New York City Ballet, June 3, 2006

New York City Ballet
New York State Theater
June 3, 2006

Concerto Barocco
Episodes
Symphony in C

This was the second time I saw Concerto Barocco this season. This cast was Weese and Rutherford, both pretty good. They responded well to one another for the most part, and Weese did well in the pas de deux. I usually use those big scissor-swiping lifts (with Whelan as the model—I haven’t seen anyone do them with the sweep and phrasing and expansion of movement with which she does them) as one standard for judging how well they’re doing, and while Weese can’t do them that way (in addition to simply having a different physique, it is also that her performing personality tends to be somewhat inward and constrained) she did convey the beauty of the step and at least followed through with the movement. The movement requires that the dancer communicate a contradictory lightness and gravitas at the same time—I appreciate the difficulty —but I still want to see that the dancer at least understands and is aiming for that expressiveness. The corps were excellent—every single one of them. Albert Evans is always a good presence, even though he’s mostly wasted here as the porteur.

For all the times I’ve seen Concerto Barocco, I still haven’t really gotten a handle on it, as I still haven’t with most Balanchine, which is why I suppose I keep going back to see it again and again. For all I see I still miss so much. This time I noticed that in the first movement after part of the girls go around to upper audience left and take their places on the diagonal, when the second set comes around from audience right, before setting themselves in position behind the first group they do a little skip. It’s indicative of the way the choreography contains these small sometimes barely noticeable elements of uniqueness within the greater fabric; somewhat like a couteur garment, in which the overall design of a piece of clothing can contain small, beautifully crafted touches that are perhaps not prominent but nonetheless contribute to the perception of the whole as a lovingly and finely crafted work of art; and it seems as if this is one of the ways in which the choreography works and part of what makes it is so rich and endlessly watchable. Another aspect of this is the use or not of repetition; it may be that sometimes I don’t notice something because he can use movement so judiciously. While Balanchine didn’t hesitate to repeat steps or gestures (both within a piece as well as in his collected choreographies) there is often some wonderful thing that only occurs once—I think primarily of that big jump in the last movement of Stravinsky Violin Concerto—it’s the one in the Paul Kolnik photograph—where the entire company performs this movement, a spontaneous burst of exhilaration, so fantastic you’d think he’d have them do it again, but no—that’s it; if you blinked you’ve missed it. In fact, it was the photograph that caused me to look for it, because I hadn’t recalled it; the next time I saw the ballet I watched carefully and saw the movement, then kept looking to see whether he would repeat it and it was only then that I realized it only happened once. What luxury, to only need to use something so good only once.

The second ballet was Episodes—another one that I have only been seeing in the past few years and feel the need to see again and again. This ballet has been the cause of my obsession with that Bach ricercar. My comments about the ballet will be mostly inadequate because I understand so little of the music and of Balanchine’s articulation of it. Although I did notice a few more things this time. The first section Symphony was performed by A. Stafford and Neal. The last time I saw this ballet I was sitting in the orchestra, so I was able to see the dancing very close; from that perspective you can see that the focus is on the very deliberate movements by each couple; the weight shifting, the tensions created and tested and examined by each (I’ll use the term again) deliberate movement. I suppose these are terms that similarly describe the Agon pas de deux (as others, who have been watching these pieces longer than I have, have described that piece). It may seem odd that it is this first section that seems to want a comparison with the Agon (1957) pas de deux, more even than the other pas de deux in Episodes (1959). But it seems to me to be a different exploration of tension and weight. First of all there is not just one couple, so the viewer’s focus shifts among the various couples and groupings, and obviously the music is not Stravinsky, and less (agonizingly) intense than the Agon pas de deux. The choreography for the Symphony section maintains a quality of aloofness that is most likely in the music itself, Balanchine is able to reflect that. It is as if the dancers in this first section are in a laboratory, all working on the same problem but not necessarily concerned with solving it together (but definitely concerned with solving it). Step deliberately test the distribution of weight. Do it again.

The Five Pieces section was Reichlin and Fowler. I always wondered whether Balanchine had been looking at Miro when he made this section. The Concerto was Whelan and Evans. Balanchine also seems to cut the dryness of this music with humor, particularly with some of the corps’ movements, although it is less obvious than in the Five Pieces. I need to see it again. But it was fantastic.

Mearns did the Ricercata. She looks to be very promising and did an excellent job in this piece, of which, again, I am still trying to comprehend its architecture. It is as strong and beautiful and monumental as a cathedral; I am in awe of it. It is easier to see the construction from the fourth ring but the impact of seeing it from the orchestra is greater, I think, because the monumentality of the cathedral strikes your line of vision much more acutely from that perspective—looking up—than from the fourth ring, where you are looking down. For some reason the first movements of the girls in the back, who have been standing still while the first voices are being expressed—when they begin to move downstage in a line, almost single handedly articulate a depth that only continues to build throughout, leading to the transcendence of the final notes and gesture that manages to convey both majesty and humility. [When I attended one of those Guild lectures a couple of years ago, Melissa Hayden asked what had happened to the ending of Episodes—apparently what they do now isn’t what she had remembered, and she didn’t much like it.] Again the choreography offers a constant tension of the contradictory, of opposites working in tandem.

Last was Symphony in C, which got an exhilarating performance. This young dancer Tiler Peck now does the fourth movement, and I don’t think I had yet seen anyone make anything of that role as well as she does. I never thought it was very interesting before. I look forward to seeing her do more. The two Staffords were excellent in the first section, he very elegant and she coolly authoritative, yet human; Hyltin and Carmena were terrific in the prancing pony section. Balanchine was such a great showman; he was always aware, and seemingly not ashamed to admit that, although he was constantly challenging his audience, the name of the game was entertainment. The last section—with every new group that comes on moving doing harder things faster, is just delightful. And no one can dance it like they do.