I’ve never seen a work by George Balanchine that didn’t make me think: “Yes! That’s what the music looks like! That’s the right way, the only way to move to this”. Pacific Northwest Ballet’s second repertory performance of the season is a perfectly crafted all-Balanchine triple bill, presenting Square Dance (1957), Prodigal Son (1929), and Stravinsky Violin Concerto (1972). I don’t think its any secret that his choreographic talent is unparalleled, but in this collection of works, his brilliance is highlighted in a new beam of light, showing his intuitive musical genius, and his deep-rooted storytelling capacity. With these classically timeless works, PNB gives the gift of letting the world wash away until all that exists is soul-touching music and bodies moving through space as though they are the ones bringing these melodies to life. It's a much needed reminder that, even in the darkest moments of Prodigal Son, the world is full of beauty, and can be restored to order.
It doesn’t take long to fall in love with Balanchine’s Square Dance, in fact I think it would be rather hard not to be drawn into the bright world of Balanchine’s mind where music becomes visible in the most sensorially delightful way. When the curtain rises, there they stand: prepared, eager, waiting to pounce upon the music. Square Dance is a bunhead's dream; not just to dance, but simply to watch. It holds a delight similar to the most carefully crafted combinations in a ballet class, where music and movement are occasionally so closely aligned that you cannot help but be overwhelmed by the incomparable experience of becoming the music. Square Dance lives firmly inside Vivaldi and Corelli’s score, held by its invisible structures and mirroring its spirit perfectly.
In Square Dance, Balanchine strove to join two worlds which he loved: the classical with American folk dancing. Although the 1957 work originally featured all sorts of extra garnishes, including hay bales and a square dancing caller, in 1976 it was whittled down to what we see today: pure dancing set against a classic “Balanchine blue”. It involves neither square dancing steps, nor square dancing music, yet within the geometry of Vivaldi and Corelli’s music, patterns arise which indicate an inspiration to bring an aspect of folk dancing into the realm of classical ballet. Moments of show and follow, as well as traditional aspects of cordial dance etiquette are visible within this work. Additionally, there’s an element of a studio atmosphere where half of the dancers step aside to stand before the wings to watch the rest. Falling into loose, second-nature fourth positions with hands clasped, or on their hips, it’s a moment I adore, getting to see this living, breathing, very-human picture of ballet upon the stage.
The dancers of Pacific Northwest Ballet are blindingly bright in this technically demanding piece. The corp de ballet exhibits gorgeous exactness, and expansive elation at getting to bring to life such a dream of a ballet, bursting with tenacity for each joyful moment. On opening night, Leta Biasucci and Kyle Davis seemed to be writing the music with their impeccably placed feet. Biasucci moves through these intricate steps faster than the eyes can follow, and Davis’ liveliness made me think of his wonderful performance as Oberon, who must also flit and float in such a meticulous way. His solo surprised me, not only due to the fact that Balanchine planted such a melancholic section amidst such light-hearted gaiety, but also the incredible amount of passion that Davis poured into this solemn solo moment.
The following night, Angelica Generosa and Lucien Postlewaite were an absolute joy to witness. Generosa practically tried to turn into a bird with the effortless height of her jumps, and overflowed with sprite and contagious joy for the brilliance filling her limbs. I’ve never seen someone be so excited for petite allegro, but her exactitude and thrill completely won me over. As always, Postlewaite’s hard-earned wisdom is so clear to see in his dancing. In his solo, he wove a powerful tale, with such purpose flooding through him that he truly seemed to command the music with each limb.
It’s an intoxicating ballet, full of optimistic intricacies, and the sheer glee of music aligned so perfectly with movement. Vivaldi and Coralli’s Baroque orchestrations have never felt so fresh as when painted against a rich Balanchine blue, or brought to life by such exquisite, endlessly spry dancers.
Where does one even start when discussing Prodigal Son? It is perhaps one of the most shockingly unique works I have seen, reflecting its time and place, while still feeling potent in the present day. Between two stripped down, leotard ballets, Prodigal Son shows us Balanchine’s capacity for storytelling and character crafting, two things which he often strayed away from. “A plot is a very difficult thing for a dance, you cannot dance a story” he once said. Prodigal Son is a tale told in an unconventional way, even by today’s standards, let alone when you remember that this work premiered in 1929, and that Balanchine was only twenty five years old at the time. Adorned in expressionist designs, and bearing traits of the time, such as acrobatics, the experimentation of the young choreographer is clear to see.
Rather than tell the story realistically as Prokoviev wanted, Balanchine veered towards the abstract, using modernist styles of movement, steps which aren’t ballet at all, and relying on repeated patterns of movement to build identities for each character. Even the set itself becomes a tool of storytelling, as Jennifer Homans remarks in Mr. B: “This simple table, ship, cross, was the prodigal’s life: home, sin, repentance, return”.
Although Prokoviev and Balanchine disagreed about the execution of this work, and failed to ever collaborate again, the drama they built together is powerful. Prokofiev leads the way in his sharp, yet lyrical score, and Balanchine takes that musical cue to create not only visual drama, but moments of profound story icons.
Christian Poppe and Price Suddarth, as the son’s two friends, were bursting with unbound power and rambunctious spirit which they never seemed to tire of. Miles Pertl was perhaps the strongest image of the father I have seen. His stage presence is a shocking sight, brimming with larger than life authority in this role. He made me wish that the son would, just this once, choose to stay home, so that we could stay there beneath the protection of Pertl’s earth-lifting hands, forever entranced by Prokovfiev’s spellbinding magic.
From the moment Lucien Postlewaite stepped onto the stage as the son, his history with the piece was visible in each breath. He first performed the role twenty years ago, and yet, after so much time spent unraveling the layers of this character, his striving is far from over. The building pressure was evident in his first solo, which roared with genuineness and boiling urgency. If his sequence of pounding his legs and soaring across the stage could be seen as a monologue, Postlewaite shouts it with an impressive amount of built-up steam and frustration. Perhaps more important than any of the physically insane stuff, Postlewaite was diligently committed to the moment, and so deeply in the story, that one could not help but see all that he saw beyond the gate.
In this physically and emotionally demanding role, Postlewaite crafts a fully human character. Particularly at the end, post being stripped of everything, his devastation was alarmingly real. In the dark glow, there was only one thing to see: Postlewaite’s luminous artistry visible in every aching muscle and shaking reach. His genuine desperation made the relief of seeing his gate appear all the more wondrous. From beginning to end, Postlewaite shows what it means to craft a role over the course of a career, and is profoundly moving in his portrayal of this dramatic role.
There are so many ways to approach the iconic role of the Siren: dominating, stony, emotionless, sensual, sharp-edged … the list goes on and on. When I first saw Elle Macy debut this role in June, I immediately felt that she had found a way to make this character exceptionally clear in her presentation of self. Her intention and full presence floods through every aspect of the choreography, finding moments to extend the role of Siren to astonishing heights with details that carve her image sharper. She is, from the very first floating entrance, completely transformed, unrecognizable. As I heard many people say as soon as the curtain fell, she was the Siren; without a doubt, fully committed to each demanding moment with defined inner strength. Her Siren gleams with something higher than human, an otherworldly quality which immediately makes her presence upon the stage both eerie and alluring.
In the commanding force of her arms, I see a sliver of her Myrtha shining through, yet this fierce nature is balanced by a breath of ethereal nobility. She floats with a heavenly air, lifted by unseen spirits, drawn to the light, made of the light, mysterious without growing too cold. Macy has a remarkable gift for finding time and space where there is none. She relishes each moment, draws out every second, filling them so beautifully with seemingly unending devotion and strength.
As always, her control is arresting, and particularly mind-blowing when she has her body wrapped around Postlewaite, slowly lowering herself to the ground while he stands with arms held high. Moments later, she manages to stand up on the shins of his bent legs, and rise, dominating, gleaming, always reaching to grow taller. This wild, inhuman choreography is a shocking sight even ninety five years after its premiere, yet Macy and Postlewaite seem to bend the limits of the human body with their breathtaking endurance and pure artistry. I must say, I feel rather spoiled for life by this cast, so utterly brilliant was the web they spun together.
Balanchine once told Patricia McBride that Stravinsky Violin Concerto was his favorite work, and it’s not hard to see why. Stravinsky Violin Concerto is a sublime work of layers upon layers of brilliance. It is playful, energetic, and filled with the simple joy of seeing the complex rhythms of Stravinsky made visible. If Square Dance is cordial, and proper in its manner, Stravinsky Violin Concerto is a bit wilder in its character, unafraid to push the boundaries of ballet here and there. There’s plenty of casual dancing woven into this piece, with elements of swing, jazz, acrobatics, and Russian folk dancing scattered like little gems throughout. Stravinsky’s 1931 score is unnerving at times, yet the choreography brings order to what could easily start to look like chaos were it not for Balanchine’s deep understanding of the music.
When the busyness of the stage fades to leave two dancers alone amidst the blue, Christopher D’Ariana and Elle Macy fully convinced me that this aria was created for the sole purpose of filling their limbs. The music’s contrasting melodies become visual in two bodies who try again and again to find the other, to connect only to peel away moments later, tension-filled, at odds with one another. Even when they do find a moment of harmony, they must keep moving, pulling away from each other, never content. The acrobatic elements make this viscerally clear, a tangible representation of wrangling amidst the discontent. Macy’s impeccable penchée is held taut by D’Ariano, as if he holds her back from continuing in that direction of flight. When he lifts her clasped under his arm, her legs alternatively reaching skyward while moving through the air as though they cannot find the earth, there is such sorrowful beauty interwoven. Later, she coils in and out of backbends and they are completely separate; dissonant.
Even in the most breathtaking moments of partnership, such as when Macy rests her promenading arabesque upon D’Ariano’s shoulder only to then reach back and somehow find his waiting hand, they cannot tolerate that kind of connection for long. They are reaching past each other, tangled yet looking far beyond. Their ending pose distills it all: she moves away from him, out of the constraints of his hold, in a back walkover before letting herself drape into a glorious cambré, arching away from him, while he flops to the ground: done with it all.
On Saturday night, Madison Rayn Abeo and Dammiel Cruz-Garrido melted into the deep beauty of Aria II. Cruz-Garrido’s defined focus, and Abeo’s perfectly placed hands and immaculate épaulement showed two artists brimming with an exquisite sense of purpose. Their soulful duet holds signature Balanchine innovation in all of its little details: partnering by crossed wrists alone, a knee hooked above the other’s shoulder, arms which spiral around each other like they’ll never find the end.
My favorite section though, comes halfway through when the cellos’ beat changes to underscore the most heartfelt of melodies, played gloriously by the ever-astounding Michael Jimsoo Lim. Here, Cruz-Garrido and Abeo consumed space in a manner I’ve never seen in these roles, yet it was a detail which utterly changed the quality of their shared moment. That hunger for space, with port de bras full of flowing strength and intention, is exactly what the music conveys at that moment: a desire for more. More soul, more beauty, more depth. What a beautiful sight, to see two dancers so willing to go there, to sink into every moment that they have, to cover the stage with broad strokes rather than shying away from the urgent, soulful desire which the music suggests.
In the finale, with thumbs at the ready to guide some folksy steps, the dancers overflow with playfulness and exuberant spirit, pouncing upon the music like a cat chasing after its prey. What’s beautiful about the inclusion of folk dancing in this finale is that it feels completely driven by the music, and not by an intellectual choice to add in such movement. Balanchine heard it in Stravinsky’s score, which is why it bursts upon the stage with such genuine passion. It could not have been any other way. After the seriousness of both Arias, this section abounds with a quality of freedom and carefree abundance of joy, and the entire cast gave it their all.
In the first cast, Dylan Wald once again showed his gift for bringing inner calm to the most quick-paced, detailed work, floating through it with heavenly grace and stamina. Angelica Generosa found all the joy to be had, especially in the quick-as-a-wink stag jumps and intricate footwork. Elle Macy filled the stage with electric ebullience, continuously finding new height and space to consume, and bringing a whole lot of unstoppable power and eagerness to this gleeful final push of the night. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, her commitment to every arduous moment is simply incomparable. Likewise, Christopher D’Ariano was a vision of brilliant energy, and brimmed with a signature radiant strength through every illustrious sequence.
Stravinsky Violin Concerto is a glorious end to a vivacious night, the kind that will leave you high on ballet long after you leave the theater. And beneath it all, is a love letter to Stravinsky, Balanchine’s dear collaborator and father-figure. His adoration of this music, and of the possibilities hiding beneath layers of melodies, is clear to see in the careful crafting of this beautiful work. As soon as it came to an end, I was ready to see it again. What a brilliant feat of musicality and splendid vision this work is, or rather, truly, the entire night.
All Balanchine runs through Sunday, November 10th. Find a way to get yourself there!
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