I am back on my other island- the tropical one- for the Christmas break and as much as I enjoy temperatures over 20 degrees, the Mediterranean diet and spending time with my family, it has only been two days and I feel that one week more of this could possibly make me jump into one of the volcanos that are conveniently spread over the archipelago.
Because, other than in summer, when soaking up all the sand on the beach can take up the entire day, the island can get very tedious. I'm also working my way through loads of Nutcracker and Cinderella reviews and can't help thinking that everything is happening elsewhere, and that what does happen here can easily make you join me in my suicidal volcano dive.
We too, have a Christmas dance season. We have been delighted by a series of Nutcrackers and Sleeping Beauties over the past few years, brought over from- amazingly enough- Imperial Russia. The finest Soviet ballet seamstresses and theatre ushers have walked our stages and danced trepaks and reed flutes until their feet bled. And the Canarian audience attended in flocks, and year after year return home from the theatre believing they have witnessed the miracle that was Nijinsky's ballon.
It makes me cringe when I hear people tell me they are going to see the 'Rrrrussian Ballet' (note the drawl, which isn't just a British sign of ridiculous pretenciousness, but which also happens in Spanish for the same purpose). They may as well say they are going to see the Ballet Russes; the fur coats (and I must remind you of the tropical temperatures we tend to have in December) or smoking suits they sometimes wear indicate that they believe they have paid 20 euros to see the original cast of Le Pavillion d'Armide.
I have seen these Russian companies on several occasions. The two that have struck me the most are Renaissance Russian Ballet, with a Sleeping Beauty that should have never woken up; let alone existed, and The Imperial Russian Ballet (of which empire, I'm still clueless), with a Nutcracker that should have been more aptly called A Nightmare Before Christmas.
The former: Canarian high society gathered eagerly to watch the christening of Aurora, which was also attended by a royal court straight out of Night of the Living Dead, although the zombies in the 1968 cult classic had a bit more spice in them than this corp de ballet. Everyone was amazed, however, by the fairies, especially by the Lilac Fairy, who could have modelled for Green Giant ads anytime, even when off pointe. The rest of her squad had somewhat of an identity complex- Bird Song was also Breadcrumb, without a tutu change to help us understand anything, although she may as well have been Iberian Ham fairy- that was what each thigh of hers looked like (and I've no problem with the size of dancers; I'm just commenting on the disproportion of the entire cast, that, and that I suspect that may be why she couldn't quite close her fifths at times).
The second act waltz had a Chinese peasant who was wearing glasses; the four princes would've rather been having some vodka elsewhere than dance with Aurora; a snail crossing a road would've been more exciting than Carabosse; and the Lilac Fairy gave us a lot of booty as she sent everyone to sleep. I'd comment on the grand pas de deux but there was none; the wedding variations were passable (but if the dancers had indeed graduated from any ballet school, so they should be).
The latter: the fact that this was the Imperial Ballet caused such a stir in the Canaries that Adolfo Dominguez could have shut store for the holidays, such were his fur and suit sales. Starring alongside the company's cook and hairdresser were the kids of one of the local dance schools. The overture may have been stolen from Bourne's darker take on the classic: a very old and camp Drosselmeyer walked across the stage endlessly, taking very young children from wing to wing. The party that followed was a ball of confusion. Clara, who was about to reach menopause instead of coming of age, was followed around the stage by a herd of kids who were costumed for their primary school's Christmas pageant. Drosselmeyer wafted about like a true Blackpool drag diva; and and incredible ammount of the music was put to waste with his eerie pantomime with the children.
Act two was equally bizarre. Arabian Coffee looked like a scene from Top Girls; the flower waltz had Copacabana-like costumes and the grand pas adage, which has as accentuated a music as you can get, was extremely off timing. This, however, did not stop the audience roaring; they jumped from their seats screaming 'bravo'; no flowers were thrown onstage because fortunately, they still had a bit of decency left.
After such a circus, the audience left elated, and I suppose the unitiated do have an easier job at getting entertained. It just makes me wonder what ballet- or bad ballet- has that can cause such a fuss. Is it the everlasting myth that attending 'the ballet' raises your social status somewhat, even if you fall asleep on your chair? Or is just nice to watch tutus and crowns (however frill-less) and pointe shoes (even when those fifths aren't quite crossed?). And why did the audience leave the auditorium in numbers during butoh company Sankai Juku's performance of Hibiki, which regardless of its weirdness, was extremely better performed than the two ballets I've described?
The Canarian audience is, sadly, unlearned and easily pleased; and I think we may not be the only Spanish audience in this situation. I am left wondering what can be done to change this- if budget is the question, perhaps Duato's now deceasing monopoly of the dance scene has something to do with.
Miss Rojo did put it quite bluntly to Dance Europe: 'It is a shame that Spanish audiences would rather pay to watch any Russian company than the company they pay with their own taxes.'
