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Dance not Tell

Eyeballs, screaming crones, and bloody axes were projected on a scrim at the top of American Ballet Theater’s new production of “Crime and Punishment.” Not bad for Halloween programming! Yet, despite Isobel Waller-Bridge’s cinematic, pressure-cooker score—which frequently evoked escape room music—there was very little suspense in Helen Pickett and James Bonas’s new narrative full-length. (Pickett is credited with choreography, co-direction, and treatment, while Bonas is credited with direction and treatment.) Between the program notes that thoroughly described all 22 scenes, and the onstage supertitles that presaged and sometimes interpreted them, there was not much room for surprise. That the murders occurred only in flashback, and at an arty distance, didn’t help.

Performance

American Ballet Theatre: “Crime and Punishment” by Helen Pickett

Place

David H. Koch Theater, Lincoln Center, New York, NY, October 30, 2024

Words

Faye Arthurs

Cassandra Trenary in “Crime and Punishment” by Helen Pickett. Photograph by Kyle Froman.

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I didn’t need suspense though. It’s true that Fyodor Dostoevksy’s Crime and Punishment is partly a cat and mouse game (will the murderer Raskolnikov get pinned for his crime?), but its thrust is more philosophical: can he live with himself either way? His oppressive guilt, confession, and spiritual conversion are the salient points. But Pickett and Bonas were less invested in these emotional quandaries; they went for storyline over feeling in their “Crime and Punishment,” forgetting to home in on what makes the medium of ballet special.

This was frustrating, because Pickett and Bonas’s idea to balleticize Dostoevsky’s classic novel was a great one, even though Bonas told the New York Times reporter Brian Seibert that it was “sort of ludicrous” in the pre-press. I completely disagree: if Raskolnikov’s existential despair and spiritual conversion are not the stuff of ballet, then I don’t know what is. These themes are conveyable even in plotless works: like the Melancholic section of Balanchine’s “The Four Temperaments” or the Preghiera of his “Mozartiana.” Ballet, like music, can be an excellent vehicle for the transmission of emotional states; it is not the best choice for plot minutiae. “Crime and Punishment” dealt more in the latter, and the dancing often felt shoehorned into the libretto. Most of the two-hour work consisted of small-scale pantomime. 

A lot of this pantomime was very well done. When Cassandra Trenary, as Raskolnikov, waited for Detective Porfiry (a dignified Thomas Forster) in his office and defiantly parked herself in his chair, it was great. She was like a teenage boy acting out in detention when the headmaster steps out of the room. When Christine Shevchenko, as Raskolnikov’s sister Dunya, gripped her upper neck and ear when she learned of her brother’s guilt, it was a nice touch—as if the spot where she heard the news physically hurt. Both of Dunya’s villainous suitors had well-drawn tics. Joseph Markey, as her pompous and transactional fiancé Luzhin, had shifty knees. James Whiteside, as the oily Svidrigailov who tries to blackmail Dunya into marriage, had snaky legs. Whiteside’s getup, a brown satin shirt open almost to the navel, was straight out of Boogie Nights. Soutra Gilmour did the minimalist sets and slightly less minimalist costumes. Her long coats looked good—trés Siberian chic—until they wound around the dancers’ legs during turns. It seemed that the minor character of Zamyotov (João Menegussi), Porfiry’s deputy, was included purely to hold Forster’s coat while he coupé jetéd.

Christine Shevchenko and Calvin Royal III in “Crime and Punishmentby Helen Pickett. Photograph by Kyle Froman.

I focus on Dunya and her many suitors likely because she ran away with the ballet. The plotline I became most invested in was her romance with Raskolnikov’s best friend Razumikhin (a wonderful Calvin Royal III). I had entirely forgotten about this subplot, though I admit I haven’t read this novel in over two decades. Shevchenko and Royal’s soaring pas de deux was the heart of the ballet, and their characters were by far the most fleshed out. Shevchenko, marvelous, began as an obedient, mincing dance partner and finished the ballet as a strong and decisive woman—telling off Svridrigailov with forced arches and clenched fists. 

I had expected Raskolnikov and Sonya’s relationship to dominate, as it does in the novel, but they felt more like stock characters. Trenary and Sunmi Park (as Sonya) both committed fully to their roles, but their material was frequently recycled. Park used the same open-armed lunges at the start of the ballet as at the end, and Trenary body-rolled and contracted her torso through every scene. I lost count of how many times they penchéd while holding onto chairs and tables. Trenary is a terrific dance-actress, but her choreography went against her character: she was like a rolling stone when she should have seemed shackled to a cinderblock.

That was the biggest surprise: where Dostoevsky makes readers feel claustrophobically trapped inside his anti-hero’s guilt-laden conscience, Pickett and Bonas made their “Crime and Punishment” feel transitional. Raskolnikov flitted in and out of the numerous quick scenes, often tailed by Porfiry or the Ever Watcher (Melvin Lawovi, great) who symbolized his moral conscience.  Wood walls on wheels (also by Gilmour) glided around the stage, quickly converting into various set pieces. So many characters came and went without adding anything to Raskolnikov’s internal drama. Marmeladov (Roman Zhurbin), as Sonya’s father), and his wife Katerina (Claire Davison) both got onstage deaths—they seemed almost as important as Raskolnikov and Sonya in Act I. And though it was fun to watch Whiteside slink around as Svridrigailov, his suicide was awkwardly tossed in—he appeared suddenly in a box and shot himself during Raskolnikov’s confession scene. This pulled focus from Raskolnikov’s climactic, moral unburdening. Also, it was hammily foretold. Whiteside sat around stroking a gun for so long that even Chekhov would’ve been annoyed.

American Ballet Theatre in “Crime and Punishment” by Helen Pickett. Photograph by Kyle Froman

Gestures and acting only get you so far in dance storytelling; characterization through bigger movement is necessary too. Aurora draws audiences in during her first entrance in “Sleeping Beauty” not because of her gracious pantomime, but because her attitude balances establish her technique as well as her trusting nature. Odile tricks Siegfried in “Swan Lake” with steps that are both seductive and audacious. In Bill T. Jones’s “Still/Here,” the feeling of staggering inertia after being saddled with terminal diagnoses is clearly conveyed through teetering balances in low relevé on a bent leg, with the gestural leg passing in front of and behind the shin, unsure of where to land. In “Crime and Punishment,” the main ideas were more acted than danced. Instead of showing Raskolnikov the path to salvation through exalted movements, Sonya repeatedly pushed a bible into his hands. He pushed it right back. The point was made, dryly.                     

With more ballet and less mime, it could have worked. Some of the group dances did a better job of infusing characterization into dancing. The militant unison and mechanical, chugging steps of the corps de ballet Citizens nicely depicted their factory occupations while alluding to Dostoevsky’s socialist critiques. And overall, the staging was starkly stylish. Tal Yarden’s videos (starring former ABT dancers Amanda McKerrow and Nancy Raffa as well as morphing inkblots), Gilmour’s plank panels, and Jennifer Tipton’s shadowy silhouettes were a fresh departure from ABT’s opulent story ballet norms. The bleak modernism reminded me of many successful recent opera updates and premieres (in fact, moveable wooden planks were inventively used in the new “Ainadamar” production at the Met Opera this season). What carries the minimalist opera stagings is always the singing, however. Pickett and Bonas forgot to make “Crime and Punishment” primarily about the dancing.                 

Faye Arthurs


Faye Arthurs is a former ballet dancer with New York City Ballet. She chronicled her time as a professional dancer in her blog Thoughts from the Paint. She graduated summa cum laude with a B.A. in English from Fordham University. She lives in Brooklyn with her partner and their sons.

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