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Well. this has been an interesting discussion, as usual on BT, but I strongly suspect it isn't what emilienne had in mind when she started it. I think maybe she was hoping for something more along the lines of "when I was seeing Giselle at Ballet Russe in 1947, the Willis all had green toe shoes for two performances," [yes, I made that up] or "I remember the caller in Square Dance, and how different the ballet was without the Bart Cook solo," or the like. Let's see - I can offer a Bolshoi Spartacus from circa 1961 in which we all watched poor Maya Plisetskaya search for the body of her beloved Spartacus on the body-strewn battlefield after the slave army's defeat. She searched and she searched, with heart-rending gestures, never quite noticing the huge fellow dressed all in silver in the middle of the stage with a blinding spotlight on him. After a while, mutterings of "honey, he's the guy lit up like kleig light, OK" could be heard from unsympathetic New Yorkers, accompanied by my own muttering of "no wonder these idiots lost." I believe the staging was changed, though I can rarely make myself watch the ballet so I won't swear to it. I am sure they removed the bit from the orgy in which a couple of slaves trying to feed her bunches of grapes scrambled frantically after the wicked temptress lolling (or trying to) on a fast-travelling couch.

One detail to add that has always amused me. I saw Mr. B's Swan Lake innumerable times over the years I was going to NYCB, from the late fifties through the mid-seventies, and in the early years the pas de quatre for the little swans always brought down the house. It not only brought down the house, it tended to completely disrupt the ballet, which, from conversations with NYCB staff at the time, I gather drove Balanchine completely nuts. So he took it out and replaced it with something less disruptive. I see that the MCB revival has honored this choice. Fans I knew at the time, myself included, agreed, when we stopped laughing.

The New York Public Library Dance Collection has several recordings of Harlequinade: a 1984 and a 1985 live performance, both with McBride and Ib Andersen, both recorded 'for archival purposes'; 1978 stage rehearsal - not quite complete (Harlequin appears to be missing) - with McBride; and a 1993 live performance with Margaret Tracey and Peter Boal. All four are listed as 'available'. You can get full information at the library's web site, nypl.org.

All these years later and I still remember Todd Bolender's ineffable wit and flawless timing in Phlegmatic. To my mind no one has ever touched him in this part. His musical sense was something very special, and Balanchine also used it in Agon's first pas de trois. I also remember Tallchief's flash and brio in Sanguinic, and Govrin's amazon power in Choleric. Herbert Bliss used to dance Melancholic - he was almost as boneless as Allegra Kent, and quite wonderful. I don't know if any of these interpretations have been preserved, but I hope so.

Here are links to four photos (by Jennie Walton) of the Brahms-Schoenberg duet with McBride and Ludlow: http://i197.photobucket.com/albums/aa314/p...t-mcbride-1.jpg http://i197.photobucket.com/albums/aa314/p...t-mcbride-3.jpg http://i197.photobucket.com/albums/aa314/p...t-mcbride-4.jpg http://i197.photobucket.com/albums/aa314/p...t-mcbride-5.jpg I don't remember that McBride danced this with Bonnefous, though I do remember them in Who Cares? and Dances at a Gathering, among others. When did you see them Carbro? - I had to stop going by 1975, but I would have been fascinated to see them together in that.

When I was going, her partner in that was almost always (and best) Conrad Ludlow. She's not alone in saying he was the best partner she'd ever had. He was an amazing partner for every ballerina with whom he danced. I found him irreplaceable in things like 2nd movement Bizet, Liebeslieder, Emeralds and Monumentum pro Gesualdo.

I have always understood that the entire scene takes place not in heaven, or the beyond, but in Solor's drug-soaked brain, and the shades, as well as Nikiya herself, have no expression or emotions of their own; they are a reflection of Solor's pain and guilt. I believe that the shades are simply refracted versions of Nikiya rather than separate characters, so I imagine interpreting them has, to some extent, to depend on how Solor himself is being characterized. Doubly so with Nikiya. Directing the scene would, I imagine, begin with Solor and procede from there, which is a complicated business if you are really concerned with characterization as much as dancing. Personally, I think Makarova's emphasis on style is probably a good idea, leaving the response open to the audience's imagination.

I've watched this interview, and mostly thought Charlie Rose showed, as he has in other interviews, that he doesn't know a great deal about dance or dancers; it would also help if he managed to resist his love of his own voice a little better. Still, I thought, for all that it was two people talking somewhat at cross-purposes, Allegra did pretty well. But that's neither here nor there. In reading the discussion here, and over at the Suzanne Farrell Holding onto the Air thread, some strands in both reminded me irresistably of a long ago colleague - a man of great charm, and, in fact as well as in his own estimation, a person of high culture, and fine intellect. I remember once, when I was reading the jacobean playwrights and commented that I found John Fletcher's plays amusing and fun, my colleague was horrified at my appalling taste and spent days patiently and not-so-patiently explaining why Fletcher was a dreadful writer in whom no intellegent person should indulge. He believed in studying painting by looking at black and white photos of sections so he could study brush strokes without color getting in the way of analysis, and he chose his opera performances by conductor because, as he explained, singers were empty vessels of doubtful understanding who needed a master intellect to guide them. He had little use for dancing because one could not waste analytical effort on an art so lacking in intelligence. In short, he took his own highly specific definition of intelligence and used it to elevate intellectual snobbery to an art. He saw nothing ridiculous or limited in this and would probably have dismissed Thurber's warning about leaning over so far backwards you fall on your face as frivolous.

My guess is that the Balanchine Police caught up with it and removed it.

I was afraid this topic had played itself out, but happily, we seem to have found our second wind, so----- Why was Gelsey discomforting even back in her NYCB days? Well, not wanting to invent or rely on thirty-five year old memories, I went back and checked my notebooks for the period, and found fewer specifics than I would have liked, but some of my growing reservations (widely shared by other fans I knew, as I remember) were expressed as either "she's dancing like a computer," or, worse "she keeps substituting a fiction for herself - ultimately there doesn't seem to be any person there behind the facade." In duets, she apparently exaggerated phrases, held on too long, got off the music and tried to ignore her partners. I commented on two performances with each of the two most powerful men in the company - now, I quickly add that this is how it looked to me in the audience; what the two men were really thinking I obviously had no idea - in Four Bagatelles, Bonnefous apparently just stepped back "looking discreetly ardent" and let her flail by herself, since she was determined to do it her way whatever he, the music, or the choreography indicated. Martins, on the other hand, after a taste of this behavior in Theme and Variations "hauled her mercilessly back on tempo" whether she liked it or not. Her talent was so obvious, these problems were especially disconcerting - and we knew she was refusing to listen to Balanchine into the bargain. This does relate to the whole question of Balanchine's expectations. Ashley is hardly alone in believing that Balanchine wanted dancers to learn to think for themselves. You learn far less - maybe nothing - when told what to do; when you have to work it through and earn your self-discovery, it stays with you and is the foundation for greater learning. Verdy describes how Balanchine, knowing that she would figure things out, left her alone, giving her no instructions. "If he didn't like what I did, he would tell me later." Von Aroldingen and Lourdes Lopez have seconded this. If a dancer needed explanations, both Verdy and Hayden recall that he would demonstrate rather than explain. When Villella needed help he discussed and argued, did the choreography, went to other dancers and coaches, did the choreography some more, until he began to work it out. Balanchine did not want a priori interpretations; he wanted dancers to find themselves in a role by encountering music and choreography and building from those foundations. You created the role by dancing the role, not by deciding ahead of time what each bit of it 'meant'. "Why does Apollo reject Calliope's dance?" Villella asked, and got one of Mr. B's infuriating non-answers (something like "there's no reason") because only the individual Apollo can sense the reasons for that rejection from the core of his own interpretation. Apart from that there is no meaning beyond he doesn't find it satisfactory. How and why must be discovered through performance by an artist who has brought himself into the role with that 'emptiness' that allows self-discovery and creative development to illuminate the ballet. If Balanchine was a Svengali, he was a rather peculiar one. His dancers argued with him - the men particularly - fought back, defied his rules and were a bunch of individuals such as I have rarely seen since. And this is clearly the way he wanted it or he would have fired them all and gotten obedient puppets. But however independent, they did understand the basics of what Balanchine was trying to show them and used them to grow. Gelsey's problem, it seems to me - forgive a severe case of psychobabble - is that she had no intention of delving into herself, could never let herself be 'empty.' She wanted exactly that a priori 'interpretation' as a mask, and as security. She presented The Ballerina, not Gelsey Kirkland. All that verbal analysis acted as a kind of armor to keep self-knowledge within the art at bay. It was disturbing to watch these performances I think because they were a flight from reality rather than a courageous journey into it.

I agree the remark could go in both directions, but I also tend to agree with Alexandra that Balanchine probably meant it in a greater degree as a warning against the kind of intellectual analysis that gets in the dancer's way, causing self-consciousness and blocking a truly complete engagement with the choreography. In other words, I think he was trying to keep his dancers from needlessly limiting themselves and reducing their interpretations to only their own notions. That dancers argued with him we know from their accounts, and he did not punish them for it, Kirkland included. I can't help remembering Villella's story of his going to Violette Verdy to ask her if she knew what Rubies was all about, and when she gave him an elaborate scenario, his taking it back to Balanchine - who just said no, that's not what it was about. Villella found his way, maybe helped by his attempts to verbalize something concrete, but he found it finally through the choreography, using everything he had - training, mind, musicality and all the rest. As for Kirkland, I have to say that I remember many of the NYCB fans I knew at the time regarding her with a mixture of puzzled irritation and exasperation. I think her book confirms the impression many of us had that she did not merely question Balanchine, she resisted him at every turn and was a young woman with some serious problems, though we had no idea exactly what they were. Incredibly gifted, and a wonderful dancer, yet she often seemed to be in conflict with her roles and the choreography, and watching her could sometimes make one uneasy and uncomfortable. She had her passionate champions of course, but there were also a number who were not entirely sorry when she left.

I do love discussions like this! We go so many interesting places. I think Balanchine's statements (like those of most great artists) are not only far lesser things than his works, but have to be taken quite individually to avoid collapsing into silliness. When he told Danilova that the Dark Angel (I don't know if he ever called her that, but never mind) in Serenade was married to her charge, the two of them just going through life together, and of course he left that other girl because she was a foolish creature who had too many affairs, we can agree he was either joking or in one of his contrarian moods. We might also agree that he had a very feline streak and didn't mind being provocative or mischievous. But - but - some of his comments are worth considering, and I think the one about Russia as the home of the romantic ballet may be one of them. On the Arlene Croce thread we were speaking of a review she wrote called Makarova on Broadway (collected in Going to the Dance) comparing the pre and post Soviet Mariinsky/Kirov. Here is the core of it: ...The most immediately striking discrepancy between the post-Imperial-style Paquita set by Danilova and the latter-day Kirov-style one set by Makarova is that Makarova's has a great many more complicated and difficult steps (further complicated by different tempos). Danilova's version has dance architecture; Makarova's has none. Danilova's has bouyancy; Makarova's has drive. Danilova's looks choreographically bald; in Makarova's, the dancers split hairs. ... I would add that it seems to me Balanchine was speaking of the Soviet era in which the dancer became primary, the technique acquired an almost baroque sensationalism, and its point was, to a very large degree, to serve the performer, and the performer's personal expression. In his (and Danilova's) time, the dancer served the classical body of technique, which in turn served the choreographer, and as Croce points out, the overarching logic and architecture of any given set of steps. Expressing oneself came through the work itself and was not a principle existing to some extent outside what was being performed. The Kirov (et al.) concept of self-expression, on the other hand, is, I think, a product of the Romantic concept of the artist, and it seems to have been foreign to Balanchine, who - I agree - saw himself as a servant, a conduit and a professional, and expected his dancers to see themselves similarly. So I think his comment expressed his sense not of the quality of Russian ballet but of its underlying principles and I tend to agree that these can be fairly labeled as Romantic, as opposed to what he was doing in America, which, if not exactly 'impersonal', could probably be called classical in the traditional sense of the term, and in his mind very probably the basic grounds for its endurance. My sense of the current state of the Mariinsky (given that I can't go see them and have to rely on filmed performances) is that the foundations are still far more Romantic than Classical, but that choreographic architecture's loss of the battle to choreographic decoration may have had the ironic side effect of deadening personal dramatic and emotional expression instead of enhancing it - an effect Youskevitcvh pointed out some time ago about Baryshnikov's Albrecht. Oh well, it is a tangled subject with many facets, so I'll leave off before I collapse into silliness myself.

I hadn't been specific, but when I was talking about his kind of statement (which is not exclusively theological nor religious in any case), I was pointing to a kind of faith in beliefs of some sacred kind when talking about how they were necessary to protect a domain that is considered sacred. Theology would therefore explain why certain of his remarks were developed into such forms they took. But to assess them objectively, they have to be placed next to the opposing aesthetics, because the realm is first ART, and if religion and theology play a major part (as they obviously did with Balanchine), they are still necessarily subsumed to the World of Art in a way that is not the case with the church itself and singularly religious pursuits as with convents, monasteries, etc. That's why they are equally meaningful and powerful even if not literally factual--which they are not, because classicism is not the only thing to either endure nor is it nearly always impersonal. Is 'Le Nozze di Figaro' classical? I think so. So that it may also be possible that classicism has to mean something that applies to all arts, or at least all the very related ones, surely music and opera and theater, to mean anything. To make a universal assumption on classical ballet alone or classical music alone is much too circumscribed, and probably nobody has ever even tried to do it; whereas classicism in music and dance can have some resonance. All of which is perfectly true, and you and other BT analysts have covered this territory beautifully. But sheer comprehensivesness isn't quite what I meant to claim - only to consider some of Balanchine's specific religious ideas which I think play an essential part in his statement and that I think perhaps get a little suffocated under all the critical-aesthetic-historical links. It doesn't mean that they even begin to exhaust his statement - obviously they do not. But maybe we ought to include them more than we do, especially as they were so much a part of this particular genius's mind and art.

Given that Balanchine was an intensely (Diaghilev might have said morbidly) religious man, steeped in the theology and mysticism of Russian Orthodoxy, and given the frequency with which he called attention to this ("the real world is not here," "only God creates - I assemble" among many other statements) it seems to me that, whether mediated by Kirstein or not, this is a fairly recognizable Balanchine religious notion rather than an aesthetic or critical one. I realize how very irritating this is of Mr. B, to put his admirers and critics at the disadvantage of having to deal with his beliefs, since I expect they are shared by relatively few of us in the dance lovers' community. All of our responses so far have been purely historical, critical or aesthetic, so let me make the case for the statement as theology. Balanchine often referred to his dancers as angels, by which he did not mean lovely, ethereal creatures, but messengers of the divine. "I know God because I can see the face of Christ," he once said, and he saw his dancers, in one important way at least, as able to be the physical manifestation of that divinity. The most physical of the arts to Balanchine could be the powerful road to the world that "is not here." Through his choreography, rooted, almost monastically, in the discipline of classical dancing, his 'angels' could become the messengers of transcendence. "La dance, c'est une question morale" whose beauty is itself an enduring message, but it can't be delivered by vessels that are so full of themselves they crowd out the transcendence. In order to be filled with light, the vessel must empty itself and submit. Only in that way does the dancer become completely him/her self, the religious paradox that might explain why artists who made themselves as impersonal as they could had some of the strongest, most individual personalities ever seen on a dance stage. I really don't think one can make the statement, however it was put into words, into a logical, rational critical belief without doing violence to Balanchine's often-expressed religious passions.

But it's also true that Balanchine was fond of American popular culture, from jazz and Ginger Rogers to Wonder Woman on tv. I couldn't speak to Balnchine's total view of American/European culture, but the man who made dances for Ray Bolger, Josephine Baker, movies, television and Broadway did not, it seems to me, reject pop culture where he found it good. Didn't he also love John Wayne movies? I don't disagree with the general argument that the flattening out of "high" culture and the huge, commercially driven, expansion of pop culture has had a lot to do with the decline in critical standards, but I think that comes after Balanchine and his views on the matter. Croce has a marvelously prescient bit of criticism in one of the Going to the Dance essays about classical technique of the Danilova school, with its superb architecture, being overtaken by the Markarova school of over-stuffed acrobatics for their own sake. I'll have to go find the reference, but I think she hit very accurately what's happened in ballet a quarter of a century later.