State Ballet of Georgia-Zellerbach Hall & San Francisco Ballet-War Memorial Opera House

It is hard to imagine why anyone would want to be the artistic director of a major ballet company. Every production decision is ultimately yours; casting, set design, costumes, publicity and more. Everything falls under your jurisdiction. The artistic director receives the credit when things go well, but they definitely take the fall when things go poorly. Learning how to create a cohesive artistic vision and manage this huge responsibility can take years or sometimes decades to accomplish. Therefore, ballet companies that are under the leadership of a relatively new artistic director will experience the same growing pains that this individual does. Well-seasoned artistic directors will have a company that embodies their maturity. How the company appears on stage bears a direct correlation to the competency and experience of the artistic director.

Still, comparing the work of one artistic director to another is a challenge because rarely does an audience have the opportunity to see two different versions of the same work in close proximity. This winter, both the State Ballet of Georgia and the San Francisco Ballet presented Giselle within a week of each other, making a comparison possible.

These two companies are at opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to their artistic directors. Nina Ananiashvili has only been the artistic director of the State Ballet of Georgia since 2004 whereas San Francisco Ballet’s artistic team has been headed by Helgi Tomasson since 1985. Because the State Ballet of Georgia has a new artistic director, the company is at a transitional point, much like adolescence. They are adjusting to a new chapter in their existence and experiencing the challenges that accompany a change in leadership. In contrast, the San Francisco Ballet has already matured into adulthood with consistent guidance over the past twenty-three years. Each company brings their own reality of progress to the stage. And, the highs and lows in their respective productions of Giselle are directly related to their artistic directors.

Both companies excelled in their casting of the two main characters: Giselle and Albrecht. These two sets of dancers were technically accomplished and evenly matched. The ballétés and penchéés in Giselle’s opening solo were equally breathtaking from Nino Gogua of the State Ballet of Georgia and Yuan Yuan Tan of the San Francisco Ballet. Unfortunately, the similarity in technique ended there; the soloists and corps de ballets from the State Ballet of Georgia did not measure up to the soloists and corps from the San Francisco Ballet. The peasant pas de six in the State Ballet of Georgia’s version was lacking; the unison sections were not in time and these six soloists were under rehearsed. In Tomasson’s version, the same section was a pas de cinq, and it was strong, competent and together. Also, the girls in the State Ballet of Georgia corps seemed to struggle and bang their way (literally, at times, it sounded like tap) through the group sections, especially the famous arabesques from the second act. Their legs bobbed up and down and their upper bodies seemed unable to maintain an arabesque line. In contrast, the corps from the San Francisco Ballet looked ethereal and effortlessly floated through the arabesques that had caused the other company such trouble. It is the artistic director’s responsibility to oversee the technique of the entire company, not just the main dancers.

However, the comparison of these two companies is much more than simply which has the better soloists or the superior corps de ballet. Large-scale narrative ballets like Giselle require more than great dancing to be successful. A significant amount of non-dance communication is also necessary to complete the story. The audience relies on gestures, facial expressions and character interactions to understand the sequence of events. Well-seasoned companies understand this; and subsequently, they spend the time and energy needed to develop these performance skills in their artists. SF Ballet is impressive at achieving the equilibrium of dance and non-dance. The gestural sections of their Giselle were as telling and as clear as was the technical accuracy of the steps. The interaction between the characters looked natural and Tomasson managed to transport the audience to that peasant village. The State Ballet of Georgia was not as successful in recreating the environment of Giselle’s home. With the exception of Nino Gogua, who portrayed Giselle, the dancers looked uncomfortable with any story-telling that was not immersed in dance steps. This is common with less mature ballet companies. They experience difficulty attaining the balance between technique and artistry. They understand that as a professional ballet company, technical proficiency is a must and therefore, the majority of time is spent working toward that goal. The crucial element of non-dance communication is often overlooked. In narrative ballets like Giselle, this is a grave omission because technique and artistry must work in tandem to create the story for the audience. Again, the artistic director of the company must ensure that this balance is achieved.

San Francisco Ballet’s Giselle was the superior production by far. The technique and artistry of the entire company was better than the State Ballet of Georgia. But, the State Ballet of Georgia is still struggling to define who they are and what their artistic vision is. Perhaps once they have had time to mature under their new artistic director, these ‘growing pains’ will have disappeared, and they will become an example for other progressing companies and in time, meet the level of maturity exhibited by companies like the San Francisco Ballet.

Company Ea Sola-Yerba Buena Center for the Arts

New choreography is frustrating because it usually lacks newness. The expectation of originality and innovation is rarely met. Most “new” pieces look like something that has been done before, and this is especially true with the concept of extremes in dance. Although they read well on the stage, the overuse of extremes has produced boring and predictable pieces. They become typical; good and evil; light and dark; pleasure and misery; life and death; fast and slow; connected and detached. Subsequently, dance patrons become anesthetized to the significance of opposites in performance and the magnitude of their power disappears. But, in those rare times that extremes are presented from a fresh perspective, it leads to pioneering choreography. Company Ea Sola’s Bay Area debut with Drought and Rain, Volume 2 (2005) captured what so many other new works miss; a multi-layered approach and distinctive glimpse into the world of extremes.

Control and chaos came in the first fifteen minutes of the piece and it was shockingly effective. The dance began with total calmness and occurred in almost complete silence. The eight dancers were staggered on the stage and were simply walking in their own straight lines back and forth. Some moved in slow motion. Their legs developpéd to parallel passé and out to a flexed foot, onto which they then stepped forward. Others moved at a fast pace, bourééing on their toes. Regardless of their speed, the entire section displayed a quietness that hypnotized the audience. Suddenly, the other extreme broke through and scenes of frenzied, flailing movement interrupted the tranquility. These sequences were frenetic and the pain and distress concrete. Yet, underneath these seemingly uncontrolled interludes was absolute control. In order to move that quickly and that sharply, the dancers must have ultimate command of their bodies. From control, chaos is born. Ea Sola’s choreography and staging were so mesmerizing that I was afraid to write for fear of missing a moment.

A second extreme was the multi-layered treatment of individualism and collectivism in the piece. This multi-faceted approach included instances of absolute individualism, combinations of both and lastly, purposeful collectivism. From the first perspective, Ea Sola choreographed the eight dancers almost entirely as individuals. They did not make eye contact with one another and their dancing was isolated to their own trajectory. When they were close together, there was a clear lack of acknowledgement of the other dancers; yet, they never looked like they might accidentally hit or bump into each other. It was like watching eight soloists perform rather than a group of dancers. They were a few partnering lifts toward the end of the piece, but even they felt different; there was a detachment present rather than connection. The women looked as if they were being taken by surprise in the lifts, indicated by their odd positions in the air. And, even as they were being lifted, there was again no eye contact between the lifter and the liftee. There was a very clear sense of the isolated individual.

The female dancers deserve special attention because they embodied both individualism and collectivism. Just like the men, Ea Sola had created sequences for each of them, reinforcing their individuality in movement. However, their costuming and hair made them one collective group. All four women were wearing identical black shirts and black pants whereas the four men were dressed differently. Each woman had long straight black hair which as they moved, partially or fully concealed their faces, making them almost identical to each other. This made them an anomaly; collective in appearance yet, still individual in movement.

Lastly, there were moments of complete collectivism. Similarity in movement quality is one such example. The performers may not have been dancing together nor making eye contact, but they were usually all calm or all chaotic at the same time. There was also a consistency of feeling. Sometimes, this was a clear loneliness and hopelessness that emoted from each dancer. At other times, there was a tangible collective feeling of power, mostly demonstrated in the few unison sections of the work. It was clear that even in the midst of individual helplessness, a community of others injects strength.

I had never seen Vietnam’s Company Ea Sola before, and therefore, had no expectations about the choreographer, the dancers or the piece. As viewers, this is extremely important. We approach performing arts we know with pre-conceived opinions and personal bias. Perhaps attending that which is new to us allows us to really see and not just watch.

Pina Bausch Tanztheater Wuppertal-Zellerbach Hall

Very few choreographers surprise me and hardly any ever shock me. If anything, most are predictable and have developed a signature movement style that permeates their repertoire. I am sure that this generalization offends many choreographers, but even they have to concede that although it may be insulting, it is accurate. Few have the gumption and wherewithal to venture outside of their comfort zone.

Thankfully, Pina Bausch is not one of the complacent. Her recent West Coast showing of Ten Chi (2004) illustrates her commitment to artistic exploration, and represents a tangible stylistic departure from most of her work. Bausch dance-theater compositions tend toward movement themes of purposeful, repeated violence, forcing the audience to witness the dark side of civilization and the selfishness of the soul. Usually, Bausch makes no attempt to wrap these difficult concepts in pretty and manageable packages. Rather, untamed cruelty and ferocious rage are so palpable in her work that they leap from the stage, startling and strangling the audience with their brutality.

Ten Chi was different and had an overall sense of composure in its choreography, text, and staging. It was the exact opposite of what I was expecting from this famously controversial choreographer. Both ballet and modern sequences were incorporated into the work amid falling snow and the tranquility of water. The disconnectedness that often occurs when dancers are expected to perform both genres was absent and was replaced by smooth transitions. Serene, graceful movements were coupled with angular, pedestrian motions fluidly and seamlessly. Of course, not every moment in the piece was calm and tranquil, but there was no bottled rage or erupting violence.

However, it is important not to confuse the visual serenity of this work with a message of happiness, joy and light. There was a deeper significance concealed in the repose: the dichotomy between what you want and what you get. This was readily apparent at the beginning of Act II with a creative pas de deux between two women. One dancer was trying to pose in particular styles and the other kept re-positioning her in different postures. This conversation occurred without any text, but the hidden tug-of-war was obvious. Desire may never be realized. This message may not have been steeped in Bausch’s usual angry choreography, but it was quietly disturbing. The comprehension that wishes are not real is sad.

Consequently, not everything about Ten Chi was completely atypical of Bausch. She still examined a very serious, depressing concept. But, how she dealt with it was different-instead of unadulterated viciousness, we saw quiet, internal turmoil. This is what should be taken away from the piece. Pina Bausch explored the complexity of ‘wish versus reality’ from a very different perspective. Rather than her usual aggression, we saw a touchingly sad machination of her narrative. It is incredibly brave to believe that you can successfully create through different methodology. It is this bravery in approach that makes her a choreographer to emulate.