New York City Ballet Turns Up the Heat

Chase Finlay as Apollo at New York City Ballet. Photo by Paul Kolnik.

May 4 and 5 were big nights at the State Theatre*; in fact, they may turn out to be the most exciting nights of the season, depending in part on how good the big new “Seven Deadly Sins” turns out to be. (That ballet, with choreography by Lynne Taylor-Corbett  and starring Wendy Whelan and Patti LuPone, will open at the company gala, on May 11.)

We have George Balanchine to thank for the thrill of the last few nights. The elegance, musicality, and intelligence of the ballets on show are endless. Of course there are elements that return again and again—the big 180 degree splits, the ever-evolving daisy-chains, the leggy poses–but what is most striking is the freshness and eloquence of each movement within its framework of Balanchinean modernism. The way the same pose can look quite different from one ballet to the next, because it responds to a different impulse in the music, a different mood, a different “story”—even though there is no story.

The first thing that came to mind while watching “Le Tombeau de Couperin” (1975) was, “why doesn’t the company dance this ballet more often?” It is a suite for sixteen dancers (mostly from the corps), set to Ravel. Just as Stravinsky drew from baroque dance forms in “Agon,”  Ravel was inspired by 18^th-century French court dances like the forlane–which originated in Italy and is set in 6/8 time–and the rigaudon, a modified French folk dance, in 2/4. Balanchine left out  a few sections of Ravel’s eponymous suite, and switched around the order of the ones he kept (just as he did in “Serenade”). The result is a perfectly calculated divertissement, which evokes the elegance and measure of an idealized party, as well as the distilled exuberance of a square dance. The pieces feel like dances at a wedding, minus the bride and groom. This is especially true of the final section, in which the dancers form corridor and watch as couples rise to perform short variations, just a few bars, seemingly for their own amusement. As in many Robbins ballets, the dancers appear to dance for each other. The dancers become our avatars; they are not dancing for us, but rather in our place.  “Tombeau” falls into a category of dances—along with most of Mark Morris’s oeuvre—that make me wish I could simply join in. The dancers in Couperin looked energized, well-rehearsed, and happy. I can’t wait to see it again.

Another work that is not danced nearly enough at City Ballet is “Episodes,” also performed on May 4. It may be a “black-and-white” ballet, but it hardly feels restricted in its palette. This is partly due to the extreme contrasts between one section and the next; they could almost be different ballets. As the music begins, four couples look out at us—how many Balanchine ballets begin this way?—standing in front of a gorgeous, pearly-gray-silver background. The couples quickly divide into separate units, each immersed in its own private score. Balanchine said that Webern’s music felt like molecules, and his observation aptly describes the way in which the ballet’s units of two dancers seem to enact their own pre-determined functions, independent of the other “units”. Order within disorder. The first pas de deux (danced here by Abi Stafford and Tyler Angle) feels a  bit like the beginning “The Four Temperaments”; exploratory, not yet dramatic. It must be said that Abi Stafford’s dancing was  too contained to fully give life to the choreography; she needs to let herself go more in order to make the movements look more interesting. In a series of backward falls into her partner’s arms, she was so cautious that we hardly felt the force of gravity pulling her down.

The second pas de deux in “Episodes” is all smoke and mirrors, like “Duo Concertant” without the sweetness. Spot-lights and an inky darkness create a shadowy atmosphere, in which Teresa Reichlen and Ask la Cour seem semi-suspended, lost, grasping for solid ground. A ghost-story is unfolding, but the episodes are out of order. Every so often, the two dancers pause and reset; another episode begins. But how does it connect with the previous one? Reichlen reaches out into the darkness, with swimming movements. She steps over La Cour’s shoulder, her groin next to his head, then back again, as he sits on the floor. She arches way back, aiming her lower pelvis at the audience. There is nothing demure about this dance. Then La Cour flips her over his back, where she clings to his torso like a strange parasite, her legs extending above his shoulders. He looks like a  horned beast—a minotaur?

After this, there is another pas de deux, for Wendy Whelan and Sébastien Marcovici; it is more “Agon”-like: athletic, slightly competitive. But the high point for me was the ballet’s final section, set to Webern’s “Ricercata in Six Voices from Bach’s Musical Offering”. After the rigorous music of the previous sections, one is unprepared for the almost religious grandeur of the Ricercata. Sara Mearns, dancing with Jonathan Stafford (backed by a corps of women), seemed to be transported to another plane. The steps are relatively simple; there are long passages with Mearns down on one knee, simply shifting her port de bras, the angle of her shoulders, the direction of her gaze. The great molecular simplicity of the beginning dissolves into a profound order, a kingdom of the spheres, with Mearns as its queen. “Episodes” is a ballet full of mystery and ecstasy; it shouldn’t be kept in the closet for too long. It will be performed once more this season, on May 10.

Sterling Hyltin, Tiler Peck, Ana Sophia Scheller, and Chase Finlay in "Apollo." Photo by Paul Kolnik.

Much of the anticipation before the May fifth performance was focused on the début of the very young and relatively inexperienced Chase Finlay in Balanchine’s “Apollo.” Finlay is still in the corps, after joining the company less than three years ago. But in the last few seasons, his profile increased noticeably. (Gia Kourlas interviewed him earlier this year.)

Until now, his most important roles had probably been in Wheeldon’s “Polyphonia” and Peter Martins’ “Mirage.” Finlay is tall and well-proportioned—he reminds many of Martins himself, which is no a small thing, since Martins was practically a god. One of Finlay’s most noticeable features is his impressive wing-span which, combined with his long legs, helps him to create expansive, powerful shapes. At the beginning of “Mirage,” for example, Martins simply had Finlay stand in an X position, feet apart, arms extended. There is a weightedness in his movement that gives him gravity, combined with a beautiful jump. But still, “Apollo” is “Apollo.” Balanchine’s earliest surviving work from the Ballets Russes days—it was made in 1928—it is a direct link to his St. Petersburg past. It is a key to many of Balanchine’s ideas about ballet, about music, and even, one could say, about life. It is a work treated with reverence—after all, it’s about a god, and not just any god. It has been danced by some of the most impressive danseurs of our time: José Manuel Carreño, Baryshnikov, Nikolaj Hübbe, Peter Martins, Nureyev, Jacques d’Amboise, Serge Lifar…. Despite Finlay’s prodigious gifts, there was reason to worry that he might not yet be quite up to the task.

We needn’t have worried. Finlay gave a courageous, uninhibited performance. He looked beautiful, and he told a story. Not only were there no noticeable flubs—which would have been perfectly understandable– but his interpretation was full-bodied and detailed, and he seemed to be completely in-the-moment. He made the role his own, despite his almost uncanny resemblance to Martins. At the beginning he was almost wild, full of nervous excitement. The jitters of a first performance were channeled into the almost feral energy of the young god.   By the end he had grown into something more serene and authoritative, capable of dominating and leading the Muses. His relationship to Terpsichore (muse of dance, performed here by Sterling Hyltin, in her New York début) was playful, but also pregnant with erotic possibility. Both Finlay and Hyltin look very young, and their pas de deux had a naïve, sensual quality, like a tentative courtship that might someday evolve into something rather more serious. By then, Finlay was looking more relaxed. His interpretation will certainly grow and become more focused over time, but this is an impressive start. Hyltin was lovely, if perhaps a touch too dainty, as Terpsichore; Tiler Peck, in her New York début as Polyhymnia, had more weight to her movement, but relied too heavily on facial expressions. Ana Sophia Scheller, in another NY début as Calliope, might tone back the forcefulness of her attack, but she too gave a bracing performance. This is a promising, pleasing cast. This début felt like a real event.

The final ballet of the evening was “The Four Temperaments.” Once again, Jennie Somogyi danced “Sanguinic” with the steely fierceness of an Art Deco seductress, her kicks like thunderclaps, hips like pistons. And, in “Melancholic,” Gonzalo García gave the most poetic, lyrical  reading of the role I have seen in recent times. Few of the male dancers in the company have García’s quiet intensity or grace, his ability to evoke depths of emotion and feeling without hamming it up—just think of his performance in Jerome Robbins’ “Opus 19/The Dreamer.” As he exited the stage, his back bent deeply toward the wings, there was a sense of an epic struggle. García tends to be relegated to light roles, like Franz in Coppélia and the male dancer in “Tarantella.” It’s a shame. When he was at San Francisco Ballet, he danced “Apollo”; perhaps one day he could do the same here?

*The State Theatre was recently  renamed the David H. Koch Theatre.