07 November 2013

The Suzanne Farrell Ballet, Program A, 6 November 2013

Program A: Mozartiana, Episodes, Romeo and Juliet
The Suzanne Farrell Ballet
Wednesday, 6 November 2013
Eisenhower Theater, Kennedy Center
Washington DC
Orchestra U 107, V103

Mozartiana was the first ballet that I ever saw live. I love the solemn pageantry, the evocation of French courtly manners, and best of all, the feather light displays of petit allegro.

What continues to amaze me is the range of emotion that different ballerinas call forth in the same choreography. Suzanne Farrell, in her 1983 televised performance, was joyfully spiritual, even triumphant; Whelan, the first woman I saw in the role, evokes dignity and command even seen years apart, though the initial imperiousness seems to have melted into a calmer self-reflection; and Veronika Part, an earthly Dulcinea, warm and loving.

Heather Ogden in the same ballet called forth serenity. Her dancing brought to mind teachings from the taoist canon, which emphasizes naturalness, simplicity and spontaneity. It was not a static performance; there was always the sense that we see only those bright facets that the ballerina chooses to show to us, that there is more of the enigma hovering just out of reach.

Preghiera is an invocation, but last night my mind veered off of Christian prayer to that of invocation of the Muse at the beginning of the Iliad, asking for divine inspiration to guide his hand in dance. It's rather appropriate: his first surviving masterpiece is a celebration of Muses (Apollo, 1927), while what is more or less his last work calls on them for their favor.

Ogden sets the stage with four girl attendants. Despite the mismatch in size, as some attendants were visibly and bigger than others, their solemn dignity complemented Ogden's prayer well. Ogden has a very lovely and calm bourrée, and she uses it well, though I would have liked to see Ogden utilize her back and head more fully to match.

Ian Grosh was the courtly jester in the Gigue. He is not yet comfortable in the role, more concerned with the fiendishly difficult footwork than the proper conveyance of manner. However, this is a complaint not unique to this performance. I continue to scream (in a vacuum, it seems) that this jester should be the most dignified person in the room. He is not a clown, and nobility bearing should permeate his upper body. I have yet to see sufficient consideration and weight given to the sparse simplicity of the port de bras. In this respect, Grosh was more effective in the Menuet, as he remembered to give proper attention to his carriage as he took his leave of the audience.

On that note, I would like to give a discommendation to his execution of the petit allegro. The dancing should give more consideration to distance covered rather than the height attained during steps. What I saw last night was all up-and-down and flattened the choreography to an unhappy extreme. 

I continue not to have much to say about the Menuet. From memory, I think it's a piece better seen straight on than from above. It was excellently performed, but it is the choreographical weak link in Mozartiana and thus hard to make much of. Despite the suggestions of Dresden Shepherdesses in costuming and hairstyle, these women are courtly attendants. I wanted the women to demonstrate solemnity that their girlish counterparts had displayed to great effect, as I think the elegance would keep the pastoral portrait from imploding in triteness.

Mozartiana is a ballerina's ballet, and Michael Cook very intelligently recognizes this, devoting himself to displaying Ogden like a shining treasure. Occasionally his bearing is too ardently yearning, but that is a slight correction.

Despite the disparity in petit allegro — that is, Cook demonstrates an understanding of its execution and goal (that of clean, fleeted footwork that hovers over and across space rather than simply measuring its height) — the casting demands that we compare he and Grosh as doppelgängers. They are sufficiently similar in coloring and build, calling back to the mirroring of girl and woman attendants, and who are ultimately refracted shadows of the ballerina herself.

Cook initially tries for sharply etched movements in his solos, calling equal attention to the choreography as well as the occasionally blurry execution of it. I think I (and he) enjoyed it more as he relaxed into the music, and it showed in his increased ease (and ironically, clarity) of movement.

I wish that I have other Farrell stagings of this ballet for comparison, especially when it came to the final tableau. What came to mind was not of the ballerina ascendant, but a sense of reconciliation, of disparate parts reaching rapport, celebrating a harmonious oneness in purpose. It was joyous enough to make this perpetually grumpy observer burst into discreet tears.

Allan Lewis is the new(?) conductor this year, and he lead the orchestra in giving a finely textured performance. However, I will note that like cowbells, one can never have too much glockenspiel in the variations.

Holly Hynes's costumes worked well for the female attendants, but the fringes on Ogden's bodice detracted from its elegance. The swooping excess seemed more appropriate for a gypsy dress meant for the tavern scene in Don Q. Similarly, Michael Cook's vest was too low cut. The objective is courtliness, not Eurotrash.

Ballet Austin provided the corps for my first and last experience with Episodes in 2008, which incidentally was my first experience with the Suzanne Farrell Ballet. I find that I rather miss them in this iteration. I miss the full-bodied physicality that their dancers brought to the round. It is too refined this time.

I won't bore my gentle reader with too many wild theories about the name. After all, Episodes? Episodes of what? They could be called "anecdotes", but episodes imply repetition and continuity.

Episodes is a weird, dreamlike echo of Four Temperaments and Agon. We see quotations from both works, some weirdly abandoned in the middle of its execution. When I first saw it, I stared at blankly and wondered if perhaps Balanchine was having me on. Who, what, antlers?!

On a more serious note, if we were to talk about progressions, we could talk about the progression of womanly bodies from the petit, short-waisted Paola Hartley in Symphony, to the statuesque but long-waisted (shades of Aroldingen!) Jordyn Richter in Five Pieces, to the shapely but humanly sized Elisabeth Holowchuk in Concerto, to the Balanchine archetype that is Natalia Magnicaballi in the Riccerata. The juxtaposition of soloist and (where available) corps bodies in the first three movements is especially piquant when compared to the physical homogeneity of the Riccerata.

But then, I could be reading into it too much.

I don't do too well with black-and-whites on my initial viewings, so I will save more detailed choreographic comments for the second night. The first movement (Symphony) was tentatively performed, though it settled down as the orchestra grew in confidence. Jordyn Richter was all cool nonchalance in contrast to Ted Seymour's guilelessness. He is a very intelligent dancer and carefully rations his theatricality to delicious effect. Holowchuk and Henning  (substituting for Cook) performed the Concerto. Holowchuk never makes the same movement twice, and she coolly twists Cook into knots of bodies and limbs. I really appreciated Cook's ability to make the choreography look natural rather than silly (which did happen later in the program, but more on that later). Magnicaballi and Guervich were the courtly leads in the minor-key Riccercata, conveying a sense of subdued personal tragedy into the moving tableau. Their downward sweeping gesture at the finale is done with great delicacy; it is equal parts request and reminder that we must now leave them.

(I moved to V103 for this portion of the program)

While I enjoyed Mejia's Eight by Adler, I didn't hold much confidence for his Romeo and Juliet, if in part because I have no confidence that anyone can overcome the musical cliché of the Tchaikovsky suite. I am sad to say that my suspicions were mostly confirmed. Holowchuk and Henning did marvelous acting (poor Ian Grosh had a thankless job as a thrashing Tybault), but it wasn't enough to save the brawny and sometimes anti-musical choreography, by which I mean that the action on stage clashed against the musical mood. Mejia does have a fine sense of theater, and I liked his neo-German Expressionist staging, especially in the costuming. Some of the action made me think (rather uncomfortably) that the choreographer had a series of striking tableau in mind, but not the steps to fill and link them. At the end, I remarked to my friend that I liked it better when they weren't dancing, and I still can't bring myself to retract that statement.

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