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Nureyev's Birthday


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I've always meant to put this up on March 17th and never remembered, but I did today -- Rudolf Nureyev was born this date in 1938.

Celebratory remembrances, anyone? (Rudi haters, or those who would like to point out in great detail how he continued past his prime are free to start another thread, but this is for birthday-appropriate remembrances, please.)

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at the urging of a friend, i hereby offer the following.

i supered for the national ballet of canada in 1973 for sleeping beauty. there was a performance on march 17 and the company planned a little on-stage celebration. when the curtain went down for the last time, everyone stayed on stage rather than dispersing as usual, and someone wheeled in a large birthday cake, and everyone sang happy birthday while rudolph laughed and enjoyed himself. next to the cake there were two little birthday presents. what are you going to give a guy like this? funny presents, it seems, was the answer. he opened the first box and took out a turban made of a cloth towel that had been decorated with big fake jewels, put it on his head and everyone oohed and aahed, and then he took it off. he opened the second box and it contained a dance belt which had been decorated with rhinestones on the front and two little rabbit's foot tails on the back. that seemed to strike him as hilarious and he pulled it on over his white act 3 tights and modelled it for everyone. if i had only had a camera! ;) at any rate that is the only rudolph birthday story i know, but it's a good giggle. wish i could remember who his partner was that night, just know it was either veronica tennant, nadia potts or karen kain.

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A perfect birthday story, thank you.

My favorite curtain call stories are Nureyev ones - from the days, often with Naitonal Ballet of Canada, when 30 to 45 minute curtain calls happened every night. it was part of the show.

One of these. After a Sleeping Beauty with National Ballet of Canada in New York (1977? 1978? It was his last performance before making Valentino) he got a standing ovation after his solo in the third act. now, he did this not only by alternating double tours and double pirouettes in his circle of turning jumps, but by ending in attitude, 3/4 pointe, hold hold hold hold hold, then slam down into fifth and raise the arms, making it absolutely clear that nothing is going to happen until the house rises, which of course we did on cue.

I clocked the curtain cals that night -- 50 minutes, up from the standard 30 or 35. The gallery had a sign that said "Hurry back, Sheik!" The two enormous flower throwing ladies who always sat front orchestra right pitched their bouquets with machine-like rapidity and accuracy. There were screams, shouts, bravos.

The woman next to me kept saying, over and over, "I've never been to a ballet before! I've never been to a ballet before!" I've always wondered what happened to her -- did she subscribe to everything the next season, expecting the same experience?

I should note that the performance, with Karen Kain as Aurora, was excellent top to bottom, right down to the little page (one of two) who did an unintentional parody of Nureyev, following him around on stage, walking like him -- it was an exact copy.

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This isn't adulatory, but it's an important memory for me, so I'd like to include it in the birthday thread.

I saw RN during one of his "... and Friends" tours, and yes, his technique was considerably eroded by that time, but his desire to perform and his love of dancing were still powerful. He was doing Apollo, and instead of a ballet about a young god, he showed us the intensity of an ageing one. In the group section after the solos, when the three muses are sitting stage right, and lift their legs in series up to Apollo's hand, the sequence usually reads as the god taming the muses -- he commands and they obey. This time around, instead of a classical port de bras, N embraced their legs, gathering them to his chest almost as if he was trying to keep them from escaping, trying to keep his connection to dancing. Rather than learning to command his world and master his skills, this Apollo was taking leave of his realm and mourning his departure. The ending tableau was less about ascending to the heavens as it was about leaving the earth, leaving the ground that we dance on.

I have to say that this interpretation is primarily my perspective on what I saw, but when I spoke with my companion that evening, she had a very similar reaction. It was an astonishing performance of the work, and a powerful experience in the theater.

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Thank you for that, sandi. He was a very spontaneous artist.

Your story reminded me of the Bomb Scare Swan Lake, with Paris Opera Ballet here at the Kennedy Center in the late 1980s. The theater had to be emptied right before the start of the White Swan pas de deux. We were told it was a drill -- well, they had to think fast.

We were outside for 45 minutes. Nureyev was reluctant to leave, I was told by one of the ushers (I was "covering" that night) saying he was less afraid of the Libyans (who had phoned in the bomb threat) than he would be standing outside. He finally came out, in his bathrobe, with his mug of tea, and sat on a folding chair, all alone, but guarded by the ushers -- they did this on their own. It was very sweet. they formed a semicircle around him.

A tour bus came through -- it was all so bizarre; this was 10 pm. by now -- and Rudolf sensed an audience, got up, and began to walk. The people on the bus were leaning out the windows taking photos for all they were worth; I wondered if they knew who he was. When his audience was out of eyeshot, Nureyev sat down again until we were told we could go back inside. All of the dancers were outside, the girls in their swan costumes sipping champagne.

They decided to start with Act III, and not redo Act II, presumably because of the lateness of the hour. In Act IV, he and his partner (I believe it was LeClerc, but don't really remember) decided to do the Act II pas de deux rather than Nureyev's own Act IV one. Act II is a falling in love pas de deux, Act IV was a "I'm really sorry I betrayed you, I didn't mean it, I'll die for you if it will help" kind of thing.

They realized this about 10 seconds in, and, without changing a step that I could tell, danced White Swan as a dance of sorrow and leaving. It was one of the most moving things I've ever seen.

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They realized this about 10 seconds in, and, without changing a step that I could tell, danced White Swan as a dance of sorrow and leaving.  It was one of the most moving things I've ever seen.

I'm always interested in how dances can be interpreted/perceived differently depending on the artists' intentions or the general situation.

When PNB did SL here this autumn, I definitely felt that Kaori Nakamura danced the second act duet as a tragic event, almost as if she knew this relationship was doomed, while Olivier Wevers as her partner was practically giddy with excitement. She was like the Marschalin in Rosenkavalier -- already looking back on the moment while she experiences it.

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Yes, it's what we describe -- unhelpfully -- as "magic" Meaning we can't figure it out; they hypnotize us, I'm convinced of that. They make us feel/think what they want us to think -- if we're on that wavelength. Of course, the person sitting two seats down may be bored to tears.

I bring up Langer's "Virtual Power" from time to time; I think this is part of it. The great (in the sense of powerful) dancers are shamans. 10000 years ago they're the ones who came back from the hunt and gave everybody nightmares the way they told -- or sung, or danced -- the tale.

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When Eddie Villella returned to City Ballet to do a few performances of Watermill (ca. 1992?), I was struck by a certain wistful melancholy that I didn't remember from earlier performances. I wasn't sure if it was something that happened in my head, if it was something that Villella intended, or if it happened in the ether between us.

Not too many months afterward, I had the opportunity to mention this to Villella. He said that the sadder tone was not something he consciously intended, but that he saw those performances as his farewell to the company that gave him his dancing life, and that may have added the sadness. Plus, he was older, with all that that implies.

Wonderful answer, but not quite what I'd hoped for. Alexandra's "magic" will have to do.

:offtopic:

Happy Birthday, Rudolf! :D:)

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Thank you for the wonderful stories of Nureyev from all of you.

It's funny that I just started to read "Nureyev, his life" by Diane Solway, and according to the information I gathered from the book, and by looking at the pictures, it striked me that the race of tartar is more related to Asian, with the family history traced all the way down to the 16th century when the Mongolian invaded and ruled most of Russia and Europe.

I have never seen Nureyev on stage, but he brought Paris Opera Ballet with him to Hong Kong at the beginning of the 90's. The 3-minute interview I saw on TV was closest I got to this famous dancer. :)

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