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A large and deep pot (The Bolshoi Ballet and Theatre)

A time tested recipe (choreographers Marius Petipa and Lev Ivanov)

The best and tastiest ingredients (Maya Plisetskaya, Nicolai Fadeyechev and dancers of the Bolshoi Ballet)

The right amount of heat (composer Tchaikovsky)

And a fine cook who knows how to stir it all together.

Unfortunately, the cook (the film editor) – who ever he was – ruined all the bounty he was given to produce the stew and so we end up with bits and pieces in a pot with no sauce to connect them.

A great pity. Here is Prima Ballerina Maya Plisetskaya (a future Assoluta) in the prime of her artistic career in the quintessential classical ballet, Swan Lake, in a completely fractured stew. And, yet, still she shines as does Fadeyechev’s Prince Siegfried. It is a testament to these artists that they overcome to the extent they do the technical problems of the editing. The reviewer can’t help but feel that this travesty is the result of the faulty ego of a film editor who assumed he could make better that which was already near perfection.

This tape is eighty-one minutes long and would at that length already be an abbreviated version of the full length ballet, but worse yet these eighty one minutes include much extraneous material. We are shown what seems to be a museum with portraits of dancers, pictures of other people, a lovely room with a piano, and much else, none of it identified either with a voice-over or a written explanation. If one didn’t know previously what Tchaikovsky looked like, one wouldn’t know who the elderly man was in the picture on a wall. I assume the room with the piano belonged to him, unless it was Petipa’s room or Ivanov’s. Who knows?

There are numerous and prolonged views of the audience in the theater – the audience watching the dancers, the audience watching the dancers through binoculars, individual members of the audience watching the dancers, everyone applauding, individuals applauding, the stage from between the heads of the audience and other such pseudo-art camera shots. Then there are distant views of the stage, overhead views of the stage and views of the dancers and audience from back of the stage and almost without exception these camera angles occurred at the height of the emotional impact of the story. Is Odette about to succumb to the charms of the Prince? – cut to the audience watching – we never see it.

The dancing as well is chopped – entrances are eliminated throughout, as are exits. No mime, and we never see the Queen give the Prince the cross-bow – he just suddenly has one and looks as surprised as we. Action between the various dances is cut to a minimum and except for partnering, the Prince dances not at all except for two short variations in the Black Swan Pas de deux.

With such dicing and splicing it is almost impossible to build any emotion tension. The story – already needing the faith of a fairy tale – truly makes no sense, there is no cohesion. There can be no context with such chopped up content – no sauce to connect the pieces of the stew.
 

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As for the dancing, when we are allowed to see it, technically throughout one notices immediately that turnout of fifty years ago is not as exaggerated it is today and this affects every line and shape and was especially noticeable among the men. Yet, when allowed to dance, though only in the two short variations of the Black Swan Pas de Deux, Fadeyechev, is a joy to watch. He is clean and masculine. His partnering skills are impressive.

The bravura male dancing was done by the Jester, V. Khomyakov, and here one could see the differences shaped by turnout fifty years on. V. Levashev’s Evil Spirit (Von Rothbart) was difficult to discern because of the dark costuming against dim lighting. However, in his death scene in Act IV, one could feel his wrenching pain.

What to say about Plisetskaya that has not already been said? She manages to transcend the inadequacies of this cinematic production. Though her leg swings high, her tour jetés are full splits, her speed exciting, she doesn’t do it with the intent to show it. Gone are the exaggerations, the steel feet and limbs we see so much of today. During the Act II pas de deux, in the supported lift where the ballerina’s legs flash out to splits in the air – today’s Odettes look incongruous in oversplits which are so grossly unswanlike (as well as indelicate)– Plisetskaya took a slightly less split shape and made it look natural.

Then as she drifted downward to the stage, one foot folded beneath her, the other extended to the front, she told a story with that sinking to the stage – it spoke of her fright as a swan as she confronts this human being accosting her. She glances up toward him – a plea on her face. It’s no longer a show of the ballerina’s strength in arising from that position, in Plisetskaya’s hands it becomes a moment of her initial trust in the Prince.

In her second act variation en diagonale it was a pleasure to watch the exquisite placement of the enchainement: precipité fouetté pivot. Each was so clearly done with a slight flare of the hands as the pivot was completed. I’ve never seen anyone with quite the ripple of Plisetskaya’s arms as she bourrées off stage. If I ever met her I would like to check those arms to see if they have bones and joints like the rest of humanity.

Because she makes Act II so complete, moving from horrified surprise and fear to trust, all the while displaying the softer side of feminine attributes, the other half – Odile – comes more sharply into focus. She did not do the thirty-two fouettés but blazed around the stage in chainés and piqué turns en dedans. Interestingly, when she did chainés as Odette, she did them on demi-pointe, but as Odile she did them on full pointe; another contrast between the two halves of the swan whole.

This DVD was thoroughly frustrating. With all the interruptions of camera angle and extraneous filler, when the dancers despite this managed to make an emotional connection to the viewer, the camera cut away to a member of the audience as the music soared and one was left muttering imprecations of a dastardly nature to the unseen cinematographer. It was akin to slicing up the Sistine Chapel or tearing out sections of the Bible. What one sees one loves, what one is not shown is hugely frustrating akin to watching someone else eat while starving.

Some historical details that may be of interest in a performance of fifty years ago: The lesser degree of turnout especially among the men is obvious. The only time I noted it with Plisetskaya was in attitude devant. Plisetskaya’s preparatory fifth positions for pirouette are much more open than we see today. Odette’s tutu had white shoulder straps rather than the flesh color we have become used to. All the tutus were wider and fluffier than the modern (harsher) version. The lack of dancing opportunity for the Prince (he’s in white character shoes rather than in slippers except for his two short variations in Act III) is something I am glad later productions addressed. We are richer for this correction.

Of equal significance is the difference in what is “shown” - what textually is important to the context of the story. The never less than full – and even over – splits we see without exception today, was much less significant then. In the dance of the aspiring princesses, their grand jetés had a gentle delicacy that has been lost with the passage of fifty years. It was a pleasure to see this nuance even in a bravura jump, however fleeting the camera allowed it to exist. Would young women wishing to appeal to the Prince go splitting about through the air? Yesterday, the answer was “no” – today the answer is “the split jeté supersedes the text of the story.” Our loss.

The dance for the Cygnets was significantly different – it was set for six dancers. Only at rare intervals did it resemble the choreography which we would recognize today. They break up into groups of two, scatter around the stage, only linking arms in the familiar pattern in a couple of instances. Unfortunately neither the DVD package nor the insert gives any credit to the choreography – Petipa or otherwise. Therefore I cannot comment further on the authenticity of the choreography for the Cygnets.

So, would I recommend this DVD? Yes, for the opportunity to see Plisetskaya in her prime and no for a cohesive telling of the tale. One must be prepared for constant interruption of the emotional impact. It’s a distinct case of Balletus Interruptus with every chance for completion aborted.

Dancers: Plisetskaya, N. Fadeyechev, Levashev, Khomyakov

Bonus: Dying Swan - Plisetskaya

The editing problems described above are not a problem with this performance of Dying Swan – it was taken from the tape of “Plisetskaya Dances,” and thus we are blessed with a complete presentation of this short but iconic ballet. Fokine managed in a few minutes to capture much of the essence of the ballet and the ballerina. Having seen a number of stellar prima ballerinas perform this live and on tape/DVD – Plisetskaya’s rendition is different. Some ballerinas make this dance into a bravura performance of flutterings and shakings that suggest a migration (or a molting) rather than knowledge of an oncoming death. It is easy to fall into the trap of making the arms the “thing” rather than the progression of life to death.

Plisetskaya performs it as both a lyrical work as well as a character description. When she is finished I know a lot about this Swan – not just that it is dying. It’s seen much of life. It is mature. It has knowledge. It is brave – at first resisting – but then bravely meeting the inevitable. She doesn’t overplay any of it – the wafting arms are used to “say something” not just “show something.” The momentary droop into stillness does not descend into the melodramatic rather it is the desire to live and the acceptance of death. This Swan is alone – it’s not performing for an audience, rather it is hearing and then acquiescing to the call of its Maker.