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Well from the "outsider" perspective I feel as if Balanchine was ultimately responsible for creating such an unhealthy climate in the company. He was the boss, and his obsession with Farrell was obviously destructive. Farrell however sees the relationship nowadays as a loving, productive one, and that's undoubtedly true as well. But when I read d'Amboise was writing the book there was a subtle but definite defense of the ballerinas Balanchine neglected once Farrell came into the picture, particularly his friend Melissa Hayden and LeClercq. I agree that the book could have used an editor to give it less disjointed, jumpy feel. But I also do look how it seems to be written by d'Amboise himself, instead of ghost-written. The voice of d'Amboise is very obvious in this book, and that's something I feel is missing from many ghost-written books.

Well here's another thing: perhaps d'Amboise was/is trying to defend someone who isn't here to defend himself anymore? That thought crossed my head -- that Farrell's story over the years has become the accepted story. Maybe d'Amboise felt as if she was not presenting things accurately, and in the process perhaps went too far in the other direction in making her seem manipulative? d'Amboise is also from a different era. Today Balanchine's actions towards Farrell would be considered sexual harassment. Another thing I felt was d'Amboise's loyalty towards the "first generation" dancers. Melissa Hayden, Tanny LeClercq, and he mentions being friends nowadays with Allegra Kent. I don't think there was any love lost between Farrell and any of these ladies, so d'Amboise might be trying to say, "Hey, remember them!" You can definitely tell in this memoir who his friends were and who he just tolerated. Diana Adams and Maria Tallchief don't exactly come across very well in the book either. And one can sense that his relationships with the other leading men in the company (Villella, Martins) were not exactly close. But another striking thing about the book is the unabashedly negative opinion towards Jerome Robbins. Most dancer memoirs acknowledge that he was difficult, but will diplomatically talk about his genius and the fact that he did it for Art. There is not even that pretension for d'Amboise -- he really seems to have despised the man.

About Suzanne Farrell, I think it's an example of the enduring power and loyalty of Balanchine's dancers that they generally took his "side" and decided to blame her instead for the very unhappy situation before she left the company. d'Amboise's comments just come as a surprise because they were partners for so long, that one would think he would feel some loyalty towards Suzanne too, and see the difficult situation Balanchine created for the entire company, and that he wasn't helping matters either. But I suppose his loyalty towards Balanchine, a feel unflattering stories aside, is very great indeed. I suppose this is getting OT but in my personal experience relationships between extremely young women and much older men tend to have a strong element of manipulation to them, and that is what d'Amboise emphasizes in the book. It's not even conscious manipulation, but the instinctive manipulation of someone who's very young and very good looking who knows that he has an older, insecure man wrapped around her little finger.

I wrote this about Sara Mearns performance on Friday:\ Sara Mearns from the moment she grand jeted onstage was that most rare of combinations -- an Odette who both projected the aloofness of someone not quite human, and the passion of a woman trapped in a swan's body. I've mentioned this before on the blog but Mearns doesn't have a typical body for a ballerina. She has broad shoulders, a short neck, and a curvy, somewhat thick torso. Mearns is also an unusual dancer for the NYCB. The repertory of the NYCB (and Martins' personal preference) tends to favor ballerinas who are efficient allegro, terre a terre dancers. My impression of the stereotypical NYCB corps de ballet girl is that they tend to be good technicians but a bit blank and brittle. Mearns is an adagio dancer among a sea of allegros. She is not afraid to move slightly behind the beat of the music, to accentuate a step or show off her luxurious classical line. She stands out among the small, brisk swans as a real Swan Queen -- regal in carriage, a Woman among girls. In both appearance and style she reminds me a lot of Galina Ulanova, who also had a short neck, thick torso, and a uniquely lyrical way of dancing. Mearns has both the Russian back (extremely flexible) and the traditionally "Russian" upper body -- highly expressive. But she also can shock the audience with lightning-fast pique turns and a lower-body strength on pointe associated with the NYCB. Mearns is like all great performers, in that she's turned her shortcomings into strengths. She might not have the most beautiful body, but whereas with other ballerinas I often find myself staring at their feet, legs, hands, face, whatever, with Mearns I instead was mesmerized by the way she moved. This was not an Odette that traveled slowly from pose to pose, with stops in between. You could take a snapshot of Mearns at any time and it would be gorgeous, but her O/O was vibrant and vital, and it gave energy to the whole performance. I loved the magnificent sweep of her leg in arabesque penchee, her luxuriously curved back, that she could maneuver into all sorts of ways without detracting from her overall plumb line. She could be deliciously subtle too, like when she bourreed around the stage noiselessly, smooth as silk, and her sissones were feather-light. She made wonderful use of her long arms. In the lakeside acts, her arms embraced Siegfried so tightly it was almost frightening, the urgency with which this Odette wants to be freed. And in arabesque, Mearns often slowly moved her arms upwards, as if she were imploring the heavens to answer her prayers. As Odile, Mearns' arms became sinister and spidery, her luxurious cambre's purposefully vulgar, her arabesque stiffer, more at a 90 degree angle, and without the grand sweep. I've rarely seen an O/O willing to make Odile artificially seductive, rather than just purely va-va-voom seductive. Her fouettes traveled downstage, and she didn't throw in doubles or triples, but I admired her tenacity, because the NYCB isn't a company where ballerinas regularly have to practice those 32 fouettes. In the last act, Martins chooses for Rothbart's spell to be broken, but for Odette to leave Siegfried anyway. It's a rather aloof way to end the ballet, but Mearns made her final embrace of Siegfried long and lingering, before she bourreed offstage. Mearns gave Martins' cold, sterile Swan Lake a beating heart and soul. I too was disappointed in Angle. This is what I wrote: The dancing was also off-point. One of the corps de ballet girls took a nasty spill at the very start of the Waltz, and the rest of the corps seemed rattled for the rest of the dance. Jared Angle (Siegfried) is one of those danseurs Peter Martins seems to love -- self-effacing, solid, reliable, and ... not much else. This could be seen by the way this Siegfried shuffled onstage dully with his buddies. An Angel Corella or Marcelo Gomes know how to make an entrance, even in a cavalier role like Siegfried. They don't just shuffle onstage with their buddies. To spice things up maybe, Martins decided to have a Jester (Daniel Ulbricht), who did the best he could but ... I always find the Jester a terminally irritating role in any production of Swan Lake. The pas de trois had a last-minute substitution in Anthony Hurley as Benno. Hurley made the classic mistake of remembering to punch out all the big steps, while forgetting, it seems, the small connecting steps. So the pas de trois looked awkward and ungainly when it should theoretically be a seamless flow of allegro dancing. Erica Pereira and Ana Sophia Scheller danced with him and this is another example of how Kirkeby's designs actually undermine the performance -- they were dressed in these tiny, ugly dresses that looked more appropriate for Sunday dance-recital students than NYCB company stars.

Natalia, thanks for the report. A question -- Diana's Act Two from the two times I've seen her and the Tokyo video is fairly consistent in characterization. Her Act Two has always been very ghostly, stern, a real Wili-in-training who faces off with the Queen of Wilis. But in Act One I find she's toned down a lot of the "wild child" characterization over the years, and her Act One Giselle is now shier and more timid. What was she like this time?

One thing I found odd about the chapter on Robbins and Balanchine was the inordinate amount of time she devoted to discussing both mens' religions. She in my opinion carried the Russian Orthodox metaphor way too far with Balanchine, and I'll go out on a limb and say she devoted too much time to Jerome Robbins' Jewish roots as well. And then a check-off of Balanchine's favorite dancers included their religious backgrounds. The book overall becomes less, not more satisfying as it progresses.

I went too and had the opposite reaction. I felt that while Mearns was absolutely exquisite as O/O, Martins' staging of the work is so ugly and muddled that it's not something I'd ever sit through again willingly. I have no idea why Peter Martins remains so loyal to the designer Per Kirkeby, who designed one of the ugliest decors I have ever seen in any production, and that includes all the so-called "Eurotrash" regie opera productions. Kirkeby loves pumpkin-orange and lime green. In both "color" acts orange and bright green are the main colors of the corps de ballet costumes. He's fond of cut-outs in costumes as well, for no apparent reason. He also apparently likes mud-brown (the color of the backdrops). The clash of colors is absolutely horrific. It's not often that I can't look onstage because it is so visually ugly, but Kirkeby has managed to do just that for Act One of Martins' Swan Lake. What's worse, Kirkeby's designs create no sense of a "court" for Prince Siegfried, but some abstract rustic in-the-middle-of-nowhere picnic that gives us no idea of Siegfried's side of the story. Martins seems determined to make Act 1 a show-case for abstract dance. That really doesn't work when Swan Lake by design has Act One as the "character" act and Act Two as the greatest act of "abstract dance" ever choreographed. As for Martins' Swan Lake overall, I scratched my head at some of the choices he decided to make. For the lakeside scenes, he decided to preserve most of the choreography Balanchine made for his one-act Swan Lake. This resulted in some beautiful corps de ballet formations (in this ballet, they really circle around Siegfried and Odette, like a real flock of birds), but also some ungainly cuts to the score that are acceptable in an abridged Swan Lake but not for a full-length ballet. In Act 3, he had a glittery pas de quatre that showed off the kind of allegro dancing in which the NYCB excels (Megan Fairchild, Tiler Peck, Abi Stafford, and Joaquin de Luz danced tonight -- A-list casting), but then had a weird, Sheherazade-like Russian dance in which the lovely Janie Taylor was wearing harem pants and reduced to wiggling her hips. And then he made the oddest choice of all -- after the climactic Black Swan pas de deux, Siegfried pledges his love to Odile, but instead of the usual sinister black puff and cackling center-stage, there's some milling about by the courtiers (dressed like Power Rangers) while the big drama was happening upstage. Odile and Rothbart disappeared from the party and Siegfried was in despair, and the audience barely noticed. And then between the transition from the Black Swan act to the lakeside scene, Martins has the jester poke his head into the court and settle on the bench, for some cheap laughs. I already spoke about Act One, but I noticed that in Act Three and Act Four (the final lakeside scene) Martins is almost embarrassed at actually telling the story. When there is supposed to be the most drama, Martins seems determined to undermine it, to be Seinfeld-like in a "no lessons, no hugging" way. Rothbart expires in a heap of orange for no particular reason, but then Odette is whisked offstage -- why? Martins' choices are not worse than Kevin McKenzie's equally dreadful Swan Lake for the ABT, but they do make it hard for the Odette/Odile to make an emotional impact. Mearns was absolutely exquisite -- vulnerable, lyrical, deeply human and passionate as Odette, and wonderfully seductive as Odile, but I saw her once, she was fabulous, now I have no desire to see the work again.

My point was that I don't think Balanchine ever would have wanted people to have an attitude that ballet, and his ballets, would die along with him. He was many things, but he was not generally selfish and spiteful. Also ... I read this book twice, cover to cover. The moroseness and rigidity of Homans' view on ballet didn't become more apparent until the second reading. I too noticed how Homans ignores some of Balanchine's more narrative ballets, as well as his more commerical efforts. As I said, there is a great deal to appreciate about Homans' book, if one sits down and reads it cover to cover, as well as shortcomings.

I posted this review on my blog, but I'll copy it here: The bombastic New York Times Book Review by Toni Bentley blared, "It has never been done, what Jennifer Homans has done in “Apollo’s Angels.” She has written the only truly definitive history of the most impossibly fantastic art form, ballet, this most refined, most exquisite art of “aristocratic etiquette,” this “science of behavior toward others,” as a 17th-century ballet master put it, in which lovely young women perch upon their 10 little toe tips (actually, it is ­really just the two big toes that alternately support the entire body’s weight: think about it) and waft about where the air is thinner — but heaven is closer." Obviously, she liked the book. Jennifer Homans' book, a history of ballet, has gotten equal parts praise and scorn -- praise for her thoughtful, methodical research, her elegant writing style, and her passionate views. It's gotten scorn because of her famous (or infamous) epilogue, where, after such loving research, she declares ballet "dead." The epliogue can be read online at the New Republic. But, having read the book cover to cover twice now, I wonder, just how good is Apollo's Angels? The positives of the book are that Homans was a careful, thoughtful researcher. She took the already-familiar outlines of the history of ballet, especially its origins in the French Imperial Court, and instead of dumbing down the material, Homans did the admirable strategy of smartening up. The book is filled to the brim with arcane but interesting facts about the "early days" of ballet that nonetheless make you admire the sheer effort she must have put into research. It's one thing to talk about the five classical positions in ballet, it's another to show a painting of what the five positions looked like in the court of Louis XIV. It's yet another to write under the picture as a caption, "The five positions of ballet as codified by ballet masters in the reign of Louis XIV. The best dancers appeared graceful and poised, never angular or forced. Moderate turn-out of the feet and hips conveyed aristocratic ease." Another joy in the book is the luxurious pictures, all carefully chosen and truly enhancing to the story. She includes the original notations of the Italian spectacle ballet Excelsior. She shows us Marie Taglioni's original pointe shoes. She compares the original Mariinsky snowflakes with the Snowflakes Balanchine made for his Nutcracker. By the caption, Homans writes: "The similarities are striking, Balanchine made one important addition: his snowflakes are crowned, emphasizing their Imperial lineage." Homans is also an excellent writer. I haven't seen such a good distillation of the unique Bournonville style until I read it in Apollo's Angels: This is a first rate mind talking about ballet, and that is always a joy to read. As the history of ballet chugs along into the 20th century, the tightly focused early chapters give way to less interesting, more biased outlook. Homans' mentor and idol is Balanchine, but does she really have to dismiss Kenneth MacMillan's Romeo and Juliet in one paragraph, or have to generalize that the rise of MacMillan in the Royal Ballet "sadly exemplified the malaise seeping into British life" (p. 442)? She gives Sir Frederick Ashton his due, but there's a slightly condescending tone to his writings about Ashton ballets, as if he were just the creator of some charming, sentimental bucolic slices of life. I mean, can his wonderful Sylvia be dismissed as a "lumbering confusion of gods and goddesses, sylphans, dryads, and naiads" (p. 430). She writes little about the choreographic touches Ashton was fond of putting into his ballets, such as the "air walking," and completely omits any mention of his masterpieces like Two Pigeons, Scenes de Ballet, Monotones, and Dapnis et Chloe, which makes me wonder how much Ashton's she's actually seen. The oppressive atmosphere state-run ballet companies in the former Soviet Union are well-known even to casual ballet fans, but is it necessary to reduce Maya Plisetskaya's uniquely dynamic dancing into a metaphor about a "fight" against the totalitatarian state? And that's perhaps the problem with Homans' book -- the more well-known the material is, the less interesting she becomes as a writer. Perhaps it's because other books, more narrow in scope, have done a better job focusing on, say, Diaghilev's Ballet Russes or British Ballet or ballet in the Americas. The last chapter "The American Century II: The New York Scene" of course focuses heavily on George Balanchine and the New York City Ballet. But this is stuff that has been covered better in books by Edwin Denby, Arlene Croce, and other critics who were "present at the creation" for the Balanchine and Robbins masterworks. There are so many excellent books written about the topic that Homans' chapter, no matter how well-written, is bound to seem a bit shallow. As for its much-talked-about epilogue, one thing that is striking in the book is how many times ballet "died" before Homans declared its final death. Ballet died with the French Revolution, Romantic ballet died when Paris was abandoned by the dancers Marie Taglioni and Fanny Elssler for sites abroad, ballet died again when it became overstuffed by the exceesses of pure spectacle Italian ballets like Excelsior, which "boasted a cast of more than five hundred, including twelve horses, two cows, and an elephant (p. 233)." Ballet was never alive in Britain or the United States until certain extremely talented and determined people made ballet come alive. Another thing about Homans is she's one of those critics who seem to think ballet died when Balanchine died. It's a sad viewpoint, because Balanchine was famously generous with his ballets and wanted them to belong to the world, and to be danced by the world, even if it wasn't trained in his style, because he didn't want his ballets to die. But Homans' argument becomes even harder to agree with when she says: The arguments are familiar: today's dancers are losing their links with great choreographers and pedagogues. There has been no real great choreographer since Balanchine's death. Yet such a long, bitter epilogue after such a loving history of ballet leaves a sour taste in one's mouth, even if I can agree with some of her points. First of all, I hate to think that such a painstakingly researched book was just to prove a point that ballet is dead. Second of all, I dislike declaring any art form dead. Wasn't it the great works of Marius Petipa in Russia that rescued ballet from the excesses of Italian ballet? It seems narrow-minded, knee-jerk conservative, and somehow deeply mean to declare an art form dead. The author assumes that if people enjoy ballet today, they are somehow ignorant, and that kind of elitist attitude doesn't help anybody. The other issue is that somehow I wonder if the epilogue was tacked on to sell more books, as a lengthy history book about ballet might not garner nearly as much controversy, and thus publicity. As Homans' book has proved, ballet was constantly changing as society changed. The courtiers of the French court gave way to highly trained specialized dancers, and when those dancers retired they took their talents to Italy, Russia, and Denmark. I agree with Homans that ballet is a fragile art form, but I also believe that it's in the end as resilient as a dancer's toes. So how good is Apollo's Angels? I think it's an excellent primer on the history of ballet, and Homans is a very intelligent, and a good writer, but I fundamentally disagree with her premise of writing her book. And there are other books that in my opinion are just as critical for any balletomane's library. For books on dance criticism, Akim Volynsky's Ballet's Magic Kingdom, Edwin Denby's Dance Writings, Arlene Croce's Afterimages, Going to the Dance, and Sight Lines, offer an unparalleled persepctive and insight into eras of dance. There's a mini-library of works about Diaghilev's Ballet Russes, but Lynn Garafola's book Diaghilev's Ballet Russes is probably the best and most insightful. David Vaughn's Frederick Ashton and his Ballets offers much greater insight into a choreographer that's only touched upon superficially in Homans' book. Lincoln Kirstein's Fifty Ballet Masterworks is a much less wordy mini-history of ballet, with many more illuminating pictures, and written in Kirstein's wonderfully authoritative style. And our understanding of ballet would be poorer without the memoirs of Tamara Karsavina's Theatre Street, the rare ballet memoir that not only talks about the hard work and the career glories of ballet, but about the love. Love for dancing, love for one's ballet school, love for ballet. When one reads Denby, Croce, or Karsavina, they convey such love for the art form that one thinks that ballet is indeed, eternal. I wish Homans could combine her talents (writing, research) with a more optimistic, less fatalistic outlook.

I was disturbed by how she lowered her attitude leg so much to achieve those long balances. Holding that leg up in attitude while balancing is one of the joys of the Rose Adagio, and one of the challenges. Rojo's lowered leg gives the impression that she went for the trick rather than beauty.

I went to the night performance, and thought that Stars and Stripes was the most successful of the three ballets. Ashley Bouder, James Veyette, and Daniel Ulbricht tore up the stage. I however felt something really wrong during Prodigal Son. The audience chuckled nonstop during the performance. Was this ballet meant to be played for laughs, in such a broad manner? I don't think so, it seemed as if the dancers totally failed to convey the spiritual/mythical aspects of this ballet.

Did anyone catch Jim Carrey's parody of Black Swan on SNL? It was a pretty good riff on the movie.

I would suggest trying to exchange them for one of the two Diana Vishneva performances. Diana's Giselle is really a classic portrayal -- not really conventional either, but it works incredibly well. You won't be disappointed!

Well one thing that I do think is true that after several years where the NYCB ballerina roster was weak (I can't tell how many times I passed up evenings because I had no desire to see Darci Kistler or Yvonne Borree) it's now extremely strong, and Mearns is part of the reason. I'd also add Ashley Bouder, Tiler Peck, Kathryn Morgan, as ballerinas I've never seen give a bad performance. It's become an exciting time to go to the NYCB again.

I know it gets a bad rap but I love "Dirty Dancing" too. Jennifer Grey isn't the greatest dancer, but Patrick Swayze is, and I thought the movie showed how liberating dance can be very well. I thought several of the dance sequences (including the one on the log) were very well-done, and every time I watch the movie it makes me happy.

Very intelligent interview. Funny how Natalia was just mentioning how Homans didn't mention ballet on the internet, but in the interview she talks about it: One thing I found by reading the book was that Homans repeatedly mentions in her history how ballet as an art form was "dead" before a great personality revived it by will and talent. It's this cyclical quality of her history of ballet which makes her prologue seem out of place.

I think one reason might be the fact that cleanup after the huge snowstorm (over 2 ft of snow) has been unusually slow. Canceled/delayed subways and buses have made many people just want to stay home.

From Robert Johnson's review: I totally agree that the decision to make the Snowflakes scary was one of the biggest misfires, as is the bees in the Waltz of the Flowers. Clara weeping in the middle of the pas de deux (big, sobbing tears) was also another weird moment in the ballet, especially since the rest of the pas de deux was so playful.

I must say I can't imagine Diana Adams as Dewdrop. That seems much more a role for Allegra Kent and Melissa Hayden.

All this hand-wringing about whether Black Swan will influence peoples' opinions about ballet is I think a bit silly -- I saw it with a guy who doesn't know squat about ballet, but did want to see the "lezzing out" (his words) and the "horror stuff." He's a guy's guy type. And I said after the movie that it was obvious Portman wasn't really a dancer and stuff, and he said "Would you relax? It's not a dance movie, anyone can see that." There's practically no dancing in the film, and on the rare occasion that it is, it's obvious when the "dancing" is being done by doubles, and I don't think anyone will walk away from the movie thinking that they saw an accurate picture of the ballet world. Real "dance" films -- in which extended sequences of dance are incorporated into the film, are the Astaire films, MGM musicals like Singin' in the Rain, The Red Shoes, Turning Point, The Company, those are dance films. Not to mention Fantasia, which is animated dance, but nevertheless bases large parts of the movie on synchronizing movement to music. Black Swan is a psychosexual thriller/horror movie.

Photos of the Nut are starting to appear: http://www.tonyaplank.com/2010/12/24/photos-of-abts-new-nutcracker/ http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2010/12/24/arts/dance/25ABT.html?ref=dance

Not a complete Giselle, but I thought I'd focus on three excerpts of Giselle that I think are just so great that they merit their own post. Olga Spessivtseva's Mad Scene: The frustratingly brief fragments of her Giselle give us an idea of what a force of nature it was. In the film "Portrait of Giselle," even Alicia Markova, a ballerina not known for generosity to other ballerinas, spoke in awe of Spessivtseva's Giselle. Every time I see this fragment I'm surprised by a couple of things: the short, almost Karinska-like tutu she's wearing in Act 1, her beautifully toned, muscular legs, and how the grandeur of her dancing she seems to transcend the shoddy production values (she's dancing on what seems like an absolutely tiny stage). I love the way she holds her head at 1:01, she seems to be almost pulling on her long hair, as if her head were really about to explode. A wonderfully realistic touch. Anton Dolin points out the rightness with which she walks -- it has that blankness and irregular patterns of many mentally ill people I've seen who lurch through the subways or NYC streets. The way she holds her arms too has the kind of twisted posture of many mentally ill people. Most of all, I LOVE how their is not even a hint of Romantic "pretty insane" in her Mad Scene. I once watched a Lucia Mad Scene where the soprano was stained in blood but she fluttered her eyes prettily to the left, and then to the right, and swooned beautifully to the ground. I find a lot of Giselles also go for that "pretty mad" look. But Spessivtseva, who went to mental asylums for preparation for her role, and herself suffered a complete mental breakdown, brings a stunning realism to this often cliched scene. 2. Fonteyn/Nureyev excerpts of Giselle: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucWxfvoIi7E&feature=related This excerpts are all we have of the legendary Fonteyn/Nureyev Giselle but I'm so grateful they exist at all. There's some artificialness to it -- it was obviously filmed on a tiny soundstage, and the scene loses much of its impact with no Wilis and no Myrtha. The relentless closeups of Nureyev only reveal his unfortunate habit of always opening his mouth too wide while dancing. The pas de deux between Fonteyn and Nureyev though shows why people cried during their Giselle. It always amazes me how perfectly their lines matched -- watch both their arms stretched forward at the exact same angle at 3:56, and Nureyev's other arm perfectly matching the angle of Fonteyn's free leg in arabesque. Fonteyn was called "prim" and "elegant" so often, but people who actually knew her spoke of a warm-blooded, passionate woman, and this is the other quality I love about this Giselle excerpt. She looks ethereal in her frilly and poofy romantic tutu, but she is a very physical Giselle. The way she touches Albrecht at 8:21 is not the distant "now you feel it now it's gone" touch most departing Giselles give Albrecht. She firmly runs her hands down Albrecht's torso, face, and hands and cardles him tightly. There's something extremely sensual about Fonteyn's Giselle and that is what I love most about this video. 3. Gelsey Kirkland's Spessivtseva variation Omg, I can't believe this is the only video that has turned up of Kirkland's Giselle. But what an excerpt! Her dancing is incredible for its lightness and grace, but she doesn't for a moment seem to be showing off to the audience. When she raises her leg in arabesque I'm captivated by the way her leg rises, rather than the final position, which so many Giselles like to hold to show off their extension. It reminds me of Alexandra Danilova once telling a student that the leg should start low and rise slowly, so the audience can see the beauty of the leg rising, rather than the final pose. When she does her hops across stage, it has none of the grim "I must make it from point A to point B" steeliness -- she takes her time, softly hopping, pausing slightly between hops. If you notice carefully she doesn't actually travel very far, but she creates the illusion of flitting across the stage effortlessly. And finally, her pique turns accelerate at a breathtaking pace, as if Giselle herself gets more and more excited by her own dancing, before she finally drops demurely to her knee in front of her mother. I know Gelsey Kirkland was never satisfied with herself, her dancing, or her own body, so it's amazing to see how effortlessly girlish and fresh she looks. Her large, saucer-like eyes, her heart-shaped face, the adorable but not overly glamorous hairdo, are all perfect. I really really hope more excerpts of her Giselle surface.

Well now I feel bummed that I bought tickets to the Part/Gomes cast, as it seems the choreography suited Murphy/Hallberg much more.

James McWolcott has written about it on his blog: http://www.vanityfair.com/online/wolcott/2010/12/it-takes-a-lot-to.html

Thanks Giannina and cristian! I decided with the Nutcrackathon to look at everything with detail, and I found a lot that I hadn't seen before. Giselle is such a familiar ballet that doing the same thing has yielded even more -- the ballet really can be done so many different ways and that's why it's a timeless classic. Giselle (1977) - Natalia Makarova, Mikhail Baryshnikov, Martine van Hamel, Marianna Tcherkassky and Kirk Peterson - ABT This Giselle is the first live Giselle. Previous Giselles were films, with dancers dancing on a soundstage. But in 1977 "Live from Lincoln Center" produced this performance of Giselle, and for this reason this Giselle is important. Earlier films gave the impression that "Giselle" as a ballet was a tragedy, a showcase for dance, the greatest romantic ballet of all, but this "Giselle", with its loud applause from the audience, shows us that at its best, Giselle can be hair-raising theater. The screaming for Makarova and Baryshnikov seems to propel both of them to dance better as the evening progresses. It spurs them to greatness, the way Giselle's dancing spurs Albrecht to dance, and the effect is quite visceral. This Giselle is what I'd call an "Act 2 Giselle." There is nothing particularly wrong in Act 1, but Makarova's Act 1 doesn't have the distinctiveness of Ulanova or Fracci. In her autobiography she confessed that she changed her interpretation of Giselle often, and her comments about Giselle might explain why she's not so convincing in Act One: In other words, Makarova seemed to feel herself that the first act was more prosaic, less profound, than the second, and later she describes Act 1 Giselle as an "odd girl." Her first act is well-danced but a bit anonymous, without the sharp character details that other Giselles have been able to add to the role. Her face is also a bit too serious and mature-looking (by this time, anyway) to look appropriately fresh and innocent. Mikhail Baryshnikov portrays Albrecht as an ardent young man, an interpretation I find makes it harder to contrast to his Act 2 redemption. One thing I do love about Makarova and Baryshnikov in the first act is their side by side dancing reveals how obviously they are both sprung from the same school -- the identical height of their jumps, their port-te-bras, even the way they hold their necks, it's quite something to watch. But overall their Act One interactions I find a wee bit too precious and puppy-loveish, and as I said, a bit generalized. It lacks the specificity of Fracci's wide-eyed infatuation with Bruhn, for instance. The best part of Act 1 might be Marianna Tcherkassky and Kirk Peterson in the Peasant pas de deux. I often find this to be my "fridge break" but not here. Here is her Mad Scene. I find it a bit affected and hammy. A bit silent-movie acting in its dramatic swooning and lurching. It is in Act 2 of this performance that Makarova and Baryshnikov show why they were renowned in these roles. Makarova's Giselle had both ballon and elevation, and thus was able to really give the illusion that she was flying. Her grande jetes have surprising power -- she doesn't skim the floor with little jumps, a la Fracci or Alonso, she flies across the stage. The exposed developpes and arabesques hold no terrors for her -- liquidy adagio movements were her specialty. She has real extension -- this doesn't mean she can graze her ear or is even particularly flexible, but her limbs seem to float effortlessly up and down in arabesques, attitudes, and developpes. This is something terre a terre dancers simply can't achieve, even if they are flexible. On the other hand, Makarova is noticeably weaker in turns, entrechats, the petit allegro steps that, say, Alonso mastered. But most of all, Makarova and Baryshnikov are able to achieve a unity in their dancing that makes their Act 2 seem like one long, perfectly harmonized duet. Makarova plays Giselle in Act 2 as a forgiving spirit (no scary ghost makeup or mannerisms). And Baryshnikov's Albrecht does not tire in Act 2 -- in fact, he seems to become stronger and bolder as the act goes along, which kind of goes against the storyline that Albrecht is being danced to death, but for once gives the idea that Albrecht is really gaining strength from Giselle's spirit. The climax of the ballet might be Albrecht's trumpet solo. He flies into the air, and dances with such precision that he too seems as if possessed by a spirit no longer his own. But at the end of the variation, instead of collapsing to the ground (as most Albrechts do), he is on his knees, in perfect form, hands to heart. The crowd goes wild, but the camera does a closeup of Baryshnikov's face, and it's flushed and triumphant. He has danced magnificently, and he knows it. Martine van Hamel is a wonderful Myrtha -- tall, imposing, steely bourrees, and a great physical contrast to the short Baryshnikov and the shorter Makarova. Baryshnikov however doesn't seem intimidated by her. In his traveling brises there's something almost defiant about the speed and accuracy with which he does them. And Makarova during this whole act is a flying ethereal spirit, completely oblivious to the Wilis. After watching this Giselle I thought that the main theme that Makarova and Baryshnikov were able to create was not really an interpersonal love story. Fonteyn/Nureyev for example was a Giselle/Albrecht pairing known for its intensely romantic nature. Makarova and Baryshnikov instead make Giselle and Albrecht united in their love of dance. This is probably why their Act 1 strikes a somewhat false note, but their Act 2 is so out of this world.