SAN FRANCISCO BALLET: MR. T TAKES OVER

Until a few months ago, Helgi Tomasson was just one of the finest dancers of the New York City Ballet. That, by logical extension (no pun intended), made him one of the finest in the world.

The dashing Icelandic hero somehow combined the finesse that comes from Royal Danish training, the all-American exuberance that comes from apprenticeship with the Joffrey and Harkness companies, and the brilliance that one assimilates during 15 years at the feet of George Balanchine and Jerome Robbins.

Born in Reykjavik in 1942, Tomasson had left his mark on the contemporary repertory. Balanchine created an extraordinary solo for him in his “Baiser de le Fee” Divertimento. Robbins chose him for the original “Goldberg” and “Dybbuk” variations. On the way to the top, Tomasson had graced premieres by John Neumeier, John Butler and Benjamin Harkavy.

He was universally admired for his classical poise, his precision and his quiet strength as a partner--especially when, as was so often the memorable case, he danced with Patricia McBride. Then, on the night of Jan. 27, 1985, it all came to an end.

Tomasson decided it was time to give up the pressures of dancing. After an emotional farewell performance at the New York State Theater, he planned to devote himself full-time to new and possibly even more demanding pressures. He wanted to concentrate on being a choreographer, and he flirted with the idea of directing a company of his own.

Directing a company seemed to have become the prime preoccupation, and occupation, of most of the leading danseurs of his generation.

Nureyev was in Paris. Baryshnikov, who had won the gold medal in the same Moscow Competition (1969) that awarded Tomasson the silver, headed American Ballet Theatre. Peter Martins had succeeded Balanchine at the New York City Ballet. Erik Bruhn was in charge of the National Ballet of Canada. Anthony Dowell was soon to take over the Royal Ballet in London. Peter Schaufuss, Egon Madsen, Flemming Flindt, Frank Andersen and Bruce Marks had ascended to important managerial posts, or were about to do so.

It was no secret that the Royal Danish Ballet wanted Tomasson to attend to company fortunes in Copenhagen. It was no secret that Tomasson was very much interested. But, as the fates would have it, he ultimately chose a drastically different professional course. On July 1, he became artistic director of the San Francisco Ballet. The oldest American company of its kind had made an offer he couldn’t refuse.

Tomasson didn’t inherit an easy job or a placid institution. The San Francisco board had long been engaged in an acrimonious tug of artistic war with Michael Smuin, whose proclivity for glitzy show-biz ballet had alienated much of the press, some of the dancers and a part of the public. Lew Christensen, the beloved paterfamilias of the ensemble, had died of a heart attack in the midst of the administrative upheaval.

The San Francisco Ballet owned an extraordinarily glamorous new building of its own for classes, rehearsals and offices. It could boast a reasonably strong roster of versatile, eager, devoted dancers, and a decidedly diverse repertory. The ballet functioned rather nicely on a $9.3-million annual budget. Still, this was a company in desperate need of calm, consolidating, tasteful leadership.

The company that offers three performances this weekend at Royce Hall, UCLA, will, no doubt, be a company in some sort of flux. A new style cannot be created overnight. A new regime cannot alter the course of history instantly. A careful observer, however, may notice some subtle signs of change. Helgi Tomasson hasn’t been sitting still.

Tomasson makes time for an interview between a meeting and a rehearsal. His office, comfortable but hardly luxurious, looks a bit bare and impersonal. It is as if he hasn’t moved in yet. He looks young, gaunt, a bit tired. He also looks chronically eager.

“This really is an interesting, exciting challenge,” he says quietly. He actually manages to mouth the platitudes without sounding banal.

“It is difficult to judge exactly how the company can reflect my taste and my priorities already. It is awfully soon for that. At least Los Angeles will see the West Coast premiere of my ‘Menuetto’ (a piece he set on the New York City Ballet in 1984). That’s something new. Also, the dancers and I have spent a lot of time together in the studio, even in this short period. Not everything you see will look familiar.

“Some dancers are no longer with us. That is inevitable. I am bringing in some new ones. David McNaughton is coming back from the New York City Ballet. Ludmila Lopukhova, who used to dance with the Kirov, has joined us. Jean-Charles Gil, formerly with Roland Petit in Marseilles, comes in January.

“In general, I think there has been an important change in working conditions. I see lots of improvement already in technical things. I love to teach. I take an active hand. I certainly can’t be a long-distance administrator. Maybe you will be surprised.”

It is, no doubt, significant that no work by Michael Smuin will be included in the UCLA repertory.

“I have to do what I believe in,” Tomasson explains, obviously trying to be tactful. “Michael and I have been friends for a long time. I respect him. There is no bitterness between us. He knows that I had nothing to do with his difficulties here. Now that’s over. I don’t want to be part of that.

“His contract with San Francisco calls for four revivals of existing works and one new work by him in the repertory this year, and the same formula next year. He remains active as a company choreographer. I must have the final say, however, on which works we do and on when we do them.

“It would be a mistake to expect us to like and to develop the same things. I think I tend more toward the classical repertory and style. Our relationship is cordial now. I can’t say what it will be later.”

When asked to define the company style he envisions, Tomasson weighs his words, and his evasions, carefully. “Contrary to what people seem to think, I am not looking for another New York City Ballet. The one I knew as the New York City Ballet belonged to Mr. B., and that is already gone, already different. Here, I have to present a larger scope, a greater spectrum of dance.

“I want to bring in choreographers I believe in. I would like to get choreographers like Jiri Kylian and James Kudelka, choreographers who are classically trained, who use the existing vocabulary yet search for more. I also want to make good use of our in-house choreographers.

“Of course Mr. B. was an influence--he was one hell of an influence. I certainly don’t want to minimize it. But it will take time to see how that influence really affects us. In the final analysis, I want just one thing: to strive for quality.

“I guess I want my company to be what I wanted my own dancing to be. I want it to be as good as it possibly can be, and I want to make it that way the best way possible.”

No one can accuse him of thinking modest.

The public invariably regards farewell performances as wrenching, heart-rending, agonizing experiences. For some strange reason, the protagonists seldom agree.

“Of course there were emotional moments on that final night,” Tomasson concedes, “but basically I wanted to stop. I was glad when it was over.

“I had started to think about stopping two years ago. Teaching and choreography had begun to interest me more than dancing. It was not a big jump, I don’t feel a big gap. I had had a wonderful career, from the Pantomime Theater as a kid in Denmark, to those American tours with Joffrey and Harkness in the early days, to the New York City Ballet. I danced all over the world with these companies and as a guest with others. I couldn’t ask for more.

“The last performance was hard in some ways, but it wasn’t traumatic. Actually, I had two last performances. Back in November, I had secretly decided to stop. Only my wife and sons knew. Then Peter (Martins) told me I couldn’t stop, that he needed me, that if I stayed I could dance whatever I wanted.

“Reluctantly I agreed to go on, but it was too hard to stay in shape. I wanted to maintain standards. I didn’t want to make excuses. So I set another date and finally said goodby. The audience was fantastic. Everything flashed by very fast. Now I’m so busy I don’t have time to miss anything.”

When pressed, he does admit to a few career regrets.

“Some people don’t want to classify me as a dramatic dancer. Yet some of my biggest successes at the City Ballet were in very theatrical pieces--’Dybbuk,’ for instance, and ‘Prodigal Son.’ Franz in ‘Coppelia’ isn’t exactly an abstraction either.

“I just didn’t do the standard pieces very often. I had the chance, got invitations from the best places. But there usually were scheduling conflicts or contractual problems.

“Believe it or not, I never did all of ‘Swan Lake’--just Mr. B.’s second act. I did Albrecht in ‘Giselle’ a few times, not often. Once ABT wanted me at a time when the New York City Ballet happened to be on strike. I agreed. Then the strike got settled, and Albrecht got put back on ice.

“The only role I really pined for, and still dream about, is Romeo.”

One wonders which Romeo. Cranko’s? Ashton’s? Tudor’s? Lavrovsky’s? MacMillan’s?

Tomasson doesn’t even pause for contemplation. “Any Romeo,” he answers. “Anyone at all.”

“I almost took the post in Copenhagen,” Tomasson recalls. “We negotiated for a year and a half; I went back and forth, trying to work things out. I wanted to go but was worried about certain union regulations within the bureaucracy and about tremendous tax problems.

“Then, just when things looked most difficult, Lew Christensen called me. It was all his idea. I was very flattered. He begged me not to sign with Denmark, to make no promises, to stall them. He just wanted me to come to San Francisco to talk before I made up my mind. I agreed to try.

“The day I got back to New York from Copenhagen, I read in the newspaper that Lew had died. I was crushed.

“The search committee still wanted me to come for an interview. I really didn’t know that much about San Francisco. The new building looked wonderful, but I was used to good studios--I was spoiled by the New York City Ballet, though I had also gone through the rigors of some rough Joffrey and Harkness tours. What really caught my interest here wasn’t the real estate, it was the chance to choreograph. It was the eagerness of everyone to do things right, and, most important, it was the dancers.”

Tomasson speaks guardedly of the future.

He might create special partnerships within the company. “I will not push. This is a small ensemble. Because dancers are of different sizes and because the same ones have to dance often, we have to interchange; a combination that works here might not work there. Still, if something special should develop, I would be only too happy to take advantage of it.”

He would like to establish an on-going relationship with Los Angeles. “It is too early to make a prediction,” he admits, “and much depends on finding the right theater. With Balanchine we used to dance at the Greek Theatre once in a while--it was terrible. On that stage we couldn’t do the big pieces in the repertory, and we suffered a lot of injuries. I have heard good things, though, about Royce Hall. It would be nice to dance in the Pavilion, but there I know we face competition.

“No matter how we do it, it would make sense to be a West Coast company, not just a San Francisco company. We will search for a solution.

“I have so many ideas. I want to do more full-length ballets. I want, eventually, to establish principal/soloist/corps rankings within the company. I want to experiment with new works. I know I will make mistakes, but it doesn’t really matter. I have always liked taking chances.”

For better or worse, the mistakes will be Tomasson’s, no one else’s.

“In this business,” he reflects, “it doesn’t pay to be too democratic. I think I am going to be a real nasty autocrat.”

The happy autocrat-to-be flashes a mischievous, boyish, disarming grin.