Manhattnik

Oh, how could I forget that wonderful Giselle that Kent danced with Carreno? It was all the more moving because I hadn't been expecting that kind of performance from her at all! I think our last, but not, I hope, final, look at Kyra Nichols came during the Winter gala in January. If she decides not to return, I couldn't ask for much more of a parting memory than the beautiful and subdued way she danced Titania's love duet with Bottom (as a donkey) from Midsummer. Also, I thought Green and Midare were both lovely, Leigh. I remember how badly the Upper West Side smelled of the fires downtown as I walked to that little theater, and how welcome your work proved to be. If anything, I thought Midare was even more moving than A Shropshire Lad. Although I'd probably have been happy watching Peter Boal tie his shoes for twenty minutes, I'm glad I got quite a bit more than that. Some of the comments here got me to realize that many of the high points of 2001 came to me from enjoying the professionalism and prowess of dancers whose careers have hit major road blocks. Meunier, the Incredible Vanishing Principal, was never less than sensational when actually allowed to perform. Van Kipnis is as radiant as ever (oh, please, cast her in Aurora!). Rutherford, who should've been a soloist long since if there were any justice in the world, keeps turning in one sweetly understated performance after another. Tinsley, of whom I was never all that fond on her way up, seems to be transforming herself into a very different and more interesting dancer, even though she dances not all that often. And Ansanelli has quietly become quite fascinating out of the spotlight. I give all these artists tremendous credit for not throwing in the towel even when things continue to be rough for them. [ December 19, 2001: Message edited by: Manhattnik ]

Last night it was Fiorato, and, yes, the first act seemed a teeny bit on the dragging side (of course, I went into my "wake me when it's snow" mode). I recall watching a film made of an old Playhouse 90 broadcast of NYCB's Nut (if you think Janie Taylor's a wild Dew Drop, you should see this very young Allegra Kent!), and being struck at how fast the tempi were. Since it was, I think, a live broadcast, I don't think the pace could've been artificially sped up to "fit" in the alloted time. I was certainly impressed with how quickly everyone danced! Maybe Quinn is just a throwback to the Way Things Used to Be.

I don't think one can close the book on 2001 without noting that it was the year that Irina Dvorovenko started essaying the Violette Verdy repertory, dancing both the Sylvia and Tchaikovsky pas de deux at City Center. I imagine Emeralds must be next. I suspect we may look back on 2001 as year One of AB -- Ashley Bouder. Between her sensational debut in the soloist role of La Source, and her even more sensational Firebird (I hope to see her Dew Drop before Nut concludes), well, it's the stuff of legends. Not that Carla Korbes isn't wonderful, too, but Bouder seems so fully formed as an artist. She's not just strong and musical and dramatic, she's savvy -- she dances like an older, or should I say more mature artist.

I think you just volunteered, Calli.

RK -- standing-room for Nut is $5, and if you go on a weeknight you can usually grab a seat. Well, on a Tuesday night, anyway. Best entertainment deal in NYC, I say. I forgot to mention Stuart Capp's Mother Ginger, with his amazing racoon-mask of iridescent green makeup. He camped it up a bit more than Ramasar (the other MG I've seen this year), kissing his reflection in the mirror and treating us to a rendition of "Odette-turning-into-a-swan" ripply arms when he briefly turned his back on us. As for Kramarevsky's Drosselmeyer, I kept on expecting the Hot-Mustard Fairy to pop out from the wings and give him the slathering his performance so richly deserved.

OK, here's the skinny on tonight's NYCB Nut. Sebastien Marcovici and Saskia Beskow were great Stahlbaums. I like the way Marcovici gestures so exansively around the stage -- it's his home, clearly, and he couldn't be happier. And he should keep the moustache. Daniel Ulbricht was an impressive toy soldier -- he seemed to float in his double tours. But how can a guy have a career when there are no women short enough for him to partner? You can't do Tea, Soldier, 3rd Mvt of Stars and Stripes forever.... Kowroski was much as she's been described already as Sugar Plum. She was rather magisterial with the Angels (didn't look back at them when she led them -- is she practicing to be a wiser Orpheus?) I enjoy her dancing so much these days. Her line is beyond compare, and she's strong enough now so that she can use her hyperextension, instead of being used by it. Even a simple movement, like the little assemble onto pointe she does in her big variation, before posing in a big arabesque, can be breathaking. Stephen Hanna partnered her elegantly and strongly (she must be a handful to partner), and did a nice job motoring through some a la seconde turns in the coda. I was a bit disappointed by Janie Taylor's Dew Drop, as I'd been looking forward to see her dance with the same "Damn-the-torpedoes" attack that thrilled me so last year. Although there were flashes of that brio, particularly in the way she devoured the stage in that big diagonal of double rondes de jambe en l'air saute and pique arabesques, more often she seemed a bit subdued (well, subdued for her!). And there were a few moments where she seemed even a bit uncomfortable. Anyone can have an off night, and perhaps this night was in the eye of the beholder. The lead Marzipan Shephardess isn't exactly a dream role, but Pascale van Kipnes turned it to gold (rose gold, of course), as she does just about every role she touches. It's not just that she's strong and musical. She just glows onstage -- the stage loves her the way the camera loves certain women. In a company of joyful women, she's a standout. Although one might easily assume that, at this stage in his extended career, Kipling Houston might be more adept weilding a walker than a hula hoop (hey, it works in The Producers!), he did acquit himself remarkably well in Candy Canes. Maybe the leaps weren't quite as soaring as they might have been with a younger dancer, but I've seen much younger dancers also fall apart completely in this tricky role. If there was ever a dancer born to lead Spanish, it's the lovely, dark and Hispanic Pauline Golbin, and didn't she look wonderful? Same for the ever-elegant Jason Fowler, although perhaps his goatee wasn't as successful as her spit curls. I don't suppose there was every any doubt that Eva Natanya is a beauty among beauties, but her wonderfully restrained yet voluptuous Coffee certainly underscored that fact for me. Not a performance goes by that I thank Balanchine for tossing in this hootchie-kootchie dance as a gift for the (straight) men in the audience. The Snowflakes, the "other" cast than the one so rightly praised here recently, was wonderful. I was struck as I often am by how much of Balanchine's choreography here (and in Waltz of the Flowers, too) relies on images not of static poses but of frozen or not-so frozen motion. When I think of the Snowflakes, I always imagine them skimming the stage in those big glissades they take so often, or charging across the stage in big chasses en tournant. Motion, not poses! Same for the waltzing flowers. Anyway, I'm fading.... Anyone else go tonight?

Truer words were never spoken. When was that interview? I'd love to see that article. I think opening one's self to beauty has never been more important than it has been since September 11.

Dear God! I am a bit afraid to actually read this....

There seems to be some interest in Nut reviews, so here's what I saw at my first Nut of the season: Wendy Whelan was a dandy Sugar Plum, although she's certainly spun from something a bit more authoritative than sugar! I know her solo doesn't "belong" at the beginning of Act II, but she was such a charmingly regal den-mother for those little golden-angel girls, I was completely won over. Philip Neal, looking elegant as usual and surprisingly virtuosic, partnered her with gravity and attention, and those scary "grab-my-wrists-before-I-slam-into-the-stage" promenades.went off flawlessly. Whelan knows how to turn on the grandeur and glamour as if from a spigot, and she seemed to grow in stature as the adagio progressed. I know Whelan isn't everyone's cup of tea, but I adore her up-front, ideosyncratic style, the way she uses her amazingly long arms to encompass the entire stage (even if she strays from textbook correctness), even her many little moues, which are all the more charming as they seem to be an unconscious expression, without artifice or intent, of the sheer pleasure she takes in dancing. Alexandra Ansanelli seems to have grown more as a dancer now that she's no longer the apple of Peter Martins' eye than she did for the year or so when she was his flavor of the week. She didn't tackle Dew Drop like she was in a steeplechase, as some dancers are wont to do these days (I love Janie Taylor's Dew Drop for just this reason, actually), but rather with a quiet strength that always took a back seat to her sweet relation with the music. It's a measure of how she's matured as an artist that she can leave me scratching my head at how she can take this flashy allegro role and show me lyrical, even still moments. It's ironic that now that I am really beginning to see what, perhaps, Martins' may have seen in her a few years ago, he's apparently lost interest. Speaking of strength and musicality, Lindy Mandradjieff's Marzipan Shepherdess was a paragon of both. It's easy for a dancer to turn this role's killer, and occasionally cutesy-poo, pointework into something close to a mechanical doll's strut -- it was refreshing to see Mandradjieff was both strong and sensible enough to avoid that trap by playing, ever so slightly, with the beat, to let us know she was having fun out there. Aesha Ash and Stephen Hanna danced the Chocolate fandango with almost a surfeit of brio. As much as I like Dana Hanson in many things (I tend to like dancers who can't be mistaken for anyone else, at any distance), she's more of an angular, tightly wound spring of dancer, and just doesn't do calme, luxe and volupté. Sean Suozzi bounded with great verve as Tea, and Jeroan Hofmans soared through Candy Canes with wonderful ease and clarity (I've seen too many dancers come to grief doing Hoops) which I admired, and a classical nobility which was as interesting as it was out of place. I mean, he's a candy cane, not Apollo! It is perhaps an indication of how low Mother Ginger has fallen to realize that Amar Ramasar's bold and brassy rendition (was he wearing enough glitter?) wasn't even close to the most over-the-top gal I've seen in recent years. It is a rather thankless role, I imagine, and if the guys want to play "Drag Queen for a Day," who am I to quibble? I suppose one could argue it's a bit out of period for her to consult a non-existant wristwatch before hustling the Polichinelles back under her skirt, but that would be quibbling. Wouldn't it? Ojela Burkhard was a dark and intense Marie, just the sort of girl whom you might imagine would have an imaginary internal world running on overdrive, and Ryan Cardea was much as I remembered last year, more efficient and dutiful as Franz than inspiring. Stuart Capps had fun with Drosselmeyer without turning him into a caricature. All in all, it was a nice night at the theater. I've missed that growing Christmas tree. [ December 13, 2001: Message edited by: Manhattnik ]

I remember being rather awe-struck by the awfulness of this Nutcracker's second act when ABT did it at City Center. One of the poor unicorns kept on having his head slide off, and I felt sorry for poor Shelkanova having to dance Dewdrop in that shower cap with the dangly, jewelled fringe. Perhaps the Waltz of the Flowers has improved (I don't recall it being attributed to Meehan a year ago), but it could hardly have gotten worse. I gather at City Center we were spared the tumescent flowers -- thank God for small favors. When Alexandra posted awhile ago about parts of this production being cleaned up or reworked, I was tempted to post "You mean that nasty bit when the curtain isn't lowered?" But I didn't want to spoil the fun of any folks who might've wanted to see this Nut without any preconceived notions. This "My Little Pony" version of Nutcracker was way too cute for words, except, perhaps, Dorothy Parker's deathless dismissal of A. A. Milne: "And then, Tonstant Weader frowed up." [ December 11, 2001: Message edited by: Manhattnik ]

I can just see Martins stroking a bejewelled white Persian cat and intoning, "I expect you to die, Mr. Bond." OK, I know I'm mixing movies and villians, but I couldn't resist. Oddjob, anyone?

I don't know if this counts, but the Lowenskjold (forgive me if I've mangled his name) score for La Sylphide is much, much better than the "original" score (I'm not even going to try to spell the composer's name off the top of my head) as heard in Pierre Lacotte's reconstruction for the POB. That score is, in my opinion, a real yawner. (So's Lacotte's choreography, but that's another story.)

Actually, there was indeed a one-time-only ballet in memory of King: Balanchine's Requiem Canticles.

What's really driving me crazy is I DID see PAMTGG as a kid, and I remember nothing about it.

Mme. Hermine, I heard the same thing about the last PAMTGG from someone who danced in it. Patricia MacBride alludes to it in I Remember Balanchine, saying you knew a ballet was history when he told you to wear anything you wanted.

Hmm. Well, I guess by the proffered definition of turkey, most of the ones I mentioned wouldn't qualify. Sniff. Pied Piper, maybe Organon. Nureyev's Raymonda for ABT, back when? Certainly Eifman's works are great popular successes, as were Bejarts.

Actuall, it was "Balanchine -- the Prodigal Son." Something about his soul returning to Mother Russia after all that NYC nonsense.... Of course this ballet will work on many levels, but I see Eifman presenting us with a Balanchinian psychodrama much like Tchaikovsky. We learn that, of course, Balanchine's much ballyhooed love of women is nothing more than overcompensation for -- you guessed it -- repressed homosexuality. Balanchine's relationships with his wives, affairs, etc., will be presented as nothing more than doomed, never-consummated, desperate attempts at conventionality, always thwarted when the castrating-bitch-ballerina leaves him. The excerpt from Don Quixote, where Farrell's Dulcinea beats Balanchine's Don to a pulp with her shepherd's crook is one of the emotional highpoints of the ballet. Another high point will be the extra-jazzy version of Concerto Barocco, with new music by Winton Marsalis. Contrasted to Balanchine's unhappy (if artistically productive) relationships with women will be Eifman's depictions of Balanchine's many "conversations" with the spirits of dead composers, not coincidentally all male. The details of these are best left to the imagination, as is the climactic duet between Balanchine and Stravinsky.

Regarding Dim Lustre, I must say that when I saw Kent and Steifel in the leads, all I could think was that there was a great ballet lost in there, somewhere. Steifel was just going through the paces, and Kent was in her "one-size-fits-all" melancholy mode. But with Graffin and Jaffe, it worked. Both are great actors (especially Graffin) and you could see how these two people who clearly have very strong feelings for each other and are at least somewhat happy become increasingly distraught and overcome by the memories the evening keeps on invoking. It's not so much that they're being pulled away from each other, but into themselves, as into a pit from which they can't escape. Although they do reach out to each other one last time, it seems inevitable and appropriate that they should abandon each other at the ballet's end. And, God, weren't those sets awful? I do think Dvorovenko's first-movement ballerina in Symphony in C was priceless. Melissa Hayden calls this role the "Hostess with the Mostest," but Dvorovenko left no doubts that she was, in fact, the guest of honor. Not since the memorable performance turned in by the Kirov's Irma Nioradze have I seen a dancer so oblivious to the spirit of the ballet, or so determined to turn this role into a classical ballerina show-piece. Technically, Dvorovenko was magnificent, although some of the footwork was a bit too fleet for her. Her presentation, though, was quite marvelous, for all the wrong reasons. I could see the ballerina from Etudes ("The party can start now -- I am HERE!"), Raymonda, the gal from the Peasant Pas, Gamzatti, even the Queen of the May, but not much Balanchine. Dvorovenko was selling, selling, selling, and her ballerina mannerisms, like, say, a slighty, saucy tilt of the head when landing in arabesque from a grande jete, are just plain not appropriate for Balanchine. Wrong-headed as her approach may have been, Dvorovenko was anything but dull, and her almost-feral energy and craving for attention was, as always, awe-inspiring. I remember seeing her successfully whip off one of those tricky fourth-movement pirouettes and, I swear, she concluded not just by flashing her highest-voltage stage smile, but licked her lips, either in triumph for having nailed the step or as if she were contemplating devouring the entire audience for dessert.

Regarding Dim Lustre, I must say that when I saw Kent and Steifel in the leads, all I could think was that there was a great ballet lost in there, somewhere. Steifel was just going through the paces, and Kent was in her "one-size-fits-all" melancholy mode. But with Graffin and Jaffe, it worked. Both are great actors (especially Graffin) and you could see how these two people who clearly have very strong feelings for each other and are at least somewhat happy become increasingly distraught and overcome by the memories the evening keeps on invoking. It's not so much that they're being pulled away from each other, but into themselves, as into a pit from which they can't escape. Although they do reach out to each other one last time, it seems inevitable and appropriate that they should abandon each other at the ballet's end. And, God, weren't those sets awful? I do think Dvorovenko's first-movement ballerina in Symphony in C was priceless. Melissa Hayden calls this role the "Hostess with the Mostest," but Dvorovenko left no doubts that she was, in fact, the guest of honor. Not since the memorable performance turned in by the Kirov's Irma Nioradze have I seen a dancer so oblivious to the spirit of the ballet, or so determined to turn this role into a classical ballerina show-piece. Technically, Dvorovenko was magnificent, although some of the footwork was a bit too fleet for her. Her presentation, though, was quite marvelous, for all the wrong reasons. I could see the ballerina from Etudes ("The party can start now -- I am HERE!"), Raymonda, the gal from the Peasant Pas, Gamzatti, even the Queen of the May, but not much Balanchine. Dvorovenko was selling, selling, selling, and her ballerina mannerisms, like, say, a slighty, saucy tilt of the head when landing in arabesque from a grande jete, are just plain not appropriate for Balanchine. Wrong-headed as her approach may have been, Dvorovenko was anything but dull, and her almost-feral energy and craving for attention was, as always, awe-inspiring. I remember seeing her successfully whip off one of those tricky fourth-movement pirouettes and, I swear, she concluded not just by flashing her highest-voltage stage smile, but licked her lips, either in triumph for having nailed the step or as if she were contemplating devouring the entire audience for dessert.

Regarding Dim Lustre, I must say that when I saw Kent and Steifel in the leads, all I could think was that there was a great ballet lost in there, somewhere. Steifel was just going through the paces, and Kent was in her "one-size-fits-all" melancholy mode. But with Graffin and Jaffe, it worked. Both are great actors (especially Graffin) and you could see how these two people who clearly have very strong feelings for each other and are at least somewhat happy become increasingly distraught and overcome by the memories the evening keeps on invoking. It's not so much that they're being pulled away from each other, but into themselves, as into a pit from which they can't escape. Although they do reach out to each other one last time, it seems inevitable and appropriate that they should abandon each other at the ballet's end. And, God, weren't those sets awful? I do think Dvorovenko's first-movement ballerina in Symphony in C was priceless. Melissa Hayden calls this role the "Hostess with the Mostest," but Dvorovenko left no doubts that she was, in fact, the guest of honor. Not since the memorable performance turned in by the Kirov's Irma Nioradze have I seen a dancer so oblivious to the spirit of the ballet, or so determined to turn this role into a classical ballerina show-piece. Technically, Dvorovenko was magnificent, although some of the footwork was a bit too fleet for her. Her presentation, though, was quite marvelous, for all the wrong reasons. I could see the ballerina from Etudes ("The party can start now -- I am HERE!"), Raymonda, the gal from the Peasant Pas, Gamzatti, even the Queen of the May, but not much Balanchine. Dvorovenko was selling, selling, selling, and her ballerina mannerisms, like, say, a slighty, saucy tilt of the head when landing in arabesque from a grande jete, are just plain not appropriate for Balanchine. Wrong-headed as her approach may have been, Dvorovenko was anything but dull, and her almost-feral energy and craving for attention was, as always, awe-inspiring. I remember seeing her successfully whip off one of those tricky fourth-movement pirouettes and, I swear, she concluded not just by flashing her highest-voltage stage smile, but licked her lips, either in triumph for having nailed the step or as if she were contemplating devouring the entire audience for dessert.

Regarding Dim Lustre, I must say that when I saw Kent and Steifel in the leads, all I could think was that there was a great ballet lost in there, somewhere. Steifel was just going through the paces, and Kent was in her "one-size-fits-all" melancholy mode. But with Graffin and Jaffe, it worked. Both are great actors (especially Graffin) and you could see how these two people who clearly have very strong feelings for each other and are at least somewhat happy become increasingly distraught and overcome by the memories the evening keeps on invoking. It's not so much that they're being pulled away from each other, but into themselves, as into a pit from which they can't escape. Although they do reach out to each other one last time, it seems inevitable and appropriate that they should abandon each other at the ballet's end. And, God, weren't those sets awful? I do think Dvorovenko's first-movement ballerina in Symphony in C was priceless. Melissa Hayden calls this role the "Hostess with the Mostest," but Dvorovenko left no doubts that she was, in fact, the guest of honor. Not since the memorable performance turned in by the Kirov's Irma Nioradze have I seen a dancer so oblivious to the spirit of the ballet, or so determined to turn this role into a classical ballerina show-piece. Technically, Dvorovenko was magnificent, although some of the footwork was a bit too fleet for her. Her presentation, though, was quite marvelous, for all the wrong reasons. I could see the ballerina from Etudes ("The party can start now -- I am HERE!"), Raymonda, the gal from the Peasant Pas, Gamzatti, even the Queen of the May, but not much Balanchine. Dvorovenko was selling, selling, selling, and her ballerina mannerisms, like, say, a slighty, saucy tilt of the head when landing in arabesque from a grande jete, are just plain not appropriate for Balanchine. Wrong-headed as her approach may have been, Dvorovenko was anything but dull, and her almost-feral energy and craving for attention was, as always, awe-inspiring. I remember seeing her successfully whip off one of those tricky fourth-movement pirouettes and, I swear, she concluded not just by flashing her highest-voltage stage smile, but licked her lips, either in triumph for having nailed the step or as if she were contemplating devouring the entire audience for dessert.

Thanks for the cogent analysis, Victoria. I was very impressed by the Cubans when they were at City Center for their Alonso tribute. I loved their sense of style, and their port de bras -- it did indeed make me think I was looking at How It Was Done in the1940s. And even though there were too many inappropriate tricks thrown in here and there for my taste, I did like that fact that the Cubans seem to have been innoculated against the Guillem epidemic that has infected so many other companies. I saw Alvarez dance Giselle Act II (and, later, theWhite Swan pdd). I forget her first name. One thing that really struck me about her use of her arms was not only that she always held them beautifully but that she used her arms to let you know exactly what she was doing and thinking -- begging Myrtha and the Wilis, imploring the heavens, bemoaning her fate and, always reaching out for Albrecht. I wish more Giselles were so well-coached.

Turkeys? There are so many to choose from. Eliot Feld's Organon at NYC is certainly monumental enough to qualify, and heads my list right now. But his Felix, a nightmare to Mendelsohn, really defies description. What can you say about a ballet in which a major part of the choreography is enacted by an enormous octopus' tentacle? I would frankly put both the recent Swan Lakes, both Martins' and McKenzie's, on the turkey list. I can even picture the Swamp-Thing Von Rothbart from McKenzie's SL holding an "Odette-turned-into-a-turkey" instead of the usual goose, in honor of the season.What, that's supposed to be a swan he's holding? Oh, yeah, and McK's Nutcracker. What was he thinking? I'm sorry I missed Pied Piper, although not very sorry. If I had to only pick one MacMillan work, it would be hard to top his Isadora! Don't think we'll see that one revived anytime soon. Balanchine stinkers? Well, PAMTGG. I'd like to see it revived just for the sheer perversity of it all. And I don't think we'll see Gaspard de la Nuit again, either. I don't know if either really qualifies as a turkey, as neither was a monumental effort. David Bintley's Edward II will have a special place of honor in the list of turkeys for its many innovations, particularly the subtle use of urination, the novel pas de trois for a man, a woman, and a severed head, and its presentation of an unusual, although highly effective, cure for constipation. Bejart? Like shooting fish in a barrel. Although this wasn't a big-budget turkey, I would elevate his own Isadora to the turkey list simply because of its sheer waste of a great resource. I'm not sure whether you'd consider his use of Maya Plisetskaya as Isadora to be either horrible casting or wretched misuse of emploi (or both), but you do have to admire his chutzpah for having the famous, unfettered, barefoot modern dancer portrayed by a ballerina who never removes her ballet slippers. I'd have given him extra points had he had the nerve to put her in pointe shoes! Eifman? Well, I know some people are fond of him. I will just say that his Tchaikovsky and Red Giselle are both very special.

My brother is fond of telling a story from years ago at the Saratoga Performing Arts Center where his enjoyment of Dances at a Gathering was marred thanks to the man sitting behind him who was making frequent and very uncomplimentary comments about how the dancers were doing. This barrage of criticism finally ended not long before the curtain, when Jerome Robbins got up and ran backstage, doubtless to give the hapless performers the benefit of the observations he'd shared with those around him in the audience.

Oh, yeah, speaking of ABT: Tricking up one's choreography where it does not belong! All those guys in the 3rd Mvt. of Symphony in C tossing in double sautes de basque. The first night, Corella did them (and the ensuing vortex seemed to totally discommode poor Ashley Tuttle), then De Luz had to prove he could do them, and Cornejo, and Steifel, who REALLY should've known better. Even the women had to get into the act, with spunky Xiomara Reyes tossing in doubles (well 1 1/2s) to "match" De Luz's. I didn't know whether to admire her gumption or deplore her taste. Of course, I often feel that way when looking at ABT in general.