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Review 2, 1-29: How Swell
Rodgers, Sylve Swellegent at the State Theater
By Gus Solomons jr
Copyright 2003 Gus Solomons jr
NEW YORK -- Catching
up with New York City Ballet this past Saturday afternoon after
much too long, I was happy to see them dancing competently, with
professional craftsmanship and gratifying fluency. Everyone did
their steps; no one was weak or unsteady; and they were musical
-- if not precisely together in the unisons -- in the opening ballet,
Peter Martins's "Thou Swell," which premiered last Wednesday, January
22.
Martins has concocted
an ingratiating spectacle. Dancers wear tuxes and lavish gowns with
extravagantly bold-print, black-and-white evening wraps by Julius
Lumsden, NYCB artist in residence, who's obviously anxious to earn
his keep. Robin Wagner has fashioned a swank nightclub with cafe
tables and chairs on Lucite platforms, lit from beneath, and a huge
mirror overhead that gives us a bird's-eye view of the stage floor.
The pit orchestra conducted
by Paul Geminiani supplements an onstage trio: pianist Nick Archer,
bassist John Beal, and drummer Paul Pizzuli, all in white tuxes.
Jonathan Dokuchitz in a white dinner jacket and Debbie Gravitte
(who swaggers like an Ailey dancer) in a black cocktail dress deliver
the lyrics, crisp and clear, from various locations around the stage.
Richard Rodgers's songs,
arranged by Glen Kelly and orchestrated by Don Sebesky are the ocean
upon which Martins sets his steps afloat. And the steps are mostly
conventional ballet riffs; coupes that slouch forward into the hips,
high front extensions, and Balanchine-arabesques that twist the
torso into full arabesque position while hips remain virtually in
second position.
Symmetrical spatial
patterns prevail. But real invention emerges in the duets that comprise
the ballet's flesh and bones. Martins uses to good advantage overhead
lifts, in which the woman switches direction in midair or changes
leg positions more than once before alighting. Interludes for four
waitresses, carrying imaginary trays on upturned hands, and four
energetic waiters occasionally interrupt the duets. Several of these
eight sprightly supporting players are apparently apprentices, not
listed in the program as full company members.
Sturdy Nilas Martins
and winsome Yvonne Borree do a jazzy, up-tempo rendition of "This
Can't be Love." Lyrical Darci Kistler and muscular Jock Soto are
"Bewitched," (but happily not bothered or bewildered). Rachel Rutherford
momentarily abandons her partner James Fayette to flirt with three
guys in "The Lady is a Tramp." Elegantly lanky Maria Kowroski and
Charles Askegard give "Blue Moon" a languorous adagio treatment,
which is arguably the ballet's highlight. She dances like a devil-may-care,
latter-day Suzanne Farrell, and he, tall and blond, model-handsome
is a dashing, attentive partner. Just before the finale, Nilas Martins
playfully bumps the piano player from his bench and tickles the
keys with a few bouncy phrases of the title song. Although the ballet
doesn't particularly need a punch line, it gets (a rather lame)
one. After the couples, including the singers, amble romantically,
arm in arm, into the night, the four waitresses sneak back on and
pose like "rich ladies" at the guests' tables.
Jerome Robbins's serene
"In The Night" nicely complemented the bravura of "Thou Swell."
Set to Chopin, played sensitively by pianist Nancy McDill and bathed
in Jennifer Tipton's sensuous moonlight against a starry sky, Rutherford
with Arch Higgins, Jennie Somogyi with Peter Boal, and Whelan with
Jock Soto rendered dutifully expressive interpretations of Robbins's
delicately qualitative, technically grueling pas de deux. Costume
designer Anthony Dowell's flowing gown softened Whelan's alarmingly
lean and sinewy muscularity, and the excitement of her daring sensuality
carried us away.
Everyone must know the
Richard Rodgers music from "Slaughter on Tenth Avenue," but I, for
one, didn't remember the story of the ballet, which Balanchine,
in show business mode in 1936, choreographed for the musical "On
Your Toes." Pillars of the New York theatre design establishment,
Jo Mielziner and Irene Sharaff, did the original sets and costumes,
respectively, and Hershy Kay re-orchestrated the music. Kyle Froman
made his debut on Saturday afternoon as "Morrosine, premier dancer
noble," who in a heavy Russian accent plots with Gangster, Andrew
Robertson, to bump off the Hoofer, Philip Neal, from a box seat
in the audience at the climax of the Hoofer's big finale in the
ballet. (Fear not, there is a happy ending.) Guest artist Sofiane
Sylve also made a debut as the Strip Tease Girl, the Hoofer's main
squeeze.
The choreography is
pretty thin -- even if it is Balanchine's -- consisting mainly of
high kicks and girly-girly poses for the chorines, tough-guy posturing
with double tours for the cops, and macho attitude for the Big Boss
(Fayette). Nevertheless, Sylve makes the most of it, swiveling her
hips and slithering like a musical comedy vamp -- appropriately
understated, naturally. One hip-wrenching moment has her whipping
repeatedly from high kicks front with a backbend into nose-to-knee
penche arabesques (get the hip replacements ready!). She dances
with decidedly more show-biz flair than the other NYCB ballerinas,
whose solemn demeanors rarely crack. Oh, they smile from time to
time, of course, but of the women in Saturday's matinee only Whelan
approached Sylve's go-for-broke dynamic attack.
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