BOLSHOI BALLET, DON QUIXOTE, COLISEUM, LONDON, JULY 1999 |
| From: DAILY
TELEGRAPH, August 2, 1999 Dance Review by Ismene Brown FUNNY, FUN AND VERY FUZZYGood temper was fully restored, after the Bolshoi’s numbing Swan Lake, by Don Quixote, a brand-new production that is fun from start to finish. The Bolshoi's ballet director Alexei Fadeyechev, in his debut as a producer, has cleverly knit together old and new - 1903 costume designs, 1999 sets, familiar dances from Petipa and Gorsky, numbers of his own - into a romp as fresh as a musical, filled with the joy of dancing, and headed by two lovers, Kitri and Basil, sparring in the fuzziest stunts in classical ballet. The sun blazes down on a Dufy-coloured harbour in Act 1, the moon glows over a firelit taverna in Act 2, there are castanets a-clicking and tambourines a-shaking, matadors a-stamping and tutus a-twirling, and a snake-bodied gipsy lady howling at the stars for the man who got away. No Hispanic turn is left unstoned, I am delighted to say. Cervantes might not be so delighted with Don Quixote's relegation to a walk - on. He is the MacGuffin, his aimless wanderings allowing the minx Kitri to appear as his dream Dulcinea in a creamily girlish fantasy scene in Act 2. Thus the A-B-A convention of 19th-century ballet is satisfied: vivace comedy start, espressivo "white" ballet, giocoso celebration. On opening night it was hard to believe that this was the same company as I’d seen in Swan Lake. Perhaps they sparkled because so many of them get brilliant solos? Perhaps they were enchanted - as in Raymonda last week - by the ballerina Nina Ananiashvili, the glory of the Bolshoi? The dark serenity she had brought to Raymonda was gone; here was a robust, wily village girl to whom flirtation with her fiancee was the spice of life, who sailed through the pyrotechnics of Kitri's steps as if intoxicated by their bubbles. Her secret is, first, her phenomenal quickness, the way she can catch an upbeat in her foot, suddenly switch direction at speed, the way she jetes so smoothly that a glass of water on her head would scarcely tremble. Her other secret is that she instinctively colours what she dances. With an art similar to Cecilia Bartoli's singing of Rossini*, Ananiashvili uses her technique as a servant, to make sighs, suspicions, laughter, visible in her body, not just her face. She took her 32 fouettes at the climax with such speed and accuracy that you forgot the athletic brilliance of the stunt and saw only a girl spinning in a tornado of her own happiness. Andrei Uvarov, a tall, handsome and unhurried Basil, made a fine foil for her; Andrei Sitnikov's Don Quixote was outstanding, full of comically subtle observation of the old; Alexander Petukhov's spherical Sancho Panza was good value; Maria Alaxandrova's street dancer was sensational, and among the other gorgeous china-clay women Svetlana Uvarova's lovely, unaffected personality glowed. * Spider's Note: It is understable for Ms. Brown to draw an analog to the art of bel canto to make an excellent point (more on this in the future because it is central to my appreciation of this dancer's art) but to choose to compare her to Ms. Bartoli is to diminish Ms. Ananiashvili. To be a truly great bel canto singer, one must have a great instrument, be a great artist and above all, have, a great technique. Only a singer with ALL these can be compared to Ms. Ananiashvili, for that is how truly great she has become. Ms. Brown's singer of choice does not have a great instrument (it is a pleasing voice but not a great one). She is an engaging artist but has yet to show greatness. Perhaps, getting in the way is the flawed technique: the tonal production is not seamlessly integrated throughout its range, in many cases under-supported and effortful so that one hears less of whatever true beauty the voice may have; her attacks are not clean and clear, she thinks nothing of aspirating to assist the production, especially in florid passages. Quite often, the tonal coloration is more a result of these technical flaws than design. And so, what is often viewed as instinctive coloration to reveal and illuminate microscopic gradations of a specific emotion has a substantial measure of tonal colors which come about more by accident than intent. If Ms. Brown must have a bel canto singer as an analog, it would be better served by a very select few, among them the incomparable Marilyn Horne. Ms. Ananiashvili, is so secure in her great technique that everything she does, whether by design or instinct, is clearly articulated. The meanings of movements are always true, and they are presented so effortlessly, with an air of unlimited strength and security, that they persuade the mind to follow the heart and dissolve the boundary between performance and reality, albeit in the fantasy world of ballet. You never see the preparation. Once a phrase is started, the transitions between movements and steps are seamless, conveying their meaning within the phrase that art is served by technique securely and completely. The character comes alive as conceived! Thirteen years ago when we first saw her in New York, her beautiful instrument and her outstanding technique many a time called attention unto themselves.....but over the years, the growth of her art has subsumed technique. Her undiminished physical prowess now serves to display her wide dramatic range, the pyrotechnics are put in the context of the dance moment as Ms. Brown has noted. If Ms. Ananiashvili were a singer, she would be the greatest exponent of bel canto today and should be in any very short list of all-time greats. |