Wall-to-Wall George Balanchine
March 20, 2004
The Peter J. Sharp Theatre, Symphony Space
New York, NY
Of all the many events planned to celebrate George Balanchine's centennial year, perhaps none was more oddball, yet more anticipated, than Symphony Space's Wall-to-Wall Balanchine. Every March for the past decade or so, this theater on Manhattan's Upper West Side has put on a twelve-hour marathon concert honoring, until now, a great composer (in the past we've had Wall-to-Wall Bach, Wall-to-Wall Richard Rodgers, and, last year, Joni Mitchell, which I sadly missed). This year, thanks to the instigation of former New York City Ballet principal dancer Lourdes Lopez, who first made the suggestion to Symphony Space that they devote this year's Wall-to-Wall concert to Balanchine, visitors to Symphony Space were treated to an almost kaleidoscopic potpourri of ballets, films, demonstrations, readings and reminiscences. If there was, perhaps, not much of an overarching theme to the programming of these twelve hours other than a constant affirmation of love and respect for all things Balanchine, Wall-to-Wall Balanchine's scattershot approach nevertheless seemed quite appropriate for what was, after all, a celebration and not an in-depth psychoanalysis or illustrated biography. Besides, it was all free. You could wander in and out of the theater at will, fettered only by the size of the line waiting to get in. Absolutely amazing.
The program began at 11 am with Suki Schorer and several students from the School of American Ballet presenting an hour-long "Balanchine Master Class." Schorer explained the elements of Balanchine technique as she's distilled and codified it for training dancers at SAB, with great emphasis on careful presentation of the leg, free extensions, and glittering, high-speed footwork. Schorer repeatedly gave combinations at ever-increasing speeds, explaining that Balanchine would frequently do this to get dancers to push their limits. I'll leave it to wiser heads than my own to decide if Schorer's codification of Balanchine's often quixotic classroom exercises and choreographic style really produces the sort of dancers Balanchine would want, or simply reduces something of wonder to mere mechanics. I did puzzle at Schorer's marked lack of telling imagery when describing to her students how a movement should be performed, or in giving corrections. Few Balanchinian exhortations to use one's arms as if reaching for an ice-cream cone here, for example, but many carefully described touchpoints to ensure proper execution of steps.
Next, several SAB students presented excerpts from familiar, beloved Balanchine works, as introduced by the delightfully perky student, Brittani Kelly. While it is to be hoped that Kelly's presentation in ballet class is a bit more refined than her enthusiastically cheery vocal stylings, the fact is, I wouldn't have changed a thing. Kelly sounded exactly like herself: a middle-school student giving a book-report to an entire class (or in this case, theater). While most of these students gave clear renditions without much feeling, I did notice Guillermo Villalobos' easy, if sometimes a little sloppy, presentation, especially in Apollo's big solo, and the charm of Balanchine's duet for Titania and Bottom from 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' remains intact in student hands, as danced by Courtney Muscroft and Lateef Williams. The high point was clearly the complete rendition of 'Tarantella' by Jan Burkhard and Michael Breeden. Burkhard danced with great pizzaz (even more so in this pair's second rendition of 'Tarantella,' later in the day), and Breeden was both elegant and bravura; he's clearly a dancer to watch, and from whom to expect great things in the future.
Barbara Horgan, Balanchine's former personal assistant, and now General Director of the Balanchine Trust, interviewed Merrill Brockway, producer of the seminal television broadcasts of public television's Dance in America in the seventies and eighties, which immortalized some of the greatest moments in City Ballet history. In what would be the first of many reminiscences this day recalling Balanchine with humor and affection, Brockway recalled the travails he endured before finally convincing Balanchine to allow New York City Ballet to be taped, and sharing the revelation that Balanchine had confided that "Wonder Woman" was his favorite TV show. The turning point, Brockway said, came when Balanchine asked him if he knew anything about ballet. "'No,' I said. 'Good,' he said. 'I teach.'" Brockway mentioned that Balanchine liked the changes he made to the ending of 'The Four Temperaments' for broadcast so much that he incorporated them into the stage version afterwards, and the session concluded with a projection of Bart Cook's awe-inspiring performance of the Melancholic variation. Having the Greatness that Was writ large before you could make it easy bemoan what appears to have leached out of Melancholic over the years. But how many dancers of Cook's caliber come along in a generation, or a century? Yes, Peter Boal does a beautiful Melancholic, but Boal's personal delivery, of grace and poise, is miles away from Cook's frantic drama.
After a presentation on Balanchine's years with Diaghilev by Lynn Garafola, author of 'Diaghilev's Ballets Russes,' (much of which I missed, I must confess, while roaming Broadway in search of bagels and coffee), Robert Gottlieb, the current dance critic for the New York Observer reminisced with Barbara Horgan, mostly about Horgan's extremely elliptical path from being a struggling actress working in Sam Goody's to Balanchine's personal assistant through a fortuitous encounter with some City Ballet dancers in her record store.
Nancy Reynolds, the former City Ballet dancer, author of the rare and treasured 'Repertory in Review,' and now Director of Research of the Balanchine Foundation, introduced some fascinating video clips of original dancers coaching celebrated, and sometimes long-lost, Balanchine roles. The image of Alicia Markova, lost in reverie, it seemed, as she recalled for a young dancer (I missed the name) bits of her role in 'Le Chant du Rossignol.' It was both a window into the past, and a commentary on this ephemeral art. Among others, Frederick Franklin's coaching of Nichol Hlinka in a solo from Balanchine's original 'Le Baiser de la Fée' was a no-nonsense compilation of counts, and more counts, while Alicia Alonso's chair-bound coaching of Paloma Herrera in 'Theme and Variations' honed in like a laser on Herrera's lackluster arms, as Alonso demonstrated again and again how they should spring forward from position to position in the ballet's opening moments. I'm not sure Herrera has ever gotten this; but it was a thrill for me to watch.
Then, the ever-vivacious and beloved Violette Verdy coached City Ballet's Maria Kowroski (looking very Suzanne-Farrellish indeed in tights with a kind of macrame schmatta around her hips) in the opening solo from Balanchine's 'Firebird.' Verdy pushed Kowroski for more clarity and assertiveness, asking, for instance, for more emphasis and height in the forward leg of her saute de basques. (The apparently slippery and small stage didn't help matters much.) As attentive as Kowroski had been with Verdy, I couldn't help but notice that when Kowroski returned, in costume, to dance the complete solo, she seemed to have entirely forgotten all of Verdy's corrections. Ah well.
Some stunning film clips from Balanchine's Hollywood days followed, in what might just as well have been called "A Tribute to Vera Zorina." Zorina's lushness and gutsiness was shown in various bits Balanchine made for her, including the priceless Swan Lake ballet from 'I was an Adventuress,' (but not, sadly, the unforgettable sight of Lew Christensen's Siegfried, in full armor, wading into the lake into which Zorina's vanished) and some real razzle-dazzle in the 'Slaughter on Tenth Avenue' ballet from 'On Your Toes.' What Zorina lacked in turnout she clearly made up in spunk and sex appeal.
After a talk between between dance critic Elizabeth Kendall and Charles Joseph, author of 'Stravinsky and Balanchine: A Journey of Invention' and Jonathan Sheffer, artistic director of the Eos Orchestra, on Balanchine and Stravinsky, with the not-surprising conclusion that Balanchine became a better choreographer through working with Stravinsky, and Stravinsky likewise improved when collaborating with Balanchine, Arthur Mitchell, artistic director of Dance Theater of Harlem, spoke about the pas de deux from 'Agon,' which Balanchine had created for him and Diana Adams. Mitchell noted that Balanchine considered the contrast in skin color between himself and Adams to be part of the choreography, and the reaction to this interracial pairing in the Fifties. Two DTH dancers, Alicia Graf and Kip Sturm, then danced this duet. Graf is a wonder: with long limbs and neck, short torso and small head, she's built in the manner of the "Balanchine dancer" one used to hear so much about, the long-legged beauty so rare now in Peter Martins' shorter, perkier company. Graf flung herself into the duet's contortions with great gusto and grand extensions, but her dancing had a punchiness and brittle quality I found in all the DTH women that day. I also wondered if a lack of strength might have had something to do with her penchant for hurling her limbs about, kicking when a more measured development is really called for. Sturm, while an able partner, seemed not quite to get his role's plastique, and there was little sizzle between them. None at all, really.
SAB's Burkhard and Breedon returned to dance Tarantella yet again, and then Isaiah Sheffer, Symphony Space's artistic director, led a talk with Edward Bigelow, former NYCB dancer and company manager, and former principals Lourdes Lopez, Eddie Villella (Sheffer rightly noted that in New York he'd never be Edward), and Violette Verdy. This was an occasion for reminiscences, and the occasional bon mot, as Villella avowing that Verdy taught him both phrasing and partnering, and "With a name like Villella, how can you not want to do a tarantella?" Lopez mentioned that she only heard Balanchine scream twice in her career -- both times to corps dancers who danced noisily because they hadn't properly broken in their toe shoes. Both Villella and Lopez commented on how generous Balanchine was in allowing other companies to perform his work, a practice continued today by the Balanchine Trust.
Nancy Reynolds returned to introduce more archival videos of coaching sessions from the George Balanchine Foundation, including a particularly yummy bit of a very non-verbal but amazingly spry Allegra Kent coaching Janie Taylor in 'Bugaku.' (May we live to see Taylor perform this some day!) In her only representation the concert, Suzanne Farrell was seen coaching Movements for Piano and Orchestra, and, in a particularly nostalgic moment for me, Helgi Tomasson coached Gonzalo Garcia in the exquisite solo from the 'Divertimento from Le Baise de la Fée.' White-haired, and only marking, Tomasson still has the most beautiful arms of any male dancer I've seen. Reynolds mentioned that they've made thirty such videos, and would continue to do so as long as there "is a wonderful old dancer around and a camera."
Merrill Ashley then coached Ashley Bouder (replacing the announced Alexandra Ansanelli) and Charles Askegard in the adagio from the Stars and Stripes pas de deux. Considering that Bouder and Askegaard hadn't danced this together before, things went along nicely, with Bouder pushing her balances, and being tossed almost to the ceiling by the tall Askegard. Among Ashley's corrections, she mentioned that despite its humor, 'Stars' should be danced as a straight, grand, classical pas de deux. It was fascinating seeing the intensity with which Bouder absorbed Ashley's corrections, particularly an admonition not to lock her elbows when extending her arms. The full run-through, in costume, gave a sense of what we might have to look forward to in the coming years of Bouder's reign at City Ballet. I especially liked the way Bouder never held back, going for every balance in arabesque, even though she bobbled the first as a result.
In a rambling but colorful reminiscence, David Hays, who designed many of Balanchine's works, talked about his experiences with Balanchine, of creating designs on a shoestring ("They called me minimalist -- but we had so little money!") and Balanchine's way of showing approval, or the lack of it. "I said to him, 'What should I do?' He said, 'Do what you do.' Those were the only instructions." In a particularly telling anecdote, Hays spoke of working for months on a design for a completely upside-down set. Finally, he'd reached the point where Balanchine was happy with Hays' work. But the music wasn't right, and Balanchine wanted to commission a new score from, perhaps, Ravel. "'But, Ravel's dead,'" I said. 'Eh.'" That was the end of the upside-down ballet. Hays also recalled with glee the time Lincoln Kirstein mistook a metal ladder for part of a set, and how even Balanchine would tease Kirstein about it for years. Continuing in the reminiscences vein, this time on Lincoln Kirstein, The New York Times' chief dance critic, Anna Kisselgoff, led a panel with Edward Bigelow, Martin Duberman (who's working on a biography of Kirstein), and Nancy Reynolds. Duberman commented that he'd only made it up until Kirstein was 17 in his book, but noted that much of Kirstein's published diaries had been extensively cleaned up. Duberman read from Kirstein's diary entry for the day he met Balanchine, noting that Balanchine went at great length about how difficult it was to work with French dancers ("lazy," etc.). A somewhat better picture of this enigmatic patron of the arts emerged, but Kirstein remains much more of a mystery than Balanchine, although as essential to NYCB's history.
Several readings followed of memoirs concerning Balanchine, by Rochelle Oliver (reading from Danilova's memoirs), Maria Tucci (reading from Tamara Geva's), and Eddie Villella and Allegra Kent reading from their own books. Most moving of all for me was Kent reading a passage from her 'Once a Dancer,' about 'La Sonnambula,' and how she learned and imagined herself in that must unusual role. Her writings show she has a gift for verbal imagery just as much as kinetic, and she was in tears by the time she concluded. Simon Volkov then read an excerpt from his book, 'Balanchine's Tchaikovsky,' quoting Balanchine's defense of Tchaikovsky against pseudo-highbrows who probably prefer second-rate composers like "Telemann."
Next, filmmaker Virginia Brooks and New York City Ballet principal dancer Jennie Somogyi presented bits from a work in progress, 'The Nutcracker Project.' This details the experiences of youngsters dancing in Balanchine's 'Nutcracker,' and these excerpts focus on Somogyi's own experiences as Clara in mid-Eighties performances. As always, backstage glimpses of be-ribboned tykes at auditions can be charming, and it's indeed fascinating to watch rehearsals of Clara throwing her shoe at the Mouse King (well, fascinating for me, anyway). Knowing that Somogyi had injured herself during a performance of 'Tchaikovsky Piano Concerto No. 2,' it was sad to see her on crutches, and the size of her cast, dashing hopes we'll see her back onstage in the immediate future. Then newly promoted City Ballet soloist Megan Fairchild danced the Sugar Plum Fairy solo from Balanchine's 'Nutcracker.'
The evening began with perhaps the most moving and impressive part of the entire marathon: Dance Theater of Harlem's new staging of 'Apollo.' Staged by Eve Lawson, and coached by Jacques d'Amboise (who introduced the ballet, with Arthur Mitchell), this 'Apollo' brings back the birth scene and ascent to Olympus which Balanchine cut out of the ballet when he restaged it for Baryshnikov in the late Seventies. As has often been forgotten (or played down) lately, 'Apollo' is the story of Apollo from birth through infancy, boyhood, manhood and then, finally godhood. These days, thanks, perhaps, to the influence of Peter Martins' very blond and god-like rendition, most Apollos seem to be a god from the very beginning. DTH's Apollo, the remarkable Rasta Thomas, seemed, after his birth, to alternate puckish impetuosity with an other-worldly quiet. As he grew in age and maturity, the moments when his emotions would clearly dance over his face became replaced with the calm visage of a god. There were many small touches unlike any Apollo I've seen, as when Calliope presents Apollo with the message she's scrawled on her imaginary paper. Usually Apollo rejects her gift by averting his face; Thomas, who'd been gazing obliquely over towards the audience throughout her solo, moved not a muscle, staring past her as if she didn't even exist. I should say this Apollo is always a god, as he never really grows through manhood: there's something eerily inhuman here. This was my first look at the celebrated Thomas. I'd known of him mostly for his way with star turns like 'Le Corsaire,' and was happily surprised to see his dramatic power matched his virtuosity. On the other hand, the DTH muses were a disappointment, surprisingly stiff and unmusical, although Lenore Pavlakos was a striking and beautiful Leto, making her birthing contractions into musical things of beauty.
Merrill Ashley then returned to the stage to discuss Balanchine technique, in the context of her remarkable performances of the bravura ballet Balanchine made for her: 'Ballo de la Regina.' I was engrossed in her description of how Balanchine discovered within her the makings of the ballet's signature, fighteningly difficult part: the repeated, ultra-rapid pirouettes into arabesque, flung off, it seems, on two beats each, or the simple "walking on pointe," simple except for the breakneck speed and puzzle-box changes of direction Balanchine demanded, or how she'd fling one leg up in a battement, and then, while sinking to one knee, swing her leg in and down, stopping ever so briefly along the way, like movement fragmented by a strobe light. It was, she explained, much harder than it looked. A few clips, of her two solos from Bala as well as the finale, were projected, and, as always, when I watch this video I'm staggered at the memory of Ashley's technical power and rapidity. 'Ballo's' been danced by many since Ashley, but never remotely as well. It was also wonderfully nostalgic to catch a glimpse of the mid-Seventies NYCB corps, led by much-missed jumpers like Cheryl Ware and Debra Austin.
Nostalgia was there in plenty when Jacques d'Amboise introduced a kinescope made from the broadcast of the New York State Theater's opening-night gala, starting with a gloriously hammy rendition of the pas de deux from 'Stars and Stripes' with a young firecracker named Patricia McBride. D'Amboise made the gallant, if not quite timely, confession that he didn't really want to dance with McBride after Melissa Hayden became unavailable, and made it difficult for McBride by showing up late for rehearsals and the like. Whatever tensions may have existed between the two forty years ago weren't in evidence in the kinescope. I loved D'Amoise's breezy good nature onstage, although it appears he couldn't have pointed his feet if his life depended on it, and his port de bras, with its oddly curled wrists never-quite-hit positions was, well, interesting. Having known McBride mostly in her years as a senior ballerina, I was touched by this glimpse of a ferociously athletic McBride tearing up the stage, and taking risk after risk (indeed, the tempi were astonishingly fast). Balanchine perhaps changed his mind about the this duet's demeanor over the years; McBride and d'Amboise just about sold every joke to the rafters (d'Amboise was delightfully spry with the partnering joke at the end of the adagio, where he must repeatedly step briskly backwards while partnering McBride in a promenade in arabesque to avoid receiving a toe-shoe in an indelicate area), and it was also interesting to see how much the adagio's choreography has changed -- twice the pair took my breath away when d'Amoise tossed McBride very, very high indeed, releasing her while she flicked her feet through some airborne entrechat sixes, before catching her on the way down. Just stunning. After the ever-popular finale, with its nostalgic glimpses of Suki Schorer (I think), the unmistakable Gloria Govrin and the limber Deni Lamont leading the various regiments (Lamont was a demon turner, but did guys ever raise their working foot above le coup de pied when turning back then?), the cameras went to the promenade, with a bubbly group interview with Balanchine, Kirstein, Philip Johnson, d'Amboise and Richard Rodgers (yes, this theater was once also supposed to be a home for a Rodgers-led group presenting musicals). Even at a remove of decades, it's hard not to feel the excitement and optimism of those days, or to join in the closing champagne toast, however figuratively.
After a rendition by Dance Theater of Harlem dancers of the three opening themes from 'The Four Temperaments,' the Kansas City Ballet presented Balanchine's 'Reynard,' which hadn't been performed in New York for well over fifty years. It was Todd Bolender, KCB's former artistic director, who'd originated the role of the Fox. Despite the stunning costumes by Esteban Frances (beautifully realized by Vincent Scassellati), and a quartet of fine dancers, the paltry story, of how a fox twice cons a rooster into leaving the safety of his perch, only to be rescued, twice, by a cat and a ram, doesn't make for exciting dance-viewing, especially as paired with Stravinsky's overly cute oratorio presenting us with the characters' conversations as well as their inner thoughts. I wanted to like this piece, but except for some vigorous leaping about by the Fox (Christopher Barksdale) and a small, clever quote from Prodigal Son, there just wasn't much choreographic interest here. The endless mimed interpretation of the sung word, the overly simple dancing in unison by the cat and ram, the inexplicable plot (I could never understand why the Rooster persisted in jumping into the grasp of the Fox) made me wonder if perhaps something of this ballet had gotten lost in restaging; if not, it was pretty clear why this ballet hadn't been seen for decades.
The final segment was introduced by Schuyler Chapin, former commissioner of the New York City Department of Cultural Affairs and, more germanely, General Manager of the Metropolitan Opera. Chapin told a charming story of how he asked Balanchine to choreograph for the Met's revival of 'Boris Godunov.' After much coaxing, Balanchine agreed, and produced a charming, short dance. After the premiere, Balanchine not only returned his payment, but added a contribution to the Met. Given how the Metropolitan Opera had treated Balanchine during his association with the company, this was indeed a touching gesture. As Chapin noted, it was the only time he'd ever seen an artist return his fee.
Then, five City Ballet dancers performed a concert version of 'Who Cares?' Elizabeth Walker and Dena Abergel acquitted themselves well enough, partnered by Jared Angle and Stephen Hanna, but it was the day's designated substitute, Ashley Bouder, who really made an impression with her gutsy and airborne "Stairway to Paradise."
The evening concluded with the playing of an recording of Balanchine delivering an oddly bland quote, and then it was time to stumble home to bed.
Words can't express my gratitude to Isaiah Sheffer and Symphony Space for presenting this magnificent Balanchine potpourri.
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