Nowhere to Hide in "La Bayadere" (Vienna Letter #2)

by George Jackson

copyright 2008 by George Jackson

Some dancers, like certain cities, make you conscious of volume more than line, space or even spot. Vienna is one of the cities, at least in its inner districts. These are built up of substantial structures - apartment houses of much the same size and shape. The prototype stems from the 19th Century. Façade styles differ – Biedermeier, neoclassical, art nouveau, functional, fancily glass-and-steel and so forth. It is the buildings' boxy volume, though, that stamps itself into the consciousness to become a norm. Dancers who conjure volume – they seem sculpted in the round or molded on a lathe – include three 20th Century ballerinas: the USSR’s Marina Semyonova, Austria’s Poldy Pokorny and the USA’s Nana Gollner.

Semyonova (born 1908 and now entering her second century) was Agrippina Vaganova’s first star pupil, graduating in 1925. Pokorny (1912-1996), whose full first name was Leopoldine, entered the Vienna Staatsoper Ballet in 1929. She had an Italian technique according to the late teacher, Vincenzo Celli, who once partnered her. Gollner (1920-1980), the only one of the three I saw dance live, was lighter-boned than Semyonova or Pokorny and the first American to become a Ballet Russe star. Although the 20th Century preferred more linear ballerinas, each of these made a place for herself. Still other dancers of volume are the Lipizzaner stallions of Vienna’s Spanish Riding School.

Would that debating quality issues such as line vs. volume in the dancing of the Ballet of the Vienna Staatsoper and Volksoper were worthwhile! Dancing was the least interesting aspect of what I saw in three of the company’s autumn performances. John Cranko’s “Eugene Onegin” (Staatsoper, October 10) had the right feel of drama overall, although none of the principals made their characters fully plausible. Aliya Tanikpaeva was convincing as the young, bookish Tatjana. As the mature Tatjana who thwarts Onegin’s advances, Tanikpaeva hadn’t yet sufficient stature. The Onegin of Eno Peci was dour, very dour, but unconvincing in his final remorse. The most vivid character on stage was Denys Cherevychko’s Lenski, yet how in the world did this extrovert young man befriend Onegin in the first place? Tatjana eventually marries a Prince Gremin, still regretting what might have been with Onegin. In this cast, though, Kirill Kourlaev’s Gremin was far too handsome for someone who supposedly is the heroine's sensible, unromantic choice. Natalie Kusch was Tatajan’s sister Olga, engaged to Lenski.

Cranko made “Onegin” for the Stuttgart Ballet when it was still learning to be dansant. Shrewdly, he displays company dancing only guardedly. However, “La Bayadere” as it exists today is a ballet in which it is impossible to hide anything. Inadequacies are all too apparent. Vienna is saddled with Vladimir Malakhov’s staging that reads like classic comics. The basic structure and steps of the usual Petipa/Soviet hybrid are there (presumably set by Valentina Savina) but every effect, whether dramatic or in the dancing, seems to come with an exclamation mark.

Great dancing could still have come to the rescue at the Staatsoper on October 16, only there wasn’t any. The company looked provincial – except for the Staatsoper Orchestra’s playing of Minkus (conducted by Andre Presser), Kathrin Czerny’s Manu dance and Wolfgang Grascher’s absolutist Rajah of Golconda. Steps were delivered by the Staatsoper/Volksoper ensemble but classical dancing is more than that. It must propel from step to step and build phrases. There should be climax and denouement, contrast and blend, plus projection that is grandly sustained.

Nina Polakova’s Nikia and Roman Lazik’s Solor were small scale. Elisabeth Golibina’s Hamsatti looked imposing but hadn’t sufficient dance power. Marek Ackermann’s Grand Brahmin was mimetically puny. The female corps moved mechanically in the Shades scene. Perhaps it was a matter of too many debuts in the same performance. Not only were Polakova, Lazik, Golibina and Ackermann new to their roles, but so were the three solo Shades – Rui Tamai, Brenda Saleh and Iliana Chivarova. The male corps, displayed in the Opium scene’s candle dance, did better than the female corps. Cherevychko’s Golden God, not new, was adequate. Peci and Shane A. Wuerthner were the side men in the Grand Betrothal Dance; Wuerthner has a big jump but is diffident on stage. What made ballet director Gyula Harangozo II think his company could pass this test?

“Max und Moritz” (Volksoper, October 20) is a children’s ballet and not the worst. It is based on an old (1865) illustrated tale about prank and punishment, written and drawn by Wilhelm Busch (1832-1908). Generations of Europeans grew up with the story which American educators have considered unsuitable, perhaps because of the country's problem with mass murder in schools. Dance versions of "M + M" haven’t been lacking according to Alfred Oberzaucher’s information in the Volksoper’s printed program: by Kasyan Goleizovsky (Moscow, 1928 to Ludwig Schytte music), Stella Mann (Vienna, 1936 to Johann Strauss selections), Helga Swedlund (Hamburg, 1938 and Vienna, 1940 to a Norbert Schultze score), Hedi and Margot Hoepfner (Berlin, 1939 to a Leo Spiess and Hans Kessner composition), by Karl Schaefer’s ice revue (Vienna, 1942), Alfredo Bartoluzzi (Karlsruhe, 1950 to Richard Mohaupt music) and by Isabel M. Nowak – her modern dance version (Vienna, 2007) became “Maxima and Moritza”. The Goleizovsky, although artistically successful, was soon banned by Soviet authorities as harmful for juveniles.

The current Vienna “M + M” is based on Munich’s 1984 production by Edmund Gleede and choreographer Peter Marcus to a potpourri of Rossini overtures. Choreography is by Ferenc Barbay and Michael Kropf, who danced in the original Munich cast. They keep the action lively and make a few ballet references (to the 4 cygnettes and a sort of Black Swan ballerina). The original story’s cruelties have been softened a bit. This performance, with Alexej Khludov and Dumitru Taran in the title roles, was on a Monday at 5:30 PM and the Volksoper was filled with children who had come with their parents or in school groups. They loved it. The dancers, too, seemed to be having fun and conveyed their pleasure to the public. What a difference that makes!

The finest dancing I saw in Vienna was at the Touchings festival, the focus of my first letter. Esther Koller, Martina Haager, Eva Selzer and Jolantha Seyfried were mentioned in that letter but I admired others too. Mario Mattiazzo’s secure sensuality balanced Seyfried’s high strung characterization. The family group in “Terror” must not only signal fear but have volume. Its four dancers gave it a strikingly sculpted look. Death in “Death and the Maiden” should be male but is sometimes danced by a woman; Julia Mach made the role masculine beyond sexuality. Jianan Qu’s simplicity in “Ionisation” turned the work’s spectrum of feelings and degrees of intensity into a kaleidoscope. Lina Maria Venegas’ “Quintin Lame” had grit and power. In “Madman”, Petr Ochvat’s lanky frame was stretched and tightened, resonating like a violin string. Ochvat resembles the young William Dunas. If ever those 1960s expressionist solos Dunas danced in New York (and once in Vienna) should be revived, it is now with Ochvat.