by Leigh Witchel
Guillaume Côté has been the National Ballet of Canada’s reigning prince for two decades. But surrounded by the nervous energy of Sara Mearns’ swan in his debut in New York City Ballet’s production of “Swan Lake,” he seemed quiet amidst the noise.
There was actual silence when he walked on. The audience didn’t react at all, because Peter Martins’ production doesn’t give the prince an entrance. He walked onstage with Benno into the hubbub of dancing in the opening court scene; you don’t notice him until he was already there.
Martins’ production has always viewed the opening scene as movement rather than a story, barely squeezing in moments to characterize the court or who Siegfried is. Everyone around him is dancing, dancing, dancing. Meanwhile, Côté walked to center stage and offered his arm to the women who waltzed under him, smiled and posed like a mannequin of a prince. Rather than a court, it felt as if he had wandered into the middle of a fair.
The only vivid character in the act was Marika Anderson’s queen, whose petulance when Côté said he didn’t wish to marry was almost comic. Because of the contrast, though, that short moment only looked strange. Throwing the composition of the act further off balance was the Jester, who is there to provide fireworks and has no actual part in the story. Even when miming, Côté was soft compared to the company. His “I won’t dance” ended with a period, not an exclamation point. It marked him as an outsider. We finally saw Côté’s pure arabesque at the end of the scene. And some characterization: his apprehension when he could sense Von Rotbart, but not see him.
The dancing was strong in general. Spartak Hoxha stepped in for Adrian Sanz to make a debut as Benno. His straight, sharp legs were like fencing foils. They flashed as he shot up into a sissonne or jeté; his petit allegro was like a razor. After years in eclipse, Erica Pereira is now all over the repertory. Dancing with him in the pas de trois, she seems to have found the mental game of slowing the movement in her head so it doesn’t rush in her body. She danced the first variation calmly, ending with turns that neatly switched arms. Alongside her, Brittany Pollack danced the tweetier second variation, but again, with more breath and less hyperactivity. If there’s one trend that may mark the Stafford/Whelan era over the Martins, it’s that the company dances less nervously. Another is diversity. The company quickly started to look more like the city it served.
If the opening scene involved more action than feeling, the lakeside scene was one of extremes. Martins gave Odette an entrance, clearing the stage before she leaps on, and Mearns made one. You could see why Côté would be struck by Mearns’ hummingbird footwork but also her loosely hinged penchées. He raced side to side before partnering her, pleading with her to stay. They rushed off together and the swans raced on.
Even with less jittery dancing, the feeling of Martins’ lakeside scene was one of breathless shock: rushing swans and hustling hunters. It was emphasized by Côté coming on and leaving several times with no dramatic impetus.
But the white swan adagio was taken pianissimo and things started to make sense. Mearns at a hush was at her most fascinating and Côté matched her at a whisper, supporting her with the lightest touches. They walked together as if in the same dream. Mearns shows emotions in her body; her solo often moved past academic positions to an arabesque with a wide open back before ending with a final whipping circle of turns. In the coda she charged through the entrechat passés. Côté ignited to a slow burn, doing tours to arabesque in his solo, sticking the last high one. He ended in a final passionate pose with his hands across his chest.
Back at the court, Daniel Ulbricht still has a great jump, but his hand touched the floor twice in landings, though he made it look intentional. Often Martins’ choreographic decisions seem to be institutional rather than about the story – lots of solo parts so dancers aren’t sidelined and unhappy. One of those dances, a very complicated pas de quatre for three of the best female turners in the company and a virtuoso man, was cut. It added nothing to the plot, and dancers have been seriously injured doing it, so the cut can be defended.
Martins’ dance for the six potential brides remained. It does add to the plot, as well as offer small, charming solo parts. Like Siegfried, we were being offered someone to fall for, whether Jenelle Manzi’s high legs, Mary Elizabeth Sell’s quiet jumps, Ashley Hod’s leisurely extensions, Laine Habony’s nimble foot work, Olivia MacKinnon racing to jump into pas de chat or Alexa Maxwell’s long bow to greet us as if seducing with her poise.
We don’t get to see Sean Suozzi often anymore, but he went in for Daniel Applebaum in the Hungarian dance, at full tilt as he clicked his heels or headed to his knee. He was well-matched with Claire Kretzschmar, who danced with the same go-for-broke energy. Unity Phelan made a debut in the Russian dance, all longing and sublimation. The costume, inspired by the designs of Léon Bakst, is largely skin, and the dance is weirdly sexual for this provincial court: Adrian Danchig-Waring rotated Phelan as she fell limp, then jumped into his arms to be carried.
Mearns’ Odile was insidious. When she arrived with Silas Farley as Von Rotbart, she slowed down her upper body and made that slowness predatory: her arms moving like lethal tentacles of a jellyfish. While dancing the pas de deux, she tightened up slightly. Perhaps it was necessary to do the steps. But it also made her more of a weapon. She dipped and revolved in attitude as if there were all the time in the world to strike a killing blow.
Côté danced his solo with a loose back and easy arabesque. Mearns did clean double pirouettes to a single in attitude, doing double attitudes on the diagonal . . . well, on the first of them. Her fouettés were unembellished singles, but they were also clean until a saved ending. Côté did turns in second position with a flashy finish. But all the dancing couldn’t save Siegfried from the tragic error of swearing his love to the wrong woman. After the disaster, Côté ramped up. He raced at Von Rotbart, and pushed the court out of the way to get to the lake.
Siegfried and Odette’s final encounter started with a whisper but rose to a howl. Mearns loosened up again returning as Odette, arching into mourning attitudes and enormous back bends. She leaped prone into his arms; he reached to swear his love futilely. Gently, she brought his hand down and wrapped it round her instead. It’s one of the few times that Martins’ bleak view of love reached genuine pathos.
The music rushed on and Côté raced among the swans, trying to block von Rotbart. With the stage filled with black and white swans, it was a cosmic battle. Mearns protected him as he swore one last time: enough to defeat von Rotbart, but not enough to restore Odette to him. She dove into a final embrace, before reality tore her from his grasp. She shivered back to her flock. He raced, exhausted and pleading before collapsing to his knees.
Now going into its third decade, Martins’ conception of Swan Lake is sometimes a cry, sometimes a whisper, sometimes just chatter. But if Martins chose a neither-nor ending, it was still powerful. The deeper we plunge into uncertain times, the more sense it makes.
copyright © 2020 by Leigh Witchel
“Swan Lake” – New York City Ballet
Lincoln Center, New York, NY
February 14, 2020
Cover: Sara Mearns and Guillaume Côté in “Swan Lake.” Photo credit © Erin Baiano.
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