Farrell Fan

This is a very long list. It starts with people who had long and distinguished careers at NYCB, like Maria Calegari and Bart Cook, who in the end disappeared without explanation. Then it goes on to dancers in mid-career, like Stacey Caddell and Monique Meunier, who had come into their own with NYCB before they went elsewhere. And finally there are those who seemed to have a bright future with NYCB but took their future elsewhere -- Aesha Ash, Edward Liang, Stuart Capps...the list goes on.

Kyra Nichols.

What does "piss-taking" mean?

Congratulations and thanks to you, rkoretzky, and to all the other Saratogians who fought so hard for this victory. As you indicate, it's a qualified victory at best, but it does show that people up there care deeply about NYCB -- and that's something to celebrate.

Of course this subject inspired Lincoln Kirstein's famous philosophical question: "How many angels can dance with the head of a pin?"

The typical, or rather, stereotypical, Balanchine ballerina was supposed to have a small head and long legs. But there were always exceptions to this, and I don't know of any Balanchinean pronouncements on the subject.

Years ago, Francis Mason interviewed Suzanne Farrell at a session for which written questions from the audience were solicited in advance. To show off both my Italian and my devotion to Suzanne, I addressed her as "Prima Ballerina Assolutissima." Both she and and Mr. Mason seemed impressed.

I don't think there's any doubt these are both major works. La Sylphide is generally regarded as the first romantic ballet, and Fille, in its various versions, as the oldest ballet still in the repertory. What could be more major than that?

The first Anne Tyler novel I read was "Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant" in 1982, arguably her "breakthrough book." She'd written eight novels before it, and fortunately they were all available in paperback, starting with her first, "If Morning Ever Comes" (1964). The novel she wrote just before "Homesick," "Morgan's Passing," became my favorite, but I really liked them all, loving her quirky characters as much as she obviously did. It was "as though Dickens were alive and well and living in Baltimore," one critic said. In that part of her career, she regularly inspired such lofty comparisons, often to Chekhov or Jane Austen. Such comparisons are no longer apt, if they ever were. Anne Tyler is in a class by herself. There are now sixteen novels, and I've recently finished her latest, "The Amateur Marriage." I think it's her best. It covers sixty years in the lives of Pauline and Michael Anton, starting with their breathless meeting on the day after Pearl Harbor. The story is not told continuously -- each chapter starts several years after the preceding one -- but as always in a Tyler novel, you get to know the people inside and out. And you love both Pauline and Michael, even though they can't stand each other. It's no secret that this novel is the story of the deterioration and eventual breakup of their marriage, but Tyler doesn't stop with the Antons' divorce, going on to tell of their attempts to connect with other people. Earlier, in mid-novel, there is a remarkable trip away from Baltimore to sixties San Francisco where Pauline and Michael try to track down their beloved older daughter years after she'd run away from home. As always, Tyler can be wickedly funny and sad at the same time. Several years ago, Tyler replaced John Updike as my favorite contemporary writer. Although Updike's life has been thoroughly chronicled, by himself and others, Anne Tyler is extremely private. Her novels used to be "Copyright by Anne Tyler Modarressi," and for a short while I took pride in thinking that she was married to an Italian-American like me. I forget how I learned the name was Iranian. And in 1998, I was unprepared for the dedication in her fourteenth novel, "A Patchwork Planet.: It read simply "In loving memory of my husband, Taghi Modarressi." That time I felt teary even before I started the book.

In 1994, Kirstein published "Mosaic: Memoirs," (Farrar. Straus & Giroux) which goes beyond age 17, all the way up to age 26. The last sentence is "I was alone now and I knew I must find Balanchine if I was serious about anything..." There are also bits of autobiography in "Quarry: A Collection in Lieu of Memoirs," Twelvetrees Press, 1986, which has excellent color photographs of Kirstein's art collection; and in "By With To & From: A Lincoln Kirstein Reader," Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1991. Also of autobiographical interest is "The Poems of Lincoln Kirstein," Atheneum. 1987, which includes "Rhymes of a PFC" and "Poems of a Patriot." Of course there are many other published writings of Kirstein, including his history of NYCB, "Thirty Years."

Thanks, Alexandra. I'll be sure to post an appropriate smilie the next time I try to be funny. :rolleyes:

I was astonished to read this in Jennifer Dunning's review of Symphony Space's Wall to Wall George Balanchine: "It was Lincoln Kirstein, who brought Balanchine to the United States from Paris in the 1930's who said, 'But first a school,' a famous dictum attributed once again to Balanchine in this program." She called the supposed misattribution "one of the few disappointments" of the day. Jennifer Dunning wrote a book, published in 1985, about SAB called "But First A School." The first lines of her preface are these: "'Would you come to America to start a ballet company?' The question was simple and direct, posed by Lincoln Kirstein to Georges Balanchine in London in 1933. 'But first,' Balanchine is said to have answered, 'a school.' That response is almost as firm a part of the Balanchine legend as his much-quoted notion that 'ballet is woman.' Their origins may be lost in time and embellished in myth." Has Ms. Dunning acquired new information cutting through time and myth to definitively identify the source of the quote? Personally, I think "Ballet is woman" was said by Maurice Bejart.

I wish I'd seen it too, bobbi, but your reports (and Hal's) are the next best thing. Also hope others chime in. Brava Bobbi for lasting the whole 12 hours!

The anecdote about Alexander Grant reminded me that Shaun O'Brien once told me that when Peter Martins saw an early photo of him he said, "I didn't know you were a classical dancer!"

In today's Links, there's a short article from The Saratogian (which has given short shrift to NYCB throughout this affair), stating that the Save the Ballet committee has raised $100,000 so far. Since the goal was $600,000, and the reprieve granted by SPAC expires this coming Thursday, it doesn't look good. What's needed is someone with deep pockets to come through in the next few days, thereby sparing us the I-told-you-sos of Chesbrough and his minions.

Another thing that nobody has ever done as well as Patty is the bump-and-grind in Costermongers.

Lopate is an excellent interviewer, so I trust he'll allow Lourdes to get a word in.

Not only was Patty McBride's "Fascinatin' Rhythm" solo in "Who Cares" incomparable, so was her "The Man I Love" with Jacques d'Amboise. This isn't just nostalgia talking -- nobody has ever come close to them. As bobbi says, Patty was unique. It was a privilege to be going to the ballet when two great ballerinas were in the same company at the same time, Patty and Suzanne, both of them embraceable and irreplaceable.

Hi Silvy, The first time someone told me about abebooks.com, I thought there was a little old man named abe who had a bookstore crammed with out-of-print books. But it turned out that it's a world-wide listing of booksellers, so that when you buy a book from them, you're actually buying it from one of the individual booksellers, whom you pay and who ships the book to you. I think a lot of their business is international. I wish I knew what abe stands for -- Antiquarian Booksellers Exchange, perhaps? Just guessing. Good luck.

There's a book, "Balanchine's Mozartiana: The Making of a Masterpiece," by Robert Maiorano and Valerie Brooks which you might find interesting. It was published in 1985 and of course is out-of-print. They don't have it at Amazon, but abebooks.com probably has a few copies. The have a few copies of almost everything.

I wonder what Balanchine thought of applause during Apollo. I'm thinking specifically of the applause after the muses' variations. What usually happens is that after Calliope does hers, there is little or no applause, perhaps because the ending comes as a surprise and Apollo is obviously displeased. His displeasure at Polyhymnia is less clear-cut and her variation is livelier, so she gets a nice round of applause. By the time Terpsichore has her turn, both Apollo and the audience are more receptive, so she gets strong applause. Then if the pas de deux is halfway decent, it brings down the house. Except for the sometimes embarrassing smattering that Calliope gets, all this clapping doesn't really bother me, although it certainly breaks the mood. What I thoroughly dislike is applause during Davidsbundlertanze. To me that ballet relates an unfolding tragedy, and both music and choreography brook no interruption.

Just kidding. But how about bald ballerinos? My favorite was Adam Luders.

I've thought for many years that the New York State Theater ought to be renamed for Balanchine, particularly since the New York City Opera doesn't like being there. But I guess it's not going to happen, and I don't understand why. There at least ought to be bronze heads of Balanchine and Kirstein in the lobby.

I wasn't going to comment on this, but since Estelle asked... Deborah Voight is one of the great singers of our time. But unlike Volochkova, she is obese -- more so than even the stereotypical "fat lady" of opera. Nevertheless, she is the supreme interpreter of Ariadne, the role from which she was dropped by the Royal Opera. It would have been much better to rethink the costume.

From the NY Times, March 9 -- "But after the censors have their way, said Cindy Chupak, one of the writers, in a reference to the uninhibited character played by Kim Cattrall, 'We joke there will be no Samantha.'"