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Ballet in New York |
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It’s not
for nothing one thinks of Mallarmé, here was a crise
de ballet one hardly was aware even existed. The grammatical
perfection of Kevin McKenzie’s choreography in Swan Lake, a
continuous diction with nothing thrown away, has restored the pre-eminence to
dance even in a Tchaikovsky ballet. This is the rightful position, so that
the actual inventions in the pit are heard correctly as for the first time. The corps de
ballet becomes more interesting than many a soloist. The slight
divergences of rhythm, which Nureyev brilliantly accounted for as broken
rhythms in Cinderella, are not perceived as inattention to the music
but as endless natural varieties revealed by equal attentiveness to the
choreography. In general, giving the dancers so much to do makes their work
so much the more worthy of interest. Each step leads to the next, with a
perfect finish of phrase initiating a new one, all in all generating a more
rapid discourse. Because this is
most expressive, most succinct, it gives a more strenuous style of dancing an
appearance of gesticulation, yet it is more demanding than most. The scenic design
is good enough for Hollywood, without exceeding the period, and so are the
costumes. This frees the design of the choreographer to express itself alone,
and so serve the drama. There is no
relation to Balanchine visible in the work, except that he labored
incessantly to create a grammatical awareness in the larger sense as well as
the minutest, and here at last is a visible grammar revealing the utmost
expressiveness. Yet all this applies only to the corps and the leading
female dancers, the male leads (except the villain’s great variation)
having been left unadorned by the precision of McKenzie’s analysis. Much
disparagement was given the performances during the Balanchine centenary,
principally on the grounds that much was lost since the debuts of the
ballets. Now, precisely the opposite is true, the strain and heroism of the
first dancers have become the ease and wonderment of dancers to whom the
ballets are second nature. This is a first-rate development, it hardly need
be said, except in New York, it would seem. You get the idea
from the recent Bolshoi film of Scheherazade. Overall, the outlines of
the work become clear, and a great sense is derived of what a dramatic
masterpiece it is, and the trio of dancing girls is evidently one of
Fokine’s greatest inspirations. Nevertheless, the style is new to these
dancers, and a diminishment of the work is apparent (the Bolshoi’s Firebird
is similarly impressionistic, with the steps and décor and the “speaking”
quality of Stravinsky’s score eked out cinematically). Do I mock
Balanchine’s own productions? I do not, ‘twas ever thus. Furthermore, the
real point of the critics’ disapprobation can be found in a certain
weakness among the male dancers, I should say. |