The third show of the National Ballet's November season consisted of three more-or-less modern works -- "more-or-less" because one of them has a distinctly classical flavour within the more contemporary approach of abstract dance, unsupported by a story line, while another made use of a style of movement which was modern but firmly rooted in classicism. All three were created since the end of World War 2.
This programme in fact underlined the increasingly obvious truth that the lines between "modern" and "classical" dance are being blurred by many of the current generation of choreographers. As well, the idea that modern dance occurred after a particular era or date is also itself becoming dated as the so-called "modern" era's beginning recedes farther into the past.
Also significant is that this programme is very much a company performance. There are certain featured solos in the various works, but in the end it's the performance of the entire cast that counts. More on that point later.
Alexei Ratmansky's Piano Concerto No. 1 opened the show, giving us in a capsule form much of the essence of this choreographer's art. Using Shostakovich's sardonic, ironic music as a base, Ratmansky's work embraces a style of movement distinctly modern, but steeped in classicism. The dance is abstract, but the subtextual reference to the Soviet era when the music was composed is unmistakable -- even more so in the choreography than with the giant red Soviet symbols suspended above the stage.
Insofar as this ballet may be said to have a story, it shows us the mood and emotions of life as a creative artist (i.e., the composer) under the oppression of the Stalinist regime. This emotional subtext demands sequences of the dancers moving with drooping shoulders and heads dropped forward, a complete antithesis to the classical line.
Ratmansky's often-complex patterns of fast-moving dancers were as neatly executed by the company as the sharply-etched playing of the concerto by Zhenya Vitort on piano and Richard Sandals on trumpet.
An interesting innovation was the short instrumental interlude between the first two ballets. The orchestra performed the adagio movement from Janacek's Idyll for strings. This avoided the necessity for a second intermission which would stretch the length of the performance.
Jiri Kylian's Petite Mort followed, opening with a fascinating tableau of dancers flourishing fencing foils -- something normally seen only in Romeo and Juliet. Those foils became an ongoing feature of this short ballet for 12 dancers, an obvious if subtle reference to a penis, given the title which is an old euphemism for an orgasm. While some sections of this work displayed Kylian's trademark kinetic energy, others were more moderately paced. This work was set to slow movements from two of Mozart's piano concertos, KV488 and KV467, played here by Andrei Streliaev. Although Kylian was plainly working within the framework of the score, I was left with a feeling that some parts of the work were more at home with this music than others. A fascinating encounter, though, especially considering that Kylian's work has been rare in recent years at the National.
After the intermission, Harald Lander's Etudes took the stage. This ballet is the purest possible examination of classical technique you can imagine, especially considering that it begins with dancers at the barre, doing the exercises which are part of the discipline of daily class. After the first few etudes, the barres disappear and the stage widens to allow for larger movement patterns which involve more dancers. But the structure of the daily class remains to guide the work.
The real fascination of Lander's work lies in the fact that it is rooted in the distinctive style of August Bournonville, a style relatively unfamiliar to audiences outside his homeland of Denmark. As the dancers get farther into the piece, the airy grand jete makes its first appearance, as does the rapid and intricate foot work so characteristic of the Bournonville tradition.
And this is precisely where Etudes also becomes the ultimate showpiece for the company. Lander's work departs significantly from the classical tradition by showing us whole groups of dancers performing complex sequences, lifts, and leaps that are normally reserved on stage for the lead roles.
An intriguing contrast comes from a group of variations danced by several women wearing the flowing, gauzy tutus of the Sylph in Bournonville's best-known ballet, La Sylphide. This choice of costume demands a softer-edged style of dance to match it.
Towards the end of the ballet, the sheer energy and elan demanded by the large group sequences clearly displays the depth and strength of the National Ballet. The total cast of Etudes requires 42 dancers in all, and if they're never all on stage at once, there are several sequences where the number of hurtling bodies seems even greater. This is one of a select group of ballets in which the National's ebullient dancing leaves me feeling exhausted and breathless.
Overall, then, an unusual but fascinating contrast of different dance works which kept the audience involved and intrigued throughout the performance.
This programme in fact underlined the increasingly obvious truth that the lines between "modern" and "classical" dance are being blurred by many of the current generation of choreographers. As well, the idea that modern dance occurred after a particular era or date is also itself becoming dated as the so-called "modern" era's beginning recedes farther into the past.
Also significant is that this programme is very much a company performance. There are certain featured solos in the various works, but in the end it's the performance of the entire cast that counts. More on that point later.
Alexei Ratmansky's Piano Concerto No. 1 opened the show, giving us in a capsule form much of the essence of this choreographer's art. Using Shostakovich's sardonic, ironic music as a base, Ratmansky's work embraces a style of movement distinctly modern, but steeped in classicism. The dance is abstract, but the subtextual reference to the Soviet era when the music was composed is unmistakable -- even more so in the choreography than with the giant red Soviet symbols suspended above the stage.
Insofar as this ballet may be said to have a story, it shows us the mood and emotions of life as a creative artist (i.e., the composer) under the oppression of the Stalinist regime. This emotional subtext demands sequences of the dancers moving with drooping shoulders and heads dropped forward, a complete antithesis to the classical line.
Ratmansky's often-complex patterns of fast-moving dancers were as neatly executed by the company as the sharply-etched playing of the concerto by Zhenya Vitort on piano and Richard Sandals on trumpet.
An interesting innovation was the short instrumental interlude between the first two ballets. The orchestra performed the adagio movement from Janacek's Idyll for strings. This avoided the necessity for a second intermission which would stretch the length of the performance.
Jiri Kylian's Petite Mort followed, opening with a fascinating tableau of dancers flourishing fencing foils -- something normally seen only in Romeo and Juliet. Those foils became an ongoing feature of this short ballet for 12 dancers, an obvious if subtle reference to a penis, given the title which is an old euphemism for an orgasm. While some sections of this work displayed Kylian's trademark kinetic energy, others were more moderately paced. This work was set to slow movements from two of Mozart's piano concertos, KV488 and KV467, played here by Andrei Streliaev. Although Kylian was plainly working within the framework of the score, I was left with a feeling that some parts of the work were more at home with this music than others. A fascinating encounter, though, especially considering that Kylian's work has been rare in recent years at the National.
After the intermission, Harald Lander's Etudes took the stage. This ballet is the purest possible examination of classical technique you can imagine, especially considering that it begins with dancers at the barre, doing the exercises which are part of the discipline of daily class. After the first few etudes, the barres disappear and the stage widens to allow for larger movement patterns which involve more dancers. But the structure of the daily class remains to guide the work.
The real fascination of Lander's work lies in the fact that it is rooted in the distinctive style of August Bournonville, a style relatively unfamiliar to audiences outside his homeland of Denmark. As the dancers get farther into the piece, the airy grand jete makes its first appearance, as does the rapid and intricate foot work so characteristic of the Bournonville tradition.
And this is precisely where Etudes also becomes the ultimate showpiece for the company. Lander's work departs significantly from the classical tradition by showing us whole groups of dancers performing complex sequences, lifts, and leaps that are normally reserved on stage for the lead roles.
An intriguing contrast comes from a group of variations danced by several women wearing the flowing, gauzy tutus of the Sylph in Bournonville's best-known ballet, La Sylphide. This choice of costume demands a softer-edged style of dance to match it.
Towards the end of the ballet, the sheer energy and elan demanded by the large group sequences clearly displays the depth and strength of the National Ballet. The total cast of Etudes requires 42 dancers in all, and if they're never all on stage at once, there are several sequences where the number of hurtling bodies seems even greater. This is one of a select group of ballets in which the National's ebullient dancing leaves me feeling exhausted and breathless.
Overall, then, an unusual but fascinating contrast of different dance works which kept the audience involved and intrigued throughout the performance.
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