Manhattnik

So did the people in the balcony.

As always, I would be the drummer boy from Graduation Ball. Talk about the life of the party! Either that, or one of those Cuban guys from Canto Vital (as if!).

For $12/ticket, you can't beat the Fourth Ring Society. Yes, you're a bit far away, but the sightlines are great. I would, however, absolutely invest in a good pair of binoculars. Wide-angle, if possible. Considering what movies go for, and what the "cheap" seats go for at most other ballet venues, it's a tremendous bargain. Sure, I'd like to sit in the front row center of First Ring every night, but until I win the lottery it's not going to happen.

Actually, whatever Farrell did in Flower Festival probably couldn't be called Bournonville, but I thought it rather charming. She and Martins made a great deal out of the "peek-a-boo" eyes bit, I recall, turning it into a game of "I saw you last!" Well, maybe you had to have been there.... Lavery probably did do FF -- there was awhile before he started having injuries when he was often cast as a surrogate Martins, although aside from being tall and blond the two had little in common. Hmm. Didn't Merrill Ashley do Flower Festival? With Lavery?

Other Les S questions: Does this apply to the Trocks? Will they need dear Isabel's permission to do their parody of Les S? Or would that fall under the realm of legitimate commentary. I think not. I remember back when the Trocks were last at the Joyce, I felt very sad that the house was sold out to folks coming to see a PARODY of what, at one time, would've been a very respectable evening at the ballet, if performed "straight." I couldn't remember the last time a company in NYC had done a "straight" performance of Les Sylphides; I do remember when ABT used to do it all the time, treating it, rightly, as one of the treasures of its repertory (along with, sigh, the Tudor ballets). So, now here we get a company coming to NYC to do what I'm sure would've been a marvelous Les S (watching the Cubans is like taking a trip back in time to when Little Things Mattered), and ABT, which ISN'T EVEN DOING THE BALLET slams the door on them. Can you say "dog in the manger?" I imagine ABT's license means that they intend to do the ballet next Spring at the Met, which is all well and good, but what percentage of the dance-going public would actually say "Oh, I'm not going to see this Les Sylphides ballet at the Met; I already saw the Cubans do it?" Not much. More than likely, there would be a larger percentage which would say "I loved the Cuban's Les S so much I ran to the Met to see it again with ABT, and it was so ... different." (I am being diplomatic here -- ABT used to do a bang-up job with Les S, and perhaps they will again.) The sad and sorry truth is that, given the state of copyright/trademark laws, ABT/Isabel HAD to zap the Cubans, to demonstrate that the Fokine police were, in fact, vigorously enforcing their franchise. Or maybe that's for trademarks and not for copyrights. Michael?

Well, speaking of Disney, we have that organization to thank for messes like this, as every time the US copyright laws let the first Mickey Mouse movie (from the 1920s) reach the verge of passing into the public domain, Disney (the corporation) and others of that ilk lobby Congress to add extensions to the copyright law. Of course, Disney has no qualms about raiding the public domain for the ideas for most of its latest work (if only Perrault's heirs could sue Disney!), but, greedy capitalists that they are, they won't ever actually contribute to the public domain. Michael is right -- the entire purpose of copyright laws is to give inventors and creators a right to expect a reasonable return on their investments of time, money and inspiration. It's not to create ever-lasting creative empires. That "no man is an island" is never more true than in creative endeavors. Artists are constantly dipping into the pool of the public domain, the shared world gestalt of ideas, concepts and images. The entire idea of the copyright laws, at least as framed in the Constitution here, was to make a compact with creators, that the government would provide creators with the protection of the law for an exclusive license (this wasn't always the case -- can you imagine if these laws had been in place in the 19th century? We'd never have Bournonville's La Sylphide!), IN RETURN FOR WHICH creators would agree to eventually allow their works to pass into the public domain for the general enrichment. The heirs of Disney and Fokine and the rest are welching (forgive me, anyone from Wales) on that bargain. It's the art world's verion of the Tragedy of the Commons. Corporate America would like nothing more than to implant little meters in our brains and charge us every time we even THINK about a work of art with a copyright. Just wait.

Viviana Durante as Odette or Giselle Hmm. I remember Durante's Giselle with ABT from a few years ago fondly. Very fondly indeed. Of course, what I remember most about that performance was Carreno's managing to bow to the audience while lying flat on his back after his big Act II solo, but that's another story....

Le Palais de Crystal isn't mentioned specifically in Balanchine's will, which, as noted, gave rights to Symphony in C to Betty Cage. The will clearly divides all unspecified assets evenly between Barbara Horgan and Karin von Aroldingen, so I imagine the fate of Palais de Crystal is in their hands, unless it could be proved that Balanchine created the ballet under some sort of "work for hire" contract, in which case perhaps the POB "owns" the ballet. I know European laws on intellectual property rights are a bit more complicated than US ones.

Farrell: Coffee P. Martins: Vanilla McBride: Cherry Vanilla Tomasson: Chocolate Whelan: Dulce de Leche Nichols: Mocha Kistler: Tutti Frutti Meunier: Mango Ice Bouder: New York Super Fudge Chunk Somogyi: Cherry Boal: Boysenberry sorbet N. Martins: Frozen Tapioca Borree: Creme Brulee (cracked) LeClerq: Amaretto Ansanelli: Lemon ice Taylor: Black Cherry (served flambé) Villella: Spumoni (you were expecting something else?) Watts: Fireworks (a Stewarts' flavor whose featured ingredient is Pop Rocks -- remember those?) Verdy: Pistachio Ananiashvili: Cherry Garcia Bocca: Tamarind ice Gregory: Peach Melba Fonteyn: Devonshire Cream (frozen) Nureyev: Chunky Monkey Dvorovenko: Peppermint Hot Fudge Sundae with a Cherry on Top Belotserkovsky: Orange sorbet Sofiane Sylve: Ginger Kent: Green Tea Pavlenko: Any Damn Flavor She Wants Volochkova: Every Damn Flavor She Wants

She could always do an endoresement for the Kitri Kreme on 72nd St.

TOSSING the fan? And glitter? Sounds like my kinda dancer. And given that she dances for a company which allowed a certain soloist to perform in both Shades and Giselle with what appeared to be day-glo white nailpolish at the State Theater a few years ago, well, just what are they complaining about?

Actually, you do need the ACCESS card. Or so the signs say. It's very easy to get one, though. You can go to the third floor and fill out an application online on one of their terminals, then have the nice women in the photocopy department make a card for you. All you need is a picture ID with your address on it, or, if your picture ID doesn't have your address, some other thing, like a utility bill, with your correct address. Apparently this has been required since August or so. Of course, once I got my card and had filled out my most recent video requests (Gelsey Kirkland's "Sixty Minutes" interview from the eighties; Kirkland and Baryshnikov doing "Other Dances" at some gala or other [although Baryshnikov dances the Brick boy's solo from "Dances at a Gathering" for some reason] and some wonderful old clandestine footage of Verdy and Villella in "La Source" from back when, as well as a Kirkland/Baryshnikov "Theme" as well as a Serrano/Marks one) I asked the nice man at the desk if he needed to see my new card (with a very bad hair day memorialized for all time), and he said "No." Well, go figure. Anyway, bring some ID with you and it will take about five minutes to get a card. There's lots of info about it on the NYPL website, including the actual online application form (so you can fill it out even before you leave on your trip).

Bouder also did the soloist role in PC #2.

J.S. Bach. Or John Cage. I can't decide.

I believe it was Prokofiev who was nasty to Balanchine.

I sure hope that was a Babelfish translation! I kinda like "Something glimmers, something twinkles..." Regarding Taylor, they're probably referring to much maligned (rightfully so) sautes de basque Taras insists on setting in the Third Movement. Perhaps they were done at one time, but the current chasses en tournant look much more elegant, and less crammed into the music. Sigh. When does Nutcracker start?

C'mon, all us NYCB fans are wondering how the Home Team did on that raked stage and all. Didn't anyone go? Jeannie? Marc? Andrei? Somebody?

It's pretty obvious that keeping the Big (well, Somewhat Big) Names in shape for Russia is the most important thing for NYCB right now. Whoever made the decision, the powers that be have decided Fairchild is expendable. If she breaks down from this ordeal, well, there are lots of promising kids coming out of SAB every year. Well, some. And if she is reduced to marking the role tonight from injuries and/or exhaustion, well, it's only Saratoga, so who cares? It's hard to be too cynical, sometimes.

From what I've heard, Lorna Feijoo should make a crackerjack Kitri.

Whatever you do, don't ask the King for advice.

The day I went to see Swan Lake (with Ananiashvili and Bocca), Meunier was listed as dancing one of the Big Swans, but before the curtain there was an announcement that someone else would be doing it (Abrera? Corella? I don't remember). I figured Meunier had had some last-minute injury or other, and wouldn't be dancing. Imagine my shock when she materialized in the corps. Yes, she looked grand, even in the back row, but such a waste. It's always a pleasure to see Meunier dancing, but it's truly a mixed blessing when it's in such thankless roles. And of course I meant "after 1970!" What a slip. Oh, and how could I have summed up an ABT season without a mention of Xiomara "Quick, Henry, the Flit!" Reyes? How indeed?

While inappropriate applause can be ruinous (like when Odile stops to acknowledge her public after her fouettes, and then there's a very pregnant pause -- twins if it's Russians -- as Siegried slowly paces to the center of the stage in DEAD SILENCE to prepare for his a la secondes), I would rather see an overly enthusiastic audience than one which sits on its hands. I LIKE it when senior dancers, old friends like Kistler and Nichols, get applause just for showing up. I LOVE it that Freddie Franklin ALWAYS gets applause when makes his entrances in various character roles at ABT. And I also love Cuban audiences. I just adore that little clip from that silly documentary on the Wild Men of ABT, where we see Alihaydee and Jose Manuel Carreno doing the end of the code from Diana and Acteon. The audience is just going berserk and screaming with every leap JM takes, and by the time Alihaydee (correct me if I'm mispelling this) finishes her rock-solid fouettes, half the house is on its feet, clapping and hollering. You think Alihaydee was cursing the crowd for upsetting her concentration? I rather doubt it. This is an audience which knows what it's seeing, and knows what it likes. More power to them. I'll never forget during one of the National Ballet of Cuba's first visits to the Met how Loipe Araujo drew cheer from the crowd with a gorgeous developpe -- and it wasn't because she was sticking her ankle behind her ear, either. On the other hand, I'll admit it was quite jarring when ABT first performed Symphony in C (well, it was jarring for lots of reasons, actually), and the Big Stars would get cheered at their first appearances. I mean, cheers at the entrance of the man in the First Movement? Even if it is Malakhov? While City Ballet audience can be notably undemonstrative and quick on the draw when targetting the exits, they certainly can make their feeling know at great volume. I will never forget the look on Eddie Villella's face as he would emerge for his bows after performances of Watermill to a resounding chorus of boos. I don't care what you think of the ballet, you don't boo dancers (although it's perfectly appropriate to make fun of them behind their backs). And for a City Ballet audience to boo Villella -- of all people -- well, that's like a Boston audience booing Ted Williams. Okay, that's not the greatest analogy, is it? Given that some of the dreck we've been treated to at the State Theater lately makes Watermill look like Divertimento No. 15, perhaps there is an element of divine retribution being visited upon the NYCB audience for its hubris in booing one of the company's most heroic dancers. Oh, and I like it when the little kiddies up in the stratosphere scream their little heads off. I'll never forget how it seemed like they were going to blow the roof off the State Theater for Ashley Bouder's debut in the soloist part of La Source. This was the most sensational debut I've ever seen, and the cries from the gods only added to its power. I even like it at SPAC when Damien Woetzal's charges at the New York State summer dance school there cheer on his every pirouette and leap. Ballet would be dry as the Sahara without a certain amount of audience participation, wouldn't it?

during the NYCB spring season, I saw a critic, whose identity I will protect, not only applaud Kyra Nichols, but shout "Brava." Dear God! Get out the tar and feathers and let's ride this scoundrel out of town on a rail. The noive!

All these questions! I hope this is being graded on a curve! (Well, since I'm the only one to rise to this occasion, I guess I'd get a C. Well, nevermind. How would you compare the this season to the last MET Season? Were you more or less pleased? How do the MET seasons compare to the City Center seasons for you? About the same. Neither. Much, much colder. What ballet looked in the best shape to you? I was really impressed by the tremendous improvement in the women's corps. I used to cringe when they did Shades. Now, while they don't have the organic quality of the big Old World companies, they're still a joy to watch. What ballet looked in the weakest shape? Skip anything choreogrphed after the Russian Revolution. The new stuff was well-rehearsed, but dreadful. I'm truly sorry I missed Corella's transformation into Bambi in Artemis, but I was so transported by the sight of they satyrs with the toilet-paper bestrewn thighs and toilet-scrubber tails that I couldn't do anything that would mar the memory of the ballet's first moments. After Corella made his entrance in his Ruritanian hunting costume, I beat a hasty retreat to the Plaza to watch the tangoing. Never has an exit seemed so enticing in a ballet's first five minutes since I was similarly sucked out of the State Theater for Vespro. Perhaps some ballets should come with seatbelts as standard equipment? The thought of Yet Another Carmina Burana ballet was enough to keep me away from Hereafter, although from what I saw of Corella's solo at the opening night gala, it wasn't much to miss. If ABT can't do a better job of Romeo and Juliet than the tired mish-mash they presented at the Met, they should just retire it for a few decades. And bring back Tudor's version, although I suspect the wretched ABT orchestra would be able to play Delius and make it sound like Minkus, just as they did to poor Prokofiev. I kept on expecting Juliet to whip out a fan -- except with Dvorovenko whose accesory of choice is a never-quite-invisible tambourine. Your favorite dancer of the season (subcategories - your favorite "old reliable" and your favorite newcomer) This was Maxim Belotserkovsky's season. No doubt. Line and style to die for, and that beautiful, happy face. His Colas was the best I've seen, by far. Dvorovenko was little changed, God bless her. I hope she never changes. Who was the most improved dancer? Belotserkovsky. Who was the season's MVP? (The dancer they just couldn't have done without) Belotserkovsky. Who did you miss the most? Well, ABT is beginning to accumulate quite an over-the-hill gang: McKerrow, Kent and (sob) Malakhov. McKerrow dances as if she'd retired years ago (in fact, she did, didn't she?), Kent seemed to have taken lessons in faking steps from Darci Kistler, and Malakhov danced like a great artistic director. I missed what they all used to be, especially Malakhov. Feel free to add any of your own observations! I was so happy to see Monique Meunier back onstage, but oh, in such thankless roles. To go from dancing Odette at the State Theater a few years ago to one of the tall swans in the back row at the Met this summer? Even though she was usually the best dancer onstage, and her glorious stage presence hasn't left her, I still felt like crying.

A Midsummer Night's Dream at the Saratoga Performing Arts Center Although I have been wont to tell anyone who would listen that I attended the Very First Performance of NYCB at SPAC, this summer my parents reminded me that I actually only attended the third, as the first two were on school nights, and, short as it is, Midsummer Night's Dream would've still gotten me home past my 10-year-old's bedtime. No matter -- I don't remember much of it except Eddie Villella looking as if he were being held above the stage by invisible jets of air, Melissa Hayden's incredibly cute pink seashell-boudoir, and, of course, Arthur Mitchell sweeping up the stage before flying above it in the ballet's final scene. While much has changed in Saratoga since the 1960's, and even more recently (I note with dismay that the price of the make-your-own sundaes at Stewart's has risen from $1.50 to $2.00 [about the price of a tablespoon from Ben and Jerry's, or the fancy Italian Gelato at the Putnam Market -- where yesterday one could feast one's eyes on a certain newly-minted City Ballet principal replendant in fuschia brocade jeans], although Stewart's retains unique flavors such as the delightfully appropriate "Crumbs Along the Mohawk" -- the crumbs are Graham Crackers), much remains the same, especially at SPAC: the blue and brown plastic seats are as uncomfortable as ever, the volunteer ushers as charming (Hi Mom! Hi Dad! Hi Rona!), the fireflies still vie for airspace with the mosquitoes, and it's still absolutely the most perfect setting in the world for "A Midsummer Night's Dream." As it was last Tuesday night, when City Ballet opened its 2003 season at Saratoga. It's particularly pleasant at SPAC when it's not freezing cold, which happens more often than I'd like there. One thing I always notice right away at SPAC is how much higher up the conductor stands than at the State Theater -- it really is a treat watching Andrea Quinn cheerleading the orchestra through Mendelssohn's lovely overture. She looks like she loves every note of every phrase, beckoning now to the strings, now to the horns, and it's enough to make me forgive her (almost) for her occasional rushed tempi, where it seems her enthusiasm gets the better of her. So, anyway, it was with great pleasure I settled back into my seat (regardless of the ikky hard plastic) and watched the curtain rise (did Lincoln Kirstein really donate that horrible metallic monstrosity -- perhaps it was a last joke on Saratoga?). There's nothing better than watching A Midsummer Night's Dream ON a Midsummer Night (well, close enough as makes no difference). Even inside the big, open-air ampitheater one can hear and see the swallows which come out at sunset (to gorge themselves on the ever-present mosquitoes, one hopes), and the flittering bugs of the dancing-kid variety share the stage with the occasional real one which flutter through the limelight, bent on public immolation. But most perfect of all of Mother Nature's little touches is how the drama of the sunset, with the sky fading from light blue to deep purple, silhouetting the gorgeous pines which can be seen in every direction, complements the on-stage action, so that the very verge of darkness comes just as Titania reclines to her rest in that magnificent pink seashell, as the singing chorus and dancing corps of fairies bid her a peaceful sleep, as well as ordering away the occasional spider and snake (an imperative which one hopes is protective for those in the audience as well as onstage). It really doesn't get any better than this -- as the night darkens to black, it doesn't take much imagination to banish the theater's structure from one's view and mind, blending the various girders and stays into the overall landscape, and then one is alone in the woods with Titania, Oberon and Puck, in Balanchine's peerless retelling of Shakespeare's story of love awry and true. And what would an opening night as SPAC be without the occasional puckish mishap, supplied Tuesday by a fairy whose feet went out from under her on that notoriously slippery stage, and another who got her headpiece stuck in the netting scenery, and who escaped by yanking said piece out of her hair, leaving it dangling from the painted trees for all of Titania's dance with the Jolly Green Giant (I mean her Cavalier). All the above notwithstanding, this was one of the best performances of Midsummer I've seen. Darci Kistler was such a glamorous, effusive and genuinely funny Titania that she seemed a different dancer entirely from the one I'd grown used to seeing in lackluster performances of, say Chaconne or Symphony in C. I'd say that perhaps she'd taken advantage of the rejuvenating powers of the waters here (waters which are vile enough to kill off anything in your system which might harm you), except that I'd seen her Titania in New York, which was almost as fine. She fairly glowed in the adagio with her Cavalier (an appropriately attentive Charles Askegard) and her good-night dance. Best of all was her love duet with James Fayette's Bottom-turned-donkey, where she struck just the right balance between slapstick and nobility. Balanchine's canniness was to make this dance not simply a comic mismatch between ethereal fairy and base animal, but to go beyond the obvious and show the strength and beauty of Titania's loving nature, even when she's mistakenly loving Bottom. Oh, what bliss when she teases Bottom by hiding the hay behind her back, and then quickly reveals her trick by carefully spreading the stalks before him. Kistler's special radiance brought me close to tears. As for Peter Boal's Oberon, as always, it's one of the highlights of any ballet season. He's famously airborne in the Scherzo, skimming through those killer beats and turns with not a trace of male bravura, but with the otherworldy, weightless grace of a supernatural, aerial creature. It's not hard to imagine this Oberon dancing on the lightest of boughs, or blown across the breadth of the woods by an errant wind, as Boal manifests like no other in that delicate, backwards-skipping diagonal. This Oberon is clearly a creature of mercurial moods and whims, as this story clearly demonstrates. While Boal may give up an inch or so in sheer elevation to Villella, Boal brings an unrivalled purity and grace to the role. Villela was joyfully sloppy; Boal has the thoughtless perfection of otherwordly royalty. As breathtaking as Boal's scherzo may be, I'm struck even more by the depth of his acting: his yearning envy as he watches the happy lovers, and his moral outrage at the unhappy ones -- as if it were a personal affront that lovers should be unhappy in his woods. Said lovers were Alexandra Ansanelli and Sebastien Marcovicci (in red -- I can never get those names straight), and Rachel Rutherford and Jared Angle in blue. Ansanelli brought her welcome comic timing and over-the-top drama to her role, luxuriating in both her cloying happiness and melodramatic angst. She played off well against Marcovicci's own Italianate passion, and Angle's more romantic possessiveness. Who could resist Anasanelli's rushing offstage in search of Marcovicci, arm reaching out and with the same sense of purpose and longing with which one might hail a cab on Columbus Avenue in the rain? Not I. As the more-frantic of the two women, Rutherford was a bit more placid than I'd like -- as the years have gone by, she seems to have retreated farther and farther into her beauty, but not every role, even by Balanchine, is a distant woman-on-a-pedestal. Albert Evans has has his timing down perfectly as Puck, although it's hard not to wonder if he's hamming things up a wee bit much to take advantage of one of his increasingly rare moments onstage (as with his ever-broader nose-wipe when doing the Second Movement of Western Symphony). However, compared to Daniel Ulbricht's high-flying and cartoonish Puck, Evans can only be seen as the soul of restraint. High-flying, as ever, was Jennie Somogyi's Hippolyta. She seems to get stronger with every passing day, finishing her rock-solid single and double fouettes with a very smart triple indeed. It was almost too much of a treat that the performance should conclude with Wendy Whelan and Jock Soto in the divine divertissment pas de deux in the ballet's second act. The more I see this duet, the more certain I am that it ranks right up there with the adagio from Diamonds as one of Balanchine's greatest creations. It's Balanchine's summation of the story's conclusion, the harmony of love and reconciliation between all the occasionally warring couples, writ large and in the abstract. It's hard to imagine a couple giving this duet a finer rendition than Whelan and Soto (although I wish I'd seen Kent, back when) -- it's as if Balanchine were reaching out across the years to create the perfect vehicle for Whelan's exquisite legato and her magnificently attenuated limbs. Whelan and Soto present a series of moments which seem to encompass an eternity in an instant: the many intricate promenades for Whelan in those arabesques in which she seems to mirror the turning of the globe; her gorgeous walking-and-bourreing diagonal heading downstage with Soto, finishing with her leap backwards into his arms, as if it were the purity of her attitude rather than Soto's partnering genius which was suspending her for a pregnant moment above the stage; or, of course, the adagio's heart-stopping final movement, where Soto delicately lets her tip, unsupported for a moment, from a releve in attitude leaning on his right arm, over her balance for a second or eternity, then lets her swoop into a magnficent lunge and fall almost to the stage in his left. It's so gratifying to see two artists with the savviness to recognize one of the great moments in ballet, and the strength and artistry to deliver it to perfection. I took the liberty of watching Thursday night's Dream from the lawn at SPAC, featuring Kowroski's kooky and astonishingly supple Titania, Tom Gold's unfortunately Napoleanic Oberon (looking more of a martinet than a King), and Ulbricht's afore-mentioned aerial and crowd-pleasing Puck. The high point of the evening, however, was Mother Nature embellishing the duet between Titania and Bottom with a refreshingly light rainshower.