© Paul Kolnik 'Octet' reviews 'Liturgy' reviews 'Tchaikovsky Pas' reviews 'Old Fashioned' reviews Whelan in reviews Soto in reviews recent NYCB reviews more Eric Taub reviews Discuss this review (Open for at least 6 months)

So, since February, SPAC has repeatedly back-pedaled from its horrendously unpopular decision, first announcing that City Ballet would indeed return for the 2005 season (SPAC could hardly do otherwise, given Bruno's involvement), but hinting that without a dramatic increase in ticket sales, that season would indeed be the last. That City Ballet sells more tickets per performance at SPAC then it does at the New York State Theater (Nutcrackers excepted), this seemed an artificially unrealistic goal; one at which NYCB couldn't possibly succeed. It was then announced that Chesbrough would leave SPAC in 2005, rather than 2006, but with a $400,000 severance package (more than his annual salary, which itself is much greater than that of directors of similar institutions, like Jacob's Pillow or Wolf Trap). The SPAC management insisted that the problems with NYCB's tenure belonged squarely with the areas' ballet-goers, who simply weren't buying enough tickets, thereby washing its own hands of all responsibility for the seemingly inevitable loss of City Ballet.

The release of the audit results (the audit was begun not long after the original SPAC announcement a sure sign of the folly of antagonizing powerful local politicians) confirmed what many SPAC critics had been saying for years: that the management of SPAC has been at best questionable, and at worst suspicious and perhaps even unlawful. There was no business plan; Chesbrough signed his own expense checks; and the $400,000 severance package amounted to simply handing over Bruno's largesse to the departing manager, a practice which the auditors drily noted was not usual in such circumstances. With the New York State Parks Commissioner saying that Chesbrough should be invited to leave immediately, and be prohibited from participating in the search for his successor, it seems that the pro-ballet movement has triumphed, although SPAC's financial house needs some serious rebuilding. For more information, look at this article in The Saratogian: http://tinyurl.com/5phu9.
 

Darci Kistler and Stephen Hanna in Peter Martins' Octet
© Paul Kolnik

Now, on to the Fall Gala. George Balanchine was a great cook, and quite famous for describing dance in food metaphors. Since NYCB seldom performed "full-length" ballets, Balanchine often spoke of an evening's programming as being like a meal, with appetizers, main courses, desserts. The Gala's program also had culinary overtones, but titled as it was, "Ballet Four Ways," it brought to mind Ruby Foo's more than The Russian Tea Room (may it rest in peace). The programming's "Four Ways" meant four ballets by four choreographers, representing, one assumes, City Ballet's past (Balanchine and Jerome Robbins) present (Peter Martins) and presumptive future (Christopher Wheeldon). However, the specific works chosen were a bit puzzling, as neither the Balanchine nor Robbins works were top-drawer.

The "new" piece was the New York premiere of Peter Martins' 'Octet,' set to Mendelssohn's Octet in E Flat. (Martins had originally created it for the Royal Danish Ballet last year.) This is Martins using his bouncy, shiny-Lycra voice, and he's used it better. It's almost as if Martins picked his music, made a few choices ("One from Column A, two from Column B," perhaps), and, voila, instant ballet. We have two couples, one coltish and exuberant, and dressed by Holly Hynes in cherry red (Ashley Bouder and Benjamin Millepied) for the allegro bits, the other languorous and romantic, in apple green (Darci Kistler and Stephen Hanna). Each duo is backed up by a trio of energetic men. Martins stirs this mixture predictably: each pair gets a duet; each lead a solo, each man leads his "troops" into a romp with their opposite numbers, etc. Which wouldn't necessarily be a problem, except that Martins' vocabulary is similarly by-the-numbers: he repeats in varying combinations a very few motifs like a jeweler stringing together a necklace from beads of only a handful of colors. Recombinant repetition does not always equal composition, or rather, interesting composition. After awhile I wondered just how many times Martins would have a dancer plie on her back leg while stretching her front leg forward in a tendu, raising an arm overhead and arching backwards, like an inverted reverence. The answer? A lot. It's not that 'Octet' is bad: there's ample high-energy careering about reminiscent of his very good 'Fearful Symmetries,' it's just that it's shallow and perfunctory. And very forgettable.
 

Wendy Whelan and Jock Soto in Christopher Wheeldon's Liturgy
© Paul Kolnik

Not at all forgettable is Christopher Wheeldon's 'Liturgy.' Any contortionistic duet for Wendy Whelan and Jock Soto would be hard-pressed not to evoke the masterful way these two embody the famous duet in 'Agon,' and Wheeldon sometimes veers towards that familiar territory. Yet more interesting is the way he uses Arvo Pärt's "Fratres" to suggest, as the ballet's title indicates, a sense of religious ritual. Again and again, Soto stretches and supports Whelan into static, unlikely poses, only to quickly devolve into a freer, less tightly bound partnering than that signature work of Balanchine's. Although Whelan is never wild and crazy, she does swoop and swoon above, around and into the magnificently solid Soto with a breathtaking freedom which speaks volumes of the perfect rapport and trust of this great and, sadly, soon-to-be-concluded partnership.

While Balanchine's 'Tchaikovsky Pas de Deux' is a delightful bauble, it seemed a strange, almost frivolous choice to represent the man's work after the often heroic programming of his centennial season. Perhaps mindful of the long and demanding seasons ahead of her, or perhaps under-rehearsed, Sofiane Sylve, that sleek and feminine powerhouse, began the tricky adagio with unfamiliar caution, before taking flight her solos and her showy double fouttés in the coda. Charles Askegard was able in his partnering, though flat in his solos. Would that this duo had done as well by Mr. B as Whelan and Soto did for Wheeldon.
 

Robbins' I'm Old Fashioned
© Paul Kolnik

Similarly, Robbins' 'I'm Old Fashioned' isn't top-drawer, but it's a pleasant crowd-pleaser. Beginning and ending with a twenty-foot projection of Fred Astaire and Rita Hayworth dancing the title number, what's not to like? If, at times, Robbins' choreographic meditations on their duet seems a pale refraction, other times his wit makes this odd juxtaposition of celluloid and live dancing strangely engrossing, with glamorous big-city charm reminiscent of Balanchine's tribute to Gershwin, 'Who Cares?' It's strangely touching when Robbins has his tuxedoed and begowned ensemble join with Astaire and Hayworth for the worshipful yet charming conclusion.

If nothing in this gala touched the heart as did the 'Serenade' which brought us solace in 2001, the message that City Ballet is back in town for half a year is always a welcome tiding.