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San Francisco BalletSan Francisco, Opera House by Renee Renouf |
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San Francisco Ballet’s pale green Gala program with embossed diamonds led Dan Henry to quip, ‘It looks like something I might have done in grade school art class. San Francisco Ballet’s 75th Gala ambiance was essentially one of gravitas. The Gala dinner guests arrived in spats of rain before the Star Spangled Banner elicited singing. a fair number of women holding hand over their heart as they sang the anthem Francis Scott Keys adapted from a drinking song. The Christensen Medalists were presented en masse,among them Jocelyn Vollmar receiving a spontaneous ovation, Board Co-Chair James H. Herbert II becoming the latest recipient.
The program opened with Yondering, John Neumeier’s adaptation of Stephen Foster songs. Premiered in 1996 by the Hamburg Ballet School, the advanced students at San Francisco Ballet did the honors in this lengthy folksy essay starting slowly with “I Dream of Jeannie”;it picks up speed with a Civil War ditty “That’s What’s the Matter.” Here some ten young men dance with Union Army Caps. Clearly, the young dancers enjoyed dancing it; behind the curtain their whoop at its conclusion was audible.
 © Chris Hardy/SFB Sir Kenneth MacMillan’s use of Scott Joplin’s for Elite Syncopations brought Michael McGraw and some orchestra musicians to back center stage risers and a smattering of circular tables to which young men and women marched to watch Damian Smith, twirling a glued mustache, and Rachel Viselli dance the principal pas de deux. At its conclusion Helgi came on stage flowers in one hand, mike in another. Asking the audience to refrain from applauding until the end, he identified retired dancers who had contributed to the company in previous seasons: Stephen Legate, Parish Maynard, Mikko Nissensen, Benjamin Pierce, Yuri Possokhov, Anthony Randazzo, Christopher Stowell, Julia Adam, Sabina Allemann, Joanna Berman, Evelyn Cisneros, Elizabeth Loscavio, Muriel Maffre, Wendy Van Dyck; brief standing ovation, one of the unexpected, inevitably appropriate Tomasson touches. Parish Maynard’s Secret Places, premiered in the student recital last May, benefitted by two contrasting dancers in Nutnaree Pipit-Suksun and Molly Smolen, supported by Aaron Orza and Brett Bauer, each distinctive in height and contour, all musical, doing right by a piece not overly memorable. Tomasson’s witty Two Bits, danced to the nines by Katita Waldo and Gennadi Nedvigin reaffirmed its decade-long durability, a showcase to sexy virtuosity, wonderfully personified by red-haired Waldo and open-shirted Nedvigin. His multiple pirouettes and final finger-in belt-hook posture provoked the desire to chant “More.” Wheeldon’s pas de deux from Carousel was reprised by Sarah Van Patten and Pierre-Francois Vilanoba, capturing the hesitation, tenderness, persistence and irresistible push-pull of deep attraction. Wade Robson’s stints with Brittany Spears and So You think You Can Dance apparently triggered the inclusion of wildly, blessedly brief The Energy Between Us flashing across the Opera Stage, heavily lit. Red costuming disguised Rory Hohenstein, Frances Chung, Julianne Kepley, Jaime Garcia Castilla and Matthew Stewart, while displaying Pauli Magierek in this world premiere nod to mass video culture.
Robson preceded Hans Van Manen’s masterly Two Pieces for Het showcasing Sofiane Sylve and Anthony Spaulding; the two lengthy, stalking solos by Spaulding and Sylve were a major invitation, qualification, acceptance, withdrawal essay on adult sexual attraction conveyed through classical ballet vocabulary; Sylve assuring her character is not a an easy mark, Spaulding responding, but never conceding male prerogative. Sylve’s filmy black costume scarcely proclaimed the sexuality displayed in Spaulding’s brown net, trunks and tights. A great Sylve company debut, it showcased Spaulding’s splendid capacity to smoulder.
 in van Manen's Two Pieces For Het (for Rachel) © Chris Hardy/SFB Section two ended with a most beautiful tutu worn by Vanessa Zahorian in Jose Martinez’ Delibes Suite, presented with Davit Karapetyan’s own handsome tunic and dancing. It’s not for nothing Agnes Letestu and Martinez are Paris Opera etoiles. The blue gradations, stiffened into ruffled swirls above Zahorian’s knees provided one of the most graceful frames on record. The piece could have used more rehearsal. After intermission, the tempo waxed boisterous with Pascal Molat and Nicolas Blanc trading salutes, multiple pirouettes, heel-hitting sautes and self congratulations in an excerpt from Renato Zanella’s Alles Walzer. Dressed in shirtless dark vests and trousers, the European working class ambiance was wonderfully converyed by the Gallic principals' insouciance. Tomasson’s Adagio from Sonata provided a first glimpse of Tina LeBlanc since last May's knee injury. Partnered solicitously by Ruben Martin, his romantic beige sleeves framed an improbable contrast to LeBlanc’s unitard with its occasional twinkling brilliance, Les Sylphides updated?
Joan Boada provided a gallant foil to Maria Kochetkova in the La Esmeralda Pas de Deux, the latter giving us clear tinkles to her required tambourine hits on hand, elbow and toe. The glittering head band wasn’t complimentary, nor the layered tiers of gold and green, but the partnering was unerring and Kochetkova’s fouettes stayed easily in a twenty-four inch radius. Remembering the Ben Stevenson version Yuan Yuan Tan danced frequently, Wednesday night’s finale could have been bettered.
 © Erik Tomasson/SFB Edward Liang’s Distant Cries, a work initially danced by Peter Boal and Wendy Whelan, starts with self-flagellating gestures by Yuan Yuan Tan before Damian Smith emerges from the shadows where he ultimately returns as Tan assumes her self-inflicted punishment. The reason is uncertain, the rendition evocative. Balanchine’s finale from Diamonds brought the corps on stage with Zahorian and Karapetyan in the Farrell-Martin roles. All white and silver glitter, the stage seemed awash with arms, body deployment, and a multitude of steps not entirely synchronized.
I don’t think the audience cared overly much, waiting for the balloons to cascade. Before descending in white, transparent and silver waves, two volleys of silver glitter exploded from both sides of the stage to dazzle the eyes.
 © Chris Hardy/SFB Despite the company’s ballet mistresses and the principal character dancers dating from the Christensen-Smuin era, beyond Jocelyn Vollmar little seemed connected to the roots of this local company so evident at the 50th when all three Christensens were still alive and the early dancers still very much in evidence. Accomplished though the Tomasson era has been, this disconnect with the Merola vision and the Christensen gumption muted the three-quarter century mark. The season itself, hopefully, will remind audiences, not only where San Francisco Ballet is going, but reflecting its hardy American pioneer roots.
To this consumer-dominated century and abundant planned obsolescence, 75 is a venerable number, the beginning number nearly a universe away in habit. I suspect the season-end appraisal of choreographic, scenic and dancing accomplishments will provide any brilliance and excessive eclat missing Wednesday evening.
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