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Youth is Served
The New York City Ballet’s 2001 Spring Season

by Mary Cargill
copyright © 2001 Mary Cargill
Autumn 2001

The New York City Ballet’s Spring Season, unlike many past ones, had no major anchoring event—no Diamond Project, no festival, and no new full-length classic. Since most of the Diamond Project ballets have been disappointing and the last full-length production, Peter Martins’ version of Swan Lake was beyond disappointing, straight repertoire had its rewards. There were the three premieres, several debuts—including, as has become a pattern, some last minute rush jobs by young corps members—and some great dancing by established principals.

The new Peter Martins’ ballet Morgen, to a collection of orchestrated songs of Richard Strauss, showed Martins in his swooping, romantic vein. It had grayish, atmospheric sets, mainly freestanding columns, and six dancers, who kept rearranging partnerships. The opening was quite effective, with Darci Kistler wafting delicately through the columns. But the work as a whole seemed to use the rich, nuanced Strauss songs as Musak; the words weren’t even important enough to be included in the program, and the choreography cheapened the music. It had the same effect of a reproduction of The Last Supper painted on velvet. The audience listened to the aching plea of “ruhe meine Seele” while watching Jenifer Ringer squatting in second position, heard the soaring soprano of “Traüme” while Kistler and Nilas Martins were tying themselves into knots. And “Morgen”, that complex meditation on love, death, and transfiguration, was just background music while the six dancers wandered through Martin’s coldhearted and calculating sentimentality.

If Strauss’ music seemed too complex for the choreography, the music of Nino Rota, used by Richard Tanner for Soirée, seemed to lightweight for the “music-made-visible” abstract balled Tanner choreographed. The rhythmic, pleasant and slightly dramatic music seemed to cry out for a plot. Tanner used some of the most promising corps girls—Janie Taylor, Carla Körbes, and Ashley Bouder—who bounced around in fluffy, sherbet-toned tutus. Their partners (Jared Angle, Seth Orza, and Andrew Veyette) wore natty brown vests over white shirts; with their brightly colored partners, they looked a bit like waiters in an upscale ice cream parlor. Taylor, looking flirty and coy, danced with Angle, and Bouder, showing off her powerful jumps, danced with Veyette. The middle pas de deux, for Körbes and Orza, was more languorous and used Körbes’ leggy beauty well. But the ballet seemed to be searching for a depth (there was a blinding motif) that wasn’t in the music or the choreography. The piece worked well as a technical exercise and used the young dancers’ physical abilities, but did not extend them as performers. The current trend of sharing principal parts among several dancers (Martins did the same thing in Morgen) may indicate that the choreographers don’t believe that one lead couple has the ability to carry the emotional load, which may be true, but does not seem to be a fruitful way to develop true leading dancers.

Christopher Wheeldon’s Variations Sérieuses, on the other hand, used his casts’ dramatic abilities very well. He told the old 42nd Street story (“the show must go on and you’ll go out there a corps member and come back a star”) affectionately and imaginatively. The work was dominated by the Ian Falconer set, which gave the audience a side view, from the wings, of a theater complete with an imaginary audience. It gently played with the idea of reality (backstage behavior) and illusion (the ballet within the ballet). Though possibly Wheeldon was saying that there are two kinds of reality, since the ballet that had to go on with or without the star was a stylish version of a Romantic ballet. Despite the slightly exaggerated puffed pink sleeves of the men’s costumes (looking a bit like something Serge Lifar would have loved), Wheeldon avoided the easy laughs of caricaturing ballet’s conventions.

The story, of course, had no real surprises. Once an unusually restrained and appealing Alexandra Ansanelli crept on to the imaginary stage with a rapturous look on her face, began dancing, and was discovered by the divo Damian Woetzel, the audience knew she would make a triumphant debut. The fun was in the way the story was retold and in seeing the dancers’ individual gifts used so well.

Maria Kowroski played the Star, whose injury paved the way for Ansanelli’s triumph. She danced in her demented diva mode, pounding and stomping and throwing fits when the rehearsal didn’t go well. Though Kowrowski was uninhibited and funny, this was really the weakest part of the ballet, because the comedy wasn’t in the steps, it was in the steps being done badly. But the scene when she hobbled backstage on her crutches and condescendingly but sincerely wished the little ingénue well, was truly funny.

Overall Variations Sérieuses was a gentle salute to the magic of the stage. Even the stagehands and their mops, with Kathleen Tracey as the down-to-earth stage manager, succumbed to the lure of the spotlight in a little throwaway moment where Tracey, in her overalls and headset, struck an elegant pose, pulled along on the mops. Those few seconds sum up the real and generous love of performing which permeates this work.

The 42nd Street legend seems often to be the guiding principle of casting at NYCB. This year’s frantic debut had Ashley Bouder learning The Firebird in an afternoon, replacing Margaret Tracey. I was not able to see either of Bouder’s performances, but heard she danced well. However, this is not ideal preparation for the complex and historical role, and, to an outsider, it seems there are principals in the company qualified for the part.

Divertimento No. 15 also saw its share of debuts, though, with one exception, these were not last minute substitutions. Carla Körbes and Kristin Sloan (substituting for Ansanelli) in their debuts danced their difficult variations with a creamy and classical fluency. The young cast was led by Miranda Weese, a beautiful and elegant dancer, but one who, as yet, does not seem to have developed that final bit of individuality of a true ballerina. But her gracious air made her seem like the Lilac Fairy guarding her charges. The speed at which the music was conducted, though, detracted from some of the ballet’s elegance, and at times the piece seemed to be an uncomfortable mixture of The Sleeping Beauty and a Las Vegas revue.

Despite the accent on youth, some of the most memorable performances of the season came from more experienced dancers, most notably Darci Kistler and Peter Boal. In one of her rare appearances, Kistler danced Balanchine’s Duo Concertant with Nikolaj Hübbe. This pas de deux, where the dancers spend so much time listening to music and fading in and out of the spotlight, can seem overly sentimental and contrived. But Kistler, with an intense and committed Hübbe, moved with a calm purity and clarity, like liquid marble. She danced like a Greek statue come to life, a statue whose eyes looked out on Heaven. As she disappeared, leaving only her hand in the small circle of light, it seemed as if the sun were disappearing from our lives, as if Persephone were leaving for the underworld, and the audience seemed to be, like Hübbe, on its knees begging her to stay.

Peter Boal, despite retirement rumors, gave some of the richest performances of the season. His Melancholic, in Balanchine’s The Four Temperaments, was deeply felt yet impersonal, or rather universal. He was no melodramatic poet suffering individual sorrows, but rather an Everyman struggling against impossible odds. The push and pull against gravity, the flowing upper body, and the resigned intensity of his interpretation were profoundly moving.

Boal’s Prodigal Son is equally dramatic, though he approached the role very differently from Melancholic; his Prodigal is so powerful in part because he is so individualized. There was a fresh eagerness in his interpretation; he was a very young and vulnerable Prodigal. He was so eager to make friends, and so awkward with the Siren that his downfall seemed so uncalled for. It was like watching someone kick a puppy.

Boal’s awkward naiveté as the Prodigal seemed related to his approach to the Poet in Balanchine’s La Sonnambula, which was revived this season. La Sonnambula is an elliptical story of a young man who attends (with or without an invitation) a party of sophisticates presided over by the manipulative Coquette and the Baron. The Poet, rejected by the guests, find a mysterious sleepwalker (possible the Baron’s wife) and they dance a strange pas de deux, watched by the jealous Coquette. When the Coquette tells the Baron, he kills the Poet, who is then taken away by the Sleepwalker as the guests watch the light of her candle flicker upward. It is a simple, powerful, and unforgettable ending, using music and stage design so effectively that movement is not necessary. The underlying theme of La Sonnambula, a young poet looking for his muse in all the wrong places, was captured so well by Boal’s uneasy elegance.

Every detail told; as he was sitting with the Coquette at the back of the stage, he glanced briefly around in wonder, as if he had never been in a ballroom before. During the social dances, he gradually became more and more outgoing, his face shining with joy, so that his sudden cruel exclusion from the party was crushing, as if he had lost all chance of social acceptance. Then he seemed to sense the Sleepwalker’s approach, rather like Siegfried’s first glimpse of Odette, as she offered him a chance for a purer life. Boal’s Sleepwalker was Yvonne Borree, who, though physically suited to the role, seemed to rush things a bit, and looked more frantic than incandescent.

Hübbe also danced to Poet, to Wendy Whelan’s Sleepwalker. Both gave very striking and powerful performances. Hübbe can command a stage completely just by standing still, but the feeling of an innocent searching for truth in the midst of sophisticated decadence was missing, since Hübbe was the most urbane person on the stage. Whelan, her eyes like hot coals, looked like she was after blood.

Jenifer Ringer, in a debut, was Hübbe’s Coquette. The role requires a hard-edged, sophisticated calculation, qualities that elude the sweet-natured and lyrical Ringer. Helene Alexopolus, with Boal, was a much more effective Coquette, a slightly humanized version of the Siren (Alexopolus is also very good in The Prodigal Son). Alexopolus peeled off her mask triumphantly, as if she knew her beauty would be the final blow to the Poet’s heart; Ringer removed her mask as if she were Juliet meeting Romeo.

With Jock Soto as Ringer’s Baron, the cast made La Sonnambula seem like the tragedy of a hearty innkeeper, his innocent daughter, a Byronic stranger, and the local vampire. It worked well on its own terms, and Whelan was extraordinary, but she projected danger rather than mystery. The performance did not have the universal resonance that Boal’s more helpless, yearning Poet gave the work.

Boal brought a richness to his more purely dancing roles as well, especially to La Source, where he seemed to be dancing on velvet. Boal’s partner was Margaret Tracey, who was crisp and efficient, but as is so often the case, seemed to be dancing to the beat of her own private metronome.

There were no private metronomes in the very fine revival of Jerome Robbins’ Dances at a Gathering, which looked both well rehearsed and fresh and spontaneous. Ringer sparkled as the girl in yellow, a role that suits her luscious musicality. The young corps member Antonio Carmena made his debut as her partner, the boy in brick, because Benjamin Millepied was injured. His springy jumps were beautiful, and the role suits his playful persona, but he is a bit short for Ringer. The complicated partnering was tricky (the first performance almost ended in a nose-dive), but Carmena’s fun-loving and generous stage demeanor kept the audience in his pocket.

Maria Kowrowski is very funny as the girl in green, who is perfectly happy dancing by herself; she was elegant and carefree, with a wonderful comedic timing. She’s a fine comedienne, but I do not find that, for all of her extraordinary physical gifts, she as yet brings enough depth or richness to the more serious roles. In Monumentum, she tended to dance diffidently, like a girl at her first grown-up party afraid to speak too loudly or more too suddenly.

Rachel Rutherford brought a rare grown-up sensibility to the girl in La Valse. She was no wide-eyed little ingénue, but an almost eager participant in her own downfall; at one point she just laid her head on Death’s hand, as if she were tired of life. Philip Neal, as Death, grabbed her a little melodramatically at the beginning, but his lithe and powerful presence made their final waltz gripping. The lush and exotic Romanticism of La Valse, with its dangerous fascination with a mysterious being, is in some ways the female equivalent of La Sonnambula and the dancers seemed to enjoy the challenge of creating atmosphere out of a hint of a story.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream has more than a hint of a story, even if the telling is somewhat discursive (Hippolyta’s solo seems to come out of nowhere; if she is one of the humans why is she creating a magical fog?). City Ballet, despite its rigorous triple-bill reputation, tends to open and close its seasons with the popular, audience-drawing attractions, The Nutcracker and Midsummer, and this season was no exception.

Unfortunately, Maria Kowroski, who shines as the willful, elegant, besotted Titania, was injured. Darci Kistler, too, was only able to dance one of her scheduled performances. Karla Körbes danced most of the Titanias. She brought her elegant, classical beauty and lovely line to the role, but she was dancing Midsummer for the very first time, and had had no chance to grow through the corps parts. Her dancing was exquisite, if a bit monotone, but her mime was perfunctory. She was not able to convey anger standing still, and her arms were too diffident for the regal Titania.

Wendy Whelan’s Titania was definitely in command, and she caught Titania’s stubborn haughtiness very well. Though the does not have the exotic lushness of many Titanias, she made the most of the contrast between the imperious queen and the foolish woman in love with a donkey. Her incredulous joy at the first sight of poor Bottom was beautifully timed.

Whelan shared performances of the second act divertissement with Miranda Weese. Weese and Philip Neal gave the pas de deux a hushed intimacy. Whelan, on the other hand, did not seem to be dancing with her partner, the self-effacing Jock Soto; she seemed to be floating on her own. She did not give the impression, as some City Ballet dancers currently do, of deliberately ignoring her partner or of a juvenile self-absorption. She seemed rather to be dancing with a dream of a vision, as if her eyes were seeing something beyond the stage. The pas de deux did not have the sense of shared warmth that Weese and so many others give it, but on its own terms her performance had a haunting, mysterious power.

On anyone’s terms, Peter Boal’s Oberon was brilliant. Physically, he has an otherworldly elegance and purity of line that create a magical beauty, and his sharp, clear and very natural mime caught Oberon’s capricious, impetuous and dangerous character. His dancing, too, though not quite as effortless as it was a few years ago, is magnificent. He managed to keep his upper body still during all the quick jumps and turns, and seemed to by flying. Damian Woetzel and Benjamin Millepied also danced Oberon. The magical Oberon does not really suit the more straightforward, go-for-broke Woetzel, and he also seemed to be having an uncharacteristically off night technically. His jumps were sometimes labored and his landings sloppy. Millepied characterized Oberon very effectively, but he tended to pump his arms a bit to get more elevation, making his dancing look more effortful than Boal’s.

One of the best performances in Midsummer, and indeed of the entire season, was Jennie Somogyi’s Hippolyta. Her fouettés, done while wearing a cape and holding a bow, alternately singled and doubled, were performed with perfect control. Her first act was technically stunning, but the second act, where Hippolyta often fades into the background, was a revelation. Somogyi’s noble carriage, her interaction with those around her, especially with Theseus, encapsulated the harmonious and joyful theme of the ballet. In addition to her incisive technique, Somogyi seems to have an instinctive way of getting inside a role, even a purely danced part, and illuminating unexpected areas.

A number of other dancers also illuminated smaller parts, even if, at times, the corps looked as if they had been coached within a mile of their lives. Elena Diner stood out in to more romantic corps parts, especially in La Source, for her gently curved arms, so important for the French-inflected choreography. Eva Natanya, too, has a lovely creamy quality of movement and stood out as one of the three fates in La Valse. Ashley Bouder used her strength and musical sensitivity to produce some of the most beautiful pas de chats I have seen as Butterfly in Midsummer; she really did seem to hover in the air like the notes of the score.

But the rush to put so many promising dancers into principal parts is worrying. The company seems to be looking around for the next Darci Kistler or the next Suzanne Farrell. The next Farrell will only come when a great choreographer appears, and Darci Kistler’s injury-shortened career does not seem to be a fruitful model. The real concern, it seems to me, is who can be the next Nicol Hlinka; a dancer who spent years learning and watching as a soloist and then gave us the most beautiful Indian summer of a career. Youth is a wonderful quality, but it will only develop if it is coached, nourished, and guarded.