Ballet Chicago
Sunday 6 May Matinee
Harris Theater,
Chicago, IL
Orchestra O109
Balanchinean first
nights seem to invite overbearing scrutiny. I plead in part excessive
caffeination while trapped on a slowly moving train, but the other
half of the argument is that first performances of Balanchine works
often resemble dress rehearsals (I'm paraphrasing from someone, but
whom?) and the dancers often haven't fully worked out how to relate
to the audience. Perhaps the strategy for greater commercial success
and/or artistic acceptance for me (insert laugh here) is to post the
second night's review first, then post my initial querulousness when
no one is looking*.
There's a moment in
Barocco's Second Movement when the cavalier carries the First
Violin across the stage on, her legs surging into the air like waves.
The corps mirrors their journey in waves of bodies, surging and
subsiding, to the opposite shore; it intensifies the impression of
distance, and brought strongly to mind the Act II Panorama from
Sleeping Beauty. The closeness of the camera, along with the
forced narrative that it imposes on the proceedings (which may or may
not be in sympathies with the choreographer's intentions), really
cannot not prepare a viewer. This was my favorite discovery of the
night.
Courtney Wright
Anderson continues her excellent dancing. She is generally very
'correct' in her Balanchine performance, but I think recorded music
make dancers complacent. In this case, Anderson finishes her
choreography before the music does and then poses until the music
catches up. I still don't see much awareness of Ted Seymour. I did
wonder whether the choreography (or just my very finicky aesthetics)
could support such an interpretation. After all, Seymour is not given
an instrument but is an auxiliary of the First Violin; his function
is to help her in developing the singing lines in the Second
Movement. However, I ultimately don't find unawareness interesting to
look at. While the partners moved together beautifully, they were
ships passing in the night emotionally, even despite Seymour's
careful attention and increased security in the lifts.
Ellen Green continues to
perplex me. She obviously has the idea of the choreography (as I had
mentioned, the shifting of the weight), but she sticks out
stylistically and musically, especially against the other two
soloists. I've admired quite a few Danish men in the Balanchine
repertoire but have not had that pleasure for the women. Is
this endemic to the current company or just a quirk of the dancer?
The curtain began to come down before dancers got into position in the final tableau, cutting off any suggestion of expansiveness in space that the dancers' open arms would suggest. I have already noted previous problems with the lighting, but allowing the house to determine when the dance ends instead of the reverse seemed like a serious misjudgment.
A drive-by perusing of
Wikipedia tells me that Capriccio for Piano and Orchestra was
begun on Christmas Day, 1928, with the Third Movement begun first.
Some call it wit, but Your Critic finds it to be the musical
equivalent of laughing gas. Mr Stravinsky's tossing off epigrams on
champagne and I'm giggly on the effervescence alone.
That said, I would
recommend that dancers warm-up to the Third Movement before
attempting to perform Rubies on stage, so that they can firmly
fix the humor and wit and fun in their minds before going on
for the whole thing. Holowchuk on Saturday night visibly perked up
during the Third Movement, as if she had finally stopped worrying
over the choreography and decided to have a little, which carried
marvelously into the Sunday matinee. While Holowchuk initially
couldn't figure out how to make some of the posing work, her dancing
gave us some elegant mischief. She isn't quite the lady who goes
slumming with the local bad boy (Renko was too wholesome looking for
that!), but I can easily see her dazzling the catering staff into
doing her bidding, possibly to create a manmade river of champagne in
the salon. And if she and the hostess convinces everyone to dive in
and take a swim, so much the better.
Matthew Renko's energy
was better focused than on opening night. He still appears too
wholesome, but I think that looking the paragon suits him, especially
in getting out of scrapes that his devilish energy gets him into.
Who, me? says he as he runs away, while the women shake their heads
in fond exasperation. His troupe of men were noticeably sharper in
their marching precision today, trailing behind him in admiration and
emulation.
After an excellent
Saturday performance, Jane Morgan needed half a movement to get into
character Sunday, as if our hostess had just woken up and hadn't
quite got her face on before going downstairs. But a cup of coffee
later and her amused worldliness was back in force. As with Saturday
night, her shaky adagio technique drew attention to itself instead of
keeping our attention on the character. But then again, it is
a nervewracking sequence of slowly unfurling arabesques after
an already difficult movement. The hostess exits, slightly disheveled
by the fun she's orchestrated, but golly, even that is rather
fetching.
My karma likes to
bludgeon me with whichever ballet I don't particularly care for until
I capitulate into at least detached appreciation. The candidate for
my recent reconsideration has been the excerpted Who Cares?,
courtesy of Ballet Chicago. To
be honest, the work is pleasing mostly due to its musical
familiarity, but it can rather trying to sit through, especially as a
program closer, for someone not raised in Americana,. To paraphrase
from Miss Austen, too much of Who Cares?
is rather too light and bright and sparkling. The corps
looks thrilled to be dancing on
stage and seemed like such nice
hardworking cityfolk in their variations. In general, the work wants
shade, which the soloist choreography provides much too late in the
sequencing.
I
didn't see much difference in the soloist work between the Saturday
night and Sunday matinee performances. Ted Seymour was his usual
excellent self*** and I wish that I could see him in more roles to
stress test that thoughtful musicality. Susan Belles seemed more in
control of her nerves/legs today and built on her previous
performance. The other two soloists (Ellen Green and Robyn Wallace)
were technically secure but intellectually perplexing. Who are these
women, and what is this man to them? These dancers have not yet found
the narrative within their dancing to engage us emotionally.
*The other option for fame and fortune, that
of writing stream of consciousness commentary to endless
after-Petipas à la Russe by third-rate touring companies, make me
long for a lobotomy.
**Case in point, Union
Jack. I'll invite the Wrath of
Karma and mention it if it means that I get to see it live, at least
once.
***
Excellence is not boring, but finding new ways of describing it can
be.
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