© Paul Kolnik NYCB 'Jewels' reviews 'Jewels' reviews 'Rubies' reviews 'Diamonds' reviews recent NYCB reviews more Eric Taub reviews Discuss this review (Open for at least 6 months)

Over the years, I've found my favorite Jewel has wavered for years, it was Emeralds, with its mysterious aqueous humors and astonishing imagery (and that haunting, sensual Fauré score). Aside from its magnificent pas de deux, Diamonds seemed more flash than substance, and in too many places Balanchine seems to be marking time, especially in its first movement, and the never-ending finale, which teases us with a promised, but ever-delayed release, like Everest and its heartbreaking false summits. "It's a ballet that doesn't know how to end," a critic friend once said to me back in the Seventies. Yet as I've returned to Diamonds over the years, I've come to appreciate, as I couldn't years ago, Arlene Croce's description: "a riveting spectacle about the freest woman alive." Of course that woman was Suzanne Farrell, and, of course, no dancer today can inform that role with Farrell's genius for off-kilter balances, always taking risks, and always sublime. And yet, Balanchine's gift to Farrell has become a gift to generations of ballerinas. Even without Farrell, the lead in Diamonds is still an awesome armature upon which a great dancer can sculpt her own likeness, a tapestry waiting for its story. I've also seen performances of Diamonds, such as the Kirov's, which use each of those false endings (I suppose we have Tchaikovsky to blame) as merely detents against which the finale's energy can be ratcheted up, notch by thrilling notch.

So, give me a great ballerina, and I'm spellbound for Diamonds, even more so if accompanied by a corps that's to the grand manner born. Emeralds' spell is always intoxicating, while poor Rubies, with its brash and sexy convolutions, comes up third. Or it can, as it did Saturday night, outshone at either end.
 

When Ashley Bouder first danced the lead ballerina (the Verdy role) in Emeralds a year or so ago, she gave a strong, hard-edged performance, perhaps too much so: a halogen light where a candelabra is needed. With repeated performances, her portrayal has undergone a sea change. She's toned down, every so slightly, her emphatic nature, and has taken on the glamour of an old-school Ballets Russes ballerina, with an almost-regal reserve built on her tremendous strength. She no longer tries to nail each step, saving a stab into a long-held arabesque to underscore particularly dramatic moments in the music. In her long solo, in which she seems to be invoking an invisible spring by the fluttering example of her fingers as she kneels onstage, she approached the Fauré with her usual aggressive musicality, muted just enough to shimmer about, rather than ignite, the beat. If at times she seemed more a queen than a water sprite, she was nonetheless breathtaking, both at motion and at rest. Already the company's prime mover, she's learning the value of stillness, and the grandeur which accompanies it. Stephen Hanna has improved as Bouder's cavalier, looking a bit more at ease in his partnering, although at times he seemed a bit pressed to keep up with Bouder, especially the section near the beginning where she leads him by the hand as she rushes about the stage, striking one deep, back-arching lunge after another. It only occasionally looked as if she were dragging him hither and yon, as it did when she debuted with him. Hanna doesn't quite have the knack of his tricky solo, looking rushed and never quite getting his legs into the pulled-up diamond beneath him in the solo's signature turning leaps.

In the second, dreamier ballerina role (Mimi Paul's), Sara Mearns was also very grand, shaping her ever-reaching arabesques and cambré yearnings with a sculptural richness. She still occasionally seems to lose herself in a studious, introverted blankness, but such moments are growing fewer, and shorter. She used this introversion to perfect effect in the "walking" pas de deux, seemingly oblivious to the sheltering Jonathan Stafford, even when reaching her arms out to him for him to hold as she sank into a penchée. In the pas de trois, Antonio Carmena bounded with brio, and Alina Dronova and Ana Sofia Scheller were themselves ravishing and energetic nymphs. I'd read reports that the corps looked out of focus on opening night but this night they seemed perfectly creatures of Emerald's dappled grotto.
 

It was the bland leading the bland, with Megan Fairchild and Benjamin Millepied in Rubies. I remember a few years ago Alexandra Ansanelli whipping herself into ever-riskier frenzies when partnered here by the decidedly unspontaneous Millepied; either she was trying to kindle some emotional fire within him, or she'd realized she had to be dancing for two. Millepied has gotten somewhat better; at least he's trying to look a bit insouciant and mischievous, although, despite his considerable his virtuosic chops, he's just not very, well, charismatic. Similarly, Megan Fairchild seemed to be trying to break out of her usual aggressive competence. Like Millepied, she's very strong technically, and also not quite present in this ballet. In breaking away from her usual kewpie-doll cuteness, Fairchild too often looked a bit manic, like an adolescent trying a bit too hard to get a boy's attention. This Rubies gal needs to be supremely confident of her sexuality, like a Jazz-age Odile. Fairchild seemed sure of her technique (she tossed off double and triple pirouettes with abandon), but not her gams. Fortunately, Teresa Riechlen has gams for miles, and knows how to use them. In the big-girl role, she reigned with supreme confidence, playfully swiping a hand over a leg as if showing off a prized rapier. She was at her best here, from dominating the stage with her flying-carpet leaps to dominating the men around her especially in that juicy part where she strikes a pose and seems to command four men to grab and support her wrists and ankles. Sometimes this bit has an odd bondage-fetish feel to it, but Reichlen made it clear she was the boss, especially after breaking away from them and making her long, slow way to the wings, languorously pausing for some deep, unsupported arabesque penchées. Unlike Emeralds, the corps here still seemed a bit rough around the edges.

Diamonds started a bit inauspiciously. In the meandering first movement, Balanchine puts the corps through some very sophisticated evolutions and formations, so sophisticated that any slight lack of focus among the corps can easily devolve Balanchine's designs into a fuzzy-edged mush. I remember the first time I saw the Kirov do Diamonds the surprise I felt at finally seeing these kaleidoscopic patterns in all their glory. "Aha, so they're supposed to be on alternate diagonals!" This night, the corps lapsed into uncrisp moments when the center really didn't hold, although they whipped themselves into shape by the grand polonaise finale. I've seen Maria Kowroski before in the lead here, and always found her a puzzlement. For all her amazing instrument of a body statuesque, hyper-flexible and capable of producing arabesques that would break your heart she was oddly blank and affectless. Not so much cold as just empty, as if she were presenting her role by mindless rote. Kowroski has surprised me before, and she did it this night. She gave a beautifully conceived performance, calibrating each developpé, arabesque, port de bras for maximum, drawn-out effect. I was struck by both the richness of her phrasing and the generosity of spirit which supported and informed her dancing. Kowroski hasn't always had the strength to hold together her profoundly hyperextended limbs, but when she's in shape, as now, she's just stunning in her amplitude. Perhaps this thrilled no one in the State Theater more than her partner, Charles Askegard, who had a bit more spring in his step than recently. However attenuated Diamonds' finale may be, that moment of unison when Tchaikovsky restates the closing polonaise as a thundering hymn, and all the dancers sweep their arms though a grand port de bras as one, still brings a catch to my throat, as it did Saturday.

I've read reviews complaining of Faycal Karoui's conducting of the opening night on Wednesday, yet I thought the orchestra sounded particularly fine on Saturday. Karoui seems to be getting away from his penchant for Bataan-death-march tempi, and the orchestra has been sounding particularly rich under his baton. I've even seen him watching the dancers as he conducts.

Around New Year's Day, City Ballet redesigned its website with a too-cool-for-school black-and-white palette. Missing from the home page is the lyre, which seems to have been retired. Missing from the roster is Sofiane Sylve, who appears to have taken off for greener pastures. City Ballet's only official notice of her departure, as with those of Miranda Weese and Alexandra Ansanelli, was the removal of her name. I don't expect City Ballet to throw farewell galas for every dancer who leaves, but must they be tossed down the memory hole? Even principal dancers? How difficult would it be to put out a "thanks and good luck" release? It would certainly be a lot classier. Although Sylve struck many as too foreign in her approach (I'll never forgive Robert Gottlieb for calling her a "generic ballerina), she approached her roles with a meticulous attention to detail which many City Ballet dancers might do well to emulate. She had a phenomenal technique, and her arrival clearly lit a fire under the extremely competitive Bouder. For all Sylve's tremendous virtuosity, what I'll remember most about her was how she was always "on," even when just standing there. I almost chortled with delight at her entrance upstage before her first solo in Theme and Variations. She struck a pose in tendu, with her gaze slowly rising into the wings as her arms rose and fell ever so delicately. It's as if she were saying "Here I am. You may admire me." And I did.