by Leigh Witchel
Sometimes risky ideas work out. Sometimes they just go bad. The next@90 Festival at San Francisco Ballet programmed nine new works, 3 programs awe9, drama9 and this one, inspiration9.
We might as well get the biggest disappointment of the festival out of the way. It stings that it’s Yuri Possokhov’s “Violin Concerto.” If there’s anything Possokhov’s career has been notable for, it was taking courageous risks. Making a ballet to the same music as Balanchine’s masterwork “Stravinsky Violin Concerto,” without even changing the title, was one hell of a risk.
Though the current Artistic Director, Rojo has already taken the reins, the festival, and the entire ‘22-3 season had been planned by outgoing director Helgi Tomasson. The timing for Possokhov’s commission made sense – kind of. It was Stravinsky’s 140th birthday and the 51st anniversary of his death. It was also the 50th anniversary of the ballet and the epochal Stravinsky Festival put on by Balanchine and New York City Ballet in celebration of Stravinsky’s life and music.
There’s no way, if you had ever seen Balanchine’s work, to not compare the Possokhov to it. But not only was “Stravinsky Violin Concerto” in SFB’s repertory as recently as 2017, Possokhov danced the ballet many times. There wasn’t going to be a harder hill to climb than, instead of doing something completely unlike what Balanchine did, to follow in his footsteps and make a music visualization celebrating Stravinsky’s relationship to dance and choreography.
Alas. That’s exactly what Possokhov did. The setting was, wait for it . . . a ballet studio.
There were differences. Possokhov is attuned to the visual arts, and unlike New York City Ballet, SFB budgets for and dresses its ballets well. Possokhov teamed up with frequent collaborators, Alexander V. Nichols for scenery and Sandra Woodall for costumes. They came up with visual effects completely different from the pared-down Balanchine conception.
The space was demarcated by large panels arranged in a semi-circle, with barres at each. A projection of Stravinsky watched the space. The ballet was cast using three main couples and four ensemble couples, all dressed in printed outfits of black and white, plus one woman, labeled “The Muse.” She wore a white tutu, but with an unconventionally cut skirt, long at the back and tinged with red.
The Muse moved languorously, doing barre exercises, but pitched way beyond a classical axis. She went to the back as if to bring in the others. Six women headed to the barre, then two women danced, then a solo for one of the men in the main duos, Joseph Walsh or Joshua Jack Price. Of the three principal couples, one was more equal than others.
At the opening, it looked as if Possokhov might pull something off. His division of the concerto, and structuring of his dances was completely different than Balanchine’s. Balanchine’s neat symmetry of personnel made you see the music as neatly structured. Possokhov helped you see it in a more free-form manner, and made you realize that Balanchine’s division and firm corseting of the music could be considered arbitrary.
“Violin Concerto” faced its greatest challenges in the two central arias. If you’ve seen Balanchine’s duets to these, they’re indelible. Not-Balanchine wasn’t going to be enough. We needed to see Possokhov.
He only made it to Not-Balanchine. To the first aria, Possokhov set two couples leaping with their legs tucked up, racing. The music is an adagio. Rather than going against the music, it felt as if he was ignoring it. The couples half-lay on the ground, getting up as if disturbed in sleep. At the end of the movement, one man dragged a woman and yanked her on to him on the last note.
The second aria began with the soloist man dancing with both the Muse and his partner. The man dragged and carried the muse, then his partner as the muse watches, but Possokhov didn’t dig into that. The two women danced together and left to opposite sides, he laid there before running off.
Balanchine’s two duets have unforgettable moments, von Aroldingen circling the stage in a series of weird back bridges; Peter Martins covering Kay Mazzo’s eyes as he reached out his hand. None of Possokhov’s busy choreography supplanted, or even matched it. There is nothing fair about that comparison. But he invited it.
We got more Not-Balanchine in the coda. Possokhov, who understands character dance as well as any Russian, avoided the folk influences that Balanchine built his final movement on. Folks did triplets, they snapped their fingers while the cast made a huge circle, and sometimes slapped. At the end, everyone got down on the floor looking at the Muse lounging against a barre and a projection of Stravinsky.
The philosophical question is interesting, particularly in the era of AI. For how long is a masterpiece off limits to being scavenged or even replaced? It feels like now, the answer would be about a month. At the same time, Possokhov is no Johnny-come-lately. Stravinsky is his birthright as well.
Still, if you’re going to remake a seminal work, the bar is raised, and Possokhov fell way short. There weren’t even nail marks where he tried to jump. With a choice like this you wondered if Possokhov chose to run into a brick wall for a reason. Was he confronting Balanchine or music visualization? Instead, it felt like Possokhov phoned this one in. “Violin Concerto” was a perfunctory work of music visualization where a masterpiece made to the same music already existed. There couldn’t be a less effective argument for a place in repertory
Well, the year before the Stravinsky Festival, Balanchine made “PAMTGG.” Let’s hope that Possokhov chalks it up to experience and moves on.
All the pieces on the program were well-dressed; having a budget for design is something SFB should be proud of. It’s not just pretty, it varies the program. “Gateway to the Sun” may have relied on its designs the most. Katrin Schnabl provided a beautiful backdrop of almost cubist mountains, earth and sky that was evocatively lit by Jim French. A black flat slowly raised at each movement until it was fully exposed. The choreographer was Nicolas Blanc, an SFB alum who now is rehearsal director at The Joffrey Ballet. The work opened with the sounds of wind. The cast, with their backs to us, stood gazing at the sandy hills.
The cast was led by Max Cauthorn, who was noted in the program as “a poet.” He seemed less a dreamer and more a leader of a band of voyagers. When he touched one man and began to partner him, the orchestra began to play Anna Clyne’s “Dance,” scored for cello and strings. It had the spacious feeling at first of “Appalachian Spring” but grew more dissonant.
Both the ballet and the score took inspiration from a 13th century poem by Islamic mystic Rumi. Blanc’s interview in the program says the work is about a poet and those who bring his poetry into being, but he did a piece in 2018 with a desert theme for Barak Ballet, “Desert Transport.” That work had different music and a different structure, but the premise of a voyage through the desert was what we saw again here.
Couples coalesced, with the men flipping the women on their backs. The group became a V, then a diagonal, before rushing off to leave Sasha De Sola and Wei Wang to dance a nervous duet. Later, backed by four couples to low strings that recalled a consort of viols, Wang and De Sola contorted and he rushed about, tossing and flipping her. She was cargo much of the time. The movement ended with the cast collapsing abruptly in a pile.
After another soliloquy for Cauthorn, Luke Ingham and Jennifer Stahl, dressed in orange to Wei and De Sola’s red, danced a slower pas de deux. Stahl’s legs seemed to go on forever as she dove downwards. There was plenty of toting and carrying in this duet as well, but the two also seemed to be trying to support and comfort Cauthorn. Stahl walked away, Ingham took Cauthorn in his arms before Cauthorn went to Stahl and partnered her. Ingham picked up Stahl and carried her off to close the section as Cauthorn covered his face; which he did often.
After a dance for De Sola and four women, the backdrop was finally fully visible, a desert mountain. Schnabl’s costumes had an interesting unisex detail; a cross between a peplum and a skirt at the waist. The women made use of it in this section, grabbing the hem of their skirts nervously. The open front made that gesture easier. The women stared tensely into the sky and then raced off.
The wind returned as the dancers moved together. There was a good deal of unison, but when seven men did a double saut de basque in clean synchronization that was a sign of the company’s strength. The women looked skywards as if following the path of a bird and then danced off. The broad contours of the score were mirrored in the turning, swirling and gymnastic partnering. The cast moved again into a diagonal and contracted, spasming, and the poet raced out as darkness fell.
He walked round front as the rest of the cast walked back, and raised his arms in invocation as the rest faced back in silhouette, staring at the glowing sands.
Claudia Schreier’s “Kin” was likely the best work on this program. It was certainly the densest. Schreier’s road to choreography did not come through a major company. She has had to learn on her own, on the job, but she keeps getting better commissions. And there’s no question she sets herself challenges.
Tanner Porter’s composition began with sliding whining strings, then piano, almost like a strange, ethereal lullaby. Her score was an interesting musical choice, but Schreier has always had archival skills. Nichols’ handsome gray set looked like girders or tree trunks. Abigail Dupree-Polston’s costumes were also gray, with illusion fabric for the women, making their outfits seem backless.
“Kin” didn’t have a narrative, but there was a situation beyond dancing to music. It was what the title suggested: sibling rivalry. Behind a scrim, we saw Wanting Zhao standing above Dores André, reaching as André lay on the ground.
Zhao was picked up by Aaron Robison, she stared at André balefully like displeased royalty as he moved her slightly side to side. The large corps entered in a swirling, jumping rush, moving in and out of couples and groups. Porter’s score was big and energetic; Schreier responded with a lot of running on and off.
The leading quartet was rounded out by Isaac Hernández, and the four owned the ballet, so much so that it wasn’t always clear why the corps was there. Were they witnesses, an echo, just design? Did the ballet need them?
It took time to penetrate the work’s density. Even later in the run, and after two viewings, there were still times dancers stopped, checked out their counterparts and tried and get into sync. Sometimes the complexity made the motion stop dead.
Robison and Hernández with André came into a mass before Hernández tossed Zhao up to Robison to end the movement. Transitioning strikingly to the next section, the men lifted André up to cap an arch of the female ensemble that Zhao walked under.
The corps walked off with their arms retracted, like the insects in “The Cage,” and Schreier choreographed a duet to tease out the frenemy relationship of the sisters. The men returned and danced with the other woman before switching back to their usual partners. There remained some mystery who everyone was – were the men lovers, consorts or just cranes?
The corps in this movement seemed to be an echo, making similar partnering shapes. When it returned, with the insect arms that became a motif, they formed a similar tunnel, except created by leaning back to back.
Zhao crawled to us, and went from friend to enemy, bullying André, whipping her around and pushing her. André was dropped to the floor, posing as she did at the opening.
Zhao returned for the final movement with the motif arms, before doing a slow dance with André, standing as in the Elegy of Serenade, without the man. The corps entered on a diagonal in slow walks, and Zhao danced in front of the two men. Schreier managed the most striking moment of the show when André came racing in to sit atop one of the two men, enthroned and staring down in a way that integrated the message and the dancing.
Porter’s score swelled with energy and Zhao began pushing André. The cards seemed loaded in Zhao’s favor. She kissed André before being carried away. André raced after her but was blocked multiple times by the ensemble. The final pose left André in center with her arms overhead before a blackout.
“Kin” is more kinetic than previous works and I doubt that’s an accident. Schreier has a sense of herself as a choreographer – the next ballets often seem to attack head-on her issues in earlier works. The density of her composition also recalls Justin Peck (is overstuffing just how we do things now?) and in some ways emotionally, also Liam Scarlett, only without the kink.
For a program that promised inspiration, there was an ambivalent amount on offer. “Violin Concerto” was intensely disappointing if you know the repertory, but it was a watchable work if you weren’t making comparisons. “Gateway to the Sun” was a cleanly made work, but what was everyone so angst-ridden about? The source of the emotions was unclear, even after reading the program. “Kin” shows how far Schreier has come, but there’s still a double-edged sword. You can describe a lot of what Schreier does as being like other things. She knows the material cold, but it hasn’t fully gelled into her voice.
copyright © 2023 by Leigh Witchel
“Kin,” “Gateway to the Sun,” “Violin Concerto” – San Francisco Ballet
War Memorial Opera House, San Francisco, CA
February 5, 2023
February 7, 2023
Cover: San Francisco Ballet in “Violin Concerto.” Photo © Lindsay Thomas.
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