Manhattnik

According to the casting posted at the State Theater, Korbes was replaced with Taylor, and there was a bit of shuffling to accomodate this (Taylor to Sugar Plum, Bouder to Dewdrop, Riggins (or was it Tinsley?) to Marzipan.

From what I've seen and heard of the Diamond Project, it seems to be the ballet world's equivalent of the old Woody Allen joke, which has two elderly ladies complaining of the restaurant (in the Catskills, no doubt) where the food is terrible and the portions are so small! In other words, while it's true the dancers have works made on them, almost all of those works are of, shall we say, questionable quality, and they're staged with minimal (or less than minimal!) rehearsal time. While I have never danced (in public), choreographed or managed a company, I am nevertheless not altogether convinced that knowing how to learn, or convince an audience that you've learned, crappy ballets at breakneck speed teaches dancers how to do anything more than that, and I'm also a bit skeptical that such a skill is of much value in turning a dancer into a choreographer or artistic director. And if it is, I'm also not sure I'd care much for the creations or repertory of someone whose artistic taste and temperement has been molded by such an environment. Perhaps my sense of irony has been overly sensitized by living in a city where the Mayor demonstrates for the subway-riding masses the pluck they'll need to survive the threatened transit strike by going out and buying a $500 bicycle, but I find something strangely dissonant in reading, in a thread whose title questions the very profitability of ballet, that a company's productions can have any ultimate value other than to that company's perceived and, one hopes, carefully developed, and, one hopes even more, paying audience.

The de los Angeles/Bjoerling Boheme is also on CD, and occupies a place of honor on my iMac and iPod (it's nice to have it at my fingertips where I may be!); as the CD of the Buhrmann production is now out, I think it's soon going to have some company.

I think of a lot of the classic Joffrey repertory: Astarte; Deuce Coupes I and II; Love Songs. I remember back when, in the mid-Seventies, Watermill, that ballet everyone loves to hate, had quite a "cult" following. I remember seeing young artsy types at the student-rush line just because it was on the program. Sigh. It's been a long time since City Ballet was "happening" in that way.

I'm not enough of an expert to know what was cut, if anything. Did it say somewhere that there were cuts?

Oooh. I want to give her such a zetz. Anyone who thinks that Broadway show prices are "only slightly lower than for premium seats at the opera" needs to get out more. I can't speak to the price (or quality) of opera in Chicago, but it seems that this woman who likes to take the Met's name in vain hasn't been there lately, either to check out the prices or to observe the productions. A quick look at metopera.org shows prices that top out at about $280, just a tad more than Boheme's $95 top. (It also shows they're doing that production of Dialogues des Carmélites which got mentioned here recently.) And to pooh-pooh Luhrmann's accomplishments by saying: "not only have opera directors been doing this kind of thing for decades now, but increasingly they've also been seeking out physically appropriate singers who can move and act convincingly, even if vocal prowess does remain an opera house priority," again makes me think she needs to get out more. I mean, has she ever seen Jane Eaglen? Or some of the warbling capon tenors who still haunt the Met? Yes, some of the subtitles are a bit on the cute side sometimes, but so what? Far more often than that, they're clever and, with the meticulously rehearsed stage business and the marvelous singers who can actually move (I loved the two-second tribute to Jerome Robbins in the last scene), bring out subtleties and humor in the libretto which can often seem rushed past in opera-house settings, in which Boheme is simply one of many productions. This cast has been living and breathing Boheme for months already, and it shows in every loving detail. Although I'm sure the show is miked, I found the "enhancement" to be very subtle and understated. I certainly never felt that electronics and boom-boxes were coming between me and any of the singers, most certainly not the heavenly Solovyeva, who seemed to have, and need, no help for her most forceful passages. If she had been overmiked she could never have modulated her voice so gorgeously from her most dramatic paeons to the most piano moments where it seemed that she was, indeed, using her last life's breath to reach Rodolfo (and us). Like a certain other critic whose writings have been a source of much commentary here lately, Weiss seems to be more enamoured of the axe she has to -- oops -- I mean her Thesis (Baz Luhrmann pandering to the MTV generation!) than of the tedious business of experiencing and sharing with us what's actually in front of her eyes (and ears). Even had I not seen Boheme for myself, her grandiosity and condescention, combined with her eagerness to bend the truth about the State of Opera to fit her other Thesis (there's nothing new about any of the good things that Luhrmann's done, only the bad [and who cares if it's new anyway? I sure don't!]) would make me very dubious of her conclusions. That and her rather pedestrian way with words; she's much better at declarations than descriptions. And if she'd been observant enough to actually see this production with her eyes unscaled by her rather facile preconceptions (Moulin Rouge! "training wheels for the MTV-educated audience!" Five-second attention spans!) she might have noticed, as The Times' Brantley did, that Luhrmann's taking an entirely different tack in La Boheme from his movies: he takes his time about building his best moments, and he takes great delight in sharing his stagecraft with us. That we've just seen the stagehands muscle the amazing sets around and the actors chatting as they assemble themselves for some of the bigger scenes (not to mention the stagehand with a lantern representing the light from the artists' stove) adds to the wonder of the theatrical world they create before our eyes. Either Solovyeva or Weiss must've been ill that night; even a heart of stone would've melted after Solovyeva's first aria. Or perhaps Weiss should take care to keep her ears covered next time she goes out in the rain (I know, I know, tin doesn't rust -- nevermind!).

Rather on the spur of the moment I went again last night, shelling out Real Bucks for a real ticket when I discovered that arriving at 3:30 to get on line for the $20 front-row tickets that go on sale at 6 pm was way Too Late. (The line seemed mainly made up of college students who'd been fortifying themselves with Starbuck's and card-games. Solovyeva is drop-dead gorgeous as Mimi, looking every inch the honey-blonde glamor-queen she appears on the posters (do take a look at the website -- bohemeonbroadway.com), with sensual and sometimes pouty lips soaked in RED lipstick. Often I've seen Mimi look a bit mousey when she makes her entrance into the garret, and it's sometimes not clear whether Rodolfo has fallen for her on first sight, or is perhaps just toying with her a bit. With Solovyeva there's no doubt at all; I don't think there's a man alive who, if such a stunning creature were to materialize in his apartment, wouldn't do everything in his power to keep her from leaving! Here, Mimi says she is a "part-time" seamstress, and one wonders what she might've done for money the rest of the time; clearly she's no stranger to the Left Bank demimonde of the Cafe Momus scene. All this beauty is well and good, but Solovyeva's voice matches her heavenly looks; she could sell out the Met with her Mimi, and I wouldn't be surprised if she does just that in the coming years. I've never heard "Si, Mi Chiamano Mimi" sung with such heart-rending joy and pathos. As has been noted, for all his brilliant stagemanship, Luhrmann is smart enough to know when to sit back and let the singers, and Puccini, take center stage. Again, Jessica Comeau's Musetta brought down the house with her brilliantly acted "Quando me'n vo'soletta," and her masterful display of The Red Dress (Catherine Martin should win a Tony for that dress alone!). I was again enthralled by the tremendous detail and interplay of the street characters in the Cafe Momus scene, and how cleverly Luhrmann quotes from various photographs of mid-century Paris with which we're all familiar (and I'm too lazy to look up on the Web right now...). Every act had its beautifully staged, wrenching -- and comic -- moments, although I was particularly blown away in the last scene, when the dying Mimi reminisces about her first meeting with Rodolfo, and how she knew all along he had found her key, and was hiding it from her. David Miller's Rodolfo (well-acted and tolerably sung) reaches into his undershirt and takes out the key on a ribbon, which we realize he's been wearing next to his heart since the day he met Mimi. He's standing behind and upstage of her, so we see him contemplating the key for long moments before he dangles it on the ribbon in front of Mimi -- wanting her reverie (and his own) to continue for just a few moments longer. That was just one three-hanky moment among many. All it takes for me now is just the sight of that magnificent rooftop L'Amour sign, where Rodolfo sings "O soave fanciulla" to Mimi in a perfect coup de theatre. With a Beaux-Art angel supporting the cornice, yet. Too wonderful for words. I have a feeling that by the time this run is over, Baz Luhrmann is going to have a lot of my money. PS -- While we're talking opera and Pretty Woman, let's not forget that when Richard Gere takes his dolled-up streetwalker girlfriend Julia Roberts to the opera, of course it's La Traviata. How subtle is that?

If that was Bejart's Gaite (of which I remember little, which is perhaps for the best) the little guy was Victor Ullate. I haven't mentioned Bejart or Eifman because I thought this thread was about ballets which are intentionally funny. I did love the little Agnes de Mille solo piece that the Trocks did on their latest visit here, something from the twenties called "Backstage at the Opera." All about a dancer warming up backstage before her debut at the Paris Opera. As the curtain went up the woman was standing there in exactly the pose of Degas' little ballerina statue, until an overly tight tutu led her to scratch her butt.

Speaking of "Olympian," I'll never forget reading Croce's description of Adam Luders' ascent to the height of NYCB's Parnassus, and wondering which New York State Theater she'd been visiting, because I clearly must've been taking a wrong turn at the fountain. I loved Croce's passion and her way with words, but I sometimes felt she was stating her opinions rather ferociously, and not always showing me the underpinnings or reasoning she used to reach them. I also always felt as if there were a metaphorical ruler waiting to rap me on the knuckles if i didn't get it. I find myself gravitating to critics who give you their opinions couched in their observations and descriptions, where often it's a subtle but telling choice of words or a particularly evocative bit of imagery, in the mode of a Denby or a Jowitt. Denby's no less brilliant than Croce for his quieter and cozier tone; he's certainly more accessible and less intimidating, as befits, I suppose, a daily critic.

...and consider that the first James was Bournonville. Or that the first James was Joseph Mazilier?

Didn't ABT do Gala Performance fairly recently?

Speaking of Massine, Gaite Parisienne has its funny moments, and I'd love to see a live performance of Good-humored Ladies. Although I've never seen Gala Performance (more's the pity), I think Offenbach in the Underworld was wickedly, deliciously funny.

It's no secret to Constant Readers here that I've been salivating at the thought of seeing Baz Luhrmann's La Boheme just around the corner on Broadway, ever since stumbling over a broadcast of the Australian Opera production on Bravo a year or so ago. I went about a week ago, and it was, to be completely objective, beyond wonderful. I'll let Ben Brantley of The Times, who nailed it perfectly, speak for me: To experience the opening moments of Baz Luhrmann's rapturous reimaging of "La Bohème," Puccini's classic opera of love in a garret, is to feel a bit like Judy Garland's Dorothy when she stepped out of her drab Kansas farmhouse and into the land of Oz. The review concludes, discussing the celebrated "L'amour" signage: Those big red letters don't objectify love or reduce it to a commercial slogan. On the contrary, they evoke that brief, swirling period in young adulthood in which everything in life seems to be writ large. That's what Mr. Luhrmann's "Bohème," with its heightened but gloriously familiar reality, celebrates from start to finish. The complete review is at: http://www.nytimes.com/2002/12/09/arts/the...ter/09BOHE.html

I'm not sure that a painstaking attention to detail is among Taylor's greatest strengths, although she's certainly musical, and, you're right, despite her fair coloration, she has a dark exoticism which can be almost frighteningly feral. Her epaulment and carriage can indeed be breathtaking, and she's got the most awe-inspiring stag leaps I've ever seen. I do think her technique is uneven, though, although I admire the courageous way she'll refuse to bail on a step even when it's not quite working, as with that one particularly scary pirouette in her solo. I should add that I've come to appreciate Aesha Ash's Coffee a great deal. This is not a part that should be danced by a -- forgive me -- girl, but a more-mature dancer who understands what seduction's all about. Although I'm rather fond of Dana Hanson and Faye Arthurs, I'm not sure this is a role they should be doing at all (if she's strong enough, Hanson would be a killer Marzipan). Riggins was lovely in Marzipan. There are moments when she looks bright and charming and strong, and others where she seems to almost be phoning it in. She did finish with a beautiful slow pirouette to her knee. Sugar Plums? I've seen Ringer twice, Whelan and Taylor once. Whelan is always a favorite, although she seemed a bit out of practice when I saw her with a rather distracted Neal. Wednesday night she'll be dancing with Hubbe, with whom she has a great rapport, and wild horses couldn't keep me away. It's hard for me to choose between Taylor and Whelan. I've seen Whelan stronger, but I also think Taylor's more of a Dewdrop than a Sugar Plum. Ringer is beautiful, a dancing Elizabeth Taylor, but, while her upper body was gorgeous, her footwork was often muddy and indifferent. I would NOT want to see her attempt Dewdrop at this point in her career (what happened to the ballerina who sparkled so in La Source just a couple of years ago?).

Didn't we see these girls in Robert LaFosse's new ballet?

Hmph. I really do think a Barry Lyndon ballet has potential. Nobody takes me seriously anymore. Sniff. I'm going to hide in a corner and cry into my beer now.

Hmm. Movies to ballet? I think Christopher Wheeldon should be given a shot at "Barry Lyndon -- the ballet." All that gorgeous music Kubrick used is in the public domain, and there are endless dramatic scenes which would make great fodder for a dramatically inclined choreographer. I'm already envisioning the "Bathtub pas de deux," although I can't for the life of me think of who could do the Marisa Berenson role. Makarova coming out of retirement? Knowing my luck I'd get the Bintley version.....

I have to see Nutcracker at least, well, four or five times. Or six. I never get enough of that tree. And the Snowflakes. As far as cost, well, standing-room at NYCB for "off-peak" performances is $5, and "peak," $10, and if one is resourceful, one seldom has to stand, at least for the second act.

I'm still trying to come to terms with the Petipa-top/bottom vs Balanchine-left/right business. It's just such an awfully clever idea, isn't it? I can't get past the image of that old Monty Python skit of the quarterfinals of the one-man professional wrestling championship, where a man's left and right sides were locked in a battle to the death, until he managed to defeat himself and move on to the semifinals where he would face, of course, himself. Obviously Cleese et. al. were students of Balanchine....

I've been seeing a fair number of Nuts so far and I've been rather neglectful of posting about them, but this afternoon's performance was the best so far, and I thought I'd share a few thoughts and comments: This was Adam Hendrickson's debut as Drosselmeyer, and I thought he was wonderful. Of course, anyone would seem wonderful after Kramarevsky's hamminess. Hendrickson's Drosselmeyer is dapper and mysterious, but never creepy, as with Kramarevsky, who often looks as if he's just escaped from the Home for Retired Loonies. Having recently viewed the film of NYCB's Nutcracker broadcast from the 1950s, I was happily surprised to see that Hendrickson clearly had been studying the same, using many Balanchine's bits of business and mannerisms, such as having the Nutcracker doll "bite" his finger while he's repairing it after Clara's fallen asleep, the way he rubs his hands together in satisfaction, or the little wave he gives to the sleeping Clara as he leaves after finishing the repair. More than this, Hendrickson captured a bit of the fussiness and punctiliousness of Balanchine's Drosselmeyer without simply aping the portrayal, and I'll never forget the wild glee with which he seemed to summon up the mice and soldiers while he was perched atop the grandfather clock. Daniel Ulbricht's Soldier was quite spectacular, seeming to do almost triple tours, although that surely must have been my imagination. Regardless, his quickness and sharpness and energy made his Soldier by far the best I've seen this season. I also liked Andrew Robertson's dignified father, and was particularly impressed by Tyler Gurfein's astonishing grace as Drosselmeyer's nephiew/Nutcracker prince. When I saw the sweeping elegance of his fall to one knee after presenting Clara with her crown after the battle with the mice, I thought "here's a prince indeed." He reminded me of nobody so much as the young Peter Boal. And his mime in the second act was a model of clarity and grace. I wouldn't be surprised if we saw a lot more of Gurfein in years to come. Snowflakes was very prettily danced, as it's been all season, and then it was on to the second act, where I'd been particularly looking forward to Janie Taylor's Sugar Plum with Sebastien Marcovicci's Cavalier, and Ashley Bouder's Dewdrop. In a season in which we've seen many impressive Dewdrops (Somogyi, Taylor, Ansanelli), Bouder's stands out for her ferocious technique tempered by an unfailing musicality. While I've admired the passionate abandon of Taylor and Ansanelli (they're a fascinating study in similarities and differences), they both tend to give short shrift to the "in between" steps, if not blurring them altogether. Yes, this approach makes for great excitment with a dancer like Taylor, who looks as if she's throwing caution to the winds with her every leap, or Ansanelli, who is similarly daring, but with an artless spontanaety that makes it seem as if she's freshly inventing her steps as she charges through them. Not so with Bouder -- she's simply too good, and too strong (and she's still in the corps because....?). Not only did Bouder nail Dewdrop's Big Moments, like the saute de chats, the ronds de jambe en l'air saute, the stag leaps (I'm getting tired just writing these!), but she finds opportunities for showing her virtuosity in steps through which Taylor or Ansanelli rushed or ignored on their way to the good stuff. Bouder showed us that if you're good enough, everything can be a Big Moment. Her Dewdrop was filled with balances held just long enough to demonstrate her strength and balance, but never so long as to get behind the music. It's a testament to Bouder's strength and quickness that she can somehow manufacture the time to hold a pose longer than a speed demon like Taylor. It wasn't just balances, though. Even little "throwaway" jumps were big and clear. True, Bouder doesn't provide the sort of thrill ride that Taylor, always defying death does, but that's not because Bouder holds back; it's because her technique is so strong she never for an instant looks like she's out of control or on the verge of disaster, even when she's flying above the heads of the waltzing Flowers. Bouder's genius was in the way she glorified all of the choreography, using her technique like a painter might use a fine brush to highlight and refine details that might otherwise be missed -- one of the most masterful performances I've seen in a long, long time. Who could blame Bouder for her huge cat-that-swallowed-the-canary grin througout Waltz of the Flowers? In her long solo with the dancing angels, Taylor showed her innate sense of drama (she can turn a simple releve into something dramatic and heart-wrenching) and risk-taking, almost coming to grief trying to stretch out a pirouette, but blithely bouncing back from near disaster, and soldiering on. There were many lovely moments in her adagio with Marcovicci, but she stunned me at the two jumps into a sit on Marcovicci's shoulder, where she seemed to jump while still half a stage away, and somehow just fly into his arms. "If he doesn't catch her, they're both dead," I thought. Anyway, it was another exciting afternoon at the ballet -- Marcovicci even made a credible effort at portraying a classical dancer.

Balanchine's Donizetti Variations is a hoot, especially the more one knows about Bournonville.

ABT did Fokine's Firebird twenty-odd years ago; I'm sure there are many participants around from those days who remember parts of it.

I don't think that's true here. The critics I know don't have journalism degrees -- although the critics now coming up do, and I think newspapers are more comfortable hiring them. Anna Kisselgoff is an alum of Columbia's Journalism School, as is at least one frequent contributor here.

And let's not forget Songs of a Wayfarer. Or Bejart's rescension of Gaite Parisienne, with its male/male love story. Or remember how sometimes Bejart would have a woman (Farrell on one NYC visit I recall) dance the lead in his Bolero for a male audience, and sometimes a man (Donn) dance for a female audience, and then for a male audience. And this was years before Mark Morris, who obviously stole all of Bejart's good ideas (well, both of them) when he took over Bejart's theater.... It's a good thing I'm about to fall asleep or I'd start casting the male/male versions of all the classic old chestnuts, although I do think Adam Luders would've been a great Giselle.

Years ago at the Salvation Army, of all places, I picked up a souvenir program from one of Pavlova's American "farewell" tours. I thought I'd flip through it to see how Swan was referenced, and much to my surprise it's not there at all! We have all kinds of priceless choreographic goodies ("Flora's Awakening?" "The Mummy's Curse?" A Don Q in which Dulcinea seems to have had a much bigger role than Kitri?), but no Swan. And I don't think any pages are missing! Well, it's a puzzlement.