Next Week, Swan Lake: Reflections on Dance and Dances

4. The Achieve of, the Mastery of the Thing!

4. The Achieve of, the Mastery of the Thing! Drawing hy li. Petty; © 1965 The New Yorker Magazine, Inc. 62 IRTUOSITY, epitomizing the dancer's mastery of the ordinary impediments to human movement, is a palpitation of the heart for the fan and a pain in the neck for the theorist. "Wow!" screams the aficionado as the dancer leaps (after performing a far more difficult feat of balance quite unnoticed by the audience). "But my dear," intones the purist, "there was no dramatic motivation for that display. Simply playing to the gallery." "Brava!" shrieks the watcher of the thirty-two fouettes, which Fokine termed "the most hateful invention of the ballet." He wrote those words in 1916; in 1942 he choreographed Bluebeard— which included a passage of thirty-two fouettes. Does virtuosity lie in the actual skill demanded by the movement or in the appearance of skill? Can virtuosity serve drama or will it necessarily distract the viewer from more "serious" concerns ? Is virtuosity today still virtuosity tomorrow? Is virtuosity necessary? Is virtuosity even—good? Despite its persisting popularity, balletic virtuosity has had a goodly share of detractors. In the sixteenth century when ballet began, the problem was basically quiescent, since the weight of the dancers' costumes, along with their comparatively meagre skills and the prevailing mores, constrained them from the performance of pyrotechnics. But in the eighteenth century, when the ballet was taken over by professionals, proficiency increased, the public discovered the delights of virtuosity, and dancers discovered the pleasures of applause. As early as 1712, however, complaints were heard in London. John Weaver objected in both writing and choreography, but the opinions of Sir Richard Steele reached a wider audience. Urging that dance was not really a trivial art, Steele begged his readers to disdain "such impertinents as fly, hop, caper, tumble, twirl, turn round, andjump over their Heads, and, in a word, play a thousand Pranks which many Animals can do better than a Man." 63 V 64 / Next Week, Swan Lake Nevertheless, it was not long before dancers learned to accomplish such complicated maneuvers as only human ingenuity could contrive. Before 1800 Marie Camargo had done her entrechat quatre and Anna Heinel her double pirouette. Yet neither would attract much attention today, for part of the appeal of virtuosity lies in its novelty. As familiarity lessens the delight, feats of virtuosity quickly become dated. (This can happen in the course of a single evening, as I noticed at a performance that produced thirty-two fouettes on three successive occasions—the last an utter bore.) Fortunately, however, virtuosity long forgotten can sometimes be rediscovered and made to evoke its magic afresh, as happened in the 19505 when the world outside Denmark caught its first glimpse of the Royal Danish Ballet and was newly enchanted by its ballon and delicate batterie. Detractors claim that virtuosity has a transient effect and that bravura is not worthy of a great art, which should rely on qualities that provide more lasting pleasures. Yet many spectators remember the thrills of a spectacle of virtuosity long after the details of a dramatic performance have faded from memory. What precisely has made them remember? Is it the same ingredient that makes the sports fan recall that beautiful swan dive? Or that great home run? Or have we encountered some differences in species of stellar excitement? The virtuoso dancer is often accused of usurping the territory of the athlete, stressing quantity instead of quality, for aiming to set a numerical record rather than presenting a persona to charm the audience with its beauty or move it with an emotional portrayal . The distinction was drawn by T. S. Eliot: "The acrobat, however bad or good, appeals to the mind rather than to the senses. We admire his skill, we say, that is difficult; and we could not do it—or we are pleased by mere surprise or novelty. . . . There are acrobats, such as Rastelli, whose juggling appeals to our sense of beauty of form; but his is an added gift. The primary appeal of acrobatics is to the mind. You must have the skill or Mastery of the Thing! I 65 you cannot produce this effect; but the appreciation of skill is for the trained critic alone, not for the general audience." Eliot would say, then, that the quantitative aspect of virtuosity (the balletomanes at the Maryinsky counting up to thirty-two to be...