O.C. BALLET REVIEW : Kirov Goes Modern

St. Petersburg, a.k.a. Leningrad, produced a noble tradition of ballet--a tradition of classical purity irrevocably aligned to Romantic indulgence.

In most of the 20th Century, that tradition--proudly guarded by the Maryinsky, a.k.a. Kirov, school--insisted on looking backward rather than forward. Experimentation in general, and abstraction in particular, were deemed politically as well as artistically incorrect.

Back in 1924, a 20-year-old iconoclast named Georgi Balanchivadze abandoned the Soviet Union and its conservative restrictions. Having permanently altered the aesthetics of modern ballet, he returned for a brief visit with his own company in 1962.

The Soviets admired the technical wizardry of the New York City Ballet as created and nurtured by George Balanchine. The essential style proved confounding, however, at least to those charged with the expression of authorized responses.

“In his choreography,” one critic wrote, “the ballet master adheres to the principle of purely formal quests unacceptable in Soviet ballet, which is based on subject matter, a dance plot, kinship with the people and realism.”

Undaunted, several Soviet companies pirated their own Balanchine ballets. Special interest was manifested in Balanchine’s native Georgia.

It was only after perestroika , and after the decline of the Soviet empire, that official Russia began to embrace its prodigal son. Oleg Vinogradov led the way with the Kirov Ballet.

Thursday night at the Performing Arts Center, Orange County was allowed to assess some of the results. For good measure and a sweet centerpiece, Vinogradov threw in a work by another misunderstood giant from the Western world: Antony Tudor’s “The Leaves Are Fading.” It received its first Kirov performance in America on this fascinating, festive occasion.

History cannot be rewritten overnight. Traditions cannot be refocused at will. Cultural conditioning is a stubborn thing, and it is hard to teach even young ballerinas new tricks. Under the circumstances, no one could be too surprised that our stalwart guests from St. Petersburg danced more Balanchivadze than Balanchine. At least they tried to do the right thing. They tried, moreover, with bracing gusto and touching dedication.

With time, perhaps, they will learn to dance Balanchine without the distortion of a Russian accent. With time, they may acquire the appropriate speed, the essential clarity, the fundamental sharpness of attack. With time, subjective liberties could be supplanted by objective delineation of the melodic impulse and rhythmic pulse.

For now, we must applaud the dauntless zeal of the Kirov dancers as they attempt to assimilate foreign manners while discarding inbred mannerisms. Soon, we trust, the impeccable Kirov feet will move in unaccustomed directions with casual precision. Soon, one hopes, bravura flights will not beg for applause. Soon, the dancers will overcome the constant need to tell stories. Another heroic revolution is in progress.

The evening began, most worthily, with Balanchine’s “Apollo,” a seminal collaboration with Igor Stravinsky and Sergei Diaghilev that dates to 1928. For reasons admired but unknown, Vinogradov managed to obtain permission to perform the original version, beginning with Apollo’s birth and ending with his ascension to Olympus. Balanchine, who tinkered with his masterpieces even on his deathbed, deleted these crucial passages long ago, making the ballet less a literal narrative and more a philosophical reflection.

The Kirov production, staged by Patricia Neary, served here primarily as a showcase for a new Russian superman: Igor Zelensky. He is very young, very strong, very handsome, very blond. He can gobble up the stage in a flash, and leap over tall buildings in a single bound. He doesn’t quite grasp the need for stylization, and his performance is more notable for bravado than for discipline. But the bravado is staggering.

Yulia Makhalina complements him as a hyper-extended, hyper-glamorous, undeniably magnetic Terpsichore. Irina Zhelonkina and Anna Polikarpova serve attractively as needlessly suave, somewhat humorless lieutenant muses. Victor Fedotov, survivor of many Kirov wars, conducts the imported orchestra lovingly, but with more expressive mush than Stravinsky should tolerate.

Zelensky and Makhalina returned in Balanchine’s atypically showy “Tchaikovsky Pas de Deux,” also set by Neary. The protagonists substituted an unreasonable facsimile of Petipa prowess for the wonted neoclassical glitter and tended to ignore the inherent hints of stylistic parody. Nonetheless, they danced up a mighty storm, and Zelensky won most hearts with a nonchalant, very grand jete into the wings during the curtain calls.

The evening ended with an overstated performance of Balanchine’s understated ode to Bournonville romanticism, “Scotch Symphony.” This production, staged by Suzanne Farrell (uncredited in the program), enjoys the advantage of a sweetly kitschy back-cloth, reportedly designed by none other than Vinogradov himself (also uncredited in the program).

It was danced with swift suavity by Veronika Ivanova as the secondary girl, and with dutiful energy by Evgeny Neff as the kilted hero. Most important, it was danced with gracious, arching, tender lyricism by Tatiana Terekhova as the quasi-sylphid.

The corps support could not be called a shambles. Anyone for a scrambles?

Tudor’s autumnal “Leaves,” as reproduced by the Kirov, did not seem faded and they hardly fell gently. The Russian production, staged by Airi Hynninen, offers a rough sketch of an intrinsically delicate piece.

Anyone who saw the original American Ballet Theater production in 1975 knows the importance of Ming Cho Lee’s atmospheric set, Patricia Zipprodt’s gauzy costumes and Jennifer Tipton’s subtle lighting scheme. Vinogradov and Co. provided no set, basic tie-dye costumes (uncredited) and primitive lighting.

The nostalgic mood piece is thus reduced to a series of star turns in which the mysterious becomes all too emphatic. Still, only the most stubborn of churls would fail to applaud the inspired extroversion of the dancing.

The exquisite Larissa Lezhnina--partnered by her erstwhile Romeo, Alexander Gulyayev--dominated the opening encounter. Altynai Assylmuratova and Konstantin Zaklinsky turned out to be a more dazzling duo. Anna Polikarpova and Andrei Yakovlev countered with bland accuracy, but Tatiana Terekhova--modestly partnered by Evgeny Neff--delineated the muted rapture of the finale with exceptional poignancy.

Fedotov and the St. Petersburg orchestra attended sensitively to Dvorak in the pit.