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San Francisco BalletSan Francisco, Opera House by Renee Renouf |
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The usual audience costume parade was evident; on several occasions one trailed behind a train all too frequently behind women with hunched shoulders. I will remember the back of one blonde,handsome jet design above garment line, skin billowing slightly over the garment rim; yet another with square tattoos, spaghetti straps on a night when retirees sported sleeves reaching the elbow or lower. Ah youth, vanity, wine, champagne, dolmas, pita bread, humus,feta cheese, with the big bucks diners enjoying Burberry gift bags, toted by escorts and husbands. Announcements were made by the co-chairs of the San Francisco Ballet’s Board of Trustees. No awards, but a smashing tomato-soup hued strapless with flamenco train on the new co-chair Pamela Joyner; missing was an ole flip with the foot. Joyner did, however, beckon us onward to 2008 and the company’s 75th season to feature eight commissioned works. With some sublime moments, others raising an eyebrow, chiefly related to lighting and costuming choices, and using the earlier announcement format, I’ll proceed.
The Vertiginous Thrill of Exactitude: Schubert/Forsythe (1996) A smashing opener, its non-stop energy galvanizing attention enjoyed uniformly good renditions. The women wore black pants under their lime green tutus, an unremembered accent. Blanc and Vilanoba harmonized in the male roles extremely well, thanks to French schooling; Vilanoba was extraordinarily sharp in a bravura assignment testing his agility, normally child’s play with a smaller technician. Apparently inspired by Blasis’ Code of Terpsichore,in ungainly trunks and short sleeves, both men looked like the illustrator’s models. The women kept up the breakneck speed, Zahorian assuming the role previously danced by Tina LeBlanc. Such a role is excellent for Long - technical prowess, bravura rendition, no acting demands. It was left to Waldo to inflect her assignment with utter security, accenting a breakneck pirouette, passing attitude or parting arabesque with a hint of pause and crystallized millisecond, rewarding the audience with the satisfaction of seeing an artist in total command of her medium.
Paquita Pas de Trois: Minkus/Makarova/Petipa (1980) The effervescence in the annual champagne dropped several bubbles with this pas de trois, with its fussy evocation of nineteenth century charm. Perhaps because of relative youth, I wondered if the trio had seen the Ballet Russes documentary. I waited for a little imperious pause now and again; it didn’t occur. Somehow dancing for aristocrats or abonnes was neither suggested or imagined; it takes either such an evocation or master performers to carry such an assignment.
Chopiniana Pas de Deux: Chopin/Fokine (1908) (San Francisco Ballet Premiere) Hard to believe this ballet, first created in 1908 by Michel Fokine, only now has entered San Francisco Ballet’s repertoire. It enjoyed a grueling environmental debut against a monochrome grey scrim with no evocative moonlight or hints of sylvan depths as designed by Alexandre Benois. That said, Tomasson made canny choices in the Poet and his unearthly inspiratrice. I sat glued to the binoculars with Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo lurking around the rims and my memory. Pascal and Martin both conveyed the romantic aura effectively; Pascal particularly reminded the audience there is that different world of earlier one acts which could be validly explored as the company tries newer works.
Reflections Pas de Deux: Mendelssohn/Possokhov (2005)
This elegiac emergence, exploration and closure required Damian Smith’s near subordination to Maffre as his muse/dame adoree with Maffre in a stylish white tutu with corseted lacings in the back tunic and Smith attired in black sleeveless camisole and trunks cutting his line at mid thigh. There is little in extensions, falls, lifts, floor positions, arabesques and attitudes not required of Maffre which she delivered with warmth and tenderness, sympathetically supported by Smith. Maffre clearly relished her task; Smith conveyed little to be quoted.
 © Erik Tomasson and San Francisco Ballet
Just before intermission Feijoo and Karapatyan had at this perennial show stopper. Quoting Joanna Harris, “Feijoo doesn’t need Von Rothbart; Siegfried didn’t have a chance.” Karapatyan’s presence is a potent one; in the bare environment he managed to convey increasing bedazzlement; Feijoo unleashed a series of glances, lunges, balances, an intermittent stroke and shoulder shrug along with her formidable technique. Her batterie of single and double fouettes was dazzling though traveling, having overshot the 45-degree angle for stationery execution, but the entire reading makes one await her Odette with eager anticipation.
Solo: Bach/Van Manen (1997) Solo is a rare non-stop technically demanding ballet that truly works displaying three male dancers with gifts of speed and traces of comedy. While Molat brought French gamin sizzle to his debut in the work, Brandenhoff’s slightly off-handed delivery suddenly made me see him as Alain in Ashton’s Fille Mal Gardee, too long missing from the company’s seasons. If Legate did not dance “I’m all right Jack,” his rendition is worthy of American’s best “Okay Joe.”
Harlequinade: Drigo/Balanchine (1955) Tomasson made another canny choice mounting this work, set on the artists by Marina Eglevsky. I hope the work is repeated, perhaps with Molat who could evoke Eglevsky’s master capacity to clown and float simultaneously. While brilliant and competent, Boada’s interpretation was a mere outline of the romp the late Russian displayed. Despite the tacky headdress, Tina LeBlanc evoked the crisp technical bravura of Tallchief, adding her own sweet brand of reliability. With some artists, Balanchine staged genuine pleasers, a world better than some later warhorses.
Dance House Pas de Deux: Shastakovich/Bintley (1994/95)
Pipit-Suksun and Helimets echoed each other in port de bras and their evocative technique with the extraordinary nature of sustained, highly musical adage; it verged on the uncanny, totally in keeping with Bintley’s choreographic theme. This appearance deepened the impression Pipit-Suksun made with her December Sugar Plum Fairy. For Helimets, it was glimpse of another remarkable partner and artist.
 © Erik Tomasson and San Francisco Ballet
In fire engine red, Garcia rendered every trick assigned by Lar Lubovich and premiered in Paris this past July. Brubeck, whose musical training included at least one summer at Mills College with Darius Milhaud, has been used for company works before (Ron Poindexter’s The Set, 1963). Poindexter's work was simple, possessiing a certain whimsy; Garcia's solo is breakneck technical phenomena, evoking admiration for the artist’s agility, speed and insouciance but little else to remember.
Prism Third Movement and Finale: Beethoven/Tomasson (2000) Prism was a dazzling choice for the Gala finale, less costume problems. Garcia also danced black; here with his slender body mass Yamamoto’s brilliance was almost eclipsed; costume colors were muted in the lighting, and familiar faces blurred even from the rear orchestra. The effect was strange on normally reliable folk: Torrado coming across a seedy character,Moises Martin an uncaring spectator, while Van Patten seemed gathering wild flowers in March. Elizabeth Miner managed to project her particular brand of pep and Kirill Zaretsky’s Bolshoi schooling provided a classical note to Ludwig’s finale. The company’s orchestra was ably led by its new musical director Martin West, the piano necessities by Roy Bogas and Michael McGraw, and the violin solo in Black Swan by Roy Malan.
No balloons this season, but colorful, floppy bouquets for the feminine soloists, one of those humongous stage set bouquets for the entire cast, and the usual flush of pleasure on Tomasson’s face when he finally emerged on stage.
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