“I
know I’m crazy, but I like
the format.”
The
format is a full‑length,
abstract ballet. The crazy
man is choreographer Ib
Andersen.
Andersen,
artistic director of Ballet
Arizona since 2000, is at
work on his second full‑length
abstract ballet, which means
he will so far have made
twice as many as his illustrious
former employer and mentor,
George Balanchine. And that’s
only if you count Balanchine’s
“Jewels” as a true, full‑length
piece, rather than an amalgam
of three distinct ballets.
The
point is not a small one.
Without a story, a ballet
depends only on a theme,
or a dance vocabulary, or
perhaps a group of images
and/or musical pieces for
unity. Most full‑lengths
are story ballets: “Swan
Lake,” “Nutcracker,” “Romeo
and Juliet,” etc. It’s easier
that way to maintain audience
interest. It’s harder for
a choreographer to sustain
the imagination required
to come up with new steps
and combinations when the
only reason to move is ...
well, to move.
Balanchine
was, among many other things,
the unchallenged master
of abstract ballet in the
20th century–or ever, for
that matter. To see a typical
Balanchine ballet is to
be transported to a realm
where movement has its own
meaning. Words, stories,
characters–these are irrelevant.
The human body in space,
accompanied by music, is
everything.
But,
how abstract is “abstract?”
Balanchine famously said
that whenever you put a
man and a woman onstage,
there is a story. Try an
experiment: Walk down the
street and make yourself
aware of your movements
and the movements of others
around you. People are hurrying
places alone, or strolling
in couples, or wandering.
These are stories without
words. Put music to them
in your head and you have
the beginnings, in a way,
of an abstract ballet. Put
professional dancers onstage
under the direction of an
imaginative and inventive
choreographer, and you have
the potential for a masterpiece.
Andersen’s
“Mosaik” was, by any standards,
such a masterpiece. His
first full‑length
abstract, made in 2004,
explored an evolutionary
theme, movement growing
from simple gestures to
ever‑increasing complexity.
The new one, called “Play,”
will be altogether different.
Says Andersen:
“‘'Mosaik’
was linear, it was one ballet.
This is basically seven
different ballets. But I
see it as a seven‑course
meal.”
“I
wanted to make a very physical
ballet,” he adds. “In a
vague way, the word ‘play’
connects the seven into
one. I see play as part
of the creative process.”
There
are only so many ways the
body can move on its own.
It can walk, run, turn,
jump, crawl. With another
body, it can walk or run
in tandem, lift or be lifted,
turn or be turned, drag
or be dragged. Many bodies
together can do all these
things in myriad combinations,
plus array themselves to
make unlimited patterns.
Seeing the first half of
Andersen’s new ballet in
rehearsal recently, it’s
evident Andersen has left
not one possibility unexplored.
“Play” might be retitled
“The Joy of Movement.”
Strange
factoid: More books have
been written and published
about the late choreographer
George Balanchine than about
any historical figure other
than Napoleon Bonaparte.
People who love dance are
fascinated by this artist
who made classical ballet
into a vehicle for everyday
emotions. (And if you don’t
believe me, see or somehow
get a video/DVD, of “Agon.”)
Balanchine
made dance central to American
expression. Hard to believe
now, but in the 1970s dance
performance–and especially
contemporary ballet–was
as American as “American
Idol” is now. With Balanchine’s
death in 1983, the people
who danced for him at New
York City Ballet dispersed
to distant places, some
of them to become choreographers
themselves in an attempt
to continue the tradition
begun by “Mr. B.”
I
have seen ballets by several
of these choreographers,
and without hesitation I
can say that Andersen’s
ballets are light years
ahead of the others. I don’t
know how it is that Terpsichore
chose Phoenix as Andersen’s
home, but we should all
thank the muse for the gift.
“Play”
premieres June 8‑10
at Phoenix Symphony Hall.
Visit balletaz.org
for more information.