Some of the most memorable performances at the National Ballet are the ones where the company gives a programme of two or three or four short works, in contrasting styles and settings. These "mixed programmes" have, over the years, introduced a number of new works which people still talk about years later. Generally, they comprise works from the twentieth and twenty-first centuries rather than older pieces.
In this mixed programme, two of the three ballets were created by George Balanchine. Since Balanchine is regarded as one of the truly great choreographers of the last century, his works can now fairly be regarded as "classics." Balanchine's art is significant in fusing together the graceful expressivity of classical dance with the rawer-edged possibilities of modern dance.
The truly unique feature of Balanchine's work, and the biggest reason I respond so positively to it, is his insistence that the music is the heart of the matter. Not for him the idea of music as "accompaniment" to dance! Balanchine used to tell his dancers to become or even to be the music, and would say, time and again, that the rehearsal pianist or the orchestral conductor was the most important person in the room.
Balanchine rarely created narrative ballet, so his works -- including the two we saw today -- are truly an interpretation of the music in physical movement. Since both of these works are set to twentieth-century scores, the style appropriately tilts away from the purer classicism of such works as Symphony in C and into a more angular idiom. It can aptly be described as "classical positions with one body part turned in an unexpected direction."
The Four Temperaments, set to a commissioned score by Paul Hindemith, explores the expressive possibilities of a body of dancers in plain tights and leotards dancing on a bare stage in front of a plainly-lit cyclorama backdrop. Sounds boring when you put it like that -- but don't bet your shirt on that. Hindemith's music starts with an introduction that lays out three main themes, then explores in a series of variations on those themes the medieval idea of the four humours or temperaments of humanity: melancholic, sanguinic, phlegmatic and choleric. Balanchine sets the various sections of the work for an ever-shifting array of soloists and small ensembles.
I've seen it performed several times over the years, and one moment I always remember is what I think of as the "Egyptian" position: a group of female dancers in line ahead with one leg extended on pointe, the other foot flat on the floor, and one arm held straight out in front with the elbow bent and the palm turned up. Looks for all the world like an Egyptian tomb painting! But there are so many wonderful moments in this piece: the drooping end of each phrase by a solo man in Melancholic (*Conflict of Interest Alert: yep, my nephew Robert again!*), the intriguing duet of Sanguinic, danced with aplomb by Jenna Savella and McGee Maddox, the fascinating solo in Phlegmatic, danced by Brendan Saye, and the fire-eating Choleric solo of Alexandra MacDonald.
Just as a by-the-way note, all of the soloists in all the casts of The Four Temperaments -- with one lone exception -- were making their debuts in these roles.
Second piece up is simply entitled Rubies. It's the second segment of a full-length triptych called Jewels, which the National Ballet has staged in the past (the first time in 2000). Framed between the more classical elegance of Emeralds and Diamonds, the jazzy style of Rubies can seem very modern indeed. But when it's taken like this, on its own, you can appreciate how this work too makes use of the principle of classical positions with one body part (or more!) out of place.
The music is a Capriccio for piano and orchestra by Stravinsky. That title suggests whimsy or playfulness (think of the English word "caprice"), and this ballet does indeed have a playful, joyous atmosphere about it.
He wrote it between 1926 and 1929, during his neoclassical period. His music at this time eschewed the blatant modernism of The Rite of Spring and The Wedding in favour of a style rooted in the courtly music of the eighteenth century, but liberally spiced with modern harmonies. While this flavour is discernible in the Capriccio, the work is equally influenced by the rising new musical stylings and rhythms of jazz. For me, it is this jazzy quality which Balanchine's choreography especially captures.
The music was composed by Stravinsky for the unusual ensemble of winds, brass, percussion and piano. Part of the sense of fun in this Capriccio comes from Stravinsky's use of his unusual orchestra, and in particular from the prominence given to the bassoons and the tuba.
Once again we have a bare stage, but the costumes now are brilliant red with reflective materials, flashing sequins, and gems everywhere, not least on the eye-catching headpieces. Unquestionably one of the most sparkling of Balanchine's ballets that I've seen, from a visual standpoint.
Rubies uses a sizable ensemble: a corps of eight women and four men, and three soloists: a male-female couple, and an additional female referred to as the "Tall Woman" because the impact of her part depends on her height! At the start, they are all lined up in a statuesque half circle, but it takes no time at all for the formation to dissolve as the dancers begin moving around the stage. Several of the women have to strike a most unusual position where they have to stop on pointe, but with both knees angled out to one side and the upper body twisted in the opposite direction. For me, that is the quintessential Rubies moment.
I've been told that Balanchine was notorious for pushing his dancers to do things that seemed as if they were utterly impossible, and that position strikes me as an excellent example!
Rubies is in fact full of sudden stops, dramatic vignettes that last only a second -- just as long as whichever corresponding emphasis in the music they reflect.
In this performance, Heather Ogden and Guillaume Cote were predictably excellent as the lead couple, while Hannah Fischer impressed in her debut as the Tall Woman -- and not just because of her height!
The concluding movement of Rubies rises to a dizzying whirl of activity, with groups of dancers flying in all directions at top speed. The company certainly achieved that effect in full measure.
The final work on the program was Alexander Ekman's Cacti. No surprise, given that this is a very recent work (2013), to find that Cacti is pure modernism in contrast to the classical-tinged-with-modern fusions of Balanchine. But it's also something much more.
The music is a patchwork quilt of soundscapes, snippets of classical masterpieces, and more. An early part of the ballet is also "accompanied" by a recorded speech which gradually takes on the tone and dimensions of a particularly philosophical, wordy, pompous, and finally annoying dance critic (not the least bit like me, of course -- hee hee!).
It would be pointless to try to detail everything that happens during this work, but it will suffice to mention a few items. There's the checkerboard of individual square risers which serve as platforms, stages, furniture, and hiding places for the dancers. Yes, there really are assorted cacti which appear, one per dancer. A string quartet wander on and off the stage, playing all the while. Visible lighting gantries rise and fall in slow motion at key moments, even forcing the dancers to duck so as not to get clobbered on the head. Dance movements run the gamut from single body parts to entire bodies jumping up, falling down, twisting sideways, twitching, heaving, rolling -- you name it, Ekman's got it. Just don't ask why.
Of course, as the piece progresses, you gradually realize that the whole thing is a large-scale demonstration of what modern dance can include -- and also a gigantic send-up of the modern dance world and of itself. As the antics become sillier, including the dancers shouting, laughing, etc., the audience laughter also grows more and more raucous. Finally, the voice returns in what can only be seen as the critic's stream of consciousness: "Is this the end? I think this is the end. It has to be... Okay, this is the end now. Yes. It's the end...." -- and so on and on for about 3 minutes!
Modern dance meets theatre of the absurd.
If you're going to do something like this, there's only one way to go -- full throttle, pedal to the metal, and let it rip. And that's exactly what we got. I sometimes think it's a pity that the fine arts of classical music, opera, and dance so often fight shy of the comedic. A lingering feeling that comedy is a "lower" art form somehow? That certainly isn't true! Cacti shows just how complex farce and comedy can be to stage. Besides, it's wonderful fun for the audience and -- I strongly suspect -- for the entire company as well.
In this mixed programme, two of the three ballets were created by George Balanchine. Since Balanchine is regarded as one of the truly great choreographers of the last century, his works can now fairly be regarded as "classics." Balanchine's art is significant in fusing together the graceful expressivity of classical dance with the rawer-edged possibilities of modern dance.
The truly unique feature of Balanchine's work, and the biggest reason I respond so positively to it, is his insistence that the music is the heart of the matter. Not for him the idea of music as "accompaniment" to dance! Balanchine used to tell his dancers to become or even to be the music, and would say, time and again, that the rehearsal pianist or the orchestral conductor was the most important person in the room.
Balanchine rarely created narrative ballet, so his works -- including the two we saw today -- are truly an interpretation of the music in physical movement. Since both of these works are set to twentieth-century scores, the style appropriately tilts away from the purer classicism of such works as Symphony in C and into a more angular idiom. It can aptly be described as "classical positions with one body part turned in an unexpected direction."
The Four Temperaments, set to a commissioned score by Paul Hindemith, explores the expressive possibilities of a body of dancers in plain tights and leotards dancing on a bare stage in front of a plainly-lit cyclorama backdrop. Sounds boring when you put it like that -- but don't bet your shirt on that. Hindemith's music starts with an introduction that lays out three main themes, then explores in a series of variations on those themes the medieval idea of the four humours or temperaments of humanity: melancholic, sanguinic, phlegmatic and choleric. Balanchine sets the various sections of the work for an ever-shifting array of soloists and small ensembles.
I've seen it performed several times over the years, and one moment I always remember is what I think of as the "Egyptian" position: a group of female dancers in line ahead with one leg extended on pointe, the other foot flat on the floor, and one arm held straight out in front with the elbow bent and the palm turned up. Looks for all the world like an Egyptian tomb painting! But there are so many wonderful moments in this piece: the drooping end of each phrase by a solo man in Melancholic (*Conflict of Interest Alert: yep, my nephew Robert again!*), the intriguing duet of Sanguinic, danced with aplomb by Jenna Savella and McGee Maddox, the fascinating solo in Phlegmatic, danced by Brendan Saye, and the fire-eating Choleric solo of Alexandra MacDonald.
Just as a by-the-way note, all of the soloists in all the casts of The Four Temperaments -- with one lone exception -- were making their debuts in these roles.
Second piece up is simply entitled Rubies. It's the second segment of a full-length triptych called Jewels, which the National Ballet has staged in the past (the first time in 2000). Framed between the more classical elegance of Emeralds and Diamonds, the jazzy style of Rubies can seem very modern indeed. But when it's taken like this, on its own, you can appreciate how this work too makes use of the principle of classical positions with one body part (or more!) out of place.
The music is a Capriccio for piano and orchestra by Stravinsky. That title suggests whimsy or playfulness (think of the English word "caprice"), and this ballet does indeed have a playful, joyous atmosphere about it.
He wrote it between 1926 and 1929, during his neoclassical period. His music at this time eschewed the blatant modernism of The Rite of Spring and The Wedding in favour of a style rooted in the courtly music of the eighteenth century, but liberally spiced with modern harmonies. While this flavour is discernible in the Capriccio, the work is equally influenced by the rising new musical stylings and rhythms of jazz. For me, it is this jazzy quality which Balanchine's choreography especially captures.
The music was composed by Stravinsky for the unusual ensemble of winds, brass, percussion and piano. Part of the sense of fun in this Capriccio comes from Stravinsky's use of his unusual orchestra, and in particular from the prominence given to the bassoons and the tuba.
Once again we have a bare stage, but the costumes now are brilliant red with reflective materials, flashing sequins, and gems everywhere, not least on the eye-catching headpieces. Unquestionably one of the most sparkling of Balanchine's ballets that I've seen, from a visual standpoint.
Rubies uses a sizable ensemble: a corps of eight women and four men, and three soloists: a male-female couple, and an additional female referred to as the "Tall Woman" because the impact of her part depends on her height! At the start, they are all lined up in a statuesque half circle, but it takes no time at all for the formation to dissolve as the dancers begin moving around the stage. Several of the women have to strike a most unusual position where they have to stop on pointe, but with both knees angled out to one side and the upper body twisted in the opposite direction. For me, that is the quintessential Rubies moment.
I've been told that Balanchine was notorious for pushing his dancers to do things that seemed as if they were utterly impossible, and that position strikes me as an excellent example!
Rubies is in fact full of sudden stops, dramatic vignettes that last only a second -- just as long as whichever corresponding emphasis in the music they reflect.
In this performance, Heather Ogden and Guillaume Cote were predictably excellent as the lead couple, while Hannah Fischer impressed in her debut as the Tall Woman -- and not just because of her height!
The concluding movement of Rubies rises to a dizzying whirl of activity, with groups of dancers flying in all directions at top speed. The company certainly achieved that effect in full measure.
The final work on the program was Alexander Ekman's Cacti. No surprise, given that this is a very recent work (2013), to find that Cacti is pure modernism in contrast to the classical-tinged-with-modern fusions of Balanchine. But it's also something much more.
The music is a patchwork quilt of soundscapes, snippets of classical masterpieces, and more. An early part of the ballet is also "accompanied" by a recorded speech which gradually takes on the tone and dimensions of a particularly philosophical, wordy, pompous, and finally annoying dance critic (not the least bit like me, of course -- hee hee!).
It would be pointless to try to detail everything that happens during this work, but it will suffice to mention a few items. There's the checkerboard of individual square risers which serve as platforms, stages, furniture, and hiding places for the dancers. Yes, there really are assorted cacti which appear, one per dancer. A string quartet wander on and off the stage, playing all the while. Visible lighting gantries rise and fall in slow motion at key moments, even forcing the dancers to duck so as not to get clobbered on the head. Dance movements run the gamut from single body parts to entire bodies jumping up, falling down, twisting sideways, twitching, heaving, rolling -- you name it, Ekman's got it. Just don't ask why.
Of course, as the piece progresses, you gradually realize that the whole thing is a large-scale demonstration of what modern dance can include -- and also a gigantic send-up of the modern dance world and of itself. As the antics become sillier, including the dancers shouting, laughing, etc., the audience laughter also grows more and more raucous. Finally, the voice returns in what can only be seen as the critic's stream of consciousness: "Is this the end? I think this is the end. It has to be... Okay, this is the end now. Yes. It's the end...." -- and so on and on for about 3 minutes!
Modern dance meets theatre of the absurd.
If you're going to do something like this, there's only one way to go -- full throttle, pedal to the metal, and let it rip. And that's exactly what we got. I sometimes think it's a pity that the fine arts of classical music, opera, and dance so often fight shy of the comedic. A lingering feeling that comedy is a "lower" art form somehow? That certainly isn't true! Cacti shows just how complex farce and comedy can be to stage. Besides, it's wonderful fun for the audience and -- I strongly suspect -- for the entire company as well.
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