British Balanchine

The Royal Ballet, with their polite style and emphasis on purity of line, does not always make for the best interpreter of George Balanchine’s works. When asked what he looked for in his dancers, the Russian-American choreographer famously declared, “I don't want people who want to dance. I want people who have to dance.” This hunger is vital to perform his ballets, which require, among other attributes, speed, athleticism, attack, and an expansive use of space. "What are you saving it for? You might be dead tomorrow,” was another one of his well-known idioms, posed to dancers in hopes of inspiring more committed performances.

Performance

The Royal Ballet: “Serenade,” “Prodigal Son,” and “Symphony in C” by George Balanchine

Place

Royal Opera House, London, UK, April 2, 2025

Words

Phoebe Roberts

Lauren Cuthbertson and Melissa Hamilton in “Serenade” by George Balanchine. Photograph by Foteini Christofilopoulou

Presenting three of Balanchine’s best-known works–“Serenade,” “Prodigal Son,” “Symphony in C”–the Royal Ballet often failed to live up to the demands set forth by the choreographer. “Serenade,” a roughly thirty-five minute ballet set to Tchaikovsky’s sweeping Serenade for Strings, was the first piece on the programme and the weakest of all three. Beloved by dancers and audience members everywhere, the ballet is a non-stop rush of exhilarating movement and haunting scenes. Though plotless, “Serenade” charts a definite journey, whether that be from Europe to the U.S. (it was the first ballet Balanchine choreographed upon his arrival to America in 1933), from fear to surrender, or from life to death.

Still, its most famous moment is one of stillness: the curtain rises on 17 corps de ballet women, standing motionless and serene. Dressed in the same long, pale blue tutus, they have one arm outstretched above their head, as if shielding themselves from the sun (in fact, the step originated one rehearsal when Balanchine saw a dancer lifting her hand, attempting to block light pouring in through the window). After this opening tableaux, which often makes even the most boisterous of auditoriums fall into a sudden hush, the dancers spring into action, executing basic classroom steps before progressing to more difficult pattern work.

It was a surprise, then, when the curtain opened at the Royal Opera House and a stagehand, dressed in black, was seen running at full speed from center stage into the wings (he apparently neither wanted nor needed to dance). Also surprising was that the women stood not with their arms above their heads but at their sides. Several of the dancers attempted to raise their arms before deciding to put them back down, at which point their colleagues decided to raise theirs too (at last, they all settled on keeping them down). Although certainly due to a cueing error, this flub seemed to rattle the dancers for the remainder of the ballet, and was not the only noticeable issue to plague the performance.

Dancing the leading roles of the Russian Girl, the Waltz Girl, and the Dark Angel, were Mayara Magri, Marianela Nuñez, and Claire Calvert, respectively. While the ballet is abstract (the first two dancer’s titles correspond to the Tema Russo and Waltz sections of Tchaikovsky’s score, with the Dark Angel acting as a mysterious interlocutor), each role is distinct. The three women seem to arrive onstage at different points in life: the Russian Girl is youthful, performing spritely allegro steps; the Waltz Girl is a woman, finding her way in the world and making mistakes (she falls down, arrives late to formations); and the Dark Angel is ghost-like, performing choreography as if issuing a warning from beyond the lens of experience and loss.

Magri as the Russian Girl executed the difficult choreography with gusto, relishing in Balanchine’s quick footwork the more challenging it became. Smiling at the audience, she seemed to be toying with our disbelief at her technical prowess: isn’t this fun? Calvert, with her impressive jump and sunny disposition, also performed well, although her interpretation lacked the depth that makes the Dark Angel such a fascinating part. Her dancing was missing any sense of pathos, somewhat muddling the ballet’s emotional resonance and the grief that so clearly lies at the heart of it. One wonders why she was not given a chance at the role of the Russian Girl instead.

Nuñez, as the Waltz Girl, brought her signature star power to the part, although at times to detriment. Her performance, though technically excellent, also did not chart the emotional journey that “Serenade” requires. She entered the ballet as she exited it: smiling, unchanged.

At the end of the Tema Russo section, when the Waltz Girl falls to the floor and undoes her hair (one of “Serenade’s” many nods to “Giselle,” a ballet Balanchine claimed to have hated), Nunez struggled to loosen her pins, tugging at them for what felt like an eternity while standing and staring at the audience. Once on the floor, she then continued to pull at them, almost comically so (apart from this performance, “Serenade” has never been a particularly funny ballet).

Natalia Osipova and Cesar Corrales in “Prodigal Son” by George Balanchine. Photograph by Foteini Christofilopoulou

“Prodigal Son” fared better, in large part due to the committed dancing by the male corps de ballet and its two lead dancers, Natalia Osipova and Cesar Corrales. As the goons who wreak havoc and rob the titular prodigal son on his trip far from home, the corps de ballet provided perhaps the most full-bodied performance of the evening, stomping their feet and cavorting with delightful deviousness. Corrales, too, was outstanding: in jumps, he seemed to remain suspended in the air for minutes at a time, and in pirouettes, whipped out revolutions with the fervor of a youth struggling to reckon with his desires for the first time.

It was interesting to watch Osipova, a dancer famed for her elevation, perform a role that requires no jumps. As the evil Siren who seduces Corrales, she evoked an earthy sensuality, jutting out her hips and utilizing her épaulement to convey her power. Balanchine’s choreography for the ballet’s central pas de deux is some of his most explicit: the woman twists her body around the man, slides down his torso, and forces his head against her chest multiple times. In the final moment, the dancers lie on the floor, their legs positioned so that we see their pelvises. They then wrap, one by one, their legs over the other’s. It’s a moment that remains titillating today, and under Osipova and Corrales' care, it sizzled.

Reece Clarke, Marianela Nuñez, and Olivia Cowley in “Symphony in C” by George Balanchine. Photograph by Foteini Christofilopoulou

Of the three works presented, “Symphony in C,” a tutu ballet, is the best suited to the dancers of the Royal Ballet. Magri again shone in the first movement, relishing in playing with the steps and and extending her port de bras beyond the normal classical line. Throughout, the corps de ballet was also excellent, executing Balanchine’s lightning fast tendus and jumps with verve. In the second adagio movement, Melissa Hamilton struggled to live up the role of the ballerina. While her long limbs and extraordinary flexibility make her well suited to this section, she failed to push beyond these attributes to imbue the scene with the sensuality and mystery inherent in Bizet’s score. At times, her movements were jerked; she seemed in a hurry to hit the positions and get out of there.

Sae Maeda and Taisuke Nakao were a joy to behold in the third allegro movement, seeming to jump higher with every entrance. Maeda in particular was so light on her feet that she required almost no preparations for her jeté: she simply lifted off the ground and went. In the coda, Hamilton struggled with a series of quick pirouettes coming downstage, slowing down in her preparation and showing signs of terror on her face. The third movement ballerina is a Queen. If a Queen falls out of her pirouettes, who cares? It would have been more interesting to watch her face plant.

One hopes that the Royal Ballet continues to perform Balanchine’s works, despite the difficulties encountered at this evening’s performance. He, for one, could never be accused of saving it for tomorrow.

Phoebe Roberts

Phoebe Roberts is originally from New York where she trained with American Ballet Theatre and Leslie Browne. She danced with Béjart Ballet Lausanne before studying Russian at the University of St. Andrews, Scotland. She is currently pursuing a master’s in Gender Studies at the University of Cambridge. Her writing has previously appeared in the Los Angeles Review of Books, The Good Press, Glasgow, and Spectra Poets.

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