“Petrushka,” “Rites of Spring”
Györ National Ballet of Hungary
Joyce Theater
New York, NY
January 26, 2010
by Martha Sherman
copyright © 2010 by Martha Sherman
In an evening of dance to two iconic works by Stravinsky, The
Györ National Ballet of Hungary presented the same story twice. Both Dmitry
Simkin’s version of “Petrushka,” and Atilla Kun’s “Rite of Spring,” show the individual
set upon by society, and the individual does not come out well. Although
decorated differently, the choreography, too, had striking parallels. The
dancers’ precision and energy were admirable, but the evening failed to hold us.
Simkin’s 1995 setting of “Petrushka” was placed, through
heavily laden stage metaphors, in Eastern Europe and the totalitarian state.
The curtain rose on a gray set with a huge glowing red star hung from the
center. A monstrous statue head of Lenin flanked by a stone arm with hammer,
and a cracked sickle were littered across the back of the stage An evocation
not only of the Soviet flag, but also of the fall of Ozymandias, the set later
provided part of the choreographic drama, when Lenin’s head was used to crush
the Gulag-style ensemble of prisoners in the final scene. The costumes, too,
were unsubtle links to real, but clichéd, images of Soviet and Nazi youth
groups and prisoners. The girls, in short black dress uniforms, white pinafores
and bows, were joined by boys in dark shorts and light tucked shirts, red
bandanas proclaiming their allegiance.
Even the lights spoke in dull authoritarian tones.
Instead of starting with Stravinsky’s music, the curtain
opened to the dancers in a calisthenic choreography as a youth group anthem
blared. The dance was an energetic collective; their eyes were glazed in group
enthusiasm. The same song and choreography were echoed at the dance’s close, in
the glazed eyes of a group of prisoners; the parallel, another heavy metaphor.
Petrushka, danced by Bálint Sebestyén, switches Stravinsky’s
character from being the puppet to being the one who chooses not to be, and
suffers for it. Sebestyén dances as an individual trying to retain his
independence. He was lackadaisical as he joined the group dance, drooping and
half-hearted. As trios curled in and over each other, Sebestyén wandered among
them. The others wove and connected, and he moved through them, impassive and
unchanged.
Petrushka’s nemesis was the authoritarian officer character
of the Magician, danced by Bálazs Pátkai. The good guy/bad guy relationship was
hackneyed, but beautifully executed. Sebestyén’s arms twitched into a personal
sickle, a sharp elbow and an extended arm, as his body flinched under the
Magician’s boot. Pátkai, made the most of his meaty villain’s role,
particularly in the strong duet with Petrushka that was the fulcrum of the
work. After struggling to free himself in a high energy solo, Petrushka fought to
elude the trap of the Magician’s legs. As with other interpretations of
Stravinsky’s score, this had no happy ending. Petrushka couldn’t escape. As
abandoned and ostracized among the prisoners as he had been among the first
scene’s youth leaders, the curtain fell on his defeat.
In Hun’s interpretation of “Rite of Spring,” the rite is a
brutal sacrifice. Five beautiful couples were costumed in spare white by Zsuzsa
Molnár, like Greek gods and vestal virgins. A trio of women opened and became a
quintet; their stark kicks, poses, and outstretched arms were as angular as
Stravinsky’s music. This stage was a white lit grid on which the only visual
focus was the dancers themselves. The horizontal lines – never solos, only
groups, pairs, trios -- were broken by patterned lifts, the women forming a
canopy floating on strong vertical arms.
The Chosen One, Lilla M. Horváth, was the community’s
victim. A series of dramatic entries started with her still solo, bathed
in a cube of bright light. Later she and a short-term partner, Kristián Horváth,
slid across a narrow strip of downstage light, seeking each other in a low
undulating crawl. Horváth wrapped
around her partner, then rested on his upper thigh; briefly, it seemed, she
might be part of the society and part of a couple. The other dancers returned
to the stage, though, the men now robed for the sacrifice, and her partner
abandoned her. Horváth stood in
the center of the women, heaving in distress, the men looming, watching. Like
Petrushka before her, she was sacrificed to the crowd. The women surrounded
her, diving into her body, rolling and suffocating her. She staggered out,
bloodied, as the curtain fell.
Throughout, the dancers’ discipline and clean lines underlined
the metaphor of communal power. The relentlessness of an authoritarian crowd is
wearying: to live in, and to watch. More depth, texture, and subtlety, like
that of Stravinsky’s music, would have been welcome.
copyright © 2010 by Martha Sherman
Photo: "Rite of Spring" by Béla Szabó
