Life, His Theater, His Dance, which I quite enjoyed. It's very focused on his work, as opposed to the nitty gritty of his personal life, which is great because the former is what I was interested in reading about. Also good because the writing about his work was handled more smoothly--sometimes when writing about his personal life Jowitt starts a thread and then doesn't really pick it up again. Anyway, I'd taken the book out of the library hoping it would help me get a handle on Watermill. It didn't but it was interesting to read it after the all-Robbins program I saw last Friday, just prior to going on vacation. The program was Dances at a Gathering, Other Dances, and The Concert and I loved it.

I think Dances at a Gathering is something I need to see again. It's so long and there's so much to look at that I think I missed things. It was my first (and sadly, last) opportunity to see Damian Woetzel dance, and he certainly doesn't dance like someone who is about to retire--he was fantastic and it's a shame I won't have a chance to see more of him. I also particularly liked Ashley Bouder and Sara Mearns. They're both just so enjoyable to watch dance. I also thought Yvonne Borree was lovely--she was my friend's favorite--although I do understand what Macaulay means when he describes her dancing as small. I liked her anyway. The other dancers I didn't notice specifically but I think that was probably because I was more focused on the whole than on any specifics in this first viewing.

The Jowitt book talked extensively about community within Robbins's ballets, particularly this one, and also the way in which he wanted dancers to make the movement look spontaneous. I'd very much like to see the ballet again with those things in mind.

I was looking forward to Other Dances because Julie Kent was guesting and I think she's just a fantastically beautiful ballerina. I'd only ever seen Gonzalo Garcia dancing with Ashley Bouder, and I think it's safe to say that she and Kent are just a bit different. I couldn't help but feel like I would have preferred to see her dancing the part with someone like Marcelo Gomes. I felt like the connection wasn't quite there with Kent and Garcia and they didn't quite fill the parts, if that makes sense. It must be difficult though, to come in as a guest artist and dance with someone one doesn't normally dance with and have everything be perfect right off the bat.

I loved The Concert. Sterling Hyltin was so much fun in the main role with her big hair all over the place. She was delightfully goofy and the ballet itself was so genuinely funny. Much more in line with Fancy Free than the other Robbins ballets I've seen this season.

Overall, it was such a nice night at the ballet and gave me three different ballets that I'd like to see performed again at some point in the future.

Watermill and The Four Seasons

I'd read about Watermill and how slow and boring and pretentious, etc. it is and I'd I'd also read that it was influenced by Noh drama. I've never seen Noh but having sat through a not-at-all fun hour and a half of the reportedly more accessible Kabuki I was fully expecting to hate the ballet. So I was surprised when I found it rather interesting.

Tonya Plank, who does wonderful dance reviews on her blog, has a good description of the piece. Basically, our central figure, danced by Nikolaj Hübbe in a role that requires almost no dancing at all, seems to be reflecting on memories, with the most important ones involving his younger self in different stages of his life. He strips down to his underwear on a beach--something that creates a feeling of vulnerability, exposure, perhaps?--and then spends most of his time watching these memories pass. Robbins also equates the cycles of life with the passing of the seasons, which I'm not sure is particular interesting. Or rather, I think it's one that's been done to death and better than it is here. What is far more interesting is that it is a piece of theater that dwelling in memory and yet avoiding the nostalgia that so often seems to overwhelm such things. In fact, the past seems tinged with regret more than anything else.

What fascinates me though is the stillness, the meditative quality, the way in which the dance seeks to change the viewer's perception of time passing. When there is so little motion, every movement matters. Everything becomes imbued with greater importance. Well, that's the theory anyway. The reality is that it's only effective in parts.

There are moments when the shifting tableaux draw you in, moments where you really do fall into the meditative feeling of the piece. One of the loveliest moments, for me, came after the rather sexual duet between the young man I assume is his younger self and a woman. Hübbe has sat, watching, but then he switches from observer to participant as he momentarily takes the place of the young man and is standing with the girl, stepping into his own memory as one steps into a dream.

But there are other times--for example, when he's waving around stalks of wheat, which are apparently supposed to be phragmites, for minutes on end--when you wonder what exactly the point is of a particular part is. And as each part goes on for a long time, you have a lot of time to wonder. On the one hand there's something quite beautiful about this striking man and the light falling on these long golden golden stalks. But on the other hand you can't help but want to know why and if the reason is fathomable then it's beyond me. And if there is no reason isn't that a problem?

I find myself torn on the piece as a whole. I wasn't bored. Hübbe has a way of seeming actively engaged even when perfectly still, and of giving weight his ever-so-slow movements, that I very much enjoy watching. And I felt like there were things I was constantly mulling over, both during and after the performance. But at the same time I found it quite frustrating. So I don't really know what I think and I've been trying to figure it out, but I don't think it's going to happen.

The Four Seasons which I had also never seen, is a lovely way to end the evening on a light, joyful note with it's cheer and humor. I particularly liked Sara Mearns in the Spring section and Ashley Bouder (who I've really enjoyed every time I've seen her dance) and Daniel Ulbricht in the Fall section. I think I would have liked Benjamin Millepied better if he wasn't dancing in a section with Bouder and Ulbricht. They just make everything seem so delightfully effortless, while his dancing seems more like work. I loved the Winter section particularly, even though none of the dancers stood out to me particularly like they did in the Spring and Fall sections.

(1st picture stolen from the New York Times review, 2nd picture stolen from the New York Sun review)

People are Weird and Balanchine's World

So I like to think of myself as a fairly easygoing audience member. If I can see and hear I'm happy. I'm generally fine with kids, whisperers, candy unwrappers, etc. But the guy sitting in front of me Thursday night was truly something else. Not content to lean forward all the time and whisper, he and his wife/girlfriend engaged in quite the PDA. At one point Wendy looked at me and said, "OK, so that was totally inappropriate right?" And when I said, "Oh, yes. That was totally inappropriate," she said, "Just checking to make sure my boundaries aren't totally out a whack." Now call me crazy but I really feel that one shouldn't have to question one's boundaries when observing the audience at a ballet. It's not a fun distraction. I swear, the most unpleasant audience members I encounter are invariably at ballets. What's with that?

But onto pleasanter things. I've only seen a couple ballets by Balanchine before: Nutcracker, of course, and Ballo della Regina at City Center earlier this year. So I was excited to see what seemed like it would be a pretty neat cross-section of his work.

Tombeau de Couperin was the first and also possibly the first ballet I've seen that doesn't involve a lead of any kind or any solos. I found it almost soothing in its logic and symmetry. There are only little moments and shapes that I remember, shifts in the geometry of the dance, but I found the experience of watching it pleasant even though I don't have much to say about it. It's one that I would like to see again because it seems to me that it's tiny small actions that make it tick and I think that requires multiple viewings.

There's a sharp contrast between that and Tarantella, which is sheer bravura and fun. I've seen Ashley Bouder and Gonzalo Garcia dance once before, in Christopher Wheeldon's witty Dance of the Hours, but this was even more enjoyable. Both dancers seem to be having such a good time that it's impossible for the audience not to have a good time as well. Bouder in particular seems to just explode with energy and delight. The ballet itself, which essentially seems a showpiece for individual dancers, forms a nice contrast to both the group dancing of Tombeau and the seriousness of the following ballets.

I can't say I liked Bugaku as much as the others. The costumes are quite pretty and I find the adoption of aspects of Japanese dance interesting. But at the same time, I didn't enjoy the music and there was something uninteresting about it. The reason for that wasn't the choreography but the dancing. Albert Evans performance felt particularly flat and somehow uninvested with any emotion. It just seemed like he was dancing the steps as they were meant to be danced but not providing us with any kind of interpretation. It was bland. I enjoyed Kowroski more because I did feel like she was dancing in such a way as created a character.

The choreography on the other hand does interest me, although I didn't consistently enjoy it. I found the blend of Japanese movements with classical ballet fascinating but, perhaps because of the wigs and makeup to also carry a distinct whiff or Orientalism. The fact that he chose to make a ballet with distinct Japanese influences erotic in nature certainly supports that view and makes watching the ballet uncomfortable in moments. At the same time there were poses and movements that were truly beautiful; I'm certainly not saying that the ballet is bad because of this Orientalism but I do wonder that it doesn't seem to be mentioned as such. Hopefully that's just a result of my limited reading on the subject.

The final ballet of the night was my favorite. I knew a bit more about La Sonnambula coming in than I did about the others because it was one of the ballets I read about in the Henning Kronstam biography I read. In that, Tomalonis wrote:

It is a Romantic and dramatic, rather than bravura, role. Balanchine's Poet, an innocent, the artist who is apart from the world, comes to a very worldly party. He is at first seduced by the Host's mistress, who is the personification of earthly love, but when left alone he sees a lovely, mysterious Sleepwalker, the wife of the Host, whom he instantly recognizes as the other half of his soul.

There's also a bit of an interview with Kronstam on the ballet here.

I'm not convinced that Nikolaj Hubbe's interpretation of the Poet is quite the same as the one Tomalonis and Kronstam describe. When Hubbe enters the party he seems an outsider, but one with a touch of danger as opposed to innocence. It momentarily seems that the other people at the party are uncomfortable around him just as he is uncomfortable around them. As he spends time with the Coquette, first talking on the bench as others dance and then dancing with her himself, he is drawn slowly into the world of the other partygoers. He is enjoying himself and having fun with the Coquette. But then, as they file out of the ballroom though, the Baron takes the Coquette's arm and the Poet is left alone, reasserting his position as an outsider. It is then that he sees the Sleepwalker and everything changes.

The encounter with the Sleepwalker is an awakening for the Poet. She pulls him fully out the world of the party and into a more otherworldly realm. The dancing here is so lovely and unusual, as the Poet becomes more and more desperate in his attempts to wake the Sleepwalker. Hubbe was wonderful in his portrayal and had a sort of beautiful dignity to his dancing even in the more desperate moments. He conveyed a sense of wonder at this beautiful apparition made flesh and it was clear that seeing her had changed his world (ridiculous though it sounds when I put it that way). Darci Kistler's dancing as the Sleepwalker was quiet but eloquent.

The time at the party is less interesting than the pas de deux with the Sleepwalker and at first I wasn't quite sure how they worked together, but thinking about it more I realize that the ballroom scene it's absolutely essential. Without contrast the dance with the Sleepwalker is lovely but not nearly as interesting on a psychological level. The scene in the ballroom is ever-so-slightly wrong--not quite a party through a funhouse mirror but off-kilter nonetheless. It's not where the Poet belongs. Then, just as his status as an outsider is affirmed, he sees the Sleepwalker and feels a spiritual connection with her. She rescues him from this world in which he will never be comfortable and in doing so awakens him into the world to which he does belong as an artist. He needs to be with her, to reach her, because of this connection they have. If we haven't first seen the mundane world of the party the Poet's desperation, the depth of his need for her, doesn't make sense. So it all builds too this beautiful connection to the Sleepwalker and the artistic awakening that brings. Quite marvelous, I thought.

The Nutcracker

Wendy and I went to see the Nutcracker yesterday evening. Six o'clock start times are so not my favorite thing in the world, particularly since they mean I can't eat first. I mean, I understand that a lot of children go to see Nutcracker so they don't want it running too late, but honestly, if it's hard for me to get from work to Lincoln Center by six, I can only imagine that it's even harder for the many working parents who want to bring their kids to the ballet. I just don't get it. On the bright side, it does mean we got to watch Project Runway yesterday.

Anyway, the Nutcracker is lovely and all. Our tickets, as they were last year, were way up in the 5th ring, which is an odd almost vertigo inducing perspective (there's a picture below that might give you an idea). You have to lean forward against the railing in order to see the whole stage, and my hands kept falling asleep. Teach me to try and get cheap--aka within my budget--tickets long after they've gone on sale.

I tend to find myself a bit bored during the first bits. I mean, it's a lovely Christmas party with the dancing and the children and the toys, etc. but once you've seen it once, it kind of feels like a prelude to the real magic which is to come. For me, the delight of the ballet comes when the tree starts growing upward--although the 5th ring does ruin that particular magic a bit since you can see the hole from which the tree grows.

For the most part the ballet was delightful, and I actually felt, watching it, like I was seeing it differently than I had in the past. I felt like I actually have been learning something about watching in the past year. So that was nice too. Anyway, I particularly liked Alina Dronova as Marzipan and Megan Fairchild as Dewdrop. Dronova was full of vivacity and delight while Fairchild seemed to have the kind of clarity that a dewdrop would have. I also always particularly the candy canes with their hoops. Although I imagine most do. The only performance I was disappointed by, and unfortunately it was a big one, was that of the Sugarplum Fairy.

I'm sure that Teresa Reichlen, who danced the role, is usually a lovely dancer--I've never seen her before--but she wasn't good yesterday. While I was at a weird angle so it's sometimes hard to say, she appeared to be very unsteady at times. On at least one occasion it seemed like her cavalier, Stephen Hanna, had to catch her to prevent her from doing a face plant, and there were wobbly arms all over the place when she had to balance (I think I'm describing this correctly). Setting aside such obvious things though, I felt like her dancing lacked the authority, sureness, and grandeur that the role and music seem to call for. Well, I confident that she's been much better in the past and will be much better in the future. I sure don't do my job brilliantly every day. I mean, my boss walked up yesterday and I was totally watching the Gary Robert-Ben Eager fight on YouTube. So I can't point fingers.

Still, it was a nice night and we left the New York State Theater very satisfied. It was quite a bit colder when we left than it had been earlier that day and we rushed home feeling decidedly chillier than we would have hoped. It probably would have helped if either of us would have remembered to wear our hats that morning. Live and learn? Pay for your mistakes? Some other cliche? Oh well, unsurprisingly we survived.