TV REVIEW : A Long, Frustrating Look at Ballet Theatre

“Ballet,” which airs tonight on PBS, doesn’t offer a conventional tour of the irrational world of dance and dancers. One couldn’t expect that from Frederick Wiseman, the cinematic auteur who gave us such documentaries as “Titticut Follies” and “High School.”

Wiseman is celebrated for creating sociopolitical dramas in which the protagonists do their own talking, both literally and figuratively. His verite perspective is highly selective. So is his editing. Although he shapes his work as he sees fit, he adds no commentary and allows no explanatory narration.

The scattershot technique--predicated, we surmise, on abstraction and spontaneous impression--may not suit all subjects. If one may judge from Wiseman’s occasionally brilliant, often frustrating and essentially incoherent portrait of American Ballet Theatre in 1992, the technique doesn’t do much to illuminate the shadowy subject of ballet in general or this beleaguered company in particular.

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Wiseman reveals all in an interview article provided by WNET-TV of New York, which is responsible for the television premiere of the three-hour production: “I have no more interest in making a statement about the importance of artists than I do about the importance of teachers or police officers.”

The statement sounds stubbornly democratic. Unfortunately, it fails to accommodate a basic problem. The average viewer in America knows and cares a great deal more about teachers and police officers than it knows and cares about artists.

In this film, one can’t tell the players without a program. Wiseman offers much engaging footage of dance and dancers, but, defiantly arbitrary, he refuses even to identify the players, never mind provide a program. Apparently, he just wants the viewer to sit back, relax and enjoy the picturesque ride. That isn’t always easy, and it doesn’t always make sense.

Cognoscenti will have little trouble recognizing the late Agnes de Mille, bravely trying to create choreography from her wheelchair. They will recognize her spirit when she answers a visiting reporter’s question as to what makes her go on at 82. “Stubbornness,” she snaps. “Ego,” she adds. Then comes a long pause followed by a rhetorical question: “What else should I do?”

Those who don’t recognize the tough old lady could benefit from a little contextual enlightenment. No such luck.

And so it goes, in obfuscation. We watch Irina Kolpakova, prima ballerina of the Soviet Kirov, trying to impart points of stylistic wisdom to a quizzical Susan Jaffe. We observe the late Michael Somes of the Royal Ballet attempting to translate the subtle British language of Frederick Ashton to an all-American ensemble. We get glimpses of Natalia Makarova and Georgina Parkinson coaching would-be successors.

We experience a lot of classwork, a lot of rehearsal work. We see dancers stretching and napping, soaring and sweating, preening and performing, even swimming, shimmying and flying kites. We are never told who is doing what, to whom or why.

In a particularly engaging episode, we see the formidable Jane Hermann cussing and snarling on the phone to a Metropolitan Opera House official who has dared book the Kirov for a competitive engagement. Her controversial reign as head of ABT ended soon thereafter. Of course, no one tells us that.

When, during the last part of the film, the cameras finally move from backstage to the stage itself, there is a shock. Unable to film at the prohibitive Met, Wiseman and crew followed the company to Greece and Denmark. Union demands are less stringent in Europe.

So what if the foreign-tour conditions were abnormal (taped music accompanied the outdoor efforts near the Parthenon)? So what if the duets shot from the wings in Copenhagen represent a work not even sampled in the preparation sequences (“Romeo and Juliet”) and introduce stellar dancers previously absent (Julio Bocca and Alessandra Ferri)?

Who cares what choreography all the photogenic people on display are learning, polishing and performing? Is it Macmillan? Tetley? Ulysses Dove? Fokine? Clark Tippet? Petipa? They all must be the same to Wiseman.

To him, we fear, atmosphere is everything. Forget the misty details. It’s all part of a year in the life of a ballet company, and life isn’t logical.

As fate would have it, 1992 happened to be a year of turmoil in the life of American Ballet Theatre. Financial and aesthetic crises nearly destroyed the company. You’d never guess it from the film.

The final credits identify camera technicians by name, but not the faces and forms on camera. The people in “Ballet” serve merely as props, anonymous components in Wiseman’s sprawling mosaic.

Artists deserve better. So does art.

* “Ballet” airs at 9 tonight on KCET-TV Channel 28.