© Paul Kolnik NYCB 'Allegro Brillante' reviews NYCB 'Liturgy' reviews NYCB 'Symphony in C' reviews 'Symphony in C' reviews Sylve in reviews Askegard in reviews recent NYCB reviews more Eric Taub reviews Discuss this review (Open for at least 6 months)

Ferociously old-school, Sylve takes the ballerina's traditional role being beautiful with an earnest and meticulous dedication that's all at once quaint, refreshing and stunningly glamorous when set against City Ballet's more-common athletic serenity. Not for a moment does Sylve neglect to give us something gorgeous to watch: tall and powerfully built, with an exotic cast to her face, she commands the stage with a robust majesty, whether in furious motion or at rest, and in her most thrilling moments she invites, no, permits us to admire her. While Wendy Whelan's a goddess in Symphony in C, Sylve's a queen and always ready for her close-up.

Of course, Sylve's luxuriant posing would count for little if it were the only, or most, noteworthy thing about her dancing, but Sylve's a great virtuoso, with a great leap leap and phenomenal turns and balances. Even at her formidable speediest, Sylve moves with a weightiness (not heaviness!) which speaks of her tremendous strength. She's one of those dancers who seems to sculpt the space about her, and, allegro or adagio, that space seems more palpable, richer and more supportive than the mere air through which we more ordinary folk (or most other dancers) move. She invested the Adagio's signature moments the deep supported penchés, balances and swooning falls backwards into the arms of her partner, Charles Askegard, with grandeur and drama. One moment particularly stood out: before the first big penché, Askegard held Sylve's hand as she rose on pointe and stretched her leg into a high, high developpé to the side. Askegard released her hand, and she balanced in that position for an instant before pivoting into an arabesque facing him still balancing on pointe only then grabbing his extended arm to set up for the penché. Sylve doesn't sell her bravura to the audience, but, then again, she doesn't need to.
 

Sylve's debut came in a generally fine performance of Symphony in C. The first movement was led by Jennie Somogyi, returning to a role she'd once frequented before an injury she incurred onstage back in 2004 sidelined her for over a year. Like Sylve, Somogyi moves with the sculptural phrasing borne of great strength, but while Sylve has a certain Gallic mystique, Somogyi is more of an athletic girl-next-door (although perhaps one who takes painting classes and dreams of art school in her future). She has a certain mysterious languor which surfaces at odd, unlooked-for times; it would be a mistake to think of her (as the Casting Powers at City Ballet are wont to do) as someone best suited only for hard, technical work. Perhaps it was eagerness to return to this role that led Somogyi to occasionally race ahead of her music. Nilas Martins partnered her with an ease and authority which would've been welcome in his own solo dancing. I've seen him look happy to be onstage, but never in this ballet. As the demi-soloists who open the ballet leading their cohorts of corps girls, Savannah Lowery's rough energy contrasted with Teresa Reichlen's tight and vibrant power.

After Sylve and Askegard's entrancing second movement, we were treated, in the allegro third, to a visit from City Ballet's phenomenon of the moment, Ashley Bouder (substituting for Megan Fairchild). It's a bit hard to put into words the electric effect Bouder is having on audiences these days. Bouder has grown from a young phenomenon to a full-blown sensation: there's no tempo that's too fast for her, and she sometimes seems to live entirely in the air. As she did when she exploded onstage with the also-exciting Benjamin Millepied, circling the stage in a staggering manège of grand jetés and saute de basques. Perhaps in deference to the fact that Bouder was a last-minute substitute, the repeat of this entrance was dropped. No matter those leaps were seared into my retinas for all time. Millepied also flew with exuberant brio rather than his occasional bland proficiency.

Bland proficiency is often a charge leveled at Abi Stafford, who led the technically challenging, allegro fourth movement with its tricky pirouette-fouette combinations with a clean, if not thrilling, aplomb. Her partner was the tall and elegant corps dancer, Jason Fowler, who brought more grace than fire to the role. As each of the proceeding movements' lead ballerinas returned for brief solos, Sylve seemed so engaged in the perfection of her pirouettes she had to scurry to get in place for her subsequent diagonal too much enthusiasm, or not enough rehearsal? In the rousing finale, where scores of corps girls in white tutus multiplied like reflections in a funhouse mirror, the visual crescendo (matched by Maurice Kaplow's vigorous conducting of City Ballet's orchestra) was only marred, briefly, by Stafford getting momentarily out of sync with the other principals in their simultaneous rendition of that movement's tricky piroutte-to-the-knee.

Symphony in C concluded a program heavy with vintage Balanchine. Allegro Brillante, set to what was to have been Tchaikovsky's third piano concerto, is, perhaps not surprisingly, a pocket version of Balanchine's far greater work to Tchaikovsky's Second Piano Concerto (originally Ballet Imperial, then remade as Piano Concerto Number 2). Although four couples support the leads, rather than a large corps, there are nonetheless echoes and quotes in Allegro of that earlier, grander work: the extended, pitilessly difficult solo for the ballerina, for which all others hastily vacate the stage; her tricky pirouettes finishing in tendu which echo the similar, signature move in PC No. 2; the adagio section where the lead man anchors garlands (modest ones, here) of the supporting women; and, most importantly, the breathless rush and flow, complete with glorious Ballerina Moments bordering on happy kitsch (I think Balanchine uses more, and longer, chainé combinations for the ballerina, ending in dramatic poses, here than in any other ballet of his).

In her debut, Miranda Weese seemed a bit unsettled, with flashes of gutty bravura (once commonplace with her) setting off long passages where she seemed to offset an understandable technical caution (it is a killer role, after all) with a melodramatic flinging-about of her arms and upper torso. Erratically brilliant, Weese has a fiery Allegro in her; this night she teased us with sparks. The not-insubstantial Weese was partnered with careful attention by Philip Neal (no flingings-about here!). Neal, always long of line, has lately blossomed, leading Allegro's quartet of high flying men with a breezy, happy panache.

Breezy and happy are not words I'd use to describe Darci Kistler's return to the leads in Balanchine's conjoined twins: Monumentum Pro Gesualdo and Movements for Piano and Orchestra, set to Stravinsky's works of the same name, the former graceful and backwards-looking to Renaissance dance forms, the latter spiky and rhythmically challenging. Ably and carefully supported by Charles Askegard, Kistler at times seemed on the verge of carrying the measured, graceful paces of Monumentum by force of her familiar idiosyncrasies, such as odd, beatific, smiles and gazes at her partner, or the audience, at moments opportune and otherwise. While this approach has often infused her performances with a strange yet compelling glamor, here it was increasingly disconcerting, as it became painfully obvious, especially in the brittle, spiky allegro of Movements, that she simply wasn't in shape to do more than sketch the steps, and with a dull pencil. While Kistler can still carry off roles crafted for her remaining strengths by her husband, Peter Martins, she might wish to think more carefully about what other roles might serve her to best advantage at this stage in her long career, or, for that matter, what memories of her sunset years she'd like to bequeath her fans.
 

Also on the program was Albert Evans' New York debut partnering Wendy Whelan in Christopher Wheeldon's Liturgy, to Årvo Pärt's Fratres. Whelan's always a treat in legato duets such as these, with sinuous windings and dreamy, slow-motion extensions and falls. Evans has the unenviable task of following Jock Soto and his incomparable partnering skills here, and there were moments when he clearly couldn't quite match the bedrock Soto once provided Whelan (not to mention a spot or two where a bit more rehearsal wouldn't have hurt). However, there's nothing in the ballet world quite like Whelan in an extended adagio, and if she seemed a hair more cautious than previously, she and Evans nonetheless succeeded in evoking the quiet intensity of Wheeldon's serene and pious ritual.