Letter from St. Petersburg.

St. Petersburg - American lovers of choreography know St. Petersburg ballet mostly by guest performances of the Maryinsky Theater (more commonly known outside of Russia as the Kirov Ballet). Although the audiences show considerable interest in every performance, and the productions usually are commercially successful, critics constantly reproach the theater for the monotonous repertoire and for the absence of impressive realizations of modern choreography.

I would like to look at this dilemma from within - with the eyes of a Petersburger who, for more than forty years now, has been watching and analyzing the life of the balletic theater in the city where the talents of Anna Pavlova, Michel Fokine, Galina Ulanova, Natalia Makarova and many, many others emerged and ripened. Amongst these glorious names I intentionally mentioned were those who started their creative life more than one hundred years ago. For Petersburg ballet theater, the importance of tradition rooted in the more than 250 years' history of the Russian choreographic school is immense. These traditions are concentrated both in the classical repertoire of the Maryinsky theater (Giselle, La Bayadere, Sleeping Beauty, Swan Lake, Raymonda, etc.) and in the live handing down of the interpretation of the choreographic texts of these ballets "from legs to legs" - from one generation to another.

Pupils of the famous St. Petersburg Choreographic School (now Russian Ballet Academy) are brought up on strict classical dance canons. From childhood they have an opportunity to take part in special children's dancing scenes from La Bayadere, Sleeping Beauty, Le Corsaire and other traditional performances of the Maryinsky theater, and each of them dreams of dancing in this celebrated troupe after graduating from the school. The very best of them succeed in it. But paradoxically, even those who have not been especially successful in the Maryinsky never think of trading a modest place in the third row of the corps de ballet for a more ambitious creative career in another Russian troupe. Such is the tradition inherited by the young from their teachers and elder colleagues. This also explains the splendor of the Maryinsky corps de ballet and the constant problem of finding good dancers in other St. Petersburg troupes.

Moreover, most Maryinsky ballet artists at heart see themselves as sort of high priests of exactly this traditional choreography that has been tested through the centuries and bequeathed to them by their predecessors. Here they are professionals and masters; here is their trustworthy daily bread. The innovative efforts of Fedor Lopukhov in the 1920s and Yuri Grigorovich and Igor Belsky in the 1950s and 1960s only slightly disturbed the habitual world of sublime arabesques and impetuous fouettes.

The present artistic director, Oleg Vinogradov, came to the Kirov Ballet in 1977 having a reputation as the creator of vividly plastic performances. His best ballet, Yaroslavna (1974), with splendid music by Tishchenko, had vehement advocates and equally irreconcilable detractors. The press accused the choreographer of distorting the established image of ancient Russia and of using devices of modernist style borrowed from the West. Such modernist pieces as The Government Inspector (1980) and Battleship Potemkin (1986) were conceived by Vinogradov long before their realization on the Maryinsky stage, and I think that under different conditions their novelty would be more impressive.

In the last years the artistic director has more than once emphasized that the traditional repertoire of this group is a priceless treasure and that the theater itself is a living choreographic museum. Maybe. maybe. After all, nobody is really expecting the famous Japanese Kabuki theater to stage experimental works such as plays by Ionesco or Beckett.

The absence of new productions is also caused by the tough economic situation in the whole of Russia, ballet theaters included. State grants are less than modest, private donations practically do not exist, and production costs keep rising. Poor Russian ballet went "out of the frying pan, into the fire." Formerly, the Communist leaders were on the alert for every new production, checking both its themes and expressive means. Now everything is left up to demand, i.e., to the spectator. But, alas, the ones who call the tune are not the home choreographic fans - experienced though often conservative, they grew poorer and can't afford to buy tickets at ever-rising prices. Today, Petersburg houses are filled with "new Russians" whose cultural needs are rather traditional or simply not very subtle, and with foreign tourists who - judging by their reaction - hardly take much interest in choreographic art while at home. During this summer some Petersburg troupes literally imposed on tourists rather poor versions of Giselle, Nutcracker and Swan Lake. There were not more than a dozen wilis or swans on the stage, and only miserable fragments were left from the classical choreography. The poor swans have become a necessary "dish" for foreign tourists, like Christmas turkey in their homes.

Overseas impresarios also order, first and foremost, traditional productions for tours. Exceptions sometimes are rather amazing. Let's take, say, Vinogradov's Cinderella (1994). All production costs were covered by a Japanese company. The premiere took place in Tokyo; then the ballet was shown in Korea and New York; but nobody knows if the performance will ever reach St. Petersburg. In another Petersburg theater an obscure company from Andorra commissioned and paid for staging the ballet White Knight, set to medieval Catalonian music. The premiere took place in 1994, but the investors' plan to make a big European tour and thus recover the expenses has not been carried out so far. Even small troupes trying to avoid stereotypes in the repertoire are in a tight spot financially. On the verge of liquidation are the Petersburg Chamber Ballet Theater and Andrei Kuznetsov's troupe. The troupe of Vinogradov disciple Oleg Ignatyev - who in 1993 staged a distinctive ballet, Shaman and Venus, set to the verse of a renowned Russian poet-futurist of the beginning of the century, Velimir Khlebnikov - is likely to be in a similar situation.

In bigger Petersburg troupes the situation is slightly better; however it is again due to traditional repertoire. Take, for example, the "Choreographic Miniatures," launched thirty-five years ago by Leonid Jakobson, who created for his troupe about a score of ballets (among them a true little masterpiece The Wedding Cortege, set to Shostakovich's music). After his death in 1975 the troupe was gradually losing both its former high artistic level and the uniqueness of its repertoire. The second Petersburg academic troupe, Mussorgsky Theater (better known in the West as Maly) is no better. Over the last few years there has been nothing to equal its previous achievements: the already mentioned Yaroslavna or the most interesting Macbeth of Nikolai Boyarchikov (1984). However, at the request of a Japanese impresario, the company is staging The Sleeping Beauty, though a small stage and a modest artistic level can't guarantee a fully fledged interpretation of this classical dance encyclopedia created by Marius Petipa.

Somewhat more interesting are the retrospective trends of the troupe led by Nikita Dolgushin. He creates original fantasias based on the repertoires of great shadows of the past: Vaslav Nijinsky and Anna Pavlova. Uncommon for Russian ballet is the style of a Petersburg men's ensemble of soloists directed by Valery Mikhailovsky. In their best performances, the artists, costumed in women's clothing, are not so much making a parody of ballerinas as they are trying to outdo them in various tours de force. They work with Vladimir Karelin, an interesting choreographer. His (alas, infrequent) successes suggest more in the future.

And yet at all times in Petersburg, in its historical center - where palaces and private residences of the past for more than eighty years have been resisting any impressive creations of modern architecture in their vicinity - always there were choreographic innovators who knew how to go against the stream. Today it is Boris Eifman. His life story is not typical for St. Petersburg ballet. He grew up in distant, and not at all ballet-inclined, Moldavia. Having graduated from the Department of Choreography of Leningrad Conservatory an outstanding success in 1972, Eifman in five years got together a modest dancing ensemble, although rather weak artistically. He was expected to produce small performances for the entertainment of the young, but as early as 1980 he staged the ballet The Idiot based on Dostoyevsky's novel. The music is Tchaikovsky's Sixth Symphony. His first performances were given a hostile reception not only by the authorities, but also by professionals. He was not allowed to go abroad, and the troupe went on guest tours without him. They were trying to "persuade" him to emigrate to Israel, but he made new productions one after another, and, literally member by member, gathered the troupe that now performs with that rare quality of participation in the process of creating together with their leader. The interest shown in his work in Japan, Korea, France and Germany forces the troupe to cope with the type of financial problems mentioned before. Thus, it was able to produce in 1993 the most interesting ballet Tchaikovsky, dedicated to the difficult creative and personal life of the composer. The piece was shown more than fifty times in Germany. Eifman's ballets, touching upon the most complicated psychological, moral and even philosophical issues of human existence, are extremely emotional and infectious. (For a review of Eifman's work, see Reviews/International, page 136)

This country and Petersburg ballet are living through tough times in their history. However, the constant addition of young talent, the high professional level of the Maryinsky troupe, and the impressive strivings of Boris Eifman allow us not to lose hope. company members will be able to learn from each other.

The ballet's theme, which is adverse relationships, will be played out in several sections. "I will explore relationships of every type, and how each is different," says Parsons. The different types of love and relationships will range from mature love to love of pets. Eight dancers will perform principal roles, and a host of others will provide atmosphere. "I am going to try using dancers as backdrops," adds Parsons. "In one section there will be two women on the beach, and the dancers behind them will be the waves."

This is not Parsons's first experience with NYCB; he performed as a guest artist in Martins's Barber Violin Concerto. "This is a wonderful situation for me," he says. "It is great for Peter Martins to give a young choreographer such an opportunity."