Creation of a Ballet

. . . the two most essential factors in the creation of a ballet are teamwork and a mutual belief. Because ballet has no working notation it exists only when it is performed, and it may further be said that the decor and music only have their true existence when seen and heard in conjunction with the choreography for which they were designed. Consequently the three creators of a ballet are entirely dependent on the human beings who interpret their style and ideas: the slightest lack of understanding from wardrobe-mistress, coryphee, or instrumentalist, and some important fragment of the production can be lost.

Theatre in my Blood: a Biography of John Cranko by John Percival. 1983. Pages 79-80.

Walking

My method of teaching the younger student, not the already professional dancer and partner, is as follows.

First, teach the young man to walk, to lead in his partner and to present her, to walk on to the stage as a man, firmly and with well-measured gait. No need to walk as a prizefighter or slouch as one does in shorts along a country lane. A dancer's grace, line, and stance by all means, but with a feeling of pleasure and manly pride at the presentation. It is no easy matter to be able to walk well on the stage whether one is an actor or a dancer; it can and should be taught. I believe, in fact I have proved, it can be accomplished, or I would not be writing this little book.

I was taught to walk, and no one walked worse than I did in my early student days. Slouched would be a good word to describe my ungainly lack of stance and manner. I corrected this only by careful attention to my lessons and watching others, older and more experienced than myself. Upon my arrival to join the Diaghileff Russian Ballet in 1923 in Monte Carlo at the age of 17, I was taught how to walk and to correct faults of which I failed to realize the existence. Naturally having been a good enough dancer to enter the Russian ballet ranks, it came as a minor shock to have to be shown how to stand even, let alone to walk. I give myself as an example hoping that others to-day, when a set series of exercises for the student is decided upon, are asked to walk, and even to learn how to stand still, they will not be taken aback in astonishment. Not only to be able to stand still, but also--and this is vastly important to realize and understand--to concentrate at the same time upon the ballerina.

Pas de Deux: The Art of Partnering by Anton Dolin. 1969. Pages 14-5.

Constant Lambert

It is hard to overestimate the importance of the Camargo Society's contribution to English ballet. De Valois said that existing ballet companies regarded it as 'our stage society', and its formation paved the way not only for the Sadler's Wells Ballet, but for the Royal Ballet itself. Everyone on the committee, obviously, deserves to take credit for this, but it was generally agreed at the time that no one deserved more praise than Constant. Maynard Keynes, tellingly, later called Constant 'potentially the most brilliant person I have ever met'. 'Without Constant's enthusiasm and knowledge,' Walton wrote, 'not only of music but of choreography and decor, and his instinct for the theatre, the whole project might have fallen to the ground. Indeed, it may be that he will be best remembered by this, his great contribution to the theatre of our time.'

Walton was right in fact but wrong in his prediction. Constant is now only rarely acknowledged as a founding father of English ballet.

The Lamberts: George, Constant & Kit by Andrew Motion. 1986. Page 183.

Diaghilev and censorship in 1916

In fact what America would find hardest to accommodate would be the sexual content of the repertory, in particular the dreamy, quasi-masturbatory climax of Faune (which as Lydia had noticed had shocked even Paris) and the harem revels in Scheherazade. Even though audiences had seen Hoffmann's bowdlerised version of the latter, nothing in that staging could have prepared them for the sensual charge of Fokine's original, and especially for the unsettling eroticism embodied by its male lead, the Golden Slave. When Adolph Bolm first performed this role with the Ballets Russes in New York, his skin darkened with body paint, his supple gestures insinuating a disturbing mixed message of male desire and feminine acquiescence, American sexual and racial sensitivities were muddled beyond bearing. A wave of hysterical prurience was unleashed, causing the critic Grenville Vernon to remark that Bolm's 'remarkable negro' portrait would be impossible to perform 'South of Mason and Dixon's line', and the Catholic Theater Movement to head demands for the ballet to be banned outright.

On 25 January a legal injunction was passed against both Scheherazade and Faune, requiring Diaghilev to lighten the Slave's make-up and restrict the Faun's climax to a mute expression of longing. But even with these changes, censorship continued to plague the company throughout their tour. In Boston the mayor gave instructions that the Russians were permitted to bare only their toes; and in Kansas City, Captain Ennis of the Police Department gave stern notice that no lewdness was permitted on his watch. As he reported proudly to the Kansas City Star, 'Dogleaf, or whatever his name is couldn't understand plain English [so] . . . I told a fellow [the interpreter] "This is a strictly moral town and we won't stand for any high brow immorality. Put on your show but keep it toned down." I told him we didn't want to make trouble but if the show was too rank I'd come right up on stage and call down the curtain.'

Bloomsbury Ballerina: Lydia Lopokova by Judith Mackrell. 2008. Pages 93-4.

American responses to Pavlova and Nijinsky

From 1910 to 1925 Anna Pavlova criss-crossed America, as she did much of the rest of the world, on what was virtually a one-woman crusade to take the beauty of the ballet to the masses, and her effect on the emergence of a "ballet consciousness" in America can scarcely be overestimated. Pavlova was our first mass-media ballet star: she endorsed face-creams, soaps, created fashions in hair, hats, clothing, visited dancing schools, opened schools of her own, had even social dances named for her. She was also foreign, of an undeniably foreign temperament, and forsook normal family life "for her art," as was pointed out in interview after interview and publicity story after publicity story. Her romantic and melancholy image was suddenly given immense staying power by her untimely death, in 1931, in Europe; the legend rapidly circulated that she had died asking for her swan costume.

Male ballet dancing had suffered under the cult of the ballerina, and it was Vaslav Nijinsky who publicized the male dancer as Pavlova had the ballerina, but the image he presented was problematic. Stories about Nijinsky's peculiar relationship with homosexual mentor and impresario Serge Diaghilev had been reaching America from Europe since the Ballets Russes began performing there in 1909, and by the time Nijinsky performed here in 1916 and 1917, critics were in the habit of calling male dancers effeminate. Had more been able to see Nijinsky at the height of his powers, more might truly have believed what the publicity stories only mentioned: that dancing, Nijinsky was a supreme artist, a wonder, beyond scandal. But Nijinsky's descent into insanity only months after the completion of his last American tour was not ignored by the American press, and added to the notion that ballet dancing was something that normal American males would never, and should never, want to do.

The Image of the Ballet Artist in Popular Films by Adrienne L. McLean. Journal of Popular Culture, 25:1 (1991: Summer).

Olga Preobrajenska

During the war, eager to have my mother's approval--she always talked with adoration of Anna Pavlova and Nijinsky--I started taking ballet classes once a week at Madame Preobrajenska's. I was then eleven. Years later I realized that I was working in the very room where Zelda Fitzgerald had studied and used to change in the dressing room described in her book Save Me the Waltz. The building--the historic Studio Wacker--was permeated with the acrid smell of years of sweating bodies. The whole place thumped and creaked--discordant bars of Chopin and Schumann and sometimes Tchaikovsky were heard, overlapping a bad soprano's vocal exercises. The floor was gray and uneven. Madam sprayed the oak floorboards with a little watering can to settle the dust before doing the "middle".

Olga Preobrajenska was a legendary figure, a prima ballerina at the Maryinsky Theater who had escaped the Russian revolution with her prince. (Every Russian ballet dancer seemed to have fled accompanied by a prince.) She was very small indeed--probably no more than five feet high--and wore a little kerchief around her neck to hide the wrinkles. She demonstrated the steps mainly with her hands, but sometimes she jumped and twirled like a young girl. She liked the boys best and did not hesitate to touch them to redress a faulty posture. The greatest dancers in France came to this class and did incredible turns and leaps, even though the room was not large and the ceiling was low compared to those in modern rehearsal rooms. A few mothers clustered around the piano, but my mother seldom came. I took the Metro alone or went by bicycle. My teacher was good, and it was up to me to get on with it. I progressed slowly.

Thank Heaven. . . My Autobiography by Leslie Caron. 2009. Page 42.

Kenneth MacMillan's response to criticism

MacMillan was acutely sensitive to what he saw as ill-founded criticism of Playground. He replied promptly to a letter of protest from an offended audience member who had claimed, 'It really is not the theatre's job to distress and frighten people still more about something that in their minds already carries a stigma. . . Listening to audience reaction during the interval, I know that my anger is not unique and I hope that others will also object.' MacMillan replied:

I feel that it has always been the theatre's job to present serious subjects as well as entertaining ones. I feel any form of mental disturbance should not be escaped from, and there has always been a tendency within society to disregard or lock away people whose behaviour is not socially acceptable. I am sorry you feel that subjects that carry a stigma should not be tackled.

Different drummer: the life of Kenneth MacMillan by Jann Parry. 2009. Page 519.

Kenneth MacMillan's desires for ballet

I want audiences to feel involved in what is happening on the stage. I'd like them to see new ballets exploring problems they can identity with. They should be gripped, as one is gripped by a drama. I want the dancers to be better actors than dancers normally are. For instance, I'd like to see them being more interested in plays, in discovering how actors achieve their effects. Actors today are learning to dance, and I think it would be to everyone's advantage if dancers returned the compliment.

Different drummer: the life of Kenneth MacMillan by Jann Parry. 2009. Page 367.

Balanchine's beginnings

In dance, Kasyan Goleizovsky--a name little known in the West--scandalized and inspired Russian balletomanes of the twenties. Like Fokine, he believed that classical ballet had degenerated into a superficial entertainment. He espoused a pure dance art eschewing stereotyped steps; his troupe danced barefoot and scantily clad.

Balanchivadze was galvanized by Goleizovsky's heresies. Two years after graduating in 1921, he created Evenings of the Young Ballet, of which the first was titled "The Evolution of Ballet: From Petipa through Fokine to Balanchivadze." Balanchivadze's contributions, set to Ravel and Chopin, and to his own Extase, created a sensation. Subsequent Evenings ranged from classical adagios to fox-trots. Balanchivadze's vocabulary included elements of acrobatics, popular dance, and cabaret. This intermingling of tradition and innovation fed the American dance artist to come. The turbulent Petrograd years equally shaped Balanchivadze the man: his resourcefulness, adaptability, self-sufficiency. And he acquired--unless it was always there--a fatalistic equanimity under pressure that would become one of his most pronounced and unfathomable personal attributes.

Artists in Exile: How Refugees from Twentieth-Century War and Revolution Transformed the American Performing Arts by Joseph Horowitz. 2008. Page 25.

Russian Lessons with Vaganova and Gusev

The rehearsals for these performances were much more strenuous even than the normal training. Vaganova was merciless and expressed her dissatisfaction in no uncertain terms. She put the greatest emphasis on all movements; arms and head were just as important as the legs. One wrong movement with one little finger was enough to bring down her thunderous disapproval. On the other hand, nothing could be so rewarding and satisfying as a half-approving nod and a friendly grunt from her.

Pista's training was even more severe. On the day of his first appearance in Blue Bird he had to rehearse his part--from the beginning to the very end--about five times and when he was hardly strong enough to stand on his legs, he was ordered to do some strenuous exercises at the bar. For the first time in his life Pista protested to Gusev but he replied:

"I want you to feel strong and light."

This sounded pure nonsense; but Gusev was right.

He did feel strong and light.

Leap through the Curtain; the story of Nora Kovach & Istvan Rabovsky by George Mikes. 1955. Pages 137-8.

Nureyev as Nijinsky

Indeed, during his early years outside Russia, Nureyev was often compared with his legendary predecessor. However, as Nureyev had said in his first interview on British television earlier in the year: 'Probably it's better to be myself than badly repeat somebody else. . . Certainly it's the biggest compliment to me which exists to be compared with Nijinsky'.

Nureyev by Dance Books Ltd in association with Victor Hochhauser Ltc. 1976. Page 4.