Kathleen O'Connell

I rather liked Swamp Thing myself – he put me in mind of some of William Blake’s more sinister apparitions (e.g., this one: http://www.nga.gov/cgi-bin/pimage?11507+0+0) At the very least, he’s dramatically necessary: spending eternity fluttering around Marcelo Gomes hardly seems like a fate worse than death ...

I'm not trying to be obstreperous, but why is Suzanne Farrell "the most important link to Balanchine"? Why not Edward Villella? Or Patricia McBride? Or Francia Russell? Or Suki Schorer? Or Merrill Ashley? Or Karin von Aroldingen? Or Sean Lavery? Or Martins himself? I think the list of important links to Balanchine is pretty long and distinguished ...

I can't really think of exceptions to this, in my opera experience. But WHY is this the case? Surely the creative people involved in opera production aren't intentionally stopping everything so that the audience can twiddle its collective thumbs through the (a) dull, limited classiscal choreograhy, (b) corny caberet ethnic dancing, or © semi-amateur posing and arm-waving which constitute "dance" in most of the opera ballets I've seen. Nor does the audience really seem to care for it. So why do it? <{POST_SNAPBACK}> I was pondering this very same point a couple of evenings ago after seeing New York City Opera's production of Bizet's The Pearl Fishers. Wow. The choreography was awful -- no, worse than that -- it was amateurishly awful (not professionally awful in the way that, say, Musagete is ...). Really, I've seen better stuff in high school productions of South Pacific. It was like "Blue Snake" in Altman's recent film with less money thrown at it (and no point shoes -- for which we should probably be grateful). The choreographer added dollops of South Asian dance vocabulary here and there to evoke the setting (Sri Lanka), but forgot to listen to Bizet's score. The real problem was that the dance sequences were used to add some action to what is addmittedly a pretty static libretto, but rather than enhancing the music (and the drama expressed through it) actually served to distract attention from it -- much as a smouldering wreck on the highway distracts one's attention from the road ahead. Now NYCO has used dance successfully in the past -- Morris' Plateé is an obvious example, but there are others (e.g., some of their Handel productions) -- so what is the source of the institutional lapse of taste and judgement that continues to perptrate the stinkers? (I suppose one could levy the same charge against some of their productions in general ...)

Boy, did they ever! And they complained about casting, and about how the dancers weren't being mentored properly, and about deformations of company style, about the level of dancing in the corps, and on and on and on ... I did some of that complaining myself. (I never could get used to Merrill Ashley and Karin von Aroldingen in Emeralds, no matter how hard I tried.) I hope I'm not shocking anyone when I point out that there were in fact some pretty lousy evenings in State Theater when Balanchine was alive.

An inspiring (and as Oberon pointed out, sobering) piece – and Somogyi is certainly blessed in her colleagues in addition to her spirit! Mine are a pretty awesome bunch, but I think they’d balk at toting me up four flights of stairs … (For those of you who may not have read the article, Somogyi reports that Charles Askegard – who was partnering her when she got injured – carried her up to her fourth floor walk-up after the performance.) I really miss Somogyi, and I hope she hurries back, but please, not a moment too soon!

Definitely not saffron! Anyway, I thought the concept more enchanting than the actual execution -- though the effect is more charming when the wind blows. And here's a link to an installation on a slightly different scale: http://www.not-rocket-science.com/gates.htm

Hasn't City Ballet *always* had a handful of dancers with more star quality or individuality or personality or glamour or whatever you want to call it than their colleagues? As much as I enjoyed watching, say, Judith Fugate, Lourdes Lopez, Lauren Hauser, Melinda Roy, Nicole Hlinka and their many estimable colleagues dance (and I did enjoy it very much), I'd hardly have put them in the same category as Suzanne Farrell in that regard. Not to mention the bevy of lackluster dancers now forgotten. I suspect that there's a tendancy to compress many years of dance-watching (or opera-listening or theater-going) into a personal highlights reel and assume that every single moment up until oh, I don't know, we turned 40 or something, was aboslutely without a doubt a peak experience the likes of which we'll never see again. Two decades from now, we'll be wondering why there aren't real stars like Whelan, Bouder, Sylve [insert your favorit dancer here] anymore ... I just couldn't make any sense out of Rockwell's article, in any event.

I enjoy Sylve's dancing and am always happy to see her on the program, but I find that she takes a bit getting used to in the NYCB rep. She strikes me as being much more "vertical" in her placement than just about any other NYCB principal or soloist (with the possible exception of Abi Stafford) and, while she's not unmusical, she seems to hit "moments of repose" in a phrase sooner and hang on to them longer than is the NYCB norm. (Sorry -- I haven't got a clue as to what the correct technical terminology is for what I'm trying to describe!) I wouldn't necessarily characterize what she does in this regard as milking her effects, but I can see how her dancing might degenerate into something like that if she starts fussing over what she does well and forgets to integrate it into the whole. She's also got confidence and temperament to burn, and I can understand how that might seem to border on aggressive self presentation in a company where a more reserved, less extroverted expression of authority is often on offer. I wouldn't want everyone in the company to dance like her, but I do enjoy seeing how things look when she dances them -- and I look forward to watching her for many years to come. For a non-dancer like me who's ballet-going is largely limited to NYCB, comparing Sylve and, say Symogyi, in the same roles (e.g., Agon and Sanguinic) is a real eye-opener. I prefer Symogyi (please, please come back soon!), but I like Sylve too.

I've always thought that Apollo was one of those roles that lent itself to being danced by all different kinds of dancers -- it certainly shouldn't be limited to the tall blond god types or even the short blond god types. (I'm much fussier about who dances Terpsichore.) Frankly, I'd be happy to see just about any dancer I respect dance it so long as he genuinely had the capacity to engage fully with his Muses. My fantasy program is three performances of Apollo danced by three entirely different casts (or at least three entirely different Apollos). For whatever reason, I've started to think of certain dancers as being either "black tights" and "white tights" Apollos. Evans = white tights / Millepied = black tights. I'd like to see them both get a crack at the role. Hanna might be an engaging Apollo as well, but right now I really want to see him in "In G Major" ...

Natalia -- I've never seen anything else by Eifman, so I don't know if Musagète is typical of his work or not. Based on what I saw, I suspect he could put on a pretty good show if he had a mind to, though. My beef with Musagète isn't that it's lurid --which is what seems to have troubled some people, and also seems to be a complaint about Eifman generally -- it's that Eifman doesn't seem to have a clue about Balanchine. It just may be that other subjects are a more fruitful field for his talents. (Let's be honest: Balanchine's biography is nothing if not fodder for a staggeringly lurid novel or a Ken Russell movie -- you couldn't make this stuff up, as they say. My guess is that it takes a deft and judicious hand to present even an outline of the facts without blundering into dangerous terrain.)

You know, I suspected that NYCB's Balanchine Centennial was bound to be a disappointment for the simple reason that nothing could live up to my fantasy of what might be, nor to my memory of what was. ("Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, but to be young was very heaven ") And of course, it didn't -- but I saw many, many wonderful things despite myself. Here are the performances that made me sit up and take notice: 1) Nikolaj Hübbe's Apollo, which I was privileged to see twice. It's close, but I think he's just nudged Igor Zelensky out of the top spot in my Personal Pantheon of Favorite Apollos. (My first Apollo was Peter Martins, and I think I've seen just about every Apollo NYCB has put out there since then.) 2) Miranda Weese's Aurora. Weese has always struck me as one of those intense but somehow slightly effaced dancers whose impact is cerebral rather than emotional. I was totally unprepared for her utterly moving performance -- it hit me like a ton of bricks. I can't remember if she held all her balances or whatever it is Aurora is supposed to do, and couldn't care less. 3) Alexandra Ansenelli's Columbine. I just smiled and smiled. 4) Maria Kowroski in Variations pour une porte et un soupir. I've always rather liked this ballet (one of my guilty pleasures) but never knew quite how to take it: was Balanchine being serious? It's so literal! Is it a spoof? Are we supposed to laugh? Kowrowski was so wonderfully, touchingly deapan funny in it, I've decided she was the ballerina Balanchine foresaw in the role, but just didn't have to hand when he made it. I could go on -- Sylve's perfomance in Agon, for instance -- but I must run ... (Edited for a typo ...)

Musgète. It was indeed unforgettable, and it will haunt me until the end of my days. Through it, I was transported to another realm, a realm in which Bizzaro World Balanchine is inspired to: 1) hack a movement from Bach here and a finale from Tchaikovsky there, fling them at the orchestra in whatever order he happens to rip them out of the score, et voila! effortlessly devise background music for his choreo-montages (Bach is, like, you know, really really classy, and using his music demonstrates the depth to which one has penetrated the mysteries of art and the seriousness with which one's subject, or at least one's self, must be taken -- and it's all off copyright, to boot! Tchaikovsky -- alright not so classy, but by using him one by implication kills two great birds -- no, not Odette and Von Rothbart, Petipa and that other guy -- with one stone ...) (hmmm ... Odile kills Odette and Von Rothbart with one stone ... a stone laden with now sadly out of fashion Oedipal import ... but first they all writhe around a lot in solitary agony, or in pairs, or in a trio with Prince Siegfried and his mother and pop up on pointe a couple of times and show off their extensions and do an off center en dedans priouette with an en dehors preparation -- see, we know our classical vocabulary -- and then they die ... except for Odile ... I love Odile but I hate her too ... Odile, Tragic Muse ... aha! next ballet! Must book City Center NOW!); 2) devise choreography to make good dancers look bad (to paraphrase Eifman's own amusing program notes: a brilliant development and transformation of the traditions of Russian ballet to make possible the the evolution of dance from the 19th ot the 21st century ...); 3) put them in cheesy costumes to make them look even worse; 4) see how many clichés, I mean, references to the traditions of dance and dance theatre can be deployed in one ballet; and 5) pack it all into a lurid, puddle-of-conciousness narrative -- note please that "It is not a biographical ballet, but there is the personality of the choreographer" -- to make Deep Inner Meaning™ and The Torment of Genius© accessible to the many. "Unable to free myself from this spell" I can do nothing but write incoherent run-on sentences and the result is this post. (Really, the program notes were almost worth the price of admission.) OK, I liked the rolling chair and an innocent little bon-bon about Mourka might have been fun. I can only assume that Martins' intention was to provide a palpable demonstration of what makes Balanchine great and most of the Diamond Project ballets not bad (Vespro and La Stravaganza were Musgète warm-ups, perhaps). The bar for worst of 2005 has duly been raised.

I always rather liked Heather Watt's ultra-glamorous Dewdrop. Although she wasn't among my very favorite NYCB ballerinas, I still have vivid (and fond) recollections of some of her performances from the late 70's and early 80's -- and Dewdrop is one of them. I liked her "Clara Is Having a Teen Mood" reading of the role she originated in Davidsbündlertänze, too. (Ansanelli's recent take was more in the "Younger than Springtime" vein, but that works equally well, I think.)

Not to mention Nikolai Hübbe, for whom I see no real replacement either. Not that he's in the twilight of his career or anything, but he's definitely in the afternoon. His wonderful Apollo is about as different from Boal's as it is possible to be, and would be equally missed. Hope Tewsley didn't elect to leave because Musagete is on the schedule for next season

Sigh ... McBrearty was one of the dancers I really missed during the Balanchine celebration. She's on my seeminly ever-lenghthening list of "maybe they'll come back someday" NYCB alums. I'm still in deep denial regarding the departures of Monique Muenier, Eva Natanya, and Alexander Ritter. Not to mention Igor Zelensky. I'm that pathetic woman at the end of the bar clutching a faded NYCB program from the last century, sobbing into her cocktail and telling the bartender "He'll come back, I just know he will ..."

Since he's neither a dance professional, nor a dance scholar, nor a professional dance critic, then yes, he could certainly be considered a dance dilletante. Indeed, I suspect he'd be considered a dilletante with respect to much of what he writes about (with the possible exception of H. L. Menken, although there's probably a Menken scholar out there who would argue the point). I certainly wouldn't consider him a dance specialist (nor would I necessarily consider him a full-fledged, heavyweight cultural critic). But I don't think he was nominated to fill a "dance" slot; the fact that he's shown enough interest in ballet to write a book about Balanchine (however great a piece of fluff it may turn out to be) at least suggests that there will be someone on the NCA who has a favorable view of the art form. By the way, I don't think he's attractive to generalist publications because he's a dilettante; I suspect he's attractive to them because he writes in a manner they believe their audiences will find accessible but not utterly trivial.

While I think one might reasonably consider Mr. Teachout to be a "generalist" rather than a "specialist," I wouldn't be comfortable calling him a "lightweight." He's a critic, not an artist or a scholar, so I don't expect him to display a scholar’s or an artist’s expertise on any of the topics he writes about, including ballet. Teachout’s tastes in general strike me as being “centrist” or maybe even somewhat “right of center,” but well-informed (I have no idea what his political views are), and my sense is that he’s someone who values the continuity of tradition (which is not the same thing as being a “traditionalist”) and a highly developed level of craft. Although I don’t always agree with him (as my score on the “Teachout Cultural Convergence Index” amply demonstrates), I do appreciate the breadth of his interests, the lively sense engagement with his subject matter that his writing demonstrates, and his evident concern to incite that level of engagement in others. For me, this last point alone argues in favor of his appointment; if there’s anything the NEA needs to focus on, it’s fostering active engagement with the arts. (And given the rather paltry amount of funding the NEA recieves, it's got to focus like a laser beam on something in order to be effective.) In this regard, Teachout’s nomination strikes me as being something along the lines of Dana Gioia’s: whether or not one likes the latter’s poetry, and as controversial as some of his polemics about the current state of that art might be, one must appreciate his conviction that poetry can and should have a genuinely meaningful place in our lives. One must certainly applaud him for managing to win an increase in NEA funding. In any event, I don’t think Teachout’s appointment is going to be bad for ballet. (I also don’t think it’s narrowly “political”; I wonder how many senior members of the Bush administration actually know who Teachout is or have read anything he’s written – and if the answer is “not many,” that reflects badly on them, not Teachout. I’ll hazard a guess that the President himself had little to do personally with the nomination … It probably is "political" in the sense that Teachout's nomination isn't going to provoke the level of pandering fulmination on the Senate floor about the NEA and its mission, that, say, Susan Sontag's might.) A quick tour of the bios of the other individuals on the National Council on the Arts suggests that expertise in arts administration or funding features as much if not more than artistic prominence. Its current membership (Dana Gioia (Chairman), Donald V. Cogman, Mary Costa, Gordon Davidson, Katharine Cramer DeWitt, Makoto Fujimura, David H. Gelernter, Teresa Lozano Long, James McBride, Maribeth Walton McGinley, Jerry Pinkney, Cleo Parker Robinson, Deedie Potter Rose, Dr. Karen Lias Wolff ) certainly doesn’t have the cachet of the first NCA members appointed by Lyndon Johnson (Marian Anderson, Leonard Bernstein, Agnes de Mille, Richard Diebenkorn, Duke Ellington, Helen Hayes, Charlton Heston, Harper Lee, Gregory Peck, Sidney Poitier, Richard Rodgers, Rosalind Russell, David Smith, John Steinbeck, and Isaac Stern). Given the NCA’s job description*, however, nuts and bolts experience in making art happen (as opposed to just making art) and a genuine vision for creating a space for art in our national consciousness might be more valuable than artistic distinction at the end of the day. I don’t know enough about the current membership to even guess if they’re up to the task – I certainly hope so. Of course, what probably really matters is who is on the advisory panels. (Does any one know how they're structured and who's on them? I couln't find anything about them on the NEA website.) Who else would folks like to see nominated for the NCA? Are there any dance "heavyweights" who would be good candidates? (Cleo Parker Robinson appears to be the current representative from the dance world.) * From the NEA website: “The National Council on the Arts advises the Chairman of the National Endowment for the Arts, who also chairs the Council, on agency policies and programs. It reviews and makes recommendations to the Chairman on applications for grants, funding guidelines, and leadership initiatives … The major areas in which the Council advises the agency and its Chairman are: •Applications for Federal grant funds recommended by advisory panels; •Guidelines outlining funding categories, objectives, and eligibility; •Leadership initiatives and partnership agreements with other agencies; •Agency budget levels, allocations, and funding priorities; •Policy directions involving Congressional legislation and other issues of importance to the arts nationally. The Council also recommends individuals and organizations to receive the National Medal of Arts, a Presidential award in recognition of outstanding contributions to the arts in America.”

I think GeorgeB fan identifies something I've observed as well, although I might describe it somewhat differently: specifically, as that quality referred to in opera-land as "temperament." "Temperament" in this sense doesn't mean "temperamental," of course, nor does it refer to something that might be characterized as "personality" -- rather, it is that combination of guts, glamour, imagination, and authority that results in vivid and compelling performances utterly unique to the artist in question, but devoid of mannerism. (Ahem -- I'm referring to good performances, or at least validly interesting ones. We've all seen awful performances that one might also elect to characterize as "vivid and utterly unique." ) NYCB seems to go through "temperament" cycles in the same way that it goes through cycles of greater or lesser technical accomplishment. (And note that the two cycles aren't necessarily congruent: more than one great technician has been utterly devoid of temperament.) When I first started going to NYCB performances regulary in the 70's, it semed as if temperament was practically a component of the house style; at every level there were dancers who fired one's imagination. (I still remember the particulars of how Carole Divet danced, for instance.) Then there was a great temperament drought 90's where it seemed hardly to feature even in the Principal and Soloist ranks, and the dancers were practically interchangeable as a result. You'd leave a performance and could barely remember who you saw much less what you saw them do. Now I think we may be seeing something of a resurgence in temperament. So what does "temperament" look like? I think Hübbe and Bouder are positively saturated with it, as is Evans. Even when they're at less than their best, or haven't really gotten a lock on a role yet, or are doing something that I might otherwise consider completely wrong-headed, I still can't take my eyes off of them. Ansanelli, Somogyi, and Whelan -- as different as they are in terms of style and experience -- all strike me as dancers with temperament as well. One can see in one's mind's eye how they might dance a particular role or even phrase. One of the things I've found interesting about Weese since her return is an apparent blossoming of temperament; she could always do the steps, but now I find her performances compelling and memorable in a way I just didn't before -- and I don't think it's because her technique or even her musicality has "improved" in any meaningful way. (I found her Aurora a revelation and I think her Calliope was the best I've seen in at least a decade.) Before, I thought she could dispatch a role competently, if a bit perfunctorily, and was relatively indifferent as to whether she was cast or not. Now I really WANT to see what she's going to do with something -- I want to see her dancer's imagination at work. And I think it's that "wanting to see" that drives the distinction between dancers with and without temperament. Or more prosaically, between the premier cru ballerinas and the "house ballerinas." The latter are perfectly acceptable in the sense that they're not going to maul a role or leave out half the steps or even perform ungenerously; it's just that one doesn't head off to the theater thinking "I wonder what she's going to do with that role tonight?" or "I'd really like to see what she would make of this role or that." In sum, although I agree with Acocella that NYCB is at best flat in more than a few of the ballets that comprise their heritage, I'm feeling rather more optimistic about the company's ability to renew its hold on that heritage than I was even half a decade ago. (By the way, I mean "flat" almost literally. I can't really speak to the steps that have been lost, but I certainly sense the loss of a certain fully three-dimensional qualtiy that NYCB dancers used to exhibit -- even at top speed -- that seems to be missing today. Many of the dancers seem to just skitter across the stage like paper dolls blown in the wind.)

Perhaps NYCB is to Balanchine as Chanel is to Coco Chanel. Everyone connected with the enterprise remembers the founder with reverance, and the founding aesthetic (pace Robert Gottlieb) still informs the output to a greater or lesser degree, but it's not quite the same house nonetheless. And if you put one of Mme Chanel's original designs on one of today's fashion models, it wouldn't look the same -- the model would at the very least carry herself differently -- but it would still be a fabulous dress.

I scribbled this out during my lunch hour, and only just now got a chance to post it, so I may be several posts behind. I apologize in advance if I’m retreading what may be by now old ground, and I especially apologize if I sound like I’m falling on anyone else like a ton of bricks. I would like to challenge the notion that those of us who admire Balanchine’s ballets and who wish to see his Company and his successors keep his aesthetic alive are 1) conservative in our artistic tastes, 2) averse to being “shocked,” or 3) are less accepting of or open to “new music and unorthodox styles” and that these are the reasons we responded negatively to Eifman’s new ballet. Suggesting that someone who prefers, say, Episodes (or even Prodigal Son) to Musagète is old-fashioned is approximately equivalent to suggesting that someone who prefers Arnold Schoenberg to Def Leppard is old-fashioned. Eifman’s ballet is not “new” in any meaningful sense of the word, just as Def Leppard was not genuinely “new” pop music in its heyday, however “shocking” a thirteen year old boy’s parents might have found it. (Now Hip-Hop – that was new …) New chroeographically? Sorry – I didn’t see anything there that boldly crossed the frontier into new territory, even for a “dramatic” or “expressionistic” effort. Eifman relentlessly mines ballet’s most attention-grabbing “special effects” – extreme extensions, complicated partnering, and the like – but in my opinion does little to expand its vocabulary or the expressive potential of its syntax (something Forsythe, who also mines extremes, has done, I think). What’s more, he relies on those special effects and the alleged shock value of his dramatic material in the same way that the current crop of disaster flick directors do – as a substitute for narrative and dramatic craft. (Unlike Kisselgoff, I didn’t find Musagète particularly “well made.” Nor did it suggest to me that Eifman has “a firm grasp of the classical vocabulary” or that he “did his research” on Balanchine. Because he could quote some of the most iconic gestures in 20th century dance? Please, I could do that.) Let’s just say that Musagète is to a thoughtful exploration of Balanchine’s life and art as “The Day after Tomorrow” is to a thoughtful exploration of the implications of climate change. (Digression: “28 Days Later” is a thoughtful pop examination of humankind undone by its technology. Musagète is pop ballet, but not necessarily good pop ballet. And I’d be the first to tell you that there IS good pop, and that sometimes, only pop will do.) New in its exploration of creativity, human relations, life? Sorry to disappoint, but it serves up the same old tired notions from the last century that we are somehow supposed to find mind-expanding (and yes, shocking) yet one more time: geniuses are tortured, love is torture, art is the product of tortured geniuses’ tortured erotic impulses, tortured geniuses cruelly torture those they love, and tortured geniuses die solitary, tortured deaths etc, etc, etc. It’s a tiresomely sentimental in its way as a Hallmark greeting card. New music? Hello? – we got a smorgasbord of extracts from Bach and about eight minutes of Tchaikovsky’s 4th. (Extracts from longer works are one of my pet peeves, even when Balanchine does it, but let’s save that for another post – I’ve already digressed enough.) To make matters worse, it could have been ANY old music (and I almost mean “old” literally), especially during the T&V pastiche. I was put in mind of something that either Arlene Croce or Pauline Kael said about Flashdance: “The dancing doesn’t go the way the music goes, the dancing goes the way an eggbeater goes.” It’s not as if Eifman chose to challenge himself and his audience with, oh, Sigur Ros or Radiohead or even a dead white avant-garde male like John Cage. I kept thinking of how Mark Morris might have handled the project: he would have had a lot more fun with the rolling chair and Mourka for starters; he would have done a much better T&V homage, even with modern dancers in bare feet; and I think we might have gotten a wider emotional range as well. By the way, there’s hardly a bleaker, more genuinely unsettling portrayal of a woman in ballet than Prodigal’s Siren (and talk about women straddling men suggestively…). I've seen it a dozen times and more and it still upsets me. So yes, Balanchine, rarely subjects women to overt violence (which may have been what some found so distressing in Shambards) but Central Park in the Dark is pretty disturbing nonetheless. I think Balanchine's portrayal of women and of the relationships between men and women are more varied and subtle than he is sometimes given credit for. And now that we've had our fill of alienation and anomie, perhaps we will find them new.

Carbro -- was this in response to my post? If so, re-read the sentence and think about it -- it wasn't intended as a compliment. As I entered State Theater last night I thought "Oh, how bad could it possibly be?" Now I know. (PS: credit is due to one of the editors at Mathematical Reviews, who apparently was the first to coin the now often used phrase "it fills a much needed gap in the literature.")

Musagète fills a much needed gap in the repertory.

NYCB Saturday Evening, January 17, 2004: Apollo & Harlequinade If only Peter Martins had decided to re-attach what Balanchine lopped off of Apollo and to extract what he (Balanchine) stuffed back into Harlequinade! Don’t get me wrong: it’s a great big box of bon-bons, but it would be a better box of bon-bons minus the ones with the icky pink centers. Now, I was thoroughly enchanted by much of Harlequinade (which I had never seen before), and would very much like to see the enchanting parts again, but I found the Ballabile des enfants and the various Flotillas des invités rather intrusive overall (the latter in Act I especially), completely superfluous to the proceedings, and – let’s be frank, shall we – nearly interminable if one is not the proud parent of a Polinchinelle or Petit Harlequin. I like the kids as much as the next guy, but they need to be sprinkled in with a deft hand. (Think Dream or Mozartiana. I suspect that I am going to be taken to task for this bit of crankiness. Yes, yes: I understand that Balanchine is harkening back to the traditions of his Maryinsky training, that it’s an exposition of ballet’s great chain of being, that to the practiced eye these are wonderful little dances exploiting the simplicity imposed by the limitations of the available vocabulary, etc etc etc – but in this instance I think the children – and the Cortege des invités, who could be older students themselves, actually – are slathered too generously onto what might otherwise be a compact and elegant treat. This isn't a complaint about the quality of the dancing, by the way -- though I wonder how they managed to get the children rehearsed given that the Nutcracker just wound up a couple of weeks ago.) Finally, Drigo’s score is tuneful, but hardly so charming that we must have absolutely every note. Oh, and why do I prefer Apollo with the prologue? Because the audience actually shuts up when the music starts. I am ever stunned by the number of people who are of the opinion that it is perfectly OK to continue one’s conversation at full volume through the opening minutes of one of the masterworks of the 20th century so long as the curtain has not been raised. GRRRRRR! There, that’s out of the way. Back to the performance itself. I groaned when we saw the dreaded white slip tucked into the program: Borree was to dance Terpsichore in place of Ansanelli; Ansanelli was to dance Columbine in place of Borree, and both Gold and Hübbe were out. I had been eagerly anticipating Ansanelli’s Terpsichore all week and Hübbe and Gold are particular favorites. Afterwards, my husband and I agreed that 1) while we still missed Gold and Hübbe, Millepied and De Luz were wonderful and 2) Ansanelli’s Colombine was so delightful it’s impossible to imagine anyone else in the role right now, and it was a privilege to experience it. This was the performance that convinced me that Ansanelli has really and truly become a principal ballerina, and I simply cannot say enough good things about it. It struck me that she now combines what is an undeniably sweet, unmannered, and affecting stage presence with a principal’s authority and assurance. Her performance was a harmonious, integrated whole and looked as natural as breathing: utterly musical, nothing done for mere effect, no mannerisms (and I suspect that this role could tempt a dancer into more than a few of them), and completely trusting of the expressive potential of the choreography itself. Case in point: the Act II series of slow turns on point across the stage that distill into chainés and culminate in kisses blown to the audience was achingly lovely – as if to say “I am utterly happy and I want you to be utterly happy too” – and indeed, at that moment it was impossible not to be. She also seems much stronger. (There was only one terrifying “Oh no, she’s going to get hurt again!” moment, at the beginning of a series of fouettés – but she shrugged it off and finished with what looked like a triple.) In the past Ansanelli’s dancing sometimes suggested that she was simply being blown around the stage by a wind machine in the wings and happened to be able to make pretty shapes in the process; but on Saturday evening, although still whisper–light, she herself was clearly the source of the dance’s energy and impulse. By the way, the woman in line behind me in the ladies’ room thought that Ansanelli’s Columbine wasn’t “mischievous” the way McBride’s was, and that she should try harder to achieve McBride’s effect. I couldn’t disagree more: it was perfect the way it was. Please, RUN to State Theater tomorrow night and see for yourself! And while you’re there, you’ll see lots of fine dancing from everyone else in the cast. Amanda Edge’s Pierrette was witty and whip-sharp, and it’s gratifying to see her featured more prominently, especially in a role that showcases her special strengths. Millepied crossed the “really and truly a principal” threshold a season or two ago, and I like him more and more. Earlier on (just around the time he was promoted), I thought he pushed everything a bit too hard, as if he believed he ought to strain for an extra half inch on every jump or an extra rotation on every turn to justify his promotion, and his dancing seemed brittle and forced as a result. Well, now he’s either got that extra half inch for real or he’s relaxed enough to simply do what looks best, which in his case looks simply terrific — and is genuinely exciting when that’s what’s called for. His Harlequin was less of a rascal than some might have liked, but I thought that this was wholly appropriate given the sweetness of Ansanelli’s Columbine: a more devious and heartless Harlequin would have thrown the emotional pitch of the central couple out of balance. I’m running out of time, and can’t compliment Danchig-Waring, De Luz, Sylve, and Tinsley’s performances as much as they deserve. (I don’t think I’ve ever seen a dancer as solidly and satisfyingly placed as Sylve was in her variations as La Bonne Fée: her arabesques were like monuments. As Léandre, Danchig-Waring successfully negotiated that fine line between screamingly funny and over-the-top.) Each of Les Scaramouches also deserves to be singled out for special praise, as do Les Alouettes. I never got around to nominating my NYCB MVP in the “Goodbye to 2003” threads, but it was going to be the senior corps; I saw more than a couple of performances in which these talented and hard-working men and women were the dancers one watched, not the principals. And I hope La Patrouille had as much fun dancing as we did watching. Finally, to the young man who snatched up the errant pom-pom and tossed it into the wings – well done! Others have already praised Boal’s Apollo, and there’s nothing for me to do but second their praise. Bouder was a terrific Polyhymnia and I eagerly await her Terpsichore .

I don't think opera companies really are "museums" in the way that some ballet companies might elect to be. There are a couple of ways in which ballet companies differ from opera companies that may come into play here: 1. I can't think of an opera house that's been charged with the diligent conservation of the work of a single composer in the way that NYCB, the RDB etc are (by at least some) expected to preserve the work of a particular choreographer. Some might be expected to preserve the elements of a national style, but that's a different thing (and getting rarer by the minute). 2. Most opera companies aren't "companies" in the way that most ballet companies are: for lack of a better word, "specialists" are purpose-hired by opera companies from an interantional pool of singers to perform for a limited run the roles for which they are suited by voice type, performing style, training, expertise, and experience. Yes, every opera company has a "house soprano" who regularly performs "comprimario" roles and occaisionally may take on a lead role as a member of the second or third cast -- but the roster at the Met or even City Opera doesn't function in the same way as the roster at NYCB. An opera company isn't a cohesive unit that can be easily directed towards a curatorial function in the way that, say, NYCB might be. 3. Singers aren't trained in a company school for the purpose of performing the works in the company's repertory. They come from all over and while most are probably conservatory trained, a number are not. And they start late when compared to dancers. 4. There is in fact considerable disagreement in opera-land regarding the level of care with which certain core operas and performance traditions are being maintained, the ability to adequately cast the works of certain composers (e.g., Verdi and Wagner), the degree to which "historically informed" performance practice ought to be applied to older works, etc. The "museum" label might be applied to the enterpise as a whole, but not to any one company in particular. I suspect, however, that the advent of a "museum" company or two would probably be warmly applauded by at least some segments of the opera audience. The current state of affairs in certain corners of the opera repertory, where it is almost impossible to put together a first rate cast, a gifted conductor, and a skilled production team, all of whom are completely at ease in the requisite style does suggest, I think, what can happen when the curatorial function is dsimissed or abandoned. Should NYCB become the Balanchine museum? I don't know, but some company should.

If I say "Gene Kelly," is that cheating? Since Hans said "male dancer's style," I thought I'd take the liberty of pointing to a model outside of ballet. I think America does have a particular style of male dancing, but it's more prominent in dance forms other than ballet. Nonetheless, I think elements of that style have percolated into ballet: they are brought out most obviously in works such as Who Cares or Fancy Free, which make clear references to popular culture, but they are present in more purely "classical" works as well. I also think non-American dancers can replicate the style (Hubbe comes to mind). Hmmm ... but how to describe it in words? Unfussy and relatively unadorned? A downplaying of preparation and recovery? (Here I'm thinking of other styles that acknowlege -- even relish -- preparation and finish: "OK, multiple tours coming, please watch! The tension should be killing you! Whew! OK ! What a lot of turns! Exciting, no? But please now observe my perfect repose! OK, I will even stay here for a moment so that you may savor it!") And there's something about where the center of gravity is and a degree of "play" around that center that I can't describe at all, but that seems distinctively "American" to me. Sigh ... just pop Gene into the VCR, and I think you'll see what I mean -- and I think you'll see it peeping out on the ballet stage as well. Alexandra -- I'm a little puzzled by the distinction you drew between "presentational style" and "dancing style." Wouldn't they be inextricably linked?