Last night New York City Ballet recreated its first-ever program to mark its 75th anniversary: a triple bow to the choreographer who probably had the highest batting average in the league and who, post-World War II, was churning out hits like there was no tomorrow. That historic program of October 11,1948, made such a sensation – in particular, George Balanchine’s retelling of the myth of Orpheus – that it led to an offer for his company (then known as Ballet Society) to take up residence in New York’s City Center and change its name to the New York City Ballet.
75 years on, Orpheus has found a soulful interpreter in Joseph Gordon, while Peter Walker makes an unsettling yet persuasive Dark Angel, who lures the grieving Orpheus to the Underworld. But there’s not much even a gifted dramatic ballerina can do with the flimsy Gypsy-Rose-Lee gimcrackery Mr Balanchine invented for Eurydice, or the cartoon-like predations of the vampiric leader of the Bacchantes. Ashley Laracey as the former and Emily Kikta as the latter gave it the old college try but were doomed by their flesh-toned bodysuits adorned with woven coasters meant to cover (or emphasize) strategic body parts. The rest of the cast fared no better: the Nature Spirits suffered bare branches sprouting from their midsections and the Furies disguised themselves with stockings pulled over their heads and ochre unitards dotted with floppy nodules that gave them the overall appearance of old potatoes. Isamu Noguchi has much to answer for.
In his private life and his work, Balanchine was apparently too distracted by the intertwined archetypes of the unattainable woman and the vengeful seductress to pivot to burning questions like: Why was Orpheus forbidden to look back? Why can he simply not trust that she is there, that she is capable of existing while he is not looking at her?
The banality of Orpheus was sandwiched between two of Balanchine’s iconic works.
Concerto Barocco proposes an eternal modern scheme unmoored from time and place, unweighted by references to anything other than Bach’s transcendent double violin concerto.
In earlier spartan times, Balanchine dancers traveled light: practice clothes and a backlit drop were ample. Today, that aesthetic defines much of the Balanchine rep. They weren’t traveling light to this anniversary outing of Barocco, though. The eight women of the corps moved cautiously in and out of delicately dissolving formations, with less air under their wings than usual. Those famous traveling hops on pointe with semaphore arms were more skitter, less bounce. Even the orchestra sounded a bit under the weather. Leading the pack, keeping up with the two solo violins, Emilie Gerrity was all warmth and smiles while Unity Phelan emanated mystery. Polished and controlled, they avoided that thrilling hint of rivalry, neither stepping boldly into the other’s territory as if on a dare.
Andrew Veyette materialized to partner Phelan in the hypnotic adagio; he is a wonderfully grave presence. But his holds were shaky in a couple of the big lifts, notably that oddly beautiful sequence in which he half-hoists her on his back and hauls her across the stage, as if to protect her from a raging stream, while her legs inscribe gorgeous arcs in the air. Toward the end of the final movement, dancers and musicians alike seemed to shift into a higher gear: the springs into arabesque got springier, the sudden directional shifts got snappier.
When the curtain rose on Symphony in C everyone was already in 6th gear, none more so than demi-soloist Ashley Hod at the top of the first movement. Then in races the twin-charged Megan Fairchild with her authoritative pointework. She beams at Joseph Gordon (back from the Underworld, he was having an exceptional night) – flanked by Davide Riccardo and Mckenzie Bernardino Soares, both of whom are going places, mostly vertical. Fairchild is having fun with her springs into a tight 5th position on pointe, then glances down in delight at her feet as they ‘escape’ into a wide stance. Her airy, precise bourrées telegraph “I’m excited to show you this next thing.”
Just as virtuosic are spitfire Emma von Enck with Roman Mejia who spend most of the fiendish 3rd movement airborne. The sunny Indiana Woodward and Troy Schumacher host a gathering of all the clans in the 4th, which brings down the house. The beating heart of the enterprise, however, is Sara Mearns in the 2nd movement. She has always brought a cryptic sorrow to this adagio, perhaps deeper this season, with slightly more of an edge to her dancing. No less powerful today than before she took a break mid-career, she creates extraordinary lines at the end of each dramatic unfurling or perilous plunge, with the quietly compelling Tyler Angle nearby to guide her across treacherous terrain. Symphony in C doesn’t get better than this.
