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Dance and Theater


APRIL 1996
BY AUSTIN BAER AND NANCY DALVA





FROM LATE BLOOMER TO PERENNIAL FAVORITE

If The Nutcracker is ballet's winter warhorse, Swan Lake carries the rest of the calendar. There is no ballet more popular or more subject to reconsideration. Even during its debut season, in Moscow in 1877, choreographers and composers were revising the scenario and adjusting the score, interpolating here and substituting there. Some fifteen years later, in St. Petersburg (one year after poor Tchaikovsky had died without a hint of his music's future popularity), Marius Petipa and his assistant Lev Ivanov rechoreographed the entire ballet, divvying up the acts. Hence the blockbuster version of Swan Lake. Every serious production since has stood upon the shoulders of this one, whether faithfully or in full rebellion.

In 1940 the San Francisco Ballet, led by William Christensen, was the first company in America to produce a full-length Swan Lake. Following the tradition--but giving it his own spin--the current artistic director, Helgi Tomasson, unveiled his version in 1988. Following the concept of the production's designer, Jens-Jacob Worsaae, this Swan is set in the eighteenth century but with some modern streamlining for dramatic continuity. This month the company takes the ballet (and a mixed bill as well) to Zellerbach Hall, at the University of California at Berkeley (March 29-April 14; 415-865-2000). --N.D.

San Francisco Ballet's Swan Lake
Photo: Jack Mitchell


BOTH SIDES NOW

The choreographer Lila York has enjoyed a long association with the Paul Taylor Dance Company. For twelve happy years, in more than thirty dances, she filled the role Taylor called the "runt," although in her case a better term would be "sprite." She was the troupe's Tinkerbell, light-footed and tenderhearted. York has gone on to stage Taylor's work for other companies while also making dances of her own. This month the Pacific Northwest Ballet opens its program with the first movement of her critically acclaimed Rapture (Seattle Center Opera House, April 2-6 and 11; 206-292-2787). Meanwhile, the Boston Ballet's Hot & Cool introduces York's latest, Celts, set to Celtic tunes (Wang Center for the Performing Arts, March 21-April 7; 617-931-2787). "I took a lot of the steps and rhythms and shapes of Irish step-dancing and adapted them to ballet," York says. "It was a good eye-opener, and a mind-opener, too." And not just for the choreographer: an excerpt from the dance was the featured half-time entertainment at a Boston Celtics game in November. Slam dunk! --N.D.

Lila York
Photo: Jerry Berndt


ALL'S UNFAIR IN LOVE AND WAR

Meet, if you have not yet done so, Ödön von Horváth (1901-1938), the shorter-lived, lesser-known contemporary of Bertolt Brecht (1898-1956), to whom influential voices in Germany and Austria have even declared Horváth superior. A scion of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, which he regarded as "rotten," Horváth invented a style that bespeaks its period yet recalls no one else: clipped, plainspoken, disenchanted. A spirit of swift, sweeping perception that prompts other writers to aphorism became in Horváth the very soul of dramatic structure. Take Don Juan Comes Back From the War, which opens this month at Manhattan's Classic Stage Company (April 8-May 4; 212-677-4210). Wounded, prey to hallucinations, blank, the anti-hero wanders through the wintry Mitteleuropa of 1918, the lone man in the play. Perhaps for this reason, cranky women of every age and station (nine actresses in some three dozen roles) fling themselves at him, but his heart is fixed on his fiancée, whose grandmother has been vindictively hoarding his letters. Not until the final scene does Don Juan discover that the woman he yearns for is long dead. What does it mean to have told this tale of shattered love not through Everyman or Anyman but through the rake of legend? War, statesmen think, is the continuation of diplomacy by other means. Horváth's enigmatic parable speaks to the personal cost of that difference. --A.B.


WHERE THERE'S NO WILL, THERE'S VOLPONE

Three cheers for The Shakespeare Theatre in Washington, D.C., which for its last show of the season gives the house playwright a rest and welcomes Mosca (the Fly), Voltore (the Vulture), and all the rest of the bestiary that makes up the cast of Volpone; or, The Fox (April 16-June 7; 202-393-2700). Diamond-hard, diamond-clear, Ben Jonson's comedy is a jewel too seldom brought forth to glitter in the light. The first edition, a quarto of 1607, featured testimonials by such notables as John Donne and George Chapman, not to mention a dedication to the universities of Cambridge and Oxford, where the play had won great favor. Of course, the classical learning that pleased the scholars is lost on most audiences nowadays. But Jonson's subject (greed) remains as timely as it ever was; the central conceit still hits the mark (all the world's a zoo); and the clockwork elegance of his design (a Venetian cotillion of animals) has lost none of its spring. --A.B.

Ben Jonson
Photo: courtesy of The Shakespeare Theatre



Austin Baer is a writer based in New York.
Nancy Dalva is a contributor to Dance Ink and other publications.






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