The Beauty and Inspiration of Dance
“Chopiniana” solo
SOME IN THE Gaillard audience for this Charleston Concert Association production on Monday night were surprised to see two Russian National Ballet Theatre events on the program rather than the one advertised—Romeo and Juliet. Fortunately, however, surprise did not lead to disappointment.
First up was the delicate Chopiniana, a 1907 work by choreographer Mikhail Fokine danced to the adapted music of Frederic Chopin. Like Chopin’s music, this series of dances does not have a specific theme or plot. It revolves instead around an impressionistic invoking of mood and feelings, in this case in the form of a dream. The elegant costumes and choreography perfectly complemented this aspect of Chopin’s music. Particularly stunning was the corps de ballet in their white French-style, calf-length dresses seen against a blue-and-white stage set replete with classical columns. But what really made the corps de ballet stand out was their artistry and precision.
Corps de ballet in “Chopiniana”
The sign of a good corps is its ability to appear as one: to start and stop and move with unity. In Chopiniana, the dancers are required to “freeze” mime-like in varying postures, and these ladies did it to perfection as they folded into and out of groupings that took the form of still-lifes. That, along with the fluid choreography in general, was a clear demonstration of the painterly nature of Fokine’s style, and a testament to the exemplary standards being kept by the Russian National Ballet Theatre.
After intermission came Romeo and Juliet, which some of us had eagerly anticipated because it was being danced to Peter Tchaikovsky’s “Fantasy Overture.” (And although there is no concrete evidence to support the fact, the choreography was supposedly based on the “original” by Marius Petipa, who had partnered with Tchaikovsky on other well-known ballets.)
This fantasy-overture version of Romeo and Juliet is less performed these days because of the enormous popularity of the 1965 version that Sir Kenneth MacMillan—of London’s Royal Ballet Theatre—brought to the stage when legendary dancers Margot Fonteyn and Rudolph Nureyev enlivened the provocative score of Sergei Prokofiev. Having never seen the Tchaikovsky version, it seemed to me initially less passionate, less alluring, and less mysterious than Prokofiev’s stirring rendition. But as the ballet unfolded it became apparent just how sensitive, poetic, and lyrical Tchaikovsky’s interpretation was. The music—which I was familiar with—now has a new depth for me that I look forward to listening to.
Juliet in the Death scene
The Tchaikovsky version is also much, much shorter—45 minutes compared to Prokofiev’s two and a half hours or more. Its brevity notwithstanding, and in spite of the fact that at times it felt like a Cliff-Notes summary of the play, the story could not have been better told in such a short time.
The clever set changes, the seamless transitions, and the overall staging by directors Sergei and Elena Radchenko (she, a former principal dancer with the Bolshoi) were a pleasure to watch—as was their elaborate scenography. Instead of portraying Verona (the scene of Shakespeare’s story), they carried us to Venice where we saw, among other things, St. Mark’s Square and the impressive Equestrian Monument of Bartolommeo Colleoni (c. 1483-88) by Andrea del Verrocchio.
Although this production was not exactly what some may have expected, it offered many beautifully staged moments, particularly the opening and closing scenes where the quarreling families in the beginning, and their ill-fated children in the end, were paired facing each other. The latter especially, where the dead lovers were raised into the air, their arms reaching toward one another, had a spine-tingling effect.
Most importantly, though, the evening as a whole provided the major ingredient that all good art gives us: we went home feeling nourished by the beauty and inspiration of dancing by a group of extremely dedicated artists.
A choice selection of words for the most nonverbal of arts! Dance so often beggars description that it seems close to miraculous when it is conveyed with the blend of sensitivity and precision necessary to a reader’s imagination.