In theory, I'm not fond of the incessant merchandising of sports and arts franchises, though I understand the need to raise funds by whatever means. Still, I was more than pleased to see a small table in one corner of the War Memorial lobby last week at a San Francisco Ballet performance, hawking a biography of Jerome Robbins by Deborah Jowitt (2004; Simon & Schuster). Robbins was the man of the evening, the American choreographer who had acted as associate artistic director of New York City Ballet, and was a mentor to SFB's Helgi Tomasson. Tomasson performed in three of the works shown in subscription Program 4, even taking the lead role in the world premiere of Dybbuk (1974).
I was not happy with the production of Dybbuk last season. Despite Robbins' revising the work repeatedly before finally giving up (and going on record as disliking Leonard Bernstein's aggressive original score), Tomasson doggedly insisted on mounting the original version, in which he had played the young man whose sweetheart is inhabited by a "dybbuk." I didn't think it worked at all last year, but this time it was much better, seemed shorter, more forceful and more "real" (therefore more spiritual).
Why? Gonzalo Garcia, understandably just sketching the role last season, nailed it this time. He's graceful, dynamic, tormented and dreamy all at once. That incredible sideways leap immortalized on much of the publicity material is now perfectly etched in space. Also, the problematic score was played less hysterically by Martin West. I think Andrew Mogrelia was so in awe of Bernstein, under whom he had studied, that he loved the piece to death. Finally, the girl's role was taken by Sarah Van Patten. I adore Yuan Yuan Tan, who did it last year, but she was too ethereal and remote. Van Patten seemed like a real girl, really possessed, and she partnered beautifully with Garcia.
Nobody in the company, I fear, will match Tan in Robbins' mini-masterpiece, Afternoon of a Faun. This clever gloss on Nijinsky's sensual but vulgar 1912 version of the Debussy score is so chaste, it is almost shocking when the boy kisses the girl on the cheek. The trick is that the audience represents the fourth wall of a tiny ballet studio, the mirror in which all dancers constantly check themselves. Looking at us (but not at "us"), the couple displays both the incredible narcissism and the objectivity required to perform their best.
Ruben Martin, bare-chested like Nijinsky's Faun and copying some of the same stretches, is alone at first. Joined by Tan, who seems oblivious of him, he begins to partner her. Their dance grows more rapturous, though always within the strict "classroom" tradition, culminating in the kiss. Touching her face in wonder, the girl drifts away, leaving the boy stretching again, but nothing as overtly masturbatory as in Nijinsky's version. Yet, dare I say, more erotic. The orchestral performance was fabulous.
Caviar dances
So were Michael McGraw's sharply rhythmic Chopin Mazurkas and a single Waltz in Other Dances. "Other," because Robbins had already made two Chopin ballets before creating this bagatelle for Soviet "defectors" Mikhail Baryshnikov and Natalia Makarova for a Lincoln Center Gala in 1976. It's very technique-specific and must have wowed the original crowd, but I'm not sure how well it travels. For star power, we had the impeccable technique and radiant charm of Tina Leblanc. Her partner was the usually showy Joan Boada, here almost too restrained and not finishing his jumps with that smooth assurance we have become used to. My companion, not a ballet person, loved the rest of the evening, but didn't "get" Other Dances, and there was no way I could explain it. It is really caviar for ballet connoisseurs.
Yet, being a contemporary musician, he got Glass Pieces, the evening's upbeat closer, despite some orchestral ensemble glitches and out-of-tune playing. I've always thought Philip Glass' scores were two-dimensional, and dance or film adds the needed third dimension. The slow movement, "Facades," is physically so clever, you are still going "Wow" when it is over. A couple (Muriel Maffre and Pierre-Francois Vilanoba) dance in the foreground while a frieze of female corps crosses in silhouette upstage, shifting, turning, reconfiguring, making themselves so indispensable you have to remind yourself to watch the pas de deux.
Rather like Mark Morris, Robbins was loaded with inexhaustible ideas, every one connected intimately with the music. He made lots of dances, too. Can we hope that Tomasson has more ideas for the future? He was right about Dybbuk. What else does he see in his choreographic crystal ball? Read Jowitt's book, and get some of your own ideas.