Farrell Fan

I'm not seeing it till Sunday, but I'm glad you brought up Kissselgoff's review, Kate. I'm puzzled by its beginning, in which she contrasts Winnie-the-Pooh and Peter Rabbit. Does anyone know what she's talking about? :confused:

Perhaps unfairly, I interpreted Leigh's question to mean, "Should the Peter Martins Swan Lake remain in the repertory?" That's why I voted no.

I heard the interview too, and the interviewer expressed surprise at Martins' claim, but the Ballet Master in Chief had no doubts on the matter. Apparently he doesn't even remember the Robbins (his one-time co-Ballet Master in Chief) "Antique Epigraphs."

Like all of Martins' ballets to Adams' music so far, this is not strictly speaking a collaboration. The music already existed before Martins did the choreography. Only in the case of Adams' Violin Concerto was there a quasi-collaboration in that Adams knew before composing it that it would be used for a Martins ballet. Oddly enough, Martins has expressed unhappiness with some of his choreography for that one.

Thanks from me too, BW. I'm going to check those out. I must say, I've rarely been bothered by protruding elbows on people looking through their glasses. And since I'm short like Giannina, I know my tucked-in elbows never appear above the level of my seat. As a matter of fact, anybody lucky enough to sit behind me really owes me a sincere thankyou. A couple of things bother me in people sitting in front of me, however, namely height and width. There are also people who literally put their heads together to talk over what they're seeing. Almost as bad are those who are so enthralled that they lean forward on the edge of their seats, thereby blocking part of the stage for the persons behind. And so on.

The answer to the interesting question by dancerscheese, "Where do you look?" in a way depends on where you're sitting. Since I'm usually not sitting in the orchestra at NYCB or ABT, I take along my opera glasses. I look unaided at the dancers and the dance, but when I want to see Darci's new shorter haircut or try to detect Marcovici's tattoo, I look through the opera glasses. Sometimes I view a favorite pas de deux that way, too. More shamefully, I occasionally zero in on a particular corps dancer and watch her or him through the opera glasses to the exclusion of everybody else. I realize that I miss a lot in the moments when I raise the binoculars and focus, so this is probably not the best way to view ballet, but on those occasions when I forget to bring the glasses I feel I miss even more. How do people know when to look through their glasses? Is it instinctive or something to be learned?

I loved reading this, balletbooster -- thanks!

Congratulations on the wonderful opportunity of spending another summer on Cedar Islands, blizzardqueen! And thanks again for having initiated this thread way back when. I don't know if Suzanne will write another book, but I too was excited by the prospect she seems to hold out at the end of the foreword to the new edition. The foreword is also notable because she minces no words about being fired by Peter Martins in July, 1993, "through the company manager. who called me and said that Peter questioned my ability to teach and therefore could not justify my salary." Her ability to teach has been proved many times over since that shameful day, and I'm glad you're among the beneficiaries. All the best.

When the curtain went up on the ugly scenery and costumes, I felt the same instant revulsion at this production that I had four years ago. But as soon as the dancing started, with Tom Gold's jester, the feeling went away. I agree completely with sneds -- it was a marvelous performance on the part of everybody concerned. Whelan and Woetzel were the best I've seen in this. Even James Fayette's disappearing act as Rotbart at the end, so reminiscent of the Wicked Witch of the West's meltdown, was nicely done. It was a very fine evening.

In Mary Cargill's review of the NYCB winter season in the Spring 2003 Dance View, she refers to Farrell as being "illusive yet profound" in her original role in Robert Schumann's Davidsbundlertanze." That has a certain resonance because the documentary film about her is titled Suzanne Farrell: Elusive Muse. The question is, was Suzanne elusive (avoiding one's grasp) or illusive (having the quality of an illusion)? Probably both. As a matter of fact, it would take a latter-day Roget to differentiate among all the qualities she brought to every performance.

Coming on the eve of the return of Peter Martins's Swan Lake to NYCB for eleven performances, Mel's proposal is more than pertinent, it's painful.

Christine Redpath, one of the Assistant Ballet Masters at NYCB, will be in Christopher Wheeldon's Carnival of the Animals. The Spring issue of NYCB News has an interview with her, in which she says, "It's lovely that a choreographer wants to work with me at this point in my life, when I've been a ballet mistress for 17 years. It's exciting and scary, and a little bit strange to be on the other side again." Redpath joined NYCB in 1969 and was promoted to soloist in 1973. She left NYCB in 1978, and in 1980 became a principal dancer in Patricia Neary's Zurich Ballet. She rejoined NYCB in 1985. I'm looking forward to seeing her again.

This is the year when my subscription caught up with the seasons! The issue has reviews by two critics familiar to Ballet Alertniks. Mary Cargill writes of Susan Jaffe's farewell and ABT's Fille, and Paul Parish about Sarah van Patten. Among other things are conversations with Christine Dakin; Christopher Wheeldon; and with Holly Hynes and Carole Divet about the late Barbara Matera; Don Daniels on Ballet Mime; a London report from Clement Crisp; and a piece called "Balanchine on the Danube," by Larry L. Lash. I've left out some things, but I want to mention the many beautiful photographs in this issue. The cover is of Alexandra Ansanelli and partner. Bet you have to have to look twice before you realize the latter is Damian Woetzel.

I remembered this thread after reading Gottlieb's review of "The Inevitable, Awful Eifman" in the New York Observer of April 21. He asked, "Why do knowledgeable dance reviewers consistently praise this mishmash of misguided ambition and relentless posturing? (Where's their conscience?)" I enjoyed Eifman's "Who's Who," but now realize this was due to serious moral failings and character deviancies on my part. My enjoyment lies heavily on my conscience.

I feel unqualified speaking for the "love" crowd, since "Who's Who" is the only Eifman ballet I've seen. I didn't know what to expect and I suppose I was charmed by the sheer chutzpah of the piece -- to combine the Russian-Jewish immigrant experience with a gloss on "Some Like It Hot!" I mean, you have to be crazy, right?" Anna Kisselgoff noted that Eifman didn't distinguish betwen immigrants and emigres. Thus. he opened with an image of huddled masses yearning to breathe free that was more evocative of the ancient lower East Side than contemporary Brighton Beach. It was corny, sure, but to this son of Sicilian immigrants, it was moving. What followed was a long series of sketches. I hesitate to use the term "cinematic," because I haven't seen a movie in two years. Some sketches worked better than others. The Jewish wedding scene was hilarious, as was the beach scene. The nightclub scenes were, as has been noted, Bob Fosse-like. But I don't remember any boring scenes. The inflated prose of the program says "Boris Eifman creates his own type of theater -- a theater ruled by emotion." It's true that the emotion does not necessarily emanate from the steps in his choreography. You might say he manipulates the audience. But in Who's Who, he kept things moving to some really great music, much of it jazz and swing, but also including Barber's Adagio for Strings (another cliche, perhaps, but it was jusr right in the scene called "Nostalgia") and a couple of pieces by Rachmaninov. I thought it all cohered surprisingly well. I hope someone who has more experience viewing Eifman ballets will help me out here.

Okay, I'll bite the bullet(s). (Apologies, RG.) I found "Who's Who" brash, unsubtle, and immensely likable. Maybe it ain't art, but I enjoyed it almost from start to finish.

I've been nervous about posting this, but encouraged by Leigh's "love it or loathe it," I will now report that I saw the Eifman Ballet for the first time last week. I don't know about his other things, but I absolutely loved "Who's Who." And I loved the score -- Duke Ellington, Louis Prima, Stan Kenton (Stan was the man back in the 40s and 50s as far as I was concerned), Samuel Barber, Rachmininov, et al. And it all worked, IMO, including al.

I was at the Eifman Ballet last night and attendance was excellent -- the Russian community still supports this company in a big way. It made up for the night before when I was at Baz Luhrmann's La Boheme, where attendance was abysmal.

I haven't seen an obituary yet, just a death notice in this morning's NY Times -- "Zorina - Vera. The Board of Directors and Staff of The Santa Fe Opera note with enormous sadness the death of Vera Zorina. Vera Zorina had a long association with the company, first as performer and director, and then as a member of the Board of Directors. She was an Honorary Director at the time of her death. Vera Zorina will be remembered as a woman of great spirit, great talent and great generosity. Her contribution to the Santa Fe Opera is immeasurable. The entire company expresses its deep sympathy to her family." Born Brigitta Hartwig, she was a member of the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo, appeared in the London production of On Your Toes, and made Hollywood movies, notably Goldwyn Follies with choreography by Balanchine. She was on Broadway in I Married an Angel (choreography by Balanchine.) She was Mr. B's second wife (1938-46). She danced with Ballet Theatre for a year and participated in NYCB's Stravinsky celebration of 1982, performing the speaking role of Persephone. She wrote movingly of that experience in her autobiography, Zorina, published in 1986.

I finally got to see it last night. None of the hoopla and excitement which greeted this production was in evidence. And I was sad to see how slim the attendance was. The cast ranged from competent to pretty good. I didn't care for Jessica Comeau's Musetta. She sang well enough, but instead of acting flirty, she seemed borderline psychotic. The miking didn't bother me at all. It was not that different from what happens at NYCO. What DID bother me was the non-reaction of the audience at the end of the great arias and duets: Che Gelida Manina; Mi Chiamano Mimi; Ah Mimi, Tu Piu Non Torni; Vecchia Zimarra, Senti -- no applause after any of them. Even mediocre renditions of these provoke ovations at the opera house. But here, nothing -- a unique and depressing experience for me. That peculiarity aside, I enjoyed the show and hope business picks up before it's too late.

This was a clever idea, and it's nice that credit is duly given to the person whose idea it was. Too bad that the author failed to carry it out very well.

One of the perks SAB offers its donors are class visits. Although I haven't taken advantage of this recently, I especially remember visiting classes taught by Danilova, Stanley Williams, and Suki Schorer. Though I had little technical knowledge of what was going on, it was great fun and exciting to see. Danilova in particular was most welcoming to my wife and me. She introduced us to the young dancers as "your future audience." Stanley Williams was inaudible to us, but the students had no problem following him. I loved watching Suki, and one of these days hope to visit another of her classes. Does anything similar happen at your school? I'm curious how young dancers feel about having non-dancing strangers sitting in folding chairs, staring at them. Does it bother you at all? Make you want to show off? Or couldn't you care less?

I guess it's time for me to come out and reveal that I, too, am a baseball fan, and have been since before I got to like ballet. I've been around a long time, since the days Joe DiMaggio patrolled center-field at Yankee Stadium. Sitting in the bleachers in those days (admission 60 cents), I grew quite familiar with the number 5 on Joe's back, but every so often he'd turn around to look at the scoreboard while messaging the pocket of his glove with his fist. Later on, I had a similar view of Willie Mays at the old Polo Grounds. He was the only player who measured up to Joe and, indeed, surpassed him. The only other performer comparable to Joe and Willie in my experience was Suzanne Farrell. My feeling about New York City Ballet is comparable to a baseball fan's about his team. They are the New York Yankees of ballet, and I've stuck with them through season after season, in good times and bad. I even stuck with them after they they betrayed me and Suzanne. But I'm a Mets fan now. End of digression. Back to Saratoga, where I look forward to being again in July.

Thanks, Alexandra. I hadn't had as much fun on this date since I used to get messages to call Mr. Lyon at the Bronx Zoo.

This is a French opera by Jules Massenet, first performed in 1910. The character of the Don is sung by a bass, and many famous basses have recorded arias from it, among them the great Fyodor Chaliapin. According to the Harper Dictionary of Opera & Operetta (1989), "After a long period of neglect, it has been regularly performed in recent years."