© Eifman Ballet 'The Seagull' reviews recent Eifman reviews more Anjuli Bai reviews Discuss this review (Open for at least 6 months)

In past productions this compendium of anguish was presented at a consistently frenetic pace with only a hint now and again of the possibility of a more tempered dance vocabulary which left this viewer hungering to see what this obviously gifted choreographer could do with slower, more measured dance and music. His work has explored all the rooms of allegro, I wanted to see it offset with adagio. The Seagull is a step in the road to satisfy my curiosity and my previous criticism of constant frantic dance without the ameliorating adagio change of pace. The mind needs a rest. Interest is held with change of pace – one offsets, even illuminates, the other. Consistency of tension can be mind numbing.

The Seagull is certainly a tour de force for the four leading roles; two men and two women: Nina Zmievets, Dmitri Fisher, Marla Abashova, Yuri Smelakov. Each brings estimable gifts of technique and dramatic purpose. Likewise, the corps de ballet is a powerful presence throughout, as participants and involved observers. Eifman employs everyone in the dramatic action incorporating the entire company. No one ever stands around as idle props, and even while immobile one can feel their power as observant critics of the action of the characters in the story. In one particular segment they circle the leading characters, slowing walking in a wide circle, exuding silent opinion even as we all do of the action we see in others around us.

As in other Eifman productions the set (Zinovy Margolin) and lighting (Gleb Filshtinsky) designs played a very large part in the ballet. And as usual it was effective, imaginative and an intrinsic part of the story. Taking a scene and lighting it in several different ways gives it sequential meaning; from a menacing darkened room progressing to stark naked daylight changes the perspective of the same situation and illustrates how important light is; never to be taken for granted. But gradient of light was only one of the modalities used. Diversity of vehicle was also employed: single spot, multiple spots, rows and rows of visible overhead lamps, then on occasion two huge suspended tubes of light, static light and moving light. Yet, it was not a distraction but an illumination of the story and action.

The sets were deceptively simple: an arcing overhead grid of metallic ceiling crossbeams to which rows of spaced light fixtures were affixed, a vestigial ballet barre on the stage, a hint of ballet studio mirrors on a back wall, no color at all - and yet the set played a role throughout. The arching overhead grid either closed down on the dancers or opened out - much as our perception of our prospects before us does at different times in our lives. It was most effective.

The one consistent asset in Eifman's armamentarium is the quality and commitment of the dancers he chooses. One never feels a slackening of effort or ennui of purpose. They are totally involved and throw safety to the winds of dance. There are several pas de deux of more than passing interest. The choreography follows the general trend of more gymnastic than beautiful, though beauty does happen if only because the dancers are beautiful. One feels that beauty for its own sake is never Eifman’s goal. His world is not only emotionally driven it is also angular with almost no counterpoise of curve. Though I did enjoy the fact that this ballet has change of tempo, though not change of emotional stridency, there is a lack of visual curve to relieve the constant angularity of his choreographic invention. He is endlessly inventive and sometimes that endless-ness can be enervating - exhausting. The viewer needs a sense of fulfillment rather than the constancy of “seeking.”. Many of the lifts appear to be contrived for effect rather than sourced in the music.
 

Eifman seems afraid of true stillness, of rest. When a spectacular lift or shape is achieved, there is a pause in the action, which allows us to see, but it isn’t true stillness and it doesn’t flow into and out of that pause. Sequences are never repeated – absolutely gone is the Petipa formula of the right/left repetition or any semblance of preparation, or simply looking elegant, beautiful or (heaven forefend) soft. While the Petipa formula might be considered dated, is beauty? “Sequence” is a more accurate description for Eifman’s movement vocabulary than enchainement – it’s not a chain of movement it’s a series of staccato notes.

As I watch Eifman's work I always ask myself, would I want to see this again? At the time of viewing my answer is usually "no." It's too tiring. However, with the passage of time I do believe that The Seagull would be one that I might like to see again - with some editing. The tormented soul twisting solos for the two male characters are given too many times. They are in turmoil; they are ridden with emotion, dripping in mental pain and anguish. Though modern attention spans are short, the audience does get it. They are tortured and so are we.

The Company draws its dancers from across Russia, from many dance schools and academies and the diversity of training is a strength rather than a potential hazard or obstacle. This is a company that is well equipped to dance together as well as separately. They are individuals who come together for a reason, not because they all look the same. The standard is high, they are risk takers and that, too, comes across the footlights.

The only composer listed in the very sparse program notes was Rachmaninoff, but several others were used. The hip-hop/pop-lock section couldn’t help but make one smile. However, when Rachmaninoff's Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini was used - the ballet reached its apogee of power and resonance. It was thrilling.

All the music was recorded, earplugs recommended.