Farrell Fan

The idea that the Balanchine era was one of "a Russian-American hybrid culture, which nourished generations of American dancers" is novel and interesting. Jennifer Homans then goes on to blame the current state of the Balanchine repertory at NYCB on the fact that many dancers thus nourished have left and are rarely invited back to teach or coach. Although the latter point has been made often, that doesn't make it any less valid. Still, it seems a ludicrous overstatement that "at the City Ballet, Balanchine ballets have become boring, pompous, and passe." The enthusiastic audiences that throng the all-Balanchine evenings at NYCB indicate otherwise. From my admittedly prejudiced perspective, the key sentence in this article is. "Suzanne Farrell's company, based in Washington, continues to present his ballets with dramatic freshness and a lively intelligence." But for Peter Martins, she could have done the same at NYCB.

The idea that the Balanchine era was one of "a Russian-American hybrid culture, which nourished generations of American dancers" is novel and interesting. Jennifer Homans then goes on to blame the current state of the Balanchine repertory at NYCB on the fact that many dancers thus nourished have left and are rarely invited back to teach or coach. Although the latter point has been made often, that doesn't make it any less valid. Still, it seems a ludicrous overstatement that "at the City Ballet, Balanchine ballets have become boring, pompous, and passe." The enthusiastic audiences that throng the all-Balanchine evenings at NYCB indicate otherwise. From my admittedly prejudiced perspective, the key sentence in this article is. "Suzanne Farrell's company, based in Washington, continues to present his ballets with dramatic freshness and a lively intelligence." But for Peter Martins, she could have done the same at NYCB.

This doesn't really address Leigh's question, but it seems like a good time to recall one of the more unusual occasions in my ballet-going generally and Farrell-following in particular. There was a program produced by the redoubtable Kazuko Hillyer at the Beacon Theater on New York's West Side 25 or so years ago, called Ballet at the Beacon. One of the offerings was a Romeo and Juliet choreographed by Paul Mejia to Tchaikovsky's tone poem. It featured his wife Suzanne, and, I think, eight Romeos, all in black. Did anyone else see this?

In recent years, I thought Rachel Rutherford exuded NYCB glamor but her career seems becalmed and she still hasn't made it to soloist. What gives?

There was a bittersweet quality to the evening for me, full of intimations of mortality. I've been to so many NYCB farewell performances, too many, perhaps, starting with Melissa Hayden's, that when Kyra Nichols entered at the end of Vienna Waltzes, I couldn't help wondering how long it would be before HER farewell performance. Darci's? The irreplaceable Peter Boal's? Would I still be around to see them? The Prodigal Son was especially impassioned. Viola Alone was politely endured while waiting for the good stuff. The Tchaikovsky Pas de Deux was just about all it's meant to be. And Helene succeeded in making the least interesting part of Vienna Waltzes into an appropriately grand farewell. Incidentally, I think Leigh's description of her place in the company is brilliant. I didn't have a ticket for last night and availed myself of the NYCB Guild's returned ticket service. A pair of tickets was available in the exact center of the second row in the first ring. The man ahead of me and I both decided to splurge and bought them. But when I got to the seats, there was a couple sitting in them. They informed me that they'd been sitting in them for thirty years. I returned to the Guild table and told the ladies of my plight. They were profuse in their apologies -- the seats were actually in the second ring. They refunded the difference in price and I made my way there. They were good seats, but one of them stayed empty. The man who'd been ahead of me never found his way to it.

This was my second all-Balanchine evening of the current season and I agree with Bobbi about them. In fact I was one of the old-timers she saw at intermission and Morris Neighbor was another. I'm distressed that Justafan's husband grumbled about the programing. He surely would have enjoyed the first all-Balanchine evening more: Serenade, Stravinksky Violin Concerto, Symphony in C. Thanks for Leigh's thoughtful analysis. I had a great time. Andrea Quinn is wonderful and the company looks in great shape.

Okay, I read the whole thing. (See an earlier portion of this thread.) Alice Patelson was at SAB from 1964 to 1970, and in the NYCB corps from 1970 to 1975. Her career was marked by knee, foot, hip, and back injuries, and was finally ended by what she describes as "muscle weakness." She was unable put on her coat or move a chair without assistance, despite a month's stay at a rehabilitation hospital. During her NYCB days, she had a mild and inconclusive flirtation with a dancer she calls Ted, and after she had to stop dancing, she hit it off with an anonymous professor from her unidentified college. This is how the book ends: "He was thirty-five and was eight years older than myself. I felt that he was a mature and sensitive man. While we were dining and talking, an overwhelming feeling came over me, and this evening turned out to be the beginning of a love affair that was to last for many years." Alice's father and uncle ran the Joseph Patelson Music House behind Carnegie Hall. George Balanchine was a customer. That's all we're told. While she was at NYCB, Balanchine talked to her a few times, smiled at her, and was always understanding when she couldn't dance because of her injuries. Violette Verdy was nice to her. So was Peter Martins, then a recent addition to the company. She admired the recently-returned Suzanne Farrell. In short, this book, Portrait of a Dancer, Memories of Balanchine, is singularly unrevealing. As set down here, there's nothing individual, unusual, surprising, or even particularly interesting about Alice's experiences in class, rehearsal, onstage, or at home. It was published by Vantage Press, a vanity publisher.

Okay, I read the whole thing. (See an earlier portion of this thread.) Alice Patelson was at SAB from 1964 to 1970, and in the NYCB corps from 1970 to 1975. Her career was marked by knee, foot, hip, and back injuries, and was finally ended by what she describes as "muscle weakness." She was unable put on her coat or move a chair without assistance, despite a month's stay at a rehabilitation hospital. During her NYCB days, she had a mild and inconclusive flirtation with a dancer she calls Ted, and after she had to stop dancing, she hit it off with an anonymous professor from her unidentified college. This is how the book ends: "He was thirty-five and was eight years older than myself. I felt that he was a mature and sensitive man. While we were dining and talking, an overwhelming feeling came over me, and this evening turned out to be the beginning of a love affair that was to last for many years." Alice's father and uncle ran the Joseph Patelson Music House behind Carnegie Hall. George Balanchine was a customer. That's all we're told. While she was at NYCB, Balanchine talked to her a few times, smiled at her, and was always understanding when she couldn't dance because of her injuries. Violette Verdy was nice to her. So was Peter Martins, then a recent addition to the company. She admired the recently-returned Suzanne Farrell. In short, this book, Portrait of a Dancer, Memories of Balanchine, is singularly unrevealing. As set down here, there's nothing individual, unusual, surprising, or even particularly interesting about Alice's experiences in class, rehearsal, onstage, or at home. It was published by Vantage Press, a vanity publisher.

It seems to me that many American ballerinas know to quit while they're ahead. The impending retirement of Susan Jaffe at the end of the ABT season is but the latest example. Patricia McBride and Suzanne Farrell were among many others. I'm not sure about Cynthia Gregory, but I think she was still going at least moderately strong when she quit. There are at least two NYCB male soloists I can think of who stopped dancing BEFORE achieving their full potential. One was Chris d'Amboise, who quit "to pursue many other interests," in 1983 at age 23, soon after publication of his book, Leap Year. The more recent example was Christopher Wheeldon, who quit dancing to become NYCB's Resident Choreographer.

It seems to me that many American ballerinas know to quit while they're ahead. The impending retirement of Susan Jaffe at the end of the ABT season is but the latest example. Patricia McBride and Suzanne Farrell were among many others. I'm not sure about Cynthia Gregory, but I think she was still going at least moderately strong when she quit. There are at least two NYCB male soloists I can think of who stopped dancing BEFORE achieving their full potential. One was Chris d'Amboise, who quit "to pursue many other interests," in 1983 at age 23, soon after publication of his book, Leap Year. The more recent example was Christopher Wheeldon, who quit dancing to become NYCB's Resident Choreographer.

I'm feeling guilty about my dismissive comments re: Portrait of a Dancer, Memories of Balanchine, by Alice Patelson. After all, I didn't read very much of it. I'm going to try again.

I'm feeling guilty about my dismissive comments re: Portrait of a Dancer, Memories of Balanchine, by Alice Patelson. After all, I didn't read very much of it. I'm going to try again.

Ari -- I too was excited a few years back on learning of a book about Balanchine by one Alice Patelson that was new to me. Unfortunately, it turned out to be about Alice Patelson rather than Balanchine, and Ms Patelson was such an uninteresting person and incompetent writer that I couldn't even get halfway through. And it's a slim book.

Ari -- I too was excited a few years back on learning of a book about Balanchine by one Alice Patelson that was new to me. Unfortunately, it turned out to be about Alice Patelson rather than Balanchine, and Ms Patelson was such an uninteresting person and incompetent writer that I couldn't even get halfway through. And it's a slim book.

There's been quite an uproar about Luciano Pavarotti bowing out of what were expected to be his final performances at the Metropolitan Opera. A great career seems to be coming to an unhappy end. Personally, I think he should have stopped performing opera three or four years ago. How about ballet? One thinks of Nureyev's effortful latter days. It must be said that a lot of people were glad to see Nureyev or hear Pavarotti no matter how much they'd lost from their years of glory. Are there other examples in ballet of dancers who had great careers which were marred by their hanging on too long? Conversely, which dancers knew just when to quit? Or even quit too soon?

There's been quite an uproar about Luciano Pavarotti bowing out of what were expected to be his final performances at the Metropolitan Opera. A great career seems to be coming to an unhappy end. Personally, I think he should have stopped performing opera three or four years ago. How about ballet? One thinks of Nureyev's effortful latter days. It must be said that a lot of people were glad to see Nureyev or hear Pavarotti no matter how much they'd lost from their years of glory. Are there other examples in ballet of dancers who had great careers which were marred by their hanging on too long? Conversely, which dancers knew just when to quit? Or even quit too soon?

One thing for sure: there is no dancing in the last scene of NYCB's Balanchine-Robbins Firebird. None at all. That's one reason the ballet has always seemed vaguely disappointing to me, no matter how great the ballerina's performance. The other and perhaps more important reason is that the Firebird is not at the wedding. Monsters, children, and adults are all there, slithering, running, or parading, but where is the Firebird? Shouldn't she have been invited? The Dance Theatre of Harlem version has her crashing the wedding from above, which is an improvement. I'm not very familiar with the original Fokine, and I've never seen Maurice Bejart's version. Although I didn't like Francis Mason's maligning of Moncion, I too am looking forward to Weiss's Firebird.

I'm glad Manhattnik mentioned Chris d'Amboise's book. It's called Leap Year and has a foreword by none other than Lincoln Kirstein. The book is a very lively account of a year in the life of an NYCB dancer -- at the State Theater, Saratoga, Copenhagen, and on a mini-tour of New York State. It's very enjoyable, except perhaps to residents of Buffalo. "Buffalo must be the armpit of New York," writes Chris. It was published by Doubleday in 1982 and I'm sure has long been out-of-print. There must be copies around though, possibly including Manhattnik's. As for Dancing on my Grave, Gelsey Kirkland did put ballet on the bestseller lists, and I don't think anyone else ever managed to do that. But the main reason I hated the book was that she blamed everyone for her problems except herself. Most astonishingly, she seemed to blame Balanchine for turning her on to drugs. I remember her account of her relationship with Patrick Bissell, a dancer I'd admired since his SAB days, as being both nasty and heartbreaking. I went to my bookshelves just now to refresh my recollection about the book, but couldn't find it. I must have gotten rid of it because it was so depressing. Gelsey was a beautiful, uniquely talented dancer. Let's hope she'll be remembered for that rather than this book. Incidentally, there was a sequel, also written with Dancing on my Grave's co-author Greg Lawrence (her husband at one point, I believe), which was all sweetness and light. Probably because of that, I've forgotten the title. The book told about Gelsey's teaching at the Royal Ballet. Mr. Lawrence went on to write Dance with Demons: The Life of Jerome Robbins, which emphasizes the nasty aspects of its subject.

I'm glad Manhattnik mentioned Chris d'Amboise's book. It's called Leap Year and has a foreword by none other than Lincoln Kirstein. The book is a very lively account of a year in the life of an NYCB dancer -- at the State Theater, Saratoga, Copenhagen, and on a mini-tour of New York State. It's very enjoyable, except perhaps to residents of Buffalo. "Buffalo must be the armpit of New York," writes Chris. It was published by Doubleday in 1982 and I'm sure has long been out-of-print. There must be copies around though, possibly including Manhattnik's. As for Dancing on my Grave, Gelsey Kirkland did put ballet on the bestseller lists, and I don't think anyone else ever managed to do that. But the main reason I hated the book was that she blamed everyone for her problems except herself. Most astonishingly, she seemed to blame Balanchine for turning her on to drugs. I remember her account of her relationship with Patrick Bissell, a dancer I'd admired since his SAB days, as being both nasty and heartbreaking. I went to my bookshelves just now to refresh my recollection about the book, but couldn't find it. I must have gotten rid of it because it was so depressing. Gelsey was a beautiful, uniquely talented dancer. Let's hope she'll be remembered for that rather than this book. Incidentally, there was a sequel, also written with Dancing on my Grave's co-author Greg Lawrence (her husband at one point, I believe), which was all sweetness and light. Probably because of that, I've forgotten the title. The book told about Gelsey's teaching at the Royal Ballet. Mr. Lawrence went on to write Dance with Demons: The Life of Jerome Robbins, which emphasizes the nasty aspects of its subject.

In today's New York Times, there's an interesting article by Anthony Tommasini on Luciano Pavarotti, whose great career is coming to a somewhat ignominious end. Pavarotti withdrew from a scheduled performance of Tosca on Wednesday night. a fact posted on bulletin boards in the lobby of the Metropolitan Opera House. "But when Joseph Volpe, the Met's general manager, went onstage before the performance to make it official, the pent-up anger spilled out and he was greeted by vociferous boos. Looking just like a modern-day operatic villain in his stylish suit and trim goatee, he said, 'Boo some more, if it makes you feel better.'"

In today's New York Times, there's an interesting article by Anthony Tommasini on Luciano Pavarotti, whose great career is coming to a somewhat ignominious end. Pavarotti withdrew from a scheduled performance of Tosca on Wednesday night. a fact posted on bulletin boards in the lobby of the Metropolitan Opera House. "But when Joseph Volpe, the Met's general manager, went onstage before the performance to make it official, the pent-up anger spilled out and he was greeted by vociferous boos. Looking just like a modern-day operatic villain in his stylish suit and trim goatee, he said, 'Boo some more, if it makes you feel better.'"

I agree with Paul Parish about I Remember Balanchine generally and the William Weslow chapter in particular. The ending of that chapter packs a tremenous wallop. I remember wanting to read it aloud to anyone who'd sit still for it.

I agree with Paul Parish about I Remember Balanchine generally and the William Weslow chapter in particular. The ending of that chapter packs a tremenous wallop. I remember wanting to read it aloud to anyone who'd sit still for it.

This is my personal Top Ten list: Toni Bentley, Winter Season Auguste Bournonville, My Theatre Life Alexandra Danilova, Choura Suzanne Farrell with Toni Bentley, Holding on to the Air Tamara Geva, Split Seconds Tamara Karsavina, Theatre Street Allegra Kent, Once a Dancer... Robert Maiorano, Worlds Apart Bronislava Nijinska, Early Memoirs Paul Taylor, Private Domain These books vary greatly in length, ambition, and literary quality. They're just those I like best. What are your favorites?

This is my personal Top Ten list: Toni Bentley, Winter Season Auguste Bournonville, My Theatre Life Alexandra Danilova, Choura Suzanne Farrell with Toni Bentley, Holding on to the Air Tamara Geva, Split Seconds Tamara Karsavina, Theatre Street Allegra Kent, Once a Dancer... Robert Maiorano, Worlds Apart Bronislava Nijinska, Early Memoirs Paul Taylor, Private Domain These books vary greatly in length, ambition, and literary quality. They're just those I like best. What are your favorites?