by Leigh Witchel
The return to the theater has been emotional for everyone. The disembodied voice that announced “Welcome to the New York City Ballet!” got as much applause as any virtuoso trick: It’s so nice to be back home where we belong. But a year and a half has gone by since we sat in these red seats – how has the place changed? A solid triple-bill sampler of works by Balanchine, Robbins and Justin Peck gave some clues.
Peck’s amiable “Pulcinella Variations,” with its procession of solos and duets, was a good way to get a closer look at dancers: vets, newer and brand new. Several made debuts earlier in the week.
The languorous first duet featured a new soloist: Chun Wai Chan slowly rotated Miriam Miller, dipping her low repeatedly as if she were on a revolving pedestal. Chan was trained in China and a Prix de Lausanne finalist; he joined NYCB last month from Houston Ballet, where he was a principal. In “Pulcinella Variations,” Peck, like Stravinsky, is reaching back in time. He used the decoratively curved arm from classical sculpture as a motif, and Chan’s elegant lines in port de bras paired nicely with Miller’s extravagant arabesques.
The company is thick with soloists right now, and it was good to get a look at a less-seen one, Sara Adams, in an uptempo solo ending in tricky repeated turns. One of Peck’s hallmarks is the complexity of his enchaînements; there are no transitions because everything is a transition. Adams handled the constant steps-hiding-preparations and changes of direction unruffled.
The men raced in and out at the side; giving way to Emma von Enck’s variation: Its brevity and attack, all to high racing on the flute, resembled “Canari qui chante” from “The Sleeping Beauty”: even the costume was bright yellow. To contrast, Ashley Hod followed with a mellow solo; pivoting inward and stalking like an elegant waterbird. KJ Takahashi just got into the company, and was a powerhouse in a speedy variation. Short but pyrotechnical, watching him felt like Gen Horiuchi was back in the company – including the question of where Takahashi’s repertory is going to lie. Balanchine didn’t have a Brian Shaw, and though Martins did create a repertory for shorter virtuosos, I doubt we’ll see much of it. We’ll be looking to choreographers like Peck to make good roles for a wider range of dancers.
Daniel Applebaum’s petit allegro variation led into a duet with Unity Phelan and Gonzalo Garcia with the most pleasant surprise: how large Unity Phelan’s potential repertory could be. When she first got solo roles, her roles slotted into Wendy Whelan’s elongated parts, but she’s not that extreme in proportions. Here she was classically aligned in her upper and lower body with rock solid placement, and was utterly undisturbed in the bane of partnering: finger turns. Garcia danced a variation that seemed like a single packed phrase, spinning to end.
“Glass Pieces” feels dated and the company seems to know it; it quietly deleted the Flashdance headbands once worn by the female leads. But the music is popular, and it’s a full-company-plus piece, particularly in the opening movement, where there were five apprentices. So you get a sense of what the company looks like. If the current administration has done anything, it’s continuing to make the company more diverse. The “walking in the city” vibe of Rubric looks like walking in New York City actually looks: different shades and different shapes.
One of the things Robbins should be remembered for is his courage in confronting artistic trends – ballets that may not have staying power in the repertory (“Watermill,” “Eight Lines”) but tried to assimilate what was happening artistically in other disciplines. In the central section, Facade, a hypnotic line of women inches slowly across the back in darkness, doing a long phrase that loops back on itself and mutates. The flat poses are more frieze-like and Egyptian than the section from Akhnaten, and the audience watches it as much as the pas de deux unfurling in front. The duet, danced by Teresa Reichlen and Russell Janzen, echoed the melody line Glass set over his repeating phrase, but like that melody itself, the need for it to offset the repetitive rigor felt like a concession to taste.
The Akhnaten finale worked itself into a froth, but it was also the most dated, both in Glass’ unga-bunga beats and Robbins’ Me Tarzan, You Jane response to it. Drums pound while the men lope across the stage with their fist clenched, or pound their chests. You could dig for stereotypes, but it’s less offensive than hackneyed.
Certain works acquire meaning through circumstances that are bigger than the work itself, and “Serenade” is one of those right now. The audience isn’t just applauding its breathtaking quality, but that it’s back for us.
If there’s anyone who’s came back from hiatus in better shape than she left, it’s Megan Fairchild, and she’s done it after giving birth to twins less than six months ago. She nailed every turn as the Russian Girl with a calm, beautiful axis, and showed off not just footwork and ballon, but expansive arms that took in the space and offered it back to us.
Sara Mearns made her entry as the Waltz Girl a huge drama; looking at everyone slit-eyed like a panther stalking into alien territory. Only then did she take her place. To free her tresses before the last movement, she made a wild hair whip after wrenching errant tulle out of her face.
Preston Chamblee could just about handle her as the man urged on by the Dark Angel. When he flipped her it was heavy, but lord knows she wasn’t helping, settling her weight into his arms like a carcass. If the partnering wasn’t silken, Chamblee got the emotion. There was a sense all the way to his fingertips as he broke hands with her that he wasn’t just continuing on towards his destiny, but abandoning her.
Mearns’ take on the Waltz Girl is part of her brand, as much as it was for a prior generation’s great interpreter, Darci Kistler. At the end, Kistler projected a heroism that seemed akin to Marie Antoinette; having to be noble in a situation she didn’t fully comprehend. Mearns’ heroism is more self-aware. She faced the men who helped her ascend with steely determination, like a partisan caught with explosives. Through it all, Mearns stayed Mearns, working full-throttle at the fulcrum of stasis and risk. She has such an outsized brand that Mearns Now is still much like Mearns Then.
And so, we applauded the dancers and ourselves as the lights came up on the ice-blue landscape of an assembled community. There might not have been a more appropriate homecoming of beauty and emotion.
copyright © 2021 by Leigh Witchel
“Serenade,” “Pulcinella Variations,” “Glass Pieces” – New York City Ballet
Lincoln Center, New York, NY
September 28, 2021
Cover: Sara Mearns in “Serenade.” Photo credit © Paul Kolnik.
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