FRESH WINDS WAFTING THE BOLSHOI BALLET

Yuri Grigorovich sat at the little table by the window in his high-rise hotel room in beautiful downtown Los Angeles. He gazed, from time to time, at the twilight glitz below, and sipped a little red wine.

The powerful artistic director of the mighty Bolshoi Ballet in Moscow--does anyone have to be reminded that “bolshoi” means big?--was winding up a four-city American tour that would make a whirlwind seem lazy. He was here, literally, for a one-night stand--in preparation for an August season by the Bolshoi at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion.

The three-week visit, not incidentally, will be the first by the company to America since the troubled 1979 tour. Much has happened, artistically and politically, in the interim.

Grigorovich looked gaunt, and he had every right to be tired. But, as his good Russian adrenaline began to flow, he talked of his plans with ever-increasing animation. He didn’t just intend to bring the Bolshoi back to America. He also repeated his much-publicized intention to bring some very famous former-Russians back to the Soviet Union.

He dodged some provocative questions with virtuosic suavity, answered others with striking candor. His eyes sparkled. His smile was quick and benign. The porcupine bristles of his slightly receding crew-cut, a Grigorovich trademark, seemed somehow to symbolize brash, wiry, enduring energy. He didn’t look or act like someone who had just turned 60.

The gentleman in charge of what may be the most important, and most visible, cultural endeavor in his country obviously understands a lot of English. He chooses not to acknowledge that understanding, however, at least on official occasions.

Exercising introductory courtesies with an interviewer, he demonstrated an easy command of French. When the formal queries began, however, he reverted to his mellifluous mother tongue and called upon a translating virtuoso from New York who was part of the traveling retinue.

Warm, responsive and sufficiently gregarious to trample both his faithful interpreter and his impetuous interrogator, he talked like a man who had been waiting a long time for glasnost. He talked like a stubborn visionary who, finally having found a sanctioned opening in the Iron Curtain, wanted to use it as soon as possible for two-way traffic.

When the Bolshoi Ballet last appeared in Los Angeles, some enlightened observers feared we had seen the last of Grigorovich. He had been tending the barre , as it were, when first Alexander Godunov, then Valentina and Leonid Kozlov, defected to the West. He had been in charge when, at home, several of his most prestigious dancers attacked the company for its stifling, ultraconservative policies.

But Grigorovich is still here. Obviously, he is a survivor. Somebody up there in the Kremlin must like him. Somebody up there must be giving him unprecedented artistic freedom. Everything, of course, is relative.

Most writers attended his New York press conference on Jan. 19 expecting the usual platitudes and routine announcements. Cultural exchange was being resumed. The Bolshoi would be here for a total of nine weeks this summer, beginning in New York on June 30. It would play Lincoln Center, then the Kennedy Center in Washington and, very briefly, the Opera House in San Francisco before ending up in Los Angeles from August 11 to 30.

The repertory would comprise the U.S. premiere of Shostakovich’s rarely staged “Golden Age” as choreographed by Grigorovich, in addition to his full-length productions of “Raymonda” and “Giselle.” There also would be the inevitable mixed bill, this one including among other vaudevillesque attractions an act of his spectacular--some think spectacularly tawdry--”Spartacus.”

Reasonable news so far, but not much to quicken pulses.

Then, almost laconically, Grigorovich dropped his sensational little bomb. Mikhail Baryshnikov, a non-person in Russia since his defection to the West in 1974, had been invited to return to the motherland for appearances at the Bolshoi. A similarly unprecedented invitation, it was later learned, had been extended to Natalia Makarova.

In Los Angeles, Grigorovich added yet another surprising name to the potential guest list: Fernando Bujones. Born in America of Cuban parents, the popular 31-year-old firebrand had been, until his unceremonious departure, Baryshnikov’s foremost rival at American Ballet Theater.

At time of writing, neither Baryshnikov nor Makarova could decide whether or not to accept the invitation. Bujones, though eager to accept if his schedule permitted, said he had not received it.

Ultimately, the important development didn’t involve specific invitations. It involved an apparent thaw in what had been a very cold and very long cultural war.

Ever the poet, Grigorovich preferred to think in terms of fresh breezes.

“I am very sad that things had worked out as they did,” he said regarding the departure of some of the best dancers in the Soviet Union.

“But new winds are blowing in my country. Our leaders are taking new positions. This makes me happy.”

“I do not have tea with Mr. Gorbachev every day, but these plans reflect his sympathy. Artists like Makarova, Baryshnikov and Bujones should be dancing on all the stages of the world. I want them to come.

“If they do not come, it will be their decision.”

The idea of Baryshnikov dancing again in the Soviet Union suggests a distorted case of life imitating art imitating life. The former Kirov star did, after all, make a controversial Hollywood movie not long ago called “White Nights.” It was a quasi-political would-be thriller about a great Soviet dancer/defector who is temporarily forced to become a KGB pawn when his plane makes an emergency landing in the Soviet Union.

“I saw the film,” Grigorovich scowled.

Where?

“I don’t remember.”

He did remember that, like many an American critic, he didn’t like the film.

“It was very unfortunate, very unnecessary, very unpleasant. Bad propaganda doesn’t interest me. Art interests me. Honest exchanges of ideas interest me.”

Bujones would be the first American to dance with the Bolshoi in recent memory.

“I would very much like to have (him) with us.” Grigorovich emphasized.

“It would be very interesting. I think this man can do anything. I first saw him when he was a contestant in Varna in 1974 and since then in a few other places. He is brilliant, amazing.”

Various other American artists, it appeared, might be welcome at the Bolshoi, too.

“Arthur Mitchell and his company (The Dance Theater of Harlem) interest me. Leonard Bernstein has a standing invitation. I spoke to him not long ago in Vienna and would love to have him conduct ‘The Golden Age.’ He has a genuine flair for Shostakovich.

“Robert Joffrey and I are old friends, good colleagues. Perhaps we can arrange some sort of exchange, as choreographers and as company directors.

“It is now only a question of time, of good will and of cooperation.”

Grigorovich did not hesitate to discuss the artists who stayed in America when the Bolshoi last appeared here.

“Godunov? He was a great dancer. We lost much when he left us. We were sad that he made this decision.

“But no one in a company like the Bolshoi cannot be replaced. We have wonderful young dancers now. There is a whole new generation. You will see.

“Two of our best male dancers today happen to be the sons of famous dancers who have been very popular here. Look for Andris Liepa, son of Maris. Look for Alexei Fadeyechev, son of Nicolai.

“They are very different, from each other and, most important, from their famous fathers. But each has special strength, special elegance, and the advantage of being a link to a living tradition.”

Grigorovich was somewhat guarded when asked to assess the role of the Kozlovs in that “living tradition.”

“They were a different case. He, Leonid, danced with us far less than Godunov and usually in less important roles. He was easier to replace. The biggest problem was finding another appropriate dancer for Tybalt in my production of ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ Kozlov was striking in that.

“Valentina was very promising. She had great potential. She was growing. We had interesting plans for her. She had not yet reached her peak with us.”

“Defection, in any instance, is not a pleasant thing. One always must feel a certain regret. We give these dancers so much, in training, in creativity, in tradition. When they choose to go away, they take away what has been given them. It is hard not to feel a personal loss.”

The director of the Bolshoi was philosophical about the anti-Soviet demonstrations that sometimes have greeted his company in America.

“We have gotten used to this. I know the Kirov experienced some protests when they came last year. So did Moiseyev.

“We know that American audiences have nothing against us as artists. We know the ballet is loved, and that the company is loved. No one wants to have a bad incident, but we have to understand what is going on in the world and why.

“As with everything else, we have to keep our perspective.”

The subject of the Kirov inspired a quizzical grin. Grigorovich is himself a Kirov product. He trained with the Leningrad company as a young man, and danced with it too.

“Some people insist that the Kirov is colder, more academic in its approach. The Bolshoi is supposed to be more passionate, more dramatic. There is some truth to this, but the lines are not clear. Some of the best dancers have gone back and forth between the companies. Many great Kirov dancers of another age are now our ballet masters.

“Everyone has a different opinion on the subject. People like to say the two companies are rivals. That is silly. Art is not a sport. In the end, we all serve the same cause.

“Vinogradov (the head of the Kirov) danced in my ballets when he was young. We have many things in common.”

After the recent Kirov visit to Canada and America, some observers speculated that Leningrad has the better corps, Moscow the better soloists. The idea amused Grigorovich, who mustered mock scorn.

“No,” he declared. “I think we have everything better.”

He acknowledged that there may be a scarcity of first-rate male dancers these days at the Kirov.

“It is possible that the Kirov has a problem with its men, that they are not as strong as one could wish. We are very lucky in that regard at this time. These things change. There are rough periods for all companies.

“Now it is them. Maybe later, us. No one ever has everything all the time.”

Grigorovich claimed to harbor fond memories of Los Angeles.

“We always danced at the Shrine Auditorium in the past. It was very big, but it worked well for us, and we loved it. One of the two theaters we use in Moscow is hardly smaller.

“The only problem facing our dancers here is the absence of a rake on the stages. Our dancers are accustomed to a rake. All the great European theaters have a stage that slants upward to some degree. We don’t like so much to dance on a flat stage, but we adjust quickly and easily.”

This year, for the first time, the company will move to the smaller and more elegant quarters of the Music Center.

“I have just seen the theater. It looks wonderful in all respects. We will be happy there, I am sure.”

Grigorovich can be diplomatic, when he wants.

Most of the major artists who were admired on previous Bolshoi tours will be conspicuously absent this time. Among the missing, for instance, will be the two most exciting, and most favored, young dancers of 1979:Vyacheslav Gordeyev and his wife, Nadezhda Pavlova.

“Things,” Grigorovich explained, “are not what they used to be. Gordeyev has been dancing a long time already. He has suffered serious injuries. He and Pavlova--my former Romeo and Juliet--no longer dance together. They have divorced. Perhaps their moment has passed.”

If Gordeyev and Pavlova are has-beens--or can be treated as such--what of their illustrious elders?The lovely Natalia Bessmertnova, 45, will be back. Perhaps coincidentally, she is married to Grigorovich. Ludmila Semenyaka will be back. But don’t look for such illustrious names as Plisetskaya, Maximova, Vasiliev, Lavrovsky or Timofeyeva on the Pavilion playbills.

“Most of them still dance,” Grigorovich said, “in special roles and on special occasions. Some of them are teaching or producing their own choreography or even running their own company. They remain valuable and honored members of the Bolshoi Theater.”

Reports of the 61-year-old Plisetskaya’s most recent creation, something called “The Lady With the Dog,” have been less than ecstatic. Grigorovich preferred not to discuss the work.

“It is a very delicate subject,” he said, returning quickly to the matter of the senior absentees.

“Unfortunately, not everyone can travel. Half the company will continue to perform in Moscow while the rest comes to America. We are bringing new faces, and we are bringing the dancers who are most active in the works we want you to see this time.”

Among those works, he seemed most enthused about “The Golden Age,” a.k.a. “Zolotoy vek,” which Moscow first saw in 1930 and then promptly abandoned.

“By any reasonable standard,” he said, “it is difficult, it is demanding and it is still modern.”

Modernism is a somewhat vague concept at the Bolshoi. “We desperately wanted to do a ballet by Balanchine, but it never worked.”

Does that mean the time has come for abstract ballet in Moscow?

“It is not possible. Not now.”

Could the “new” Bolshoi do wild, experimental things--things like rock ballets or nude ballets?

“ Nyet .”

He grinned. Then he added a qualification.

“We don’t want to be different for the sake of being different. What is old?What is new?Those are complicated questions.

“Everything new is really something old that has been forgotten. It is a paradox.

“Essentially, we try to do as much as we can, and we can do as much as we want.”

What, then, is the most modern ballet in the Bolshoi repertory?

Yuri Grigorovich blinked, sighed, and offered what seemed like a significant instant answer.

“It hasn’t been staged yet.”

Enigmatic, these Russians.