A Brief Note on Mark Morris’s Sylvia

San Francisco Ballet
New York State Theater
Lincoln Center Festival
Sylvia
July 26, 2006

Mark Morris has done a very good job with this production of Sylvia. Here is a three act ballet that I am happy to say is not only not terribly painful to sit through, but is actually enjoyable throughout. Its greatest assets (in addition to the lovely score) are that Morris has taken the convoluted story seriously and has devised a very clean choreographic narrative that he uses to structure each act. Morris’s simple, earthy style works well for most of the cast of characters, but it looks best on the peasants and satyrs in Act 1 and the benignly thuggish slaves in Act 2. He also uses movement motifs to good effect, not only to identify a character, such as Orion’s (Yuri Possokhov) sweeping arm movements, or the sequence of steps given to Eros (Jaime Garcia Castilla) in his various disguises, but also to express shades of emotion, for example, the use of the attitude, often en tournant, in various forms and contexts. We see this movement given, for example, both to Aminta (Gonzalo Garcia) and to Sylvia (Yuan Yuan Tan) in Act 1, and then performed again but slightly differently by Sylvia when she is trapped in the cave in Act 2, where she uses the step to help express her frustration.

Where the balletomane will most feel a sense of loss in this production is Act 3, where Morris’s simple, not-overly-ballet-y style most shows its deficiencies. (Tellingly, it is also here where the Ashton version, as performed by ABT, anyway, which has moments that made me squirm, displays its greatest strength.) Act 3, with its pizzicato variation for the ballerina and the big adagio, is the ballet’s (as it is any 19th-century ballet’s) meat and potatoes. The bond between Aminta and Sylvia needs to be expressed in this adagio; it is not, and this results in a sense of emptiness. In some ways I can see the problem that Morris has set for himself: he is seeking a way to apply his clean, mostly unaffected, style to this most traditional aspect of the ballet, to modernize and update it, and I greatly respect this; and yet the traditional balletic adagio, as it exists here in what is essentially a traditional ballet, remains stubbornly in need of greater substance than that which Morris’s choreography is able to supply. This also may be the reason why I felt that I hadn’t really seen what this company can do; the SFB dancers look very good and perform well, but I wanted more. I hope Morris continues to search for a way to express this; if he is successful he may be able to stop the art form from dying a slow death (after Agon what is there, really?).

While this lack of choreographic substance is problematic, it does not entirely diminish the production as a whole, which for the most part, does work very well. There is much that is charming: the swing in Act 1; the bathing nymphs, who remove their scrunchies (at least that’s what they looked like from the fourth ring) and let down their hair; the presentation of garlands to the statue of Bacchus in Act 3. The costumes and sets are lovely and tasteful; the set in Act 3, with its bright white agora, is particularly notable.

American Ballet Theatre, July 8, 2006

American Ballet Theatre
Metropolitan Opera House
Le Corsaire
July 8, 2006
evening

I have learned through experience to fear full-length "story" ballets (particularly those in which the list of composers, choreographers, and librettists is almost as long as the cast list), and, in the end, Le Corsaire, I regret to say, did not disappoint. The first act, however, is actually entertaining, with a lot of good dancing. After the famous pas de deux (a pas de trois, when not taken out of context), which occurs early in the second act, the production starts to run out of steam, despite its good intentions and good performances.

The prologue, which takes place on the ship, and Act 1, which takes place in the bazaar, are charming and colorful enough that I even considered the ballet in light of the recently opened pirate movie with Johnny Depp (which I haven’t seen), thinking that it might be a similar kind of light entertainment, perhaps to the extent that the people who would enjoy the pirate movie might be persuaded to come to the Met and find themselves enjoying a pirate ballet (management’s thinking, too, no doubt, but I, who have no financial stake in the thing, also want people who come to the ballet and enjoy it and want to come back). I saw this, as I see most of the ballets at the Met, from orchestra standing. The leads were Dvorovenko and Beloserkovsky, with Corella as the slave, Pastor as the friend and Saveliev as the bazaar owner. While the choreography is stated to be Konstantin Sergeyev after Petipa, it seems to be this first act that has the most remnants of any Petipa, at least as I understand Petipa, in particular, in the dances for the three Odalisques, here Melanie Hamrick, Carmen Corella (both replacements) and Kristi Boone. The choreography here is just about the best in the ballet: inventive, lovely chains of steps with numerous little beats and surprising développés, well done by all three girls. Again, I can’t put names to bodies, but the girl who did the first variation, with all the brisées, was very good, and the girl who did the second variation was excellent. If only the choreography for the men (and for all in the remaining acts) was as interesting; it too often degenerated into tricks; Saveliev, for example, had these jumps that were truly amazing to see, in fact I actually gasped, even after he had done this a few times already, because the angle of his body in the air is such that it seems impossible that he could land on two feet. [This also reminded me of those cheap-looking backbends that Malakhov did in Giselle last month; the tricks in Le Corsaire are forgivable compared to that.] But this was the first sign of trouble, as I started thinking, where am I, at the Met or under the Big Top? (Ok, I know I just contradicted my happy populist sentiment stated above, but maybe some lines are better off not crossed.)

I had seen this production several years ago, but I couldn’t remember and couldn’t tell from the synopsis at what point the pas de deux (as I said, really a pas de trois) would come, so I was somewhat surprised (and relieved) to see it right at the beginning of Act 2. Now I recently have been watching the DVD of Fonteyn and Nureyev (thanks, Paula!), so I was curious to see it performed on the stage again, with dancers who have some technical skills (it always astonishes me to see how Fonteyn is gorgeous in her overall line and from the waist up, but has very little technique to speak of—how did she pull it off? She must have worked like crazy.). Corella is a beautiful dancer and he performs the piece without the usual (actually, thanks to Nureyev, expected) preening and glam; yet while that dangerous, and admittedly exciting, edge is lacking, the performance gains in tastefulness and in providing the opportunity to see good dancing unadorned. Dvorovenko and Beloserkovsky, on the other hand, could stand to incorporate some of that glam into their performances, not just here, but throughout. Both exhibit well-trained techniques and can execute the steps well; but that’s about it. And, while Beloserkovsky isn’t dancing the Nureyev role, so there’s no direct comparison, it is on this level that—despite the fact that they lack the latter-day Russians’ technical skills—Fonteyn and Nureyev really outperform them.

After this I am afraid, not too much of interest happens, although, since the setting is Adrianopolis, there is an interesting character dance that incorporates (I guess to the same extent as the "character" dances in Swan Lake do, anyway) elements of Balkan dancing; it wasn’t great, but at least it was different. For the rest of the ballet, most of the time, the dancers who aren’t principals stand around as part of the scenery; Roman Zhurbin, as the pasha, was a bright spot, and indeed, the acting by just about everyone was quite good. The Jardin Animée scene, which I had remembered and was looking forward to, was cloying, and while the ship had seemed already to have sunk after Act 1, the final shipwreck scene was well done.

American Ballet Theatre, June 30, 2006

American Ballet Theatre
Metropolitan Opera House
June 30, 2006

Swan Lake

I saw this from orchestra standing, and let me tell you, it is like Grand Central Station at the Met, with people running up and down the aisle during the performance, the ushers talking, the cell phones going off; the protracted and heated conversations when someone wants to go out (inexplicably right at the start of the Act 2 pas de deux; and again, right when the Black Swan is starting??) and the usher has to tell them they can’t come back in and the huffy indignation as the person ambles back down to his or her seat (what do they think this is, the Loew’s double cineplex? Do they expect to go the bathroom and stop off at the concession for some stinking nachos to bring back?). It’s a wonder I was able to pay attention to what was going on on stage. I have another suggestion for the Met (in addition to putting a stop to the distractions), which is that they could use those translation boxes to tell people when to applaud and when not to applaud (why are audiences so terrified when the music stops, or even gets quiet?). Ok, enough; now the performance.

After the curtain opened on Act 1 (the real Act 1, not the concocted prologue), a small child could be heard plaintively saying, "Where’s Swan Lake?" Where indeed? And not a bad question (I wonder if this was the same child I saw being carried face out and coughing by a fast-running father just at the beginning of Act 2, the real "Swan Lake" part.) Well, I like a traditional Swan Lake, and for the most part, it is here. The choreography for Act 2 is mostly untampered with (although there is new choreography for the other acts), but the sets (very Germanic), costumes, and general outlook are in the main traditional, with the primary exception of the aforementioned prologue, and the expansion of von Rothbart’s role. The additional choreography for him occurs most prominently in Act 3, where he has a variation to that beautiful and sensuous Russian dance that previously had been omitted from most productions (Martins now uses it, too; I don’t know who else). The role is well done by Sascha Radetsky, who looks very suave and handsome (and performs that arabesque balance with great skill). I am not averse to this deepened characterization of von Rothbart here, first of all because it adds a level of interest to Act 3 (when I said I liked a traditional Swan Lake I would have to qualify that—I like it best when I don’t have to sit through Act 1 and Act 3) and secondly because it opens up a new dimension into the plot. This von Rothbart makes himself very chummy with the queen, insinuating himself with great ease into her royal space; after the variation in which he makes a show of seducing (recruiting?) those boring princesses, he leaps with great presumption and not a little familiarity into the mini-throne to her left; she seems charmed rather than alarmed. (Well, this had me thinking: just who is Odile’s mother? Is there more to the story here?) The good thing is that wondering about all this took my mind off Act 3, which I figure is mostly filler until we can hurry up and get back to the real Swan Lake, like the kid said.

Julie Kent was an exquisitely beautiful swan queen; she gave a lovely, very human, poignant, understated performance. Marcelo Gomes was Siegfried. He does not have a particularly beautiful line, but he is a good dancer, pleasing to watch: good phrasing, an engaging, non-aggressive stage presence. Since I don’t come to see ABT that often I don’t know their dancers that well. The Act 1 pas de trois was well done by Melissa Thomas (no relation), Hee Seo, and Jared Matthews. I don’t know which girl was which; the one who danced the first variation had a particularly lovely lilt . But Act 2 really is the real Swan Lake and it is one of the most beautiful works of art ever created. It is such a contained, unified piece, with beautiful and interesting choreography for the corps and the soloists as much as for Odette (ok, the prince doesn’t do much here), that I look forward with great pleasure to each section. The coda is particularly fine; I love the choreography for the soloist swans to that big music, hopping in arabesque on the diagonal—there’s just something very expressive about it. The pas de deux was performed by Kent with great sensitivity and naturalness, nothing was forced, all her phrases were developed and expressive, and she made beautiful, poignant arabesques.

Although I miss the use of the full stage for the swans’ dance to that mournful music at the opening of the fourth act, I find this Act 4 to be very moving; the suicides are truly painful to watch. It’s a good Swan Lake; very well done.