Tradition is the future was the strong theme running through “Bellow” which just concluded performances at the Irish Arts Center on 11th Ave in Hell’s Kitchen as part of the Under the Radar Festival. In the play, Danny McMahony, the famous accordionist from Ireland who has dedicated his life to traditional Irish classical music met Gary Keegan, a contemporary theatermaker who wanted to make a piece for the stage based on Danny’s lifelong artistic journey. The two clashed as Gary tried to apply contemporary acting theory to convey Danny’s inherent need to make classical music. There was “a rattling” deep inside him, Danny explained, that only his art could calm. The art pushed and pulled him much like the bellow on the accordion pushed and pulled the air to force the music out. Now past his prime, he wondered how he would deal with the painful reckoning that an artist must face when he can no longer live through his art.
Tradition is the future was the spirit inhabiting the opening performance of New York City Ballet’s winter season last evening. But it seemed to turn into a begrudging spirit when Ratmansky’s Paquita arrived having edited out Balanchine’s Minkus Pas de Trois. What was the point of that? Couldn’t NYCB find three dancers who could handle Balanchine’s choreography? And why wasn’t this shortened version of Paquita announced with explanation beforehand?
The evening opened with Balanchine’s wondrous Serenade. The musical pace was lethargic and the strings less than bold perhaps in deference to the ballet-geriatric cast, some of whom defied their age and some who didn’t. The opening tableau is always stunningly beautiful — the corps of women so respectful of tradition and the statement that Balanchine made with his simple movements and wispy battements. The grand jete entrance of Sara Mearns was a jarring event — she seemingly vaulted into a colosseum to battle bulls or lions. The grand jetes were effortful, loud, and wince-inducing. There was very little musical modulation in her movement throughout; it was full throttle from start to finish.
The reappearance of Andrian Danchig-Waring came with a sigh of relief that we will continue to have more time with this artist. His own gratefulness for being out on that stage again shown through clearly in his dancing. His allegro was crisp and clear; his jumps space-devouring without compromising form.
Megan Fairchild’s Russian Girl was but a sputtering of what we remember. No big flaws but no big movements and no big arabesques. Emilie Gerrity, the young’un of the bunch, displayed a sacred arabesque as Davide Riccardo rotated her on one leg above the Waltz Girl lying on the floor.
Prodigal Son fell flat this first evening. It’s hard to imagine Anthony Huxley ever having had a temper tantrum in his life. His display of the rash, impertinent youth wasn’t all that convincing. Miriam Miller’s Siren has gained volume with each performance. Still, we think she could exhibit more poison, more power, more lethal lure. Where Victor Abreu was convincing as one of the servants, Andres Zuniga was not. We’ve previously seen Zuniga emerge from technician to build a character; we’ll be patient for a while because we know he is going to be needed for some of the miraculous half-pints in the corps who are overflowing with talent such as Mia Williams and Olivia Bell.
Other than the disappointment of not seeing the Balanchine Pas de Trois with Paquita, we thoroughly enjoyed the piece. In the production of Bellow referenced above, Danny always chided Gary for referring to a theatrical effort as a “piece” because that made it sound less than complete. Here Ratmansky’s piece without the Pas de Trois was less than it should have been. But the dancing was glorious. Boy, was it ever easy to focus on the lengthy, articulating limbs of Becket Jones and Kylie Vernia in the corps de ballet. Sisters Von Enck tore up the stage with their side-by-side steps and cheeriness. Ashley Hod and Emily Kikta commanded their material like the generals that they are, even though their epaulets are inexplicably missing the stars they have earned. Dominika Afanasenkov, subbing for Ashley Laracey, lacked the length and physical attributes that we remembered from her early performances in Afternoon of a Faun and danced with a sense of self-consciousness.
Mira Nadon and Chun Wai Chan lifted Paquita to a level that Ratmansky may not have expected. Plain and simply put, Nadon has super powers. Last evening she pulled off technical feats like a gorgeous genie emerging from her bottle with treasures to give everyone. There was the control, the geometric perfection of her lines, the calm beauty, and the joyous risk-taking. When she aced her final hops on pointe in arabesque and finished them with a penche, Chun Wai Chan suddenly realized that he had better deliver the tours a la second of his lifetime if he wanted anyone to see that he was still in this performance. He did pretty darn well, and finished them with authoritative pirouettes.
The guest conductor, José Salazar, who began his ballet conducting at the Royal Ballet did not quite understand what was expected by the NYCB audience. The orchestra sounded restrained on this first night. Hopefully, they’ll be allowed back in their groove quickly.
Our H.H. Pump Bump Award is bestowed upon Mira Nadon for her Wonder Woman performance in Paquita.
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