Manhattnik

Now that you mention it, I do remember Kowroski extending her leg so high her gown slid down. Bad form, alright. Just like those Kirov Auroras last year.

I wasn't as bothered by Kowroski's extensions or Somogyi's exuberance in Leibeslieder, possibly because I was sitting so close, I didn't have the proper perspective to see just how overly large they were dancing, or perhaps I was just focussing on the teeny things one spots from such a short distance. It's not the ideal place to see every ballet, every night, but it certainly is fun once in awhile. I forgot to mention the whooping and hollering, which was even more pronounced when I saw Western a few days ago -- it's not something they decided to do just last night on the spur of the moment. I suppose this is where the shreiks that ABT's can-can girls lost in Gaiete Parisienne a year or so ago finally surfaced, perhaps unearthed by the recent reconstruction of Lincoln Center's plaza. Considering that Balanchine's point was to make a full-blown classical ballet with Western overtones, certainly the whooping could be seen as either terribly inappropriate and distracting, or perfectly in character. I fall into the first camp -- there's so much energy at the finale it doesn't NEED embelleshment. Besides, they never used to whoop and holler. Did they? Has Fayette ever done Fancy Free? And isn't it odd that Fayette, the "guy-role" dancer, is so often cast as the second man in Serenade? [This message has been edited by Manhattnik (edited February 25, 2000).]

2/24/00 - New York City Ballet Peter Martins must feel like a baseball manager contemplating his rapidly dwindling bench in a game's final innings. The almost-concluded winter season began with several oft-used dancers out with injuries and illnesses, and one of the season's themes has been the scrappy way the company deals with the recurent need to fill in for an incapacitated dancer at or near the last moment. While others may view this differently, I think it speaks volumes for this company's great depth and resiliency that it has managed to handle this adversity with such aplomb. Two of the most memorable chapters in this saga have belonged to wunderkind Abi Stafford, who joined the company at the beginning of the year, and quickly distinguished herself by leaping into the killer allegro leads in Valse Fantasie, and, last week, Ballo della Regina. Although last night was marked by considerable juggling of casts, and several unheralded debuts (so many I utterly lost track), and Stafford did indeed grace the stage in Western Symphony, it was the chance for others in City Ballet's roster to shine, and shine they did, for the most part. The evening began with Richard Tanner's Ancient Airs and Dances, set to some lovely dances by Ottorino Respighi, the best thing about which I can say is that it didn't conclude as badly as it began. When I expressed this sentiment to a sharp-tongued friend at the following intermission, he snapped back with, "Yes, it gets worse." I felt Tanner was more focussed in the series of duets than in the opening ensemble section, which managed to be both rambling and perfunctory. He does better with fewer dancers (I know what my friend's reply to that statement will be!), and I thought the lead dancers - Kowroski, Borree (filling in for the injured Weese), Whelan and Martins, Neal and Woetzal, all discharged their duties admirably, particularly Whelan, who has lately been seeming to live in a state of highly charged serenity. I would rather see her in something with some content to it, and, to paraphrase the billboard that appeared everywhere during the gas-rationing days of World War II, I kept on thinking (as I do too often at NYCB premieres), "Was this ballet really necessary?" (I have a sinking feeling that Arlene Croce wrote this somewhere, sometime, and I'm dredging it up from my subconscious - if so, I'm sure she'll read this and forgive me.) The only reason I could think of for all those people dancing up a storm onstage is that the music hadn't stopped yet. However, the audience seemed to like it, so perhaps I'm being too harsh on Tanner for the sin of not being Balanchine. It didn't help Ancient Airs and Dances that it was followed by Balanchine's masterpiece, Leibeslieder Walzer. This ballet is so subtle and dense that I find myself yearning for some effective note-taking mechanism so I can adequately record one exquisite moment before it's crowded out of my admittedly limited short-term memory by another, and then another and yet another still. This cast had the look of something cobbled together at, or near, the last minute, but the newcomers managed quite well, for the most part. The cast was supposed to be Kowroski, Ringer, Van Kipnis and Weese, with Boal, Hübbe, Neal and Woetzal. Instead we saw Kowroski, Ringer, Rutherford and Somogyi with Hübbe, Marcovici, Martins and Neal. Ringer's debut was long-scheduled, Rutherford's and Somgyi's were not. Of the men, I believe Neal and Marcovici were making debuts as well. As the young-falling-in-love couple, Rutherford and Marcovici were stunning. I've long admired Rutherford, and her piercing yet somewhat untouchable beauty worked well with Marcovici's young-Brando glamor. I've never been more moved by that first duet they dance, which concludes with the two abruptly finding themselves face-to-face. The electricity passing between the two in the instant they locked eyes seemed almost palpable, and, though I was viewing this from the first row of the orchestra, I have no doubts it carried to the back of the fourth ring. Marcovici then stepped back and sank to one knee, face lowered, and it was the first time I've seen the man so clearly overcome with emotion, rather than gallantry. Their duet ended with Rutherford walking to him and resting her hand on his head - a perfect, telling moment, one of many Balanchine treats us to in Leibeslieder. I don't think I've ever seen the emotional lives of these two characters presented so clearly, and even searingly. I have not been a great fan of Marcovici's dancing recently, finding him far too aggressive and without nuance, but perhaps his outlook is maturing, or mine. That couple's story is the easiest to grasp, and the easiest for its' dancers to present, I think. I had some problems with the other pairs. Kowroski was appropriately gorgeous with Neal in the role I think of as the mature and grander lovers, yet I've been finding a kind of blankness to her affect lately that is just anathema to this ballet. I have no doubts she'll grow into it, but this seems clearly a role for a mature, well-seasoned dancer (such as Kistler). Neal, while often looking like he was having an ecstatic experience, seldom looked as if it had much to do with his partner. Somogyi and Hübbe were the somewhat-troubled couple (with the duet where Hübbe briefly hides his face from her behind his gloved hand). Somogyi had something of the look of the rural farm-girl cousin on her first visit to the big city, a bit unsure how to comport herself in a ballroom gown and desperate show she belongs in one. I suspect this was less by design than accident, though, and I wonder how much notice or rehearsal time she'd gotten. She's a strong woman who likes to dance with a big, full-out phrasing, a quality I usually admire, but it seemed totally out of place here, especially as she also affected an exagerrated posture, sashaying her hips forward and slouching her torso and shoulders behind, in what seemed almost a slouching parody of the unforced and urbane elegance of the other women. Sometimes one accomplishes more by trying less, and I'm sure Somogyi will relax into the role. I'd been looking forward to this cast (well, what had been this cast), to see Jenifer Ringer's dubut, probably partnered with Peter Boal. Instead she danced with Martins, who was, as is his wont, as clean as a glass of distilled water, and about as flavorful. Ringer is a spellbinding dancer with a killer smile (and doesn't she know how to pick just the right shade of lipstick to show it off?). Here I found her beautiful, charming, a joy to watch, and yet, strangely, her character was somehow less modulated than I'd come to expect from her. She struck a lovely note throughout the ballet, but the same one. Western Symphony, one of Balanchine's great "closing-number" ballets, was suitably exuberant last night, and with only one substitution, James Fayette stepping in for the hard-working Nilas Martins in the first movement. Fayette seems a bit overlooked these days, one of those dependable soloists who can deliver in a wide variety of styles and yet seems to be cast more as a stop-gap or filler, than as an appreciation of his own merits. Certainly he was quite fine last night, not letting the clarity of his jumps and double tours interfere with the gusto of a good ol' boy showing off for his buddies and the gals. Kathleen Tracey, who's been having a fine season, and looking sleeker every night, has also been cast, I think, in the same vein as Fayette, and, like Fayette, deserves more. She was also fine last night, quite appropriately boisterous and flirting, but never quite the floozy. In the second, adagio, movement, Yvonne Borree hit all the slapstick bits dead-on, and made sure the audience noticed every one of them. I'm getting quite fond of Borree and her Kay Mazzo-ish demeanor, although it's not always right for everything in which she's cast. She was quite wonderful last night, however, and Albert Evans covered himself in glory as he's done every time he's set foot on stage this season, as the love-struck cowboy visited by a dance-hall Giselle. Unlike some of City Ballet's principal men who are cast more frequently and in more-rewarding roles, Evans' attention is alwaysfocused quite fiercely in the here-and-now, and on the matter at hand. I wish his kind of intensity and reverence would rub off on some of his coworkers. I gather her appearance in the third movement last night wasn't a debut, but corps dancer Aesha Ash put her all into this role, which consists, for the most part, of wearing an astonishing hat (Karinska's dance-hall girl costumes for Western have to be among her finest achievements) and strutting outrageously. And doing some killer battements and arabesques on pointe, and fouettes. While most other dancers I've seen recently in this role tend to shy away from it a bit, Ash threw herself into it with almost-campy gusto, and managed the battements on pointe (alternating between écarte and to an arabesque penchée) quite well, although I've never seen anyone approach the power and abandon shown by Tanaquil LeClerq in the 1959 film of this ballet (oh how I wish I could find a video!). Ash motored through the fouettes like she was nailed to the stage. It was good to see her as something more than the third girl from the left, and I hope we'll see more of her in soloist and demisoloist roles. Hübbe was quite the elegant and dreamy cowboy here, and showed he knows how to show off his tennis-star good looks whenever it's required. I wish I could recognize more corps dancers on sight. I always feel a bit sorry for the man and woman in yellow who come out for the last movement to join the other lead dancers. They're all that's left of what used to be the third movement, cut long ago by Balanchine, and I'd love to at least mention their names. Like denizens of some ghost town, they flit in and out of the last movement, and don't return for the curtain calls. It would be unfair for them not to even get a mention in the program, yet, somehow, exquisitely apt. Now I have to start pretending to earn a living. [This message has been edited by Manhattnik (edited February 25, 2000).]

My recollection is that Van Hamel went right back to Myrtha after that single Giselle. I had better start digging through my trunks of programs from the seventies and eighties. This is, of course, dangerous. I will just add for the record that I think she would have made a fine Giselle had she been given an opportunity to grow into the role. I recall her performance having some blurry and unfocused moments, quite unusual for her, and I'm sure she would have quickly sharpened and clarified her Giselle, had she been given the chance. The biggest problem, I think, was in the audience's perception of her -- she had become so closely associated with Myrtha that her second act just seemed wrong, and jarringly so. I have no doubts she could've educated us to see things differently, given time. [This message has been edited by Manhattnik (edited February 25, 2000).]

Having just recently started going to the opera (it's something to do between ballet seasons), I've notice, well, first of all, that the Met ALWAYS sells out, night after night, but, also, that opera audiences are much, much, much quieter than ballet audiences, and people are much more aggressive about shutting up noisy neighbors than in the ballet. More power to them, I say.

Of course, in City Ballet Swan Lake, they usually stop the fouettes before they stop the fouettes.....

The first time I saw ABT was in the fall of 75, when they were doing Nureyev's Raymonda at the Uris, which is now the Gerswin, and right down the block from where I live. The "first cast" was Gregory, Nureyev and Bruhn as Abdelrakhman, or however they spelled it. Those were the days. The other Raymondas I saw were Kirkland and Van Hamel, and the one I liked best, by far, was Van Hamel. Although she was perhaps a bit on the tall and well-developed side for this role, she did do the "young-dewy-adolescent-growing-into-radiant-adulthood" thing very, very well. I seem to recall her dancing Aurora during in ABT's Messel production (she was a tremendous Lilac), and doing just fine with the above-mentioned qualities. It could just be my memory playing tricks on me, however. I personally find Aurora a very difficult role to peg, or to which to assign a certain body type, or even temperament. I've seen petite Auroras and tall Auroras do just fine. I have in my mind a pretty clear image of the ideal "type" for Odette, say, or Giselle, but I don't have that for Aurora. I mean, I've liked the radiant, refined Auroras (like Fonteyn, whom I adore in this role), but despite all the stuff she got slammed for, I also liked Zakarova's "high-school-track-star" Aurora. Was I going somewhere with this?

Great descriptions of Leibeslieder, Leigh. It's a great ballet for running off the Philistines, isn't it? I was thinking about what you wrote about how one has to being a lot of one's self to Leibeslieder, and how that relates to what I wrote a few days ago about my own appreciation of the great variety Balanchine brings to the extremely limited palette of the first section. Although Balanchine plays Leibeslieder very close to the chest, I do find the tantalizing hints of stories and meanings enough for me to hang on, I guess, and admire the beauty and mystery of it all. I find I end up doing the inward-gazing thing more for someone like Merce Cunningham, who, although I know he's a M*d*rn D*nc* person, is in his own way as much of a classicist as Balanchine. Compared to your typical Merce work, Leibeslieder might just as well have detailed program notes and a running translation with subtitles. I don't want to veer off-topic and start a Merce thread here -- just wanted to toss in my $.02.

Years and years ago, Lynn Seymour danced a Giselle with Ivan Nagy, as a guest with ABT. I decided not to go, since Seymour had never impressed me as a brilliant dancer. Stupid me. Several friends told me it was one of the best they'd ever seen. Oh well... Isn't there a film of her doing Ashton's "Six Dances in the Manner of Isadora Duncan" (I think I have the name wrong)? She was heartbreaking in that.

I am a little puzzled by this statement. I watched ABT dance scads of Giselles back in the seventies and eighties, and, while Martine was frequently Myrtha, she was only given one Giselle that I recall -- and it wasn't a particularly successful preformance, and I don't believe she ever was given the role again, at least not in New York. Whether it was "emploi" or "type-casting," Martine pretty much did "own" Myrtha at ABT. That was part of the problem with her Giselle. I couldn't help but thinking, "Why is Myrtha trying to save Albrecht?" She's the standard by which I've judged all other Myrthas I've seen, at least the tall statuesque Myrthas as opposed to short, jumpy Myrthas. On the other hand, I don't recall that Gregory ever danced Myrtha with ABT, although she may have early in her career. But as far as Martine's Myrtha is concerned, she was indeed astounding. No "would have been" about it.

Well, it doesn't help that Woetzal looked attentive and somewhat interested, but little more. I wouldn't say he was a cipher, but there wasn't anything passionate going on. I imagine it would be difficult for Weese to look trapped or uncomfortable with a guy who appeared to be just a bit more than merely solicitous. It takes two to tango, or not, especially in this case.

Just a few notes about last night's City Ballet program. It started with Irish Fantasy. I always find myself enjoying this ballet more than I think I will, or remember that I have. It has a weak and overly cute beginning, but Jacques d'Amoise (the choreographer) flirted with overly cute throught his entire career. It does have a charming part for the ballerina, and Miranda Weese was delightful. As usual, I was entranced by her footwork. I can't help but note that there many dancers, even in City Ballet's corps, with prettier feet than hers. She doesn't have a particularly deep arch or taper. This just makes her all the more interesting, since, when she's using her feet (which is just about all the time -- she is a ballet dancer, after all), I find it hard to take my eyes off of them. Her footwork is big, clear, strong and agressive, as has oft been noted, but I also find myself fascinated by the way her feet seem to flex and breathe when she's just bourreeing -- this was one of the unexpected high points of her recent Mozartiana for me. When I could take my eyes off her feet, I noticed her animation and playfulness. She even struck up a bit of a rapport with Damian Woetzel, who seems to actually be there in spirit as well as body these days. While I doubt Woetzel and Weese will ever have the brilliant partnership that perhaps they might, at least they seem to be collaborating better now. I also admire the way Weese can carry off wearing the largest set of false eyelashes I've seen in my life. More power to her. As I remember from last season, Woetzal's brilliant, all-out rendition of the killer solo with scads of multiple pirouettes and double tours to the knee didn't seem to garner the applause it deserved. Perhaps d'Amboise was capable of selling even harder than Woetzal? It's hard to adequately describe or praise Leibeslieder Walzer. It's perhaps Balanchine's most brilliant achievement, especially the first section, where using little more than a gently balleticized ballroom vocabulary, he creates worlds within worlds. It helps that Karinska's costumes and David Mitchell's sets are drop-dead gorgeous (as are the Brahms love songs), but it's Balanchine's choreography that astonishes me, not just the tremendous invention and variety he creates with a very reduced movement palette -- the man never lacked for kinetic imagination -- but the absolutely telling nature of every step and gesture, down to the most minute turning of a cheek or raising of a gloved hand. These are eight intriguing individuals, paired up in four very different and very distinctive relationships, and part of the charm of Leibeslieder is seeing how these relationships grow and change. I can't pretend that there isn't a great deal to this ballet that eludes me, and will continue to elude me. Despite its surface simplicity, it's very dense, and very rich. I'll just say I thought the cast was magnificent. Pascale van Kipnis brought her usual roseate glow to her fledgling romance with a suitably dashing Nicolaj Hubbe, Charles Askegard reverently supported the ethereal Darci Kistler, Miranda Weese and Damian Woetzal, again, looked fine together, but I couldn't quite peg the nature of their relationship. Woetzal was proper and a bit remote, but it may be appropriate for this part, or it may have been another example of his occasional disembodied affect. I can't decide yet. In her mature and committed pairing with Nilas Martins, Wendy Whelan had one of her nights -- the kind where it seems that the world is turning in sync with her back. I can't see this ballet often enough, and I'm glad it will be given a few more times before the end of the season (with Jenifer Ringer making her debut next week!). The program closed with a sentimental favorite, Stars and Stripes. I'm sorry this ballet's going out of the repertory, as the company does a bangup job with it lately, particularly the men's campaign, which is usually the high point of the ballet for me. Not that they weren't brilliant (especially Tom Gold with his neat trick of landing from a double tour in passé and continuing seamlessly into turns à la séconde), but Margaret Tracey and Charles Askegard absolutely nailed the big, showy pas de deux. I used to think that, despite her formidable technique, Margaret wasn't as interesting a dancer as her underrated sister, Kathleen. But since Margaret's return last year from, I think, having a baby, she's impressed me with a piquancy and wit I hadn't noticed before, along with her sparkling footwork, which was much in evidence last night. She handled perfectly that tricky diagonal with splits to the side alternating with soutenu turns. She started with a low, small split, and each subsequent one got higher and wider until the last, huge, exuberant leap. Askegard was a nicely loopy El Capitan, mugging with delight at the audience every time he lifted or turned Tracey, as if to say, "Isn't she terrific?" Some men look a little embarassed at this corny role, but Askegard clearly loved it, from the extra snap to his salutes while doing those flexed-foot entrechats, to the kiss he blew at Tracey a kiss as they posed at either side of the stage in the fourth campaign, waiting for their turn to join in the high-kicking finale. Now I have about a dozen older performances to get caught up on. [This message has been edited by Manhattnik (edited February 18, 2000).]

Zelensky would have to be a first-baseman. Or maybe a left-fielder? And number 44. He's absolutely No. 44 material. I better get some more coffee before I start getting really silly.

Ann asked "Can you let us know, at least, if you are a professional writer?" Well, in a previous life I was.... And, thanks to Ann, Steve, Victoria, Irina, LisaY and Giannina. Glad you all liked it! I'd like to particularly thank all of you for being too diplomatic to notice I'd misspelled Charles Askegard's name every single time I used it. Where the heck did I get the idea there are three A's in his name? At least it's easier to fix pixels than print. [This message has been edited by Manhattnik (edited February 16, 2000).]

It's not legend. It's what happened. It was opening night of the fall season in 77 or 78. Weiss was at the point in his big solo where he was doing a flurry of brise voles, stopped, looked like he was seriously considering leaping up and continuing, then limped into the wings. It's not really a substition story, as nobody actually replaced Weiss. Instead, Ashley finished dancing alone, and managed to get through the bits where Weiss would have been supporting her with almost no alteration to the steps at all. It was fortunate, I guess, that Weiss hurt himself after he'd alreayd discharged his most substantial partnering duties. This incident certainly added considerable luster to Ashley's burgeoning reputation at the time. I was also quite happy that Weiss managed to return from what is often a career-ending injury.

After ascending to the heavens of the "cheap" seats for last night's "Millennium International Ballet Gala" at the New York State Theater and looking over the program, I found myself remembering the old gag TV show they used to have on Saturday Night Live: "What Were You Thinking?" I pondered the listings of ancient and not-so-ancient warhorses, wondered what had happened to Diana Vishneva (whose name had been featured prominently on gala posters), and began to think that perhaps I might've been wiser to have stayed at home, pocketing the absurd ticket price, and doing something useful, like writing or changing the cat litter. What was I thinking, indeed? This sinking feeling continued through the first number on the program. Each was introduced by an announcer intoning the dancers' names, and the piece they'd be dancing. He did do a marvelous job with all those pesky furrin names, but he wasn't quite as sonorous as the wonderful announcer they have at Yankee Stadium, although I kept on expecting him to tell us not only who'd be dancing next, but their uniform numbers and positions. "And now, ladies and gentleman, the first baseman, Igor Zelensky." Seriously, given that the music was entirely canned, it didn't seem inappropriate to have some sort of procedural nicety to delimit what otherwise might've seemed a rather indiscriminate procession of numbers. Anyway, first up were ABT's Susan Jaffe and City Ballet's Charles Askegard in the pas de deux from The Sleeping Beauty. Of all the pas de deuxs presented last night, this one seemed to me least amenable to presentation as an excerpt - even less so than the one from Apollo, which these two presented later in the evening. Although certainly replete with tricks, such as the three consecutive fish dives, this duet's sweet air of purity and lightness can get lost when it's not the climax of a grand classical production. Or at least that's how it seemed last night, with the State Theater's stage appearing quite vast and bare. Although over the years since I first started watching her, Susan Jaffe has developed an appealing sweetness quite appropriate for Aurora, her changeless, fixéd smile mirrored the familiar undifferentiated quality of her dancing. Askegard comported himself well as her partner (filling in for ABT's Guiseppe Picone), despite some scary moments in the third fish dive, and some occasional sloppiness in his solo. He's a fine, clean dancer - I just wish he could make himself a bit more interesting. Moving from the sublime to the ridiculous (a recurring theme of the evening), the Bolshoi's Anna Antonicheva and Yuri Klevtsov presented Yuri Grigorovitch's inevitable pas de deux from Spartacus. I've often thought that the years have blurred the once marked distinction between the styles of the Bolshoi and Kirov ballets, but this pair's scenery-chewing rendition of this piece of balletic kitsch made me wonder. Antonicheva has the long neck, small head and soulful eyebrows so typical of Russian ballerinas these days, and showed off her sky-high extensions to great advantage in her opening solo, where she seems to express her longing for Spartacus by occasionally hugging one of her own skyward-pointing (and quite gorgeous) legs. Yes, it seems that the curse of Sylvie Guillem was much in evidence last night - more on that later. While Antonicheva has a kind of straightforward physicality and lack of subtlety I found appealing, or at least appropriate to the work at hand, Klevtsov seemed almost a charicature of the stereotypical Bolshoi man - broad-chested, virile and a bit muscle-bound. There's a certain naïve charm to both of the works these two performed (they later danced the Diana and Acteon pas de deux), and they both were suitably straight-faced and passionate for the signature overhead lifts. Repeatedly Antonicheva would back away the entire length of the stage from Klevtsov before charging at his outstretched arms, so he could hoist her far above his shoulders. I always half-expect the man to pound his chest and emit a Tarzan yell at such moments, and it wasn't hard to imagine Klevtsov doing so. They did turn the big, extended toe-shoes-to-the-ceiling lift into an applause machine, and I found myself wishing they'd have been even more over-the-top. The Paris Opera Ballet's Marie Agnès Gillot followed with an equally kitschy but far more pretentious piece, a solo by Carolyn Carlson called Diva, set to a recording of Maria Callas singing a solo from Andrea Chénier. I guess this was the token barefoot-modern piece, and, if nothing else, Gillot demonstrated that, regardless of the circumstances, no Parisian ever looks wholly at sea if given an opportunity to model black-velvet gloves, hat and cocktail dress (OK, it was really navy blue, but you get my point). While marching up and downstage, carefully removing said hat and peeling said gloves and tossing them to the stage, and soulfully stretching her arms skyward (she did manage to sneak in an attitude or two), Gillot gave the impression of being on the verge of expressing some great profundity, but never quite delivering. Next up were the Kirov's Igor Zelensky and the Royal Ballet's Darcey Bussell in the pas de deux from Le Corsaire. This was my first look at Bussell in the flesh, and she certainly has enough of it. Ever since I first gazed upon Martine van Hamel, I've adored tall women who can really jump, and Bussell doesn't disappoint. Tall, leggy, but with actual hips and a waist, Bussell's a strong, healthy Amazon of a gal. She and the also statuesque Zelensky looked superb together, as both their physiques and temperaments seemed quite complementary. I don't know how much these two have performed together - there was one slightly iffy moment where Zelensky ventured a wee bit too close to Bussell's whirling foot as he moved in to support her after a grande turn à la séconde, on pointe - but for the most part they appeared to be quite comfortable with each other. I loved the contrast between Zelensky's brooding, Byronic scowl, and Bussell's excitable, Gelsey-Kiklandish smile. I was impressed by Bussell's strength and flexibility (six-o'clock penchées were the order of the evening), but even more by her great appetite for consuming the vast spaces of the State Theater's stage, much like City Ballet's Monique Meunier (another big gal), whom I've missed terribly this season. In this forthright attack, Zelensky matched Bussell, and my strongest impressions of this pas are of yards and yards of their beautifully proportioned legs and feet scything through the air. It's easy, and sometimes entertaining, for dancers to camp up these roles, but here I was glad that Bussell and Zelensky played it fairly straight, and let their dancing speak for itself. After this old chestnut, San Francisco Ballet's Lucia Lacarra and Cyril Pierre danced the White Swan pas de deux from Swan Lake. I'd only seen Lacarra once before, dancing the novice in Robbins' The Cage during SFB's season at City Center last year. She was fine, but that cannibalistic, insectile female is hardly the measure of a ballerina. Since then, I'd been increasingly aware of her growing reputation. I tend to be skeptical when first viewing a star with a huge and vociferous fandom, but it took Lacarra about five seconds to completely and utterly win me over. Although we learn in geometry that there is an infinite number of points on any line, and between any two other points, usually, in ballets, dancers tend to show us certain positions (arabesques, attitudes, whatever), and downplay the in-between bits as only transitions, however beautifully they may be traversed. Lacarra breathes life in those interstices better than anyone I've seen, except, perhaps, Makarova (another great Odette). It didn't hurt that the taped music she used was at a Makarovan slow tempo, either. It seemed that this White Swan lasted as long as all of the White Swans City Ballet performed this spring in their misguided, impatient production put together. And I wanted it to last longer. From her first arabesques to her final, thrilling battus, Lacarra's seamless white taffy-pull of a performance kept holding my breath, and proved that a dancer can be deeply musical even when performing to canned music. I was left with no doubts that Lacarra could turn brushing her teeth into a religious experience for her audiences. Oh, what does she look like? Rather petite, it seemed from upstairs, gorgeous double-S-curved legs and feet, dark hair, regal carriage, and gorgeous high extensions and penchèes. I remember watching, entranced, at her first, supported plies in arabesque, as she slowly rolled her standing foot down off of full point into her plie. I can't remember being quite so enthralled by such an everyday, even pedestrian, ballet movement, yet Lacarra showed me an entire universe within her instep. She's the kind of dancer in whose movements one can lose one's self entirely. Pierre was a strong, committed and lyrical partner, and never once let the audience forget that Lacarra was the star of this particular show. After such sublimity, Rotislav Zhakarov's Gopak, as danced by ABT's Gennadi Saveliev, was a marked contrast. Saveliev's bright-red pantaloons might well have been filled with helium, as he displayed formidable technique and ballon in this balleticized version of Russian folk-dancing. Barrel turns, corkscrewing steps with no names, and, of course, Russian splits, Saveliev was quite the dynamo. If the piece had more style than substance, at least it was entertaining, and brief. The program's first half concluded with the Paris Opera Ballet's Agnès Letestu and José Martinez in the pas de deux from La Esmeralda. Again, this was quite the old Petipa/Drigo warhorse, but rescued, here, by the charm and accomplishment of these French dancers. I'm reminded of how Edwin Denby once described a French ballerina's performance as a monologue directed at the audience, and both Letestu's and Martinez' performances were spiced with little glances and gestures that appeared as witty asides to the audience, and to each other. Where many other dancers might make the simple taking of their partner's hand a matter-of-fact reaching for support, with a quick glance and smile for Martinez, Letestu turned even such a fundamental gesture into a sweet dramatic moment, as if she were discovering his supporting hand anew each time: "A hand? Pour moi? Ah, zhat is so sweet!" And in his solo, it seemed Martinez was sharing almost-conspiratorial smiles with the audience - "You liked that, eh? Well, wait till you see what's coming up next...." And what came up next was usually quite impressive. I liked Martinez' casual, throway brilliance (he was also quite adept at disguising the occasional double tour that was more like a 1 3/4 tour), and Letestu's piquancy and rock-solid technique, particularly in her tambourine-playing solo. She'd smack it against her elbow, hand or extended foot in rapid succession, to finish or add emphasis to a phrase. Here, once again, I saw the Guillem effect - it was as if, for Letestu, a developpe doesn't begin to get interesting until the working leg's parallel to the stage - before that's just a preparation. In the right place, a dramatically high extension can be quite lovely, but, as we saw with the Kirov's athletic Auroras last summer, it can also be inappropriate and distracting. It's nice to know that dancers like Letestu are capable of giving themselves a concussion with their own ankles, but must they prove it to us every time they raise their legs? The gala's second half started with Bussell and Zelensky in the bedroom pas de deux from Macmillan's Manon. One sure way to make Macmillan's work to appear refined and tasteful is to present it on the same program with Grigorovitch's, and here, despite the lack of a bed in which to awaken (Bussell sort of strolled onstage, dreamily), the two brought the right mix of exuberance and restraint to this dance's series of swooning clinches. I found Bussell's child-like enthusiasm to be quite compelling, and more effective than the worldly, knowing approach most ballerinas bring to this role. Again, the two made a convincing and moving couple. Next were the Bolshoi's Antonicheva and Klevtsov in Vaganova's Diana and Acteon pas de deux. Even more than with Spartacus, this is schmaltzy choreography, yet, again, I find it hard not to view with a certain sentimental affection, especially when performed with this pair's energy and conviction. In the adagio, the couple spend a lot of time backing away from each other so that they can charge at each other, for some doubtless death-defying supported turn or lift; in many ways it's an earlier step on the evolutionary path that leads to something like Spartacus or Spring Waters. It's the sort of thing where Klevtsov, attired in a little leatherish skirt and shoulder-strap, and not much else, leaps to the center of the and dramatically extends his arm to Antonicheva. She can't just step towards him to accept this proffered support, but must herself leaps towards him in a big assemblé, springing up in a perky little sou-sous as she takes his hand and extends herself into a grand, supported developpé on pointe (with her working leg well above horizontal, of course). While French dancers might embellish their phrases with witty asides, these Russian dancers punctuate one melodramatic phrase with another, more melodramatic one. It's hard to imagine French dancers presenting Diana and Acteon without some sort of ongoing, self-deprecating commentary ("Yes, it's silly, but we're having fun."). It's equally hard to imagine Russian dancers tackling it without the sort of unrestrained conviction that Antonicheva and Klevtsov displayed. I couldn't tell whether these dancers presenting two period pieces in an appropriate historical style, or whether they always dance that way. I suspect the latter, especially with the brawny Klevtsov. I particularly liked the fearless way that Antonicheva started a solo, by plunging into a perfectly balanced, deep piqué arabesque penchée, and holding the balance for the requisite second or two. She was unapologetically athletic, and I rather admire her for that. To the growing cheers of the audience in the coda's fireworks, Klevtsov proved he could indeed get both feet off the ground at the same time, and even, occasionally, point them. I'm not sure if Charles Askegard has danced Balanchine's Apollo before. He and Susan Jaffe returned with a credible rendering of the pas de deux between Apollo and Terpsichore. While Askegard seemed a bit frantic and Jaffe a bit brittle, Apollo was a welcome tonic among the old chestnuts. However, even more so than with The Sleeping Beauty, this duet loses a great deal of its meaning when presented as an excerpt. I must confess, a bit guiltily, that I immensely enjoyed POB's Letestu and Martinez in the pas de deux from William Forsythe's In the Middle, Somewhat Elevated. While I've often found Forsythe's work to be as silly as it is incomprehensible, this duet, to a thundering percussive beat by Thom Willems, at least allowed the pair to show off their amazing quickness and sinuosity. In its own vaguely post-modern way, it was as much of a circus as the Diana and Acteon, and I ended up marveling at Letestu's phenomenal turnout (this was, after all, made originally for, that's right, Sylvie Guillem). I liked the way these two made the State Theater's stage seem small, doubtless because they're used to the Paris Opera's gargantuan dimensions. It was schlock, but it was really great schlock. Although I wasn't terribly impressed with Gerard Bobotte's choreography in the duet from his Adagio for Strings (to the score of the same name by Samuel Barber), it mattered little, as Lucia Lacarra was, once again, riveting in this swoopy, starlit love duet that ended with her and Pierre lying entwined onstage. While not profoundly imaginative, it was at least lyrical, romantic and tasteful, and that's all Lacarra needed to sweep me away, and leave me longing for a return visit to New York from the San Francisco Ballet. The final pas de deux on the program brought back the Paris Opera's Gillot to dance the one from Don Quixote with ABT's Marcelo Gomes. Gillot here seemed a bit more stolid than her compatriot Letestu, but I was impressed with her fan-wielding skill in her solo - I don't think I've seen that fan (here, rich scarlet to match her costume) snapped open and shut quite so musically. Or so often! I'd hoped that she might've used the fan to embellish her perfectly anchored fouttés, but doubtless sensibly, she allowed Gomes to carry it off to the wings before the coda. Gomes, for his part, was quite flashy in his own solo, particularly in a gorgeous pirouette in attitude, slowing with each revolution till he reached a standstill (yes, I know it's a cliché, but I like it anyway). By this time I was rather shell-shocked from the successions of fireworks, but nothing I've ever seen in my life quite prepared me for the Défilé Final, staged by Nadia Veselova-Tencer, the evening's artistic director, that closed the program. All the dancers returned for a curtain call, receiving customarily enormous bouquets brought out by flower girls. So far, quite typical. But then they all laid their bouquets at the foot of the stage and ran off into the wings. Then, a tremendously grandiose waltz thundered out of the speakers, and, one by one each dancer returned for a brief mini-variation, with as much bravura as a few bars would allow. The audience was going quite wild with applause for their favorites, and I couldn't restrain myself from laughing in amazement at the spectacle. It was beyond silly, but, in its way, a perfectly appropriate conclusion for such a glitzy evening, and, I headed home from the spectacle content that I had gotten my money's worth after all. [This message has been edited by Manhattnik (edited February 16, 2000).]

San Francisco has a street or alley named after Isadora Duncan. Too small for a Bugatti, I recall.

Not that I would do anything as crass as count fouettes (always), I could'a sworn that she bailed at 27. She didn't do any doubles to confuse the count, either. I agree with you about Evans. He's a fine, sensitive and committed dancer, and deserves to be seen more. I perhaps wasn't quite as impressed with Schandorff as you were, but I did think of what you said about how she never stops moving in recalling that bizarre lift in the second scene, and repeated in the fourth. After Seigfried swears, by the lake, that he loves her, Odette launches herself headfirst directly at Seifried's chest, and he holds her to his chest as she remains extended, perfectly parallel to the floor, and facing it. Then he flips her over so she's lying with her back against his bent knee. That image of Odette held up like a length of planking always seemed jarring and incongruous to me, and even dangerous. Whelan looked like a human arrow that could've easily punctured Damian Woetzal's chest. With most NYCB dancers, there's only a moment to think, "dang, that's a strange pose," then she's flipped over, and we go on our merry way. Schandorff made some sense of this. She's flying at Seifried in a fit of joy and relief at his oath. She didn't just stretch herself out straight in this lift, but gently arched herself into a bit of a fish position, subtly undulating her arms and giving a momentary impression of flying, supported by Seigfreid's love, most likely. I still think it's an ugly lift, but Schandorff almost made it sensible.

Well, she bailed after 24 foettes, according to my count. I wish I could see her Sunday matinee, to see if it improves, but can't make it. Ringer certainly is getting impressive, isn't she?

Since Maria was making her debut in In the Night, Wendy danced G Major. I mean, because Weese is out, In the Night replaced Mozartiana. I guess they didn't want Maria to do two big new roles in one night. [This message has been edited by Manhattnik (edited January 15, 2000).]

In 1979, Ib was one of a bunch of Soloists of the Royal Danish Ballet who played a short season at City Center. Not long after, he joined City Ballet.

Don't get me wrong, I'm usually a big fan of Damian. When he's in the mood for it, he can be charming, exuberant and dazzling -- Eddie Villella and Jacques d'Amboise all in one. Lately, though, it seems that his heart just hasn't been in it.

Yes, there were quite a few cast changes. I've heard the flu has been raging through the company. Ringer and Rutherford for Borree and Somogyi in the Pas de Quatre; Gifford for K. Tracey in Hungarian; Alexopoulos for Kowroski in Russian; Edge for Allen in Neopolitan, and Golbin and Bowers for Rutherford and Tinsley in the Six Princesses. There, aren't you glad you asked?

Wendy Whelan’s Swan, NYCB 1/13/99 With all the performances coming fast and furious these days at the New York City Ballet, I’ve fallen alarmingly behind in keeping up with writing about them, well, in starting to write about them, actually. I’ve decided that the ideal is the enemy of the good, so rather than aspire to my usual level of wit and profundity, I thought I’d bang out a quick little notice about City Ballet’s Swan Lake last night. They say familiarity breeds contempt, but sometimes, if one’s lucky, it engenders a kind of desperate, hopeless numbness. I guess I’m not quite familiar enough with Peter Martins’ Swan Lake, then. The hideous décor in the court scenes is jarring on the fifth viewing as on the first, and my mind still races in attempts to list what’s wrong with this production. I find myself wanting to say that underneath its ugly-duckling exterior there’s a mediocre ballet struggling to get out, but then I consider the hodge-podge Martins’ made of the white acts, and I feel like throwing up my hands (mostly) in defeat. "Didn’t this music used to be in the fourth act? Wasn’t there something else more interesting going on to this bit – was it by Balanchine? Petipa? Ivanov? What happened to the battus at the end of the White Swan? Didn’t Balanchine have a lot more interesting stuff going on in the "second" act? But maybe Peter needed that music for his "fourth" act. Why does Von Rotbart take off his cloak when he’s dying – so he can go out like Margaret Hamilton in The Wizard of Oz?" I suppose this shows how my train of thought (not the LIRR, upon which I’m typing this) plummets from the sublime to the ridiculous. This production does make me wish I were more of a Swan Lake scholar, however. Having said all that, I must admit that in less-jarring dress, the court scenes would probably look fine. Leaving aside snide jokes about the poor state of the laundries in, well, wherever it is ("I’m sorry, Mr. Prince, sir, but we still haven’t found who put the razor blades in the castle’s dryer yet, but we did toss in some more blue dye in the wash, just for you.") and also of interior decorating ("This is Vinnie from the Acme Grecian Column Rental Corporation. You’ve missed your last six payments on your columns, and we have to repossess them, but, seeing how youse is a prince, we’ll leave you these little busted stumps for your Jester to jump on. OK?"), Martins has made some lovely dances. It’s hard to hate the Jester when he’s danced so well by Tom Gold, and the scene where the court maidens all implore Seigfried to dance with them is a charming way of pointing out that this guy is far from the life of his own party. I liked Martins’ version of the Pas de Trois, and his Pas de Quatre in the "third" act is a gem. I’m even getting fond of the Russian dance, bizarre costumes and all. I do wonder about the white acts – this is the only Swan Lake I’ve ever seen where the "fourth" act is more interesting than the second. At least that’s how it was last night. Since the first announcement of City Ballet’s Swan Lake, all I could think about was how wonderful Wendy Whelan would be as Odette/Odile. Say what you will about her physique, Whelan is a real goddess of the dance right now. There’s never been anyone even remotely like her that I’ve seen or read about, and some of the most glorious and breathtaking moments I’ve spent at the ballet in recent years have come while watching her dance. The only thing that kept her Titania in Dream last spring from being utterly perfect was that it deprived us of seeing her dance the second-act divertissment. Although she has many strengths and gifts, it’s in flowing adagios where she shines the brightest – her long, attenuated limbs sweep us along to some hitherto unexplored, supernatural realm where the very manner in which space and time interact becomes imbued with a sculptural weight, precipitate strength and dramatic emotion. Purple prose, perhaps, but if not to witness, and participate in, this kind of physical and spiritual transformation, why go to the ballet at all? We might just as well stay home and watch dumbass sitcoms on the tube. Compared to the magnificence of the gifts Whelan brings to us whenever she steps on stage, what does it matter if you can count every vertebra of her back from Fourth Ring (without binoculars)? She is who she is, and I wouldn’t want her any other way. Whelan proves that there’s more to a dancer and to a dance than their immediate appearance. It makes her a perfect Balanchine dancer, of course, as his ballets are imbued with just this very sense of being manifestations of some argument that’s both grander and more abstract than what’s immediately apprehendable before us. Did I say I was going to bang out a quick little notice? Anyway, the above is why I hoped Whelan would make a real kick-ass Odette/Odile. But it was not to be last night, although she gave us many glimpses at the Swan Queen she might have been, and, I hope, will be soon. Three things conspired against Whelan last night: the choreography, the conducting, and Damian Woetzal. First, while normally I’d applaud Martins’ efforts to keep as much as possible of Balanchine’s one-act version of the "second" act, in this case I think it might have been better for him to start afresh, or even (gasp!) use more-traditional Ivanov/Petipa choreography. I’ve always thought of Balanchine’s one-acter as more of a commentary on, or tribute to, the Ivanov/Petipa, and in its original one-act incarnation, works quite well (I still miss those silly mechanical swans). But, as the linchpin of an evening-length, storytelling ballet, well, it has shortcomings. In this context, Odette’s mime ("Over in that castle there’s a sorcerer…") becomes more important, and its absence more problematic. Moreover, the strange changes Balanchine made to the White Swan pas de deux, ending with Seigfreid and Odette, with the corps, hopping through a run of perky little sisonnes and segueing almost seamlessly into the faster ensemble sections, seems far more incongruous in this "full-length" setting. , For me, the concluding moment of the White Swan adagio, with Odette’s foot trembling at her ankle in those thrilling battus as Seigfried slowly turns her, is the very heart of this ballet. I knew, intellectually, that Whelan wasn’t going to get to do them, having seen this production before, but I felt their absence. I wouldn’t have minded Martins going against Balanchine’s memory, this once, and resurrecting the White Swan and mime. After all, there’s not really that much left of Balanchine’s one-act version here, anyway – why not make something new and cohesive that works? It’s what Balanchine would’ve done, I’m sure. I know, suggesting jettisoning Balanchine’s handiwork is sacrilege; I’d really rather City Ballet jettison this Swan Lake and goes back to the Balanchine, black swans and all, but since that isn’t likely to happen anytime soon, if ever, let’s at least have something that makes better dramatic sense. It is true that Martins has made a touching and loving duet for Seigfried and Odette in his "fourth" act, which is quite successful, dramatically, but doesn’t make up for the iffy "second" act. One doesn’t go to Swan Lake for the last act! Regarding the conducting, Andrea Quinn’s breakneck tempi for the second act turned the White Swan into a lickety-split, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it affair. There’s supposed to be a certain amount of repose and longeur here, with Seigfried and Odette finding, in each other, the love they’re yearning for. Last night, they didn’t appear to have time to find much of anything, except the next step. Whenever Whelan began to hit a stride, sweeping those immensely long arms and legs into a heart-piercing arabeseque, oops, it was time for the next step. I don’t expect every Odette to dance at a Makarova-crawl, but this breathless sprint to get it over with was a little ridiculous. As for Damian, he turned in another performance where it seemed his mind was elsewhere. He’s so talented, he can get away with phoning in performances, but the lack of chemistry between him and Whelan was almost as marked as between him and Miranda Weese in Mozartiana last week. The only time Woetzal seemed to be fully engaged recently was in Fancy Free, where he could perhaps allow his inner hoofer to come forward. But it’s hard for an Odette/Odile to create a memorable performance when her Seigfried is little more than attentive. Having said all this, how was the performance? As I said, Whelan had flashes of brilliance. I loved the dramatic way she’d stab the stage with her feet in releves in fifth, and some of her small, telling details, such as the way she remembered to deliver a small, bird-like twitch of her head while posing in arabesque, after delivering those stunning entrechats and retires near the end of the "second" act. She made a particularly evil Odile, and, altogether, her Black Swan was more successful than that rushed White Swan. She managed 24 fouettes before bailing, and this was the one point in the evening where she appeared technically strained – her piques and chaines were lightning-sharp, and in the "fourth" act, she was suitably heroic and grief-stricken. Although Woetzal could doubtless turn a la seconde in his sleep, his variation and code for the Black Swan were the only times he seemed really awake – perhaps his lackluster performance on last spring’s broadcast of this ballet wasn’t as much of a fluke as I’d thought it at the time. In supporting roles, Tom Gold was his usual whirligig as the Jester (I guess if you must have a jester, you might as well have a good one), In the Pas de Trois, and later in the Pas de Quatre, Jenifer Ringer showed that she’s developed formidable strength and technique to complement her divine musicality – she’s one of those dancers who pulls your eyes to her, whatever she’s doing. Janie Taylor was also delightfully strong and clear, although Sebastian Marcovici appeared to be in a battle to the death with his choreography, and seemed pleased to have battered it into submission. I like dancers who have a marked attack, but Marcovici shows what can happen when a dancer’s overly, obsessively punchy. In addition to Ringer in the "fourth" act Pas de Quatre, Pascale von Kipnis showed her usual radiance, next to Rachel Rutherford’s piquancy and Benjamin Millepied’s ebullient, if somewhat unruly, jumps. Other standouts were Albert Evans, a fine dancer with far too little to do at City Ballet, in the Hungarian Dance, and Helene Alexopoulos and Charles Askegaard in the campy Russian Dance. Alexopoulos was particularly lush and sensual, and Askegaard looked at least resigned to his odd Viking-skirt costume. Jock Soto resisted the urge, as Von Rotbart, to camp it up much more than actually required by the choreography. As for the corps, well, it was quite ragged, even for a company that was never known for precision. I’ve noticed that since their strike ended, the orchestra has been sounding much, much better, although it wouldn’t be the same if there weren’t the familiar smattering of flubs from the horn section. Andrea Quinn seemed quite pleased with herself at the curtain calls, and considering how cold it was getting outside, perhaps it was just as well that her brisk tempi sent us all home a bit earlier than usual for even this one-intermission Swan Lake. [This message has been edited by Manhattnik (edited January 14, 2000).]

Speaking of Pavlova, I had no idea that there's a dessert by that name which seems to be quite popular in Australia, having originated there. For a bit more info, and a recipe: http://www.vislab.usyd.edu.au/nicole/austr...es/pavlova.html Dang, I'm getting hungry already.....