Letter from St. Petersburg - state of Russian ballet - Column

Dance Magazine, Feb, 1996 by Arsen Degen

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.