Diana Vishneva of the Kirov Ballet of the Mariinsky Theatre in Petipa and Gorsky’s Don Quixote. Photo by N. Razina.
The prescription for pepping up a lackluster Kirov Ballet tour? Trot out that venerable, crowd pleasing ersatz classic Don Quixote, get Diana Vishneva into that ruffled red dress—and stand back. Natural talent will take its course.
So it came to pass Sunday afternoon (Oct. 19) at Berkeley’s Zellerbach Hall, where the dance complement and orchestra of the famed St. Petersburg institution wound up a troubled Cal Performances run with the last of four weekend performances of the Cervantes-inspired narrative comedy. The milling corps at the start suggested indifference at best, but moments later, Vishneva, the Kirov’s starriest ballerina of the moment, flew from the wings in dazzling jeté, back dramatically arched, and all felt right in the ballet world. Why the company didn’t launch this tour stop with this Don Quixote with this casting is the mystery of the week.
Vishneva is simply a great allegro dancer and a miraculous technician. Her Kitri, determined to wed the barber Basilio, despite parental objections, was the sort that builds legends. Kitri’s iconic fan wasn’t merely manipulated artfully; the object served almost as partner. Then, Vishneva retrieved a pair of castanets from the wings and proceeded to fuse their clicks with an almost violent series of pointe attacks and soon fell into a vivacious duet with her Basilio, Yevgeny Ivanchenko. All this transpired in the first 20 minutes of the performance. There was a lot more to come.
Vishneva belies all the clichés about Russian dancers by possessing an acute sense of fusing steps and music (remember her brilliant performance in Balanchine’s Rubies here a few years ago). She is also a giddy comedian, if lacking in the witty, malicious edge Natalia Makarova brought to Kitri a generation ago. Only in the vision scene in Act 2 might one express slight disappointment. Here, Kitri must embody Dulcinea, Quixote’s ideal of woman, and on Sunday, Vishneva, fluid as ever, did not quite transform herself into the lyrical paragon of femininity the assignment demands. Still, when comes her like again?
The Kirov has been dancing Gorsky’s version of Petipa’s original 1869 original since the turn of the 20th century and it is of some textual interest. The production features more of this edition than most stagings, and I can’t say how much material was added through habit during the Soviet period. In the third act, the build-up to Kitri’s wedding, we now get a variation for the toreador Espada, dispatched Sunday by Karen Ioanessian, who boasts phenomenal elevation; and a fandango duet, where Ioanessian was joined by the sultry Lira Khuslamova. The divertissement also features an Asian dance (Yulia Slivkina with bare midriff). No one, apparently, asked what an Asian dancer was doing in Barcelona in the 17th century.
At least, this production retains Don Quixote (the formidable character dancer Vladimir Ponomarev) and his squire Sancho Panza (Stanislav Burov) in every scene and makes some attempt to incorporate him into the narrative. But the staging (as opposed to the choreography) is sometimes barely perfunctory. It takes a lowered curtain to segue to the vision scene, where Tatiana Tckachenko’s balances and Elena Yushkova’s androgynous charm were much to be admired. And after it’s over, the old guy just limps away, which is no way to end an act.
The Kirov places little emphasis on mime and that predisposition was no help to Ivanchenko. He presents a fine figure, tall, well proportioned, smooth in transitions and a considerate partner. But Ivanchenko seems to place little trust in the music, and he is singularly devoid of the rascally charm that must be part of Basilio. Never have I seen the barber’s mock suicide evoke so little laughter. Whatever does this exuberant Kitri see in this stringy fellow?
As for the physical production, the program does not cite a set designer, which led one to expect the worst, though the décor, though rumpled, is acceptable enough. Konstantin Korovin’s costumes need revision. No local fop would dare wear what Sunday’s Gamache, Soslan Kulaev, was forced to endure. Again, conducting duties fell to Pavel Bubelnikov who did what he could with the Minkus score.
Given the fame of the Kirov, Sunday’s matinee revealed lots of empty seats (bad), but a surprising number of young, quiet children (good) sprinkled around the audience. Maybe the next time, the company could be coaxed into importing some dances of its own time. They might even draw a crowd.
