You may have to live in Seattle in the winter to truly understand what it means to choose to be in a windowless theater on a rare sunny weekend afternoon in February, but I wouldn't have missed Körbes's second Odette/Odile this afternoon for anything. She was equally ravishing this afternoon.
Seeing a ballet a number of times in a short period reveals so many details that are difficult to grasp in one viewing, particularly in the mime. Maria Chapman, as the downstage right guest in the Act I sextet to the Waltz, gave dramatic focus to the Prince, who was seated feet away. As he partnered her intermittently, she was attentive to him in a way that she wasn't to her courtier partner. As he left her off to the side of the stage, she looked softly over her shoulder after him. Towards the end of the act, it was Laura Gilbreath's turn, and the same attention had a slightly different feel.
A moment I had missed Friday is after Odile is introduced, and von Rothbart heads to the Queen Mother to great her: Carrie Imler dismissed him to his chair with a flick of her hand just before he reached her midstage, and the "we'll see" look that Otto Neubert gave her over his shoulder was priceless. Similarly, the "don't even think about it you worthless piece of lint" over-the-shoulder glance he gave to Herd's Siegfried at the end of Act II stopped the Prince in his tracks.
Neubert and Christophe Maraval gave very different renditions of von Rothbart. Neubert was supremely confident and arrogant. He took up a great deal of space, whether moving or sprawled in his chair. Maraval was more quietly sinister with ice water running in his veins, and if "A Series of Unfortunate Events" were turned into a ballet, he'd be my choice to play Count Olaf. But
artdish hit it right on the head when he wrote
QUOTE
On both evenings, Christophe Maraval was relegated to playing the evil baron and had to strut across the stage in a costume that made him look like an aging British rock star.
Both men had to fight the costume -- I think dropping the boots would do the trick -- as well as an a miscalculated moment in Act III: the vision of Odette appears between two open glass doors upstage center, and von Rothbart stands in front of her and spreads out his cape to hide her, eliciting giggles and laughs in all three performances I saw.
In the Spring 2006 print edition of
DanceView, in her review of Peter Martins's
Swan Lake, Carol Pardo wrote "And by casting [Austin] Laurent [as the jester] with his long legs and long line, the part becomes more than the province of the short, bouncy demi-caractčre men." I saw Lucien Postlewaite dance the jester role in Stowell's version for the first two performances and Benjamin Griffiths in this afternoon's. I always thought of Postlewaite as a tall dancer, until he was onstage with Herd/Milov, Cruz, and Gorboulev -- and even Gorboulev looked shorter than usual next to Herd/Milov and Cruz. (I think he is one of those dancers who can look tall or medium.) But his proportions are shortish torso and long legs, and he looked very different in the part than Griffiths, who has traditional jester proportions, and is as fast in allegro as any other man in the company. Yet while both interpretations were very bright and beautifully danced -- and the jester has a terrific solo in Act III -- neither dancer crossed that line into cloying show-off and applause machine.
Another role in which proportions, both of the dancer and of the dancing, made a huge difference was the male role in the Act I Pas de Trois. In a Q&A last year, either Boal or one of the other dancers said that they refer to Batkhurel Bold as "Air Bold." Tall with very long legs, Bold's extension and ballon in jumps is huge, like the tour jetes in full split position. By contrast, Anton Pankevitch, who is more compact, did a more classically proportioned interpretation. (He did a beautiful double tours moving upstage during his variation.) Pankevitch's trio -- he danced with Johnston and Zimmerman -- was better balanced; Bold was much taller than Thomas and Eames, and he had to bend pretty far down for the supported pirouettes with Thomas.
Pardo wrote of the jester, "That there should not be a jester in
Swan Lake, that Tchaikovsky did not write any music for a jester, that the character is pushy and annoying are separate problems." In Stowell's version, the jester is a trusted servant of the Prince. He is dressed in if not quite livery, in the court servant's dress, not in half black/half white tights. (He wears a lovely red with gold trimmed long vest in Act I, and a gorgeous grey, silver, and gold costume in Act III.) He has as much mime as anyone in the ballet. I didn't realize until today that as the jester introduces the international guests to the Queen Mother in Act III, he does a tiny, short imitation of each.
The center of Wolfgang's role, which is surrounded by a large amount of mime about his drinking -- the only part of the ballet I found annoying -- is a dance in which he leads the courtiers. The dramatic genius of this piece is that it is a court character dance. The passés are done at mid-calf, and the jumps are inches off the floor. It's like watching an older retired dancer demonstrating, and it steals your heart with its gentle elegance, and in it Oleg Gorboulev hit the exactly correct tone in it.
The Pas de Trois this afternoon was a real joy. Rebecca Johnston has legs and feet to die for. In the allegro, though, I though her arms looked a little forced; as one of two big swans in the Act II adagio, her arms are expansive and graceful. Her diagonal of sissone jumps in the coda were superb. Zimmerman danced another beautiful performance, and it was all in the details: the roll-down into fourth in preparation for the pirouettes, regardless of the speed of the music, the articulate small developes out of pirouettes, and the precise placement. She gave the same attention to her role as one of the four cygnettes in Act II -- the cygnettes were terrific in all three performances -- with the roll in and out of the fast echappés, reaching top in each one, and the beautiful presentation of the foot in each of the little jumps at the end (emboîtés?). In the other cast, Chalnessa Eames danced her variations with her characteristic brightness and clarity.
One of the highlights of the afternoon was Kari Brunson's Persian. With her snake-charmer arms, and very different phrasing than either Chapman or Lallone, she performed a dance of hypnotic seduction, which segued perfectly into the Black Swan Pas de Deux, in which Körbes's Odile was a little badder than on Thursday, to great effect.
At the center of the ballet was Körbes's Odette and the beautiful corps of swans, led by Johnston and the wonderful Lesley Rausch. (Rausch and Johnston are quite different dancers, and it is an abundance of riches when they dance mirroring each other.) The emotional range Körbes showed in cinematic detail as she embraced Siegfried for the last time at the end of Act IV was astonishing, and it was a three-hankie conclusion.