For anyone immersed in the world of the performing arts, the ancient myth of Orpheus must surely be one of the most evocative of all mythological tales. It speaks to the power of art, the power of love, the refusal to accept the inevitability of a "given," and the challenge of living within restrictive rules -- all themes that resonate with artists and artistic re-creators alike.
Since the art in question is music, it's no surprise that the story of Orpheus and Eurydice was the first story to be dramatized in an opera, nor that it has remained a favourite subject of composers ever since, from the early Euridice of Jacopo Peri and L'Orfeo of Monteverdi, forward by way of Gluck and many other operas and ballets, to the romantic tone poem Orpheus by Franz Liszt -- to name only a few examples.
The National Ballet's second programme of its fall season presents a pair of works linked to the theme of Orpheus and Eurydice. Both are new to the repertoire, with the major work being a new commission for the National, set to a commissioned score.
The first work, George Balanchine's Chaconne, is linked by the choreographer's choice of music from Christoph Willibald Gluck, opening with what may very well be that composer's single most famous piece -- the Dance of the Blessed Spirits from Orpheus and Eurydice. That's really as far as the tie-in goes, because Balanchine here produced one of his most successful abstract ballets -- a study in pure, symmetrical, ordered movement that gives full expression to his famous philosophy: "See the music; hear the dance." Although Chaconne contains several classic pas for 2, 3, or 5 dancers, this really is a company piece and one that definitely forces the company to prove its classical skills. Balanchine is the ultimate example of the choreographer whose steps look easy -- and always seem easiest when the footwork is at its most fiendishly difficult.
Aided by the fluent playing of the reduced, Gluck-sized orchestra in the pit, the company gave this bright and lively Balanchine classic a glowing performance, full of life and light. This goes to the top of my list of Balanchine pieces I'd love to see again, right alongside the equally brilliant Symphony in C, set to Georges Bizet's youthful outpouring of joy.
It's a definite privilege to sit down and witness the first-ever performance, anywhere, of a major new work like Orpheus Alive. Normally, ballets are tagged with the name of the choreographer who creates them, but in this case such a procedure is misleading. This new work is a collaborative team effort, involving choreographer Robert Binet, composer Missy Mazzoli, writer and dramaturge Rosamund Small, and set & costume designer, Hyemi Shin.
The resulting creation is a fantastic cross-fertilization of dance and theatre, making effective but sparing use of digital projections to enhance the drama taking place on the stage. For the performers, too, it's a definite cross-over piece, requiring dance, acting, speaking, and singing.
When it comes to assessing the world premiere performance of Orpheus Alive, mere adjectives seem rather weak at the knees. If there was ever a work where the whole was far greater than the sum of its parts, this is the one. Orpheus Alive is a theatrical experience of stunning power and searching insight, due in large measure to the intense, forceful performance of the title role of Orpheus by Jenna Savella.
Wait a minute, I hear some people thinking -- isn't Orpheus supposed to be a man? In the myth, yes -- but here the creators have chosen to reverse the genders of Orpheus and Eurydice. In the final result as staged, it matters not at all. What we see has so little relation to the outward dress of the classical myth that the names of the characters really don't matter. This story is set in the present day, and it's almost as if two sets of mythology-mad parents chose to pin these ancient Greek names onto their offspring.
The story also becomes determinedly local by the introduction of a stage set depicting the Osgoode subway station on the Toronto subway network. It's this subway station that is the scene of the first meeting between Orpheus and Eurydice, and it's also the scene of Eurydice's death.
Aside from these external details of character and place names, the story remains as universal as ever -- and it's the universality of the tale that justifies the whole show. The title, Orpheus Alive, gives us the key link by underlining the reality that the story line of Orpheus is played out again and again, ever new, all around us, as we walk through the wilderness of this world. How often have we heard a person who has suffered a bereavement wishing or even pleading for just one more chance to see, hear, hold their loved one yet again?
In the key central character of Orpheus, Jenna Savella brought heart-tugging intensity to her plea for the return of Eurydice. Her spoken address to the gods (the audience) ranged across a broad emotional compass. But this is a ballet, and it was when she turned to dance (as her equivalent of the mythological song of Orpheus) that she truly unlocked the power of her character's emotions. This lengthy and demanding solo is the true centre of gravity of the entire work, and Savella delivered Binet's complex and wide-ranging choreography with equal measures of finesse and force.
In the climactic duet with Eurydice, as she tried to lead him back to the world of life, she loaded the choreography with so much desperate energy that I was gripping the arms of my seat. This role compels this one dancer to carry the entire show forward for most of its 75-minute length, and the storm of cheering which greeted Savella at the curtain calls was the measure of her achievement.
Spencer Hack brought a similar broad range of emotions to the role of Eurydice, no mean achievement when he is given relatively little time to establish and embroider the character. His transition from the subway station to the waters of the River Styx was imbued with intention, making it clear without heavy underlining that this Eurydice dies of his own will.
Then, in the final duet, Hack demonstrated great agility and fluidity in his repeated -- and finally successful -- attempts to remove Savella's blindfold.
This, by the way, underlines the psychological hammer-punch that makes the ending of this piece so devastating and thought-provoking. It's the revelation that the dead want to remain dead. Having accomplished the transition to whatever lies beyond, they have no desire to return to the world we inhabit.
We see Orpheus leading Eurydice back to the upper world only after we have watched several other couples try, and fail, to meet this test. In these cases, the dead persons try to provoke, entice, or compel the living ones to look back at them while still in the underworld -- and in the myth, that is the fatal error which causes Orpheus to lose Eurydice forever.
In this re-creation of the tale, the three-headed monster Cerberus, who guarded the gates of Hades, has been replaced. Modern technology has caught up with hell, and in the most hellish of all modern environments: bureaucracy. The new three-headed monster is a receptionist named "Sharon," seated at an endlessly revolving reception desk and talking from one head after another at -- not to -- the unfortunate living souls who hope to plead for the gods' mercy. Rebekah Rimsay, Alejandra Perez Gomez, and Tiffany Mosher splendidly brought this modern nightmare to life, managing to not only look alike and act alike but even sound alike as they bellowed announcements, numbers, and admonitions while rotating around.
The rest of the ballet's cast consisted of Mourners, Furies, Apparitions, and Underworld Spirits, all depicted by assorted groups of company members. All these group scenes played a key part in creating a portrait of the darkness and tedium of the underworld.
Robert Binet's choreography for this work is remarkable. His vocabulary flows spontaneously and easily between modern and classical styles, the women switching on and off the pointe sometimes in a matter of seconds. Throughout, he's brought a special kind of sensitivity to the movements of the dancers, allowing the fullest expression of the emotions. In that lengthy central solo for Orpheus, he's created a magnificent flow of choreography which avoids any feeling of sameness or monotony.
Missy Mazzoli's musical score, a combination of live orchestra and recorded soundtracks, is equally adept at creating the atmospheres in which this story can unfold. Unlike the Gluck (although she does quote his music at one point), this is not music with pretty tunes that become earworms, but it is music of power and substance, and serves the needs of the story uncommonly well.
The text by Rosamund Small is a bit more of a mixed bag. At times, it becomes a critical contributor to the show's atmosphere (Sharon's speeches, or the first speech of Orpheus to the gods). But Small also resorts to Bertolt Brecht's epic technique of using humour to let the emotional air out of the show's tires, and really resorts to it too often. It's almost as if she wants to tell us not to take any of this seriously at all. This Brechtian deflation was an unfortunate choice, as it served only to undercut the powerful atmosphere being created by the music and especially by the dancers.
Then there's the sad reality that there will inevitably be people in the audience who simply don't find death, and especially death by suicide, to be a laughing matter.
Hyemi Shin's sets and costumes do a splendid job of evoking the strangeness and hostility of the underworld while still keeping all the action visible to the audience -- a challenge which some previous ballets staged in predominantly dark environments have failed to meet.
For its powerful combination of intense dance, evocative music, and a fascinating modern re-take on a classic myth, Orpheus Alive is one of the most entrancing and rewarding new works the National Ballet has placed before us in recent years. Performances continue through November 21 at the Four Seasons Centre for the Arts.
The first work, George Balanchine's Chaconne, is linked by the choreographer's choice of music from Christoph Willibald Gluck, opening with what may very well be that composer's single most famous piece -- the Dance of the Blessed Spirits from Orpheus and Eurydice. That's really as far as the tie-in goes, because Balanchine here produced one of his most successful abstract ballets -- a study in pure, symmetrical, ordered movement that gives full expression to his famous philosophy: "See the music; hear the dance." Although Chaconne contains several classic pas for 2, 3, or 5 dancers, this really is a company piece and one that definitely forces the company to prove its classical skills. Balanchine is the ultimate example of the choreographer whose steps look easy -- and always seem easiest when the footwork is at its most fiendishly difficult.
Aided by the fluent playing of the reduced, Gluck-sized orchestra in the pit, the company gave this bright and lively Balanchine classic a glowing performance, full of life and light. This goes to the top of my list of Balanchine pieces I'd love to see again, right alongside the equally brilliant Symphony in C, set to Georges Bizet's youthful outpouring of joy.
It's a definite privilege to sit down and witness the first-ever performance, anywhere, of a major new work like Orpheus Alive. Normally, ballets are tagged with the name of the choreographer who creates them, but in this case such a procedure is misleading. This new work is a collaborative team effort, involving choreographer Robert Binet, composer Missy Mazzoli, writer and dramaturge Rosamund Small, and set & costume designer, Hyemi Shin.
The resulting creation is a fantastic cross-fertilization of dance and theatre, making effective but sparing use of digital projections to enhance the drama taking place on the stage. For the performers, too, it's a definite cross-over piece, requiring dance, acting, speaking, and singing.
When it comes to assessing the world premiere performance of Orpheus Alive, mere adjectives seem rather weak at the knees. If there was ever a work where the whole was far greater than the sum of its parts, this is the one. Orpheus Alive is a theatrical experience of stunning power and searching insight, due in large measure to the intense, forceful performance of the title role of Orpheus by Jenna Savella.
Wait a minute, I hear some people thinking -- isn't Orpheus supposed to be a man? In the myth, yes -- but here the creators have chosen to reverse the genders of Orpheus and Eurydice. In the final result as staged, it matters not at all. What we see has so little relation to the outward dress of the classical myth that the names of the characters really don't matter. This story is set in the present day, and it's almost as if two sets of mythology-mad parents chose to pin these ancient Greek names onto their offspring.
The story also becomes determinedly local by the introduction of a stage set depicting the Osgoode subway station on the Toronto subway network. It's this subway station that is the scene of the first meeting between Orpheus and Eurydice, and it's also the scene of Eurydice's death.
Aside from these external details of character and place names, the story remains as universal as ever -- and it's the universality of the tale that justifies the whole show. The title, Orpheus Alive, gives us the key link by underlining the reality that the story line of Orpheus is played out again and again, ever new, all around us, as we walk through the wilderness of this world. How often have we heard a person who has suffered a bereavement wishing or even pleading for just one more chance to see, hear, hold their loved one yet again?
In the key central character of Orpheus, Jenna Savella brought heart-tugging intensity to her plea for the return of Eurydice. Her spoken address to the gods (the audience) ranged across a broad emotional compass. But this is a ballet, and it was when she turned to dance (as her equivalent of the mythological song of Orpheus) that she truly unlocked the power of her character's emotions. This lengthy and demanding solo is the true centre of gravity of the entire work, and Savella delivered Binet's complex and wide-ranging choreography with equal measures of finesse and force.
In the climactic duet with Eurydice, as she tried to lead him back to the world of life, she loaded the choreography with so much desperate energy that I was gripping the arms of my seat. This role compels this one dancer to carry the entire show forward for most of its 75-minute length, and the storm of cheering which greeted Savella at the curtain calls was the measure of her achievement.
Spencer Hack brought a similar broad range of emotions to the role of Eurydice, no mean achievement when he is given relatively little time to establish and embroider the character. His transition from the subway station to the waters of the River Styx was imbued with intention, making it clear without heavy underlining that this Eurydice dies of his own will.
Then, in the final duet, Hack demonstrated great agility and fluidity in his repeated -- and finally successful -- attempts to remove Savella's blindfold.
This, by the way, underlines the psychological hammer-punch that makes the ending of this piece so devastating and thought-provoking. It's the revelation that the dead want to remain dead. Having accomplished the transition to whatever lies beyond, they have no desire to return to the world we inhabit.
We see Orpheus leading Eurydice back to the upper world only after we have watched several other couples try, and fail, to meet this test. In these cases, the dead persons try to provoke, entice, or compel the living ones to look back at them while still in the underworld -- and in the myth, that is the fatal error which causes Orpheus to lose Eurydice forever.
In this re-creation of the tale, the three-headed monster Cerberus, who guarded the gates of Hades, has been replaced. Modern technology has caught up with hell, and in the most hellish of all modern environments: bureaucracy. The new three-headed monster is a receptionist named "Sharon," seated at an endlessly revolving reception desk and talking from one head after another at -- not to -- the unfortunate living souls who hope to plead for the gods' mercy. Rebekah Rimsay, Alejandra Perez Gomez, and Tiffany Mosher splendidly brought this modern nightmare to life, managing to not only look alike and act alike but even sound alike as they bellowed announcements, numbers, and admonitions while rotating around.
The rest of the ballet's cast consisted of Mourners, Furies, Apparitions, and Underworld Spirits, all depicted by assorted groups of company members. All these group scenes played a key part in creating a portrait of the darkness and tedium of the underworld.
Robert Binet's choreography for this work is remarkable. His vocabulary flows spontaneously and easily between modern and classical styles, the women switching on and off the pointe sometimes in a matter of seconds. Throughout, he's brought a special kind of sensitivity to the movements of the dancers, allowing the fullest expression of the emotions. In that lengthy central solo for Orpheus, he's created a magnificent flow of choreography which avoids any feeling of sameness or monotony.
Missy Mazzoli's musical score, a combination of live orchestra and recorded soundtracks, is equally adept at creating the atmospheres in which this story can unfold. Unlike the Gluck (although she does quote his music at one point), this is not music with pretty tunes that become earworms, but it is music of power and substance, and serves the needs of the story uncommonly well.
The text by Rosamund Small is a bit more of a mixed bag. At times, it becomes a critical contributor to the show's atmosphere (Sharon's speeches, or the first speech of Orpheus to the gods). But Small also resorts to Bertolt Brecht's epic technique of using humour to let the emotional air out of the show's tires, and really resorts to it too often. It's almost as if she wants to tell us not to take any of this seriously at all. This Brechtian deflation was an unfortunate choice, as it served only to undercut the powerful atmosphere being created by the music and especially by the dancers.
Then there's the sad reality that there will inevitably be people in the audience who simply don't find death, and especially death by suicide, to be a laughing matter.
Hyemi Shin's sets and costumes do a splendid job of evoking the strangeness and hostility of the underworld while still keeping all the action visible to the audience -- a challenge which some previous ballets staged in predominantly dark environments have failed to meet.
For its powerful combination of intense dance, evocative music, and a fascinating modern re-take on a classic myth, Orpheus Alive is one of the most entrancing and rewarding new works the National Ballet has placed before us in recent years. Performances continue through November 21 at the Four Seasons Centre for the Arts.
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