Russian invasion: the third wave.

For ballet historians, the twentieth century will undeniably be the century of Russian ballet. No other country influenced the dance world as much and as consistently as has Russia throughout the last hundred years. European ballet, carefully preserved and cherished by the imperial court, was developed by Russian dancers, composers, choreographers, and artists on a lavish, grandiose scale unmatched anywhere else. Russian ballet seasons in Paris, and later in London, Monte Carlo, and Barcelona, reminded old Europe that dance was a unique art form with incredible possibilities and a brilliant future. With the outbreak of World War I in 1914 and the Russian Revolution of 1917, the great artists Diaghilev had personally selected for his Ballets Russes were prevented from returning home. These artists, respected for their superior classical training and their understanding and knowledge of tradition, were welcomed first in Europe and then in the United States.

While the rest of the Western world was busy acquiring and learning the secrets of the Imperial Russian ballet, the Soviet Union continued to develop a more elaborate and powerful style. Introduced to the West during a thaw in the Cold War in the late fifties and early sixties, Russian dance once again took the world by storm with its meticulous preservation of classics; the expressive, powerful performances of Ulanova, Plisetskaya, Fadeyechev, and Sergeyev; of Vasiliev, Kolpakova, Soloviev, and Maximova; and the choreography of Leonid Lavrovsky and Rostislav Zakharov.

These great talents were followed in the next decades by the incredibly bright stars of a younger generation. There were fewer dancers in this second wave of Russian influence, but their impact on the world of ballet appears to be just as powerful. Nureyev, Baryshnikov, and Makarova -- to name the most sensational defectors of the sixties and seventies with the box-office appeal of movie stars -- attracted the widest ballet audiences ever with their impeccable technique and powerful individuality.

The sudden collapse of the Soviet Union in the nineties has brought a third wave of Russian ballet immigrants to these shores, eager to be hired by a company of any size and geographical location. These Kirov- and Bolshoi-trained dancers, along with their peers from lesser-known but similarly distinguished institutions in Penn, Kiev, and Tbilisi, now work in such distant places as Oklahoma, Colorado, Indiana, and California. When hiring Russian dancers, American directors can rest assured that the women can perform fouettee and the men can perform double tours en I'air, among other technical elements.

These new emigres, however, have arrived at a time when our dance world has undergone a great change. Although classical ballet is still considered the main attraction for general audiences, contemporary choreographers -- jazz, modern, postmodern -- are increasingly popular, and their works are being commissioned by more companies for their classical dancers. Even contemporary works, such as those of Kenneth MacMillan and Choo-San Goh, although based on ballet technique, require faster speed and a more continuous flow of movement than any of Petipa's great classics.

How are these Russian-trained dancers, a group widely varied in training and attitude, coping with this change? Do American companies still regard Russian-trained dancers as welcome, valuable assets? One thing is clear: The gap in professional abilities between Russian and American dancers has become noticeably narrower.

Many company directors say that American dance today does not appear to be influenced by any outside force. Although still rooted in diversity, it stands strongly on its own. According to Kirk Peterson, director of Hartford Ballet, "The effect [of the first two waves] has been absorbed. It happened when the West was ripe to absorb that influence." Ben Stevenson of Houston Ballet agrees: "Training in America is better now, influenced by Baryshnikov and Nureyev." Company directors today treat Russian dancers from a position of power as opposed to the blind admiration they displayed in the past. They now have a choice of whether their company needs and wants what Russian dancers bring.

"Russian culture developed the most efficient way of selecting and training dancers," says David Wilcox, director of Los Angeles Classical Ballet. Because of this, when dealing with unfamiliar repertory, Russian dancers, whose bodies were trained to suit the classical type of movement and pacing, often find themselves struggling with steps in spite of their dazzling classical technique. Some are willing and eager to adapt to the new ways of moving. Others refuse to even try.

"You would think they'd be thrilled to work with other styles of choreography, but they are not," says Peterson. He refers to those for whom the difficulty of adapting to a new country, new language, and new society is intensified by yet another problem. They cling to the classics in order to hold on to something familiar, to the comfortable and comforting environment of classical ballet. Also, for all Russian dancers, adventurous and cautious alike, the classical repertory is their last claim for greatness, their last chance to show the world that Russian ballet is still the best.

It appears, however, that the majority of Russian dancers who have found themselves in the West are slowly adapting to the unfamiliar repertory, making it a part of their own technique. "Certainly, there is grumbling," says Martin Fredmann of Colorado Ballet. "Russians work in one particular way, but they will adapt -- not immediately, but it is going to happen." Kevin McKenzie, director of American Ballet Theatre, thinks that there is an equal number of Russian dancers who only want to do classics and those who are "very proficient and hungry for other styles."

San Francisco Ballet's Helgi Tomasson reports, "Some [Russian dancers] were very easy to work with; some I would not say difficult, but I felt that they could not adjust to different styles of dancing, which is required in American companies." Tomasson described SFB's three Russian leading men as "very open-minded to new ideas." Moscow-trained Yuri Possokhov is "versatile; he looks terrific in contemporary works as much as in classical. Roman Rykin [from Ufa] is a beautifully classically trained dancer, but I feel that he is willing and wants to explore other things." As for the Ukrainian Vadim Solomakha, Tomasson says that "it's been difficult for him to adjust to more contemporary ballet; he is used to classics. I use so many different choreographers here that dancers are required to do more than just one type of dancing. Vadim is young, and I have a feeling he'll make such an adjustment."

Anna-Marie Holmes of Boston Ballet describes Russian dancers as very professional. They have very high standards; they are brought up that way. Their eyes are tuned to the best kind of classical dancing. Larissa Ponomarenko [trained at the Vaganova Ballet Academy in St. Petersburg] can go anywhere from pure classical work to contemporary work. But not all Soviet dancers can do that. It's just that they have not had schooling to do it." Bruce Marks, former artistic director of Boston Ballet, diplomatically insists "there are many American dancers who only believe in the American way, the American work ethic, and the American style. So this kind of attitude is not uniquely Russian."

Francia Russell of Pacific Northwest Ballet describes her Russian dancers, Moscow-trained Vladislav Bourakov and Konstantin Kouzin, as "very intelligent and very, very willing. They came to us very young and very eager to learn, but it took each of them about a year to get used to being here. Now they are wonderful assets to the company."

There is no denying, however, that being Russian-trained is often considered a drawback by many company directors. According to Russell, "Russian dancers think ballet really belongs to them, so it is a little different [working with them] than with dancers from any other country." And Peterson finds some Russian dancers arrogant: "There is this attitude that, 'I come from the best school in the world,' which I find difficult to deal with." William Starrett of Columbia City Ballet agrees that Russian dancers consider their training to be the last word: "It does not fit with how we do things here."

But the majority of directors interviewed were more understanding. Fredmann adds, "Russians are different, not difficult. Yes, they are spoiled and arrogant, but it is understandable because of the way they were brought up." Wilcox agrees: "They were brought up to believe that they are the best. They project superiority in general, but it is slightly justified."

Differences between work in American companies and in the state-subsidized theaters of Europe also create problems in adapting. "I am careful with all foreign dancers," says Marks. "Civil servants from great state theaters are not used to our work ethic. You are not entitled to anything; it is your job. Your contract is not for life but for one year. You have to work, and we are a team here."

Many directors complain that Russian dancers do not always comply with company policies. For example, the majority of American companies require their dancers to take class every day and fine them severely if they do not. Such an extreme approach may be justified by having to perform for long periods, followed by a layoff. In Russia, where theaters are repertory and dancers perform several times a week all year round, classes were offered and attended but were never required. Once out of school, dancers in Russia were treated as responsible professionals and were given the freedom to judge their bodies' health and level of proficiency on a day-to-day basis. In America, because of different educational conditions and the variety of repertory, dancers are considered eternal students (some directors still refer to dancers as "boys" or "girls"). Thus the necessity of requiring class attendance and absolute obedience to artistic directors and choreographers.

According to U.S. company directors, the impact of the third Russian wave is not going to be nearly as big or as important as that of the first two, if it occurs at all. "As with everything that comes to America," says Marks, "it will assimilate." Peterson adds, "[It will have an] impact, yes, but not as dynamic as the first two. The initial impact was exotic, but that is simply not the case anymore." Stevenson adds, "In order to influence, you must have a very high position. If this generation of Russian dancers is going to have any influence at all, it will be on the standard of the corps de ballet in the classics."

Russell says she sees Russian dancers "being assimilated more than having a major impact on American dance. American dance today is very strong." Fredmann is more optimistic: "Availability of Russian dancers allows midsized companies today to do things that they could not do before -- to acquire well-trained dancers, to think in more classical terms, and to feel more comfortable presenting classics. Eventually, the presence of Russians in America will make classical training better and enforce [good] port de bras."

While Russian dancers are no longer considered all-powerful gods, Russian teachers and schools continue to gain respect and admiration all over the world. "I love that training because it uses the full body," says Marks. Peterson says, "The tradition of training male dancers is far superior to the American." Holmes recalls, "When we first brought Tatiana Legat from St. Petersburg, everyone was saying, `it's too difficult, you can't treat American students that way.' Now students bring her chocolates and flowers because they see what she has done for them."

Even if the twenty-first century brings the end of the Russian ballet era, the great tradition will not die. In the second half of the nineteenth century, Russia received the gift of ballet from Europe and turned it into its national treasure. At the end of the twentieth century, let us hope that America will accept the gift of Russian ballet and use it when creating its own national treasure. It is the peculiar nature of American culture to borrow from other cultures, to assimilate and make them its own, as it did with the great Russian-born, Maryinsky-trained father of American ballet, George Balanchine.

The still-undefined boundaries of postmodernism are encompassing every art form. Some avant-garde artists at the end of the last century thought dance capable of meeting the heavy requirements of Gesamtkunstwerk, Richard Wagner's dream of a universal art form that would combine and express everything in a synthesis of all media. Dance today is ever more daring in crossing the boundaries. Contemporary choreographers use various dance techniques along with poetry, rock music, film, and video when creating today's hoped-for masterpieces.

The new forms of dance have yet to create their own schools and training programs, and the only requirement for dancers today in order to succeed is to keep an open mind. This is what many Russian dancers have not yet realized, and this is what prevents them from joining the rest of the world in their move forward, toward the future of dance, which is alive and well.

Regina Zarhina, who was born in Russia, moved to the U.S. in 1987; she writes about and teaches ballet in Denver.