by Leigh Witchel
Folks go to an Osipova gala to see Osipova. Natalia Osipova came to New York, bringing a few good men with her to present a single dense evening at New York City Center. Like her last show there she appeared in almost everything on the bill, and it was a mixed bag. There’s no way for her to deliver in a gala format the kind of larger-than-life commitment that is her magic. That takes time, and a full production. But she still delivered a heaping dose of Osipova.
The curtain rose on Act 2 of “Giselle,” a weird place to start, but the order of the program was likely determined by the order Osipova could get through it. What she wasn’t in was basically there to give her a rest.
Marcelino Sambé rarely gets to perform in New York; he came on tour with the Royal Ballet in 2015 while a young man. He’s now filled out and is in full adulthood; his partnering as well as his technique were impeccable. Sambé swung Osipova in a gentle arc as he lifted her in silent jetés at the end of the adagio.
She danced the grand adage and pas d’action as she always does it: like a slow prayer, but a prayer makes less sense in isolation. She did all the isms she would do in context, but there was no context. It was if she could just unbottle Giselle and be a wraith on call. But then came her variations and the bottle proved to be at least half-full as she did finely-etched double rond de jambes and pas de poissons.
Sambé did tight, beautiful entrechat sixes. Osipova has gone beyond caring about that kind of cleanliness; a few of her beats looked like a cross between a beat and a jump in cou de pied and ended up being neither. She cared more about the performance being full out with feeling.
Two dancers from ABT Studio Company, 19-year-old Takumi Miyake and 17-year-old Yeva Hrytsak, from Japan and Ukraine, did the pas de deux from “Flames of Paris,” a Soviet barn-burner that Osipova and Ivan Vasiliev used to flatten us with. Hrytsak started quite well, but the poor girl had an attack of nerves during her fouettés. Miyake managed every trick including 540s and double assemblés at a 45 degree angle, but what took your breath away was his elevation in tours: a diagonal of them rocketing straight up to an amazing height with his arms overhead. It was vulgar, but mitigated by Miyake’s training at the Royal Ballet, and as Vasiliev proved, if you’re great at being vulgar, it somehow becomes tasteful.
Osipova returned with Reece Clarke for the pas de deux from Act 1 of “Manon”: the bedroom pas de deux, only with no bed. Even if Osipova wasn’t great at sourcing furniture, she was a discriminating – and tasteful – shopper for partners. Both he and Sambé did justice to the Royal Ballet brand of male dancing: clean technique, elegant carriage and excellent partnering. Clarke swung her round with abandon, but she clutched his shoulder before pushing off for an extension. Both men were fascinating contrasts to Osipova, in the way that David Hallberg was. She’s always been fine with opposites attracting.
At the high point of the duet Osipova and Clarke kissed for a good long time. That was one of those naked emotional moments that she savors and what makes her performances so moving when the stars align: she won’t hesitate to go for broke. But in a gala excerpt – a bedroom pas de deux without a bed – it just looked artificial.
Osipova’s new husband, Jason Kittelberger, worked as an assistant to choreographer Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui, and the newlyweds performed Cherkaoui’s duet “Pure.” Kittelberger appeared first, shirtless and in white baggy pants. Osipova appeared after, wearing a shift; they moved barefoot in the smoke in moving squares of light.
He left and brought her a small bowl and utensil that turned out to be paint and a brush. She went back to the white panel behind her. Somehow she managed not to paint it, but then painted herself. Her relationship to Kittelberger in this piece in this piece was bizarre. At one point he came out only to take off the bowl like a servant, then reentered with a cloth to wipe the paint off her, but only managed to smear it more.
“Pure” looked like utility choreography that served its purpose of giving something different and contemporary to Osipova, but like most of Cherkaoui’s work, it veered toward treacly sentimentality. He carried her around. She fell, he wiped her leg. He picked her up and she painted his face. The rest of the choreography seemed to be her jumping and rolling while he tried to tidy up after her. It was unintentionally funny. It didn’t seem to be the best idea to cast your husband in the role of the incompetent but well-meaning valet you just don’t have the heart to let go. The duet was also quite a mess – literally – with the paint, so at least it was placed right before intermission so Osipova could clean herself off.
The evening resumed with better choreography; two solos by Ashton. You wouldn’t naturally cast Osipova in “Five Brahms Waltzes in the Manner of Isadora Duncan,” just as you wouldn’t cast Sara Mearns to dance Duncan, or a Cunningham solo, but you’d still be morbidly curious to see what she did with – or to – it. In these short episodes, Osipova doing Isadora was Isadora writ large.
She began lying on the ground, waking up, stretching, her fingers walking along the ground. Getting up and racing from side to side, she clapped her hands. With major artists like Mearns or Osipova, even if you don’t agree with their every choice, you’re interested in their priorities. Osipova is less interested in the process and phrasing of dance than in delivering a stunning effect: a huge jump, a formidable balance, a moment of massive emotion.
The peach scarf that was draped on the piano that Oleksandr Grynyuk played was large enough to look like the lining for a coffin. Osipova took the scarf at the beginning of a waltz, whipped it, threw it down and posed in triumph. It was what Duncan might have looked like if she were a Russian virtuoso. She reentered for the final dance with two handfuls of rose petals, and though she SNIFFED them, she also phrased with more fluidity, sweeping and swaying round from one move to the next.
Clarke performed a brief solo to “Dance of the Blessed Spirits” from Gluck’s “Orfeo ed Euridice.” Clarke was all about phrasing and technique, offering silent jumps and turns with seamless transitions into sharp precise steps, set within a quick rush about the stage.
Kittelberger premiered his own work, “Weight of It,” a trio by him, with Sambé and Osipova. All three were dressed in loose white outfits, contorting to piano chords and loud strings composed by Ilan Eshkeri. The lighting by Ryan Joseph Stafford was imaginative, hanging in different levels to double as décor, but the main prop was a loop grip used for aerial work. Kittelberger carried Osipova on his shoulders while using that to drag Sambé by his arm. Later on, he spun Sambé, taking him airborne.
This piece looked purpose-built around Osipova’s needs in the program. She left early, and did not take a bow, so she could be ready for the next dance. Still, Sambé got a final solo that showed off his quiet, elegant virtuosity, walking off into the haze to close. Kittelberger also choreographed gratefully for Osipova; the movement was free-form modern but she didn’t look out of place.
Osipova returned for “Valse Triste,” which was made on her and Hallberg by Alexei Ratmansky for her last show. It wound up looking better on her and Clarke because of the arduous partnering, and, as with many Ratmansky works, because they had time since its creation to figure it out.
The Sibelius waltz is a sad memory; but there was also a wild and speedy series of crazy chaînés. You can’t expect Ratmansky to stick entirely to adagio. Osipova did a series of precipitous leaps with abandon. She picked her partners wisely, and knew Clarke would always be there. There was a moment of sadness and a collapse before the final phrases, where they walked off exhausted before looking back towards us.
Kittelberger also made the final work, “Ashes,” a duet for him and Osipova. This time the prop was a stool. To mournful violin, he bonked is head into it, hands behind his back. He may have gotten his love of props from Cherkaoui, but he moves fluidly and well. After his solo, Osipova arrived from the back dragging a large tube. She unrolled it; it was a carpet.
“Ashes” was a long work; she put her head in his lap, then brought the stool to the carpet before doing a solo. You knew the ending the moment you knew the tube was a carpet; she rolled herself up in it for an ending that was more questionable for being downbeat than predictable.
A gala is less a place for artistry than for stardom. That’s what folks are paying for. But even if Osipova delivered mostly stardom here, she surrounded herself with artistry. She knows the difference.
copyright © 2023 by Leigh Witchel
“Force of Nature” – Natalia Osipova
New York City Center, New York, NY
January 21, 2023
Cover: Natalia Osipova in “Giselle.” Photo credit © Julieta Cervantes.
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