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Vladimir Vasiliev and Ekaterina Maximova literally changed the course of my life. And for the new world that they opened up for me, I shall always be grateful to them.
It happened in 1976. My husband had been posted to Moscow, and I and our three small children reluctantly moved lock, stock and barrel right into the heart of the Cold War. A huge adjustment had to be made by us all, not least in knowing that we were always bugged, followed and treated suspiciously. It was all very challenging. Then, one month into this new life — September 26th to be exact — my husband proudly brandished, as a peace token, two tickets for the Bolshoi Ballet, to see Giselle. The theatre was a 15 minute walk away from our foreigners’ compound and we set off with great anticipation. Not knowing the system then — that you buy a programme immediately on entering the theatre as non-ticket holders liked to snatch them up as souvenirs — we didn’t know who was dancing. But the moment that Albrecht ran onstage with his billowing cape, floppy blond hair and courtly charm, I sat transfixed. Then the cottage door opened and out came a shy but excited Giselle whose feet didn’t seem to touch the ground as she skipped around the stage in search of him. Her facial expressions of anticipation and wonderment rolled off the stage like dry ice. She was so believable.
The evening was spell-binding. Tears flowed at end of Act One and eyes had to be dabbed again at the finale when this penitent Albrecht, recovered
from his dance-to-near-death, did a set of jetes around the woods as the curtain fell. My diary notes, “Slept and dreamed of The Bolshoi and of Giselle.
The next day, on learning where I had been, Galina Ivanovna, my Russian tutor, clasped her hands to her ample bosom and, raising her eyes heavenwards, informed me, in reverent tones, that the two dancers I had witnessed were none other than Vasiliev and Maximova — a pronouncement that went over my head at that time. However, the experience and the impact of that riveting evening saw me speedily loosen the holds of my 24 hour mothering duties (we had inherited a full time (KGB) maid who fortunately adored the children, so conscience was eased
somewhat) — and the rest, as they say, was (my) history. I was like a love sick teenager. Ballet was ‘all-consuming’ and Volodia and
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Vladimir Vasiliev and Ekaterina Maximova in Spartacus - the logo for the Jubilee Festival
© G Soloviev
(click for larger image)
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Katia were ‘the tops’. I went constantly to the Bolshoi –around 250 times in the five years, tickets were only a few rubles in those days — and especially when V and K were dancing. Having a unique opportunity in a city cut off from the rest of the world, I started writing about what I saw for American magazines and newspapers. And I signed up for twice weekly ballet classes with Igor Pitsunov, a dancer with the Bolshoi, classes which developed into four or five hours a day, every day. Our initial two year assignment was extended by mutual consent to five years — husband was engrossed with his exciting world, children loved their school and friends, and I contentedly danced — and danced. Reassigned to the UK in 1981, I continued with writing and with ballet, joined a Russian folk dance group, and was asked by London City Ballet in the ‘90s to be a guest principal character dancer in two of their productions –bliss. And this ‘new’ facet of my life was all due to the inspiration of these two wonderful Soviet dancers who have, over the years, become good friends.
Ekaterina Maximova in Sleeping Beauty
© G Soloviev
(click for larger image)
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Vasiliev and Maximova have a unique partnership. They first danced together at the ages of 7 in the Moscow Choreographic Academy, then in the company. They were married in 1961. Both are artists of the highest echelon — devouring literature, music, art, indeed Vasiliev is a talented painter. Their personal and stage partnerships are intertwined, and the two dancers perform in sublime harmony, each complimenting the other with their innate artistry. Maximova’s qualities as a ballerina are legion — precision, daintiness, technical excellence, grace and an almost coy charm, and above all, intelligence in approaching her roles. She is a thinker, never accepting the surface implication but always delving deeply into the character’s true being. She never ‘acted out’ a role, but became the person she was depicting. Vasiliev was the epitome of the Bolshoi’s heroic male dancers. Handsome and strong, he presented the dynamic force of Soviet bravura, throwing himself intelligently into his dancing, acting and creative presence. He too was driven by the pursuit of artistic excellence in every form and has continued his career in the world of music,
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Vladimir Vasiliev in Zorba the Greek
© H Soumireu-Lartigue
(click for larger image)
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art and choreography. But to have witnessed them dancing (many, many times) at the height of their ballet careers was a real gift.
Together they created, and still create, magic on stage and it took hard work each and every day to fulfill this.
They attended Asaf Messerer’s 11 am class, and while neither of the dancers was ever enthusiastic about the daily grind of exercises, they came to life in the rehearsal room where, under the guidance of Galina Ulanova, their talents were polished and honed. Today they are continuing the tradition by passing down their experience and expertise to other young dancers.
Now, 32 years on, these special artistes are celebrating 50 years as members of the Bolshoi Ballet Company. A gala is being held on October 27th in their honour, and friends and dancers from around the world are coming to Moscow to pay homage. This jubilee has also served to resurrect so many of my own happy memories about these two beloved and brilliant individuals. Looking back through my old clippings and a vast collection of the 10 kopek programmes (I quickly learned to buy early), I find wonderful recollections of them, both on their home stage, then abroad after I left the Soviet Union.
Vladimir Vasiliev and Ekaterina Maximova in Spartacus
© G Soloviev
(click for larger image)
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After Giselle, there was Spartacus. No one has ever matched for me the thrill of seeing Vasiliev for the first time in that role. Fired with passion one moment with what, in the 1970’s was incredible macho technique, he contrasted that power to express deep humanity for his fellow slaves, and tenderness towards his gentle, imploring Phrygia, (Maximova). In Don Quixote, the duo ignited the stage with fun and energy, sparking off each other, Katia amazing in her technical displays. In The Nutcracker, it was their pristine elegance which delighted. Volodia as Ivan the Terrible demonstrated the sheer potency of his acting skill; Katia light as thistledown in Chopiniana, her filigree Aurora; his dynamism and virtuosity as Pagannini and her silken bourees as his Muse; and much, much more. Their love of working with Kasyan Goleizovsky showed their talents beyond tutus and tights –the highlights (that I saw) were Katia’s wit in Mazurka, and coquettish Russian Dance; and Volodia’s virtuoso performance as Narcissus. They brought western influences into the hallowed Bolshoi halls when, clad in white unitards, they performed Bejart’s gymnastic Romeo and Julia. Vasiliev choreographed many works:
Icarus, where he soared bare chested, god-like, Fragments of a Biography, set to South American rhythms, the delightful These Charming Sounds, which was set in a mirrored studio, and introduced us to seven up-and-coming young dancers — Liepa, Barikin, Fadeyechev, Semizorova, Mikhailchenko, Piatkina, Anisimov. (I wrote that that the choreographed classroom routine ‘does not try to make a statement but demonstrates pure dance for art’s sake, giving the impression of wandering through an art gallery filled with lovely images and
forms.’) Then there was his Macbeth, with male witches on pointe, and his gaudy Cinderella for Kremlin Ballet where he danced
the Stepmother. And if going to the Bolshoi wasn’t enough for me in Moscow, there was always ballet on the TV: the wonderfully humourous Galatea (a balletic take on Pygmalion) where Maximova is a street-wise Eliza and Maris Liepa the ballet master: Trapeze; Gigolo and Gigolette; Old Tango; Chapliniana; Fouette all offering new views of their aptitudes. Returning to Moscow later, I caught his Anuita, based on the Chekhov story that he created for Katia who gave a delightful performance. In 2002, Volodia brought his very different Romeo and Juliet to the Barbican which had the full orchestra on stage under the baton of Mstislav Rostropovich. Katia has danced with many companies: with Moscow Classical Ballet, she performed Eve in The Creation of the World, Nathalie in Nathalie or the Swiss Milkmaid and Juliet, and she was invited to London in 1989 to dance Onegin with English National Ballet. The two of them danced regularly in Europe and I met up with them for their performances of Petit’s The Blue Angel in Paris, and Gaite Parisienne and Pulcinella at the San Carlo Theatre in Naples. There, in an interview with me titled ‘A Midnight Meal with Maximova’, she discussed her thoughts on what makes a ballerina and reflected, “There’s never an easy ballet to do — if it’s easy, it’s not interesting. It should always be challenging.”
And challenging was what Vasiliev experienced when he became General Manager and Artistic Director of the Bolshoi Theatre in 1995. Despite 34 new productions in his five year reign, he was rudely dismissed in 2000, learning the news on the radio. More recently we met up in Berlin where he was the Chairman of a jury at a students’ competition.
At their Jubilee at the New Stage, (the Bolshoi is still under renovation), Vasiliev and Maximova will feel the love and support of their many fans and admirers from around the world, each of whom will treasure personal memories of these phenomenal dancers. For Volodia’s virtuosity, romantic presence, colourful characterization and his unique blend of Russian refinement and raw Soviet bravura, and for Katia’s delicacy, lyricism, plasticity and sense of fun, I congratulate them and add my sincere gratitude, admiration and love.
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