Metropolitan Classical Ballet Recent Reviews

Company retains diversity in spite of name change

Monday, June 28, 2004
By MARGARET PUTNAM / Special Contributor to The Dallas Morning News

FORT WORTH - The name has changed, but the image hasn't. Once known as Ballet Arlington, Metropolitan Classical Ballet capitalizes on its giddy mix of rare jewels from Russia (with a predominately Russian cast) and familiar fare closer to home.

The "classical" in the name, however, is misleading, if Saturday's program at Bass Hall is any gauge. Only Naiad and the Fisherman, a very early work by Marius Petipa, could qualify as classical, with Balanchine's Firebird in the neoclassical camp and Paul Mejia's Eight by Adler Broadway showbiz all the way.

The novelty was Naiad and the Fisherman, which disappeared years ago only to be rekindled in the 1980s by Piotr Gusev. Just how close it is to Petipa's original version is anyone's guess, but many of the signature elements of Petipa were there: precise footwork, symmetrical formations and long stretches of dancing on pointe. Next to The Sleeping Beauty, it was simplicity itself, full of charm and an absence of grandeur.

Against a shimmery, waving backdrop, the Fisherman (Anatoly Emelianov) tossed out his net, oblivious to the Naiad (Maria Kudyakova) who bourreed calmly around him. Once he noticed her, he was entranced, but she evaded his grasp by tangling him in his own net. She returned to his village, invisible to all but the Fisherman, where a holiday celebration was in full swing. Three Fishermen danced exuberantly, followed by a delightful duo (Sarah Marr and Emma Wheatcroft-Pardue), whose peasant dress belied the elegant serenity of their manner. Alone later in the moonlight, the Naiad danced until the sun came up, as intangible as air.

The gay spirit of Naiad shifted dramatically to brooding mystery with Firebird, in which Prince Ivan (Alexander Vetrov) hunted in a dark, blood-red forest and captured the Firebird (guest artist Marianna Ryzhkina). She skimmed in a flurry of quick little beats and bourrees, darting and turning like a pendulum. Her upright stance contrasted all the more with the clumsy prowls and pounces of The Wizard and his Subjects. Balanchine's forte is not fight scenes, however, which were almost comic. The finale, in which order was restored during the wedding of the Prince and Princess, was something else: a marvel of elegance and simplicity. Tony Tucci's artful lighting bathed the palace in a golden hue.

The audience ate up Eight by Adler (have people not seen Balanchine's much superior Gershwin-inspired Who Cares?). No doubt Olga Pavlova of the gorgeous legs was the appeal. Dress and pointe shoes lasted through "You Gotta Have Heart," "Rags to Riches" and "Hey There," but were exchanged for high heels and a tiny slip for "Whatever Lola Wants." The men were fun, too, leaping, spinning, and flipping like dolphins. They went gaga over Olga, who remained marvelously unruffled.
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