dirac

Well, I can't help hoping that, for the sake of the historical record, she did talk in more detail to someone and perhaps eventually we will know more. There is so much in both the private and professional arenas that only she could tell us. Balanchine made such special roles for her unique qualities, and it would be fascinating to hear more about them. On the personal plane, is striking how uniformly protective of Balanchine's memory the ex-wives and lovers have been. Admirable, of course, but the historian (and gossip) in me can't help wondering how it really was. One doesn't want any Gennifer Flowers revelations, needless to say, but it would have been interesting if one of the exes had produced something like Francoise Gilot's memoir of Picasso.

She was before my time also, but I always loved those wonderfully evocative photographs of her in "La Valse" and "Illuminations" by George Platt Lynes. While respecting her wish for privacy, I regret that she didn't give more interviews; she gave a very illuminating one to Barbara Newman in "Striking a Balance" that left one hungry for more.

Although I haven't seen it yet, I think the Conrad book is more of a pictures-with-text coffee table kind of volume, and so it wouldn't be intruding on Jowitt's territory or vice versa.

Yup, if it's the same Greg Lawrence. This is unfortunate, if the Robbins book is written in the same turgid prose as the Kirkland opuses. As for the gossipy part, if even half of what one hears about Robbins', uh, management style is true, there should be plenty of dish to dish.

Do keep spilling, Drew.

There were a few odd things in the article. I don't see anything wrong with airing the fact that Tudor could be nasty in the rehearsal hall. (In biographies of prominent generals, for example, it is customary to note how they conducted themselves in their relations with their subordinates.) Re: the emigrants to America. I found this more troubling (and pardon the length of the following, I don't mean to pontificate, but I have a point, honest). It is true that Auden and Isherwood came under fire for leaving when they did, mainly because they made it clear upon departure that they expected their expatriation to be lengthy if not permanent and that their leaving was directly connected to the coming war. It was quite a scandal and they were pilloried and parodied: readers of Evelyn Waugh will remember Parsnip and Pimpernell. The two men were not lovers at this time but friends, incidentally. Isherwood's reputation in Britain was permanently affected, Auden's less so. Britten and Pears left England a little after A&I in 1939, not for any reasons related to the threat of war but because there was work for Britten in North America and Pears came along for the ride. They went to Canada first and after a brief stay, to Michigan, and only then to New York. Pears initially expected to return to England in a few months; Britten did contemplate staying on indefinitely, but only if war did not come, among other considerations. (B&P also left England as Just Friends, although this was to change in America, and they were not yet linked as artistic allies and collaborators in the public mind as the other two were.) They left for England in 1942 -- they applied for passage much earlier than their actual departure date, but the war made arrangements difficult -- and upon their return both received exemptions from military service as conscientous objectors. As far as I know they didn't receive the public beatings Auden and Isherwood did. Even allowing that space considerations wouldn't permit Brown to go into all this stuff, it's hard to escape the conclusion that these two very different couples in very different circumstances were lumped together along with Tudor and Laing for the frail reason that they were all gay men, perhaps not the wisest line to take. I have nothing but respect for Ismene Brown, and I certainly think it's all right to explore the private lives of artists no longer with us, but she is treading on dangerous ground when she compares Tudor's "monogamy" favorably with Ashton's "promiscuity", strongly implying that sexual relationships that mimic the marital norm are more significant than those that do not. (Also, Ashton hardly qualifies as promiscuous, IMO.) Finally, it's okay to talk about what the two said to and about each other, even if it got a little catty. They were rivals. Rivalries get personal.

I'm not surprised. The Disney people are notorious trademark fascists. I guess they have to be, but still. BalletNut's suggestion made me think of an even more unadaptable Roald Dahl book: "James and the Giant Peach, the Ballet". cargill, I wouldn't be surprised if Matthew Bourne takes on the "Rebel Without a Cause" idea. Already I see Will Kemp sulking fetchingly in a red windbreaker.

I think Sylvie Guillem would make a splendid She. Also, with all due respect to the spectacular charms of Ms. Andress and Ms. Bergman, the definitive cinema She is Helen Gahagan (later Mrs. Melvyn Douglas and political opponent of Richard Nixon), in the version made in 1935, with Randolph Scott and Nigel Bruce in support. And H. Rider Haggard rules.

Cliff, I'm not sure we should even get started on movies. What about "The Poseidon Adventure"? An actual storm at sea wouldn't be reproducible, but maybe we could have buckets of water hurled at the dancers from the wings.

For our most rarefied intellectuals only: "Death Kit: The Ballet."

I was of the same opinion, which doubtless explains why Cameron Mackintosh is worth a fortune and I am, well, not. Actually, Flemming Flindt did adapt Ionesco's "The Lesson". Haven't seen it but I understand it wasn't bad. [This message has been edited by dirac (edited October 13, 2000).]

Wouldn't Agnes de Mille be a little...steely for Aunt Pitty? (Too thin, too.)

I had a similar dream some years ago, Ed, only it involved some poems by T.S. Eliot and large singing cats. Also, I realized I made an unforgivable error in an earlier post. I paired Richard Burton with the wrong blonde. It was Angie Dickinson in Bramble Bush, another turkey, and Martha Hyer in Ice Palace. My apologies to fans of lousy movies everywhere.

Richard Armour has written several little books on American history, literature, etc., that carry on in much the same vein.

Leigh is right. GWTW is a period piece in every sense. If you update it and cut out all the racial stereotyping, not to mention the glorification of the Ku Klux Klan, the decidedly outdated view of the Reconstruction era, etc., etc., then you won't have much of the book left and fans will be unhappy, because it won't be close enough in spirit to the original property. If you don't alter it -- radically -- they'll get picket lines and probably worse (deservedly so, I should note). Like it or not, the story doesn't make much sense without Mitchell's perspective intact. Recall that one of the crucial events in the story is an assault on Scarlett by Uppity Black Men -- the book uses other terms -- and the subsequent bloody retribution exacted by the gallant KKK. I remain fond of the book and the movie, but in later years you see things that I'm ashamed to admit were not immediately apparent to me at thirteen. [This message has been edited by dirac (edited October 11, 2000).]

It was Burton in Ice Palace, co-starring with Angie Dickinson, a pairing that did not set the screen aflame.

In earlier threads we've discussed novels that we would like to see translated to ballet. The "Gone with the Wind" threads have me pondering novels (or films, or whatever) that you think would be LEAST adaptable. Then, adapt it, cast it, do what you will. (Pretend you are a dotty impresario along the lines of Corky St. Clair in the movie" Waiting for Guffman", who adapted the fireman epic "Backdraft" for the stage, with unhappy consequences.) I'll go first. I am thinking about a ballet version of "The Thorn Birds". As some of you may know, most of the novel takes place on an Australian sheep station, but I figure I can get around this by setting most of the outdoor scenes in the barn. There will be an impressive Act One group dance built around the sheep shearing contest, with shirtless corps boys brandishing shears and sheepskins, (although actual animals onstage would probably not be prudent). The central love story concerns a priest stoutly resisting his passion for the belle of the sheep station, Meggie Cleary, so there will be at least one pas de deux in which Father Ralph explains in dance that while he loves Meggie, he loves the Vatican more. In Act Two, we introduce Meggie's ambitious suitor, winner of the contest, with a pas de trois showing Meggie Torn Between Two Lovers. There's also a big fire around this time, which I can't do anything with, but the death of one of Meggie's brothers after a confrontation with a wild boar can be dealt with by means of a character dancer in a boar suit. When Father Ralph departs for Rome, the scene moves to the Vatican, complete with dancing cardinals. It's time for another pas de deux for Meggie and Ralph when they are briefly reunited and their passion is fulfilled. As for the third part of the book, I'm kind of stumped. I think I'll eliminate the next generation a la the 1939 movie version of Wuthering Heights, and end the ballet with Meggie revealing her pregnancy to Father Ralph in the manner of Gelsey Kirkland announcing her expectations to Patrick Bissell at the end of The Tiller in the Fields. Excuse the length of this introduction. Any other suggestions? [This message has been edited by dirac (edited October 10, 2000).]

I pity the unfortunate choreographer who has to explain to Kschessinska that in the postwar scenes she cannot wear her jewelry to pick cotton. [This message has been edited by dirac (edited October 10, 2000).]

I have the same video, and I agree that Farrell doesn't inflect the movement that way at all. I think Agon is sexy, but the eroticism is only effective if the dancers refrain from emphasizing that fact unduly. Once they start telegraphing Sex to the audience, it becomes crude and obvious.

Arlene Croce has used "seemliness" in relation to classicism also, in one of the pieces collected in "Afterimages", I think.

I just saw Alexandra's post and comments re Leslie Howard. Excuse the repetition.

Estelle, I must say a few words in defense of Leslie Howard. I think he did his best under the circumstances -- he didn't like the role of Ashley, felt he was too old, and was basically forced into the movie at gunpoint. (Little did he know that The Petrified Forest, The Scarlet Pimpernel, and Pygmalion would fade in memory while GWTW went on and on and on.) Probably some of these roles should be just straight mime roles -- Scarlett's mother Ellen, who has a small but crucial role, should not dance, for example. She's too dignified to dance. If Frederick Ashton were still with us he would be perfect casting for Aunt Pittypat. (I can just see him calling for his smelling salts!)

Leigh, I'm not sure that you have that much, if anything, to apologize for. You didn't say anything that wasn't true, nor were you especially intemperate, IMO. I could say more, but this topic has already gotten a little unwieldy. This is an awfully complex topic to handle in a bulletin board post, as I just said, so I'm not really going to try but just make a point or two. It seems to me that in classical ballet what we see onstage are not men and women so much as stylized abstractions of same, even in a ballet as nominally explicit as Bugaku, (where at one point Balanchine has the colossal nerve to make the ballerina's extended leg into a big boner). A foot is one thing; a foot on pointe becomes a symbol, a sign that can represent a variety of things other than itself. In a grand pas de deux, the man responds to the woman not as a sexual being but rather does homage to Woman, in the abstract, and the two become the ideal Leigh is talking about, if I'm interpreting him correctly. He also mentions courtly love. The same principle applies there; the whole point of the troubador's lyric was that the object of his love was unattainable, an ideal of love and not the thing itself. In other kinds of ballet, as in the work of MacMillan, for example, the above does not necessarily apply, but I'll leave that for another post. Hope this makes sense....

Steiner was like that. He had a few themes, recycled incessantly. I once heard a story about Bette Davis during the filming of "Dark Victory". She was so rattled by Steiner's score that she stopped in the middle of one take and demanded, "Just who is going up these stairs to die? Me or Max Steiner?"

Actually, Mammy had a terrible time trying to keep Scarlett from stuffing her face at the Wilkes' barbecue, as loyal readers (and viewers) will recall. Scarlett was also quite proud of what Gelsey Kirkland would call her "fulsome breasts"; it was her seventeen-inch waistline which she was determined not to see expand. (As you might deduce, in early adolescence I studied this book with a fervor that only be described as Talmudic.) Can't wait to see girls trying to dance in those Walter Plunkett crinolines.