Pulling Itself Together, ABT Celebrates Tudor Centenary

ABT’s relationship to Antony Tudor is somewhat schizophrenic. He’s too important to its history to be ditched, and of course several of his ballets are dramatic masterpieces that dancers love to dance. But he’s not a big draw, and—worst of all—he didn’t create any of those full-evening star vehicles that the company’s big spring season at the Met apparently requires. What to do?

In recent years, we’ve had a Lilac Garden here, a Pillar of Fire there, an occasional Dark Elegies. Scattered appearances of Orpheus in the Underworld, The Judgment of Paris and a few others. And all too frequent performances of The Leaves Are Fading, a work that Tudor made for Gelsey Kirkland back in 1975 that’s all lyrical nostalgia—looking back at the joys of spring and the careless rapture of young love. It would be less hard to take if the leaves faded a little more quickly. As it is, the effects are repetitious, the ideas are clichéd—and it’s endless. This is late and enervated Tudor, so why celebrate his centenary by trotting it out all over again? Particularly since there’s no ballerina on Kirkland’s level to vivify it.

But the company is making an effort. At its opening night gala it gave us a reconstruction of the pas de deux from Tudor’s wonderful Romeo and Juliet, created in 1943 and last revived in 1976. This one-act version is set to Delius, not Prokofiev, and it’s brilliantly organized, tender and poignant: I can just remember how affecting the great Alicia Markova was back in the ’40s, how romantic Hugh Laing. For a long time many of us have been hoping to see the entire ballet restored. A dozen years ago, the company could have enlisted the help of various members of the original cast, among them Jerome Robbins, John Taras and Markova herself. Today, so far as I know, of the leading characters, there’s only Sono Osato, Tudor’s beautiful Rosaline. But a dozen years ago, ABT was already hooked on the slam-bang MacMillan version, a big box-office hit, and so the Tudor was allowed to drift into history.

This fresh glimpse of the duet made it clear what a disaster that decision was: The duet displays more choreographic genius than all three acts of the MacMillan pot-boiler put together. As danced by the company’s reigning partnership, Gillian Murphy and David Hallberg, it movingly conveys the yearning, the sadness, the doom of the young lovers’ parting after their one night together. The gestures are quiet, the steps contained, the mood plangent. Is it too late to attempt a full reconstruction? ABT could call it Antony Tudor’s Romeo and Juliet or A Village Romeo and Juliet (the name of the Delius score) and only perform it during its fall season at City Center. I can dream, can’t I?

Murphy also took the central role in Pillar of Fire, that piercing story of sexual frustration and the eventual triumph of love. She’s very different from the original Hagar, the ultra-dramatic Nora Kaye, whose career was made by this role. Murphy is more sorrowful, more accepting. She also has a far stronger technique than Kaye ever had, so that her interpretation rests on the most solid foundation: When she suddenly flashes across the stage in a stunning jeté, it’s a surprise as well as a thrill. This was a deeply convincing performance, made all the more exciting by the two men she danced with: Hallberg, as “The Friend,” once more her perfect foil, and Marcelo Gomes as the “Young Man from the House Opposite,” the sex object. Gomes was less cruel, more casual about using her and discarding her than others have been in this role, but that’s a valid interpretation, and he was as committed and true as he always is. The whole ballet—the company’s first great success—came together, revealing itself as a impressive work of art.

The other major work of this first week was Balanchine’s 1947 Theme and Variations. At the gala, it was danced by Paloma Herrera and Gomes, neither of whom is ideal. Herrera can be a pleasing dancer, and is always a responsible one, but her quality is soft rather than flashing. She’s just not a natural Balanchine dancer. Michele Wiles, who led the second cast, is a Balanchine ballerina, with the bright attack and sureness of technique this role requires. She’s a little sloppy at times, a little gangly—she’s not a Kirkland, a Merrill Ashley, a Gillian Murphy; nor, for that matter, an Alicia Alonso, that powerhouse on whom the role was created—but she has the spirit, and she conveys her joy in the music and the choreography. Her fatal smile is, as usual, working overtime, but you can accept it (barely) as a natural expression of her pleasure at what she’s doing. Her partner was Cory Stearns, a tall young man from the corps making his debut in this very demanding role. He looked good, and he handled himself well, more or less making it through the notorious series of double air turns, and partnering Wiles capably.