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Back to the Future

I’ve always wondered what it was like to be in the audience of a Balanchine premiere, and on October 8th, when the New York City Ballet revived “Pithoprakta” for the first time in 57 years, I got the closest I will likely ever come to that experience. What a thrill! I didn’t expect it to be so exciting, considering how long the ballet had lain dormant—very often, the rarities are rare for a reason. (I remember being so eager to see the seldom danced “Symphonie Concertante,” then quickly realizing why “Symphony in C” is the more popular white tutu work.)

Performance

New York City Ballet: “Pithoprakta,” “La Sonnambula,” “Unanswered Question,” and “Theme and Variations” by George Balanchine

Place

David H. Koch Theater, Lincoln Center, New York, October 2026

Words

Faye Arthurs

Mira Nadon, Davide Riccardo, and the Company in George Balanchine’s “Pithoprakta.”  Photograph by Erin Baiano

I had researched “Pithoprakta” over the summer, which had the unusual effect of making me even less sure of what to expect. The critics in the late ’60s were polarized; there were many raves, but also a few major pans. My favorite: “Balanchine laid an egg at the New York State Theater last night,” wrote Ron Eyer in the New York Daily News, “A small egg, to be sure, but an odiferous one.” Several journalists reported both cheers and boos. 

I also watched the lone recording of “Pithoprakta” at the NYPL for the Performing Arts: a grainy rehearsal tape missing one of the two leads, Arthur Mitchell. Though the video is murky overall, the magnetism of the young Suzanne Farrell comes through clearly. Whoever filmed it lingers on her as she sits back after the run and stares into the audience for a long while. Is she looking to Balanchine for feedback? Her gaze is mysterious and provocative, which is also a good description for the recently unveiled finished product.

As a matter of fact, it’s a description that applies to three quarters of the all-Balanchine bill on which “Pithoprakta” re-debuted, including the eerie opener, “La Sonnambula,” and the spectral “Unanswered Question” section from “Ivesiana.” In the former, Unity Phelan was a dainty Sleepwalker. Her feet looked pretty from every angle in the bourrées, even coming straight downstage in sixth position. Naomi Corti’s powerful Coquette provided a great contrast. Taylor Stanley, caught in between them as the Poet, got to explore different modes of partnership; they were emboldened with one and tender with the other. And Stanley was terrific in the famous melting backbend around the Sleepwalker’s upright body.

I had never registered before how pinpointedly Balanchine inverts the main grasp in each pas de deux. It’s an ingenious way to portray the difference between carnal and spiritual desire. The Poet wraps his arms around the Coquette throughout, as if folding her into himself. He is on top of her; she can hardly escape to move on her own. It is a greedy, consuming dance. But with the Sleepwalker, he is completely splayed. A lot of air flows between the pair, almost as if the Sleepwalker maintains a personal forcefield. And he is more often under than over her—rolling on his belly or kneeling to support her. In the climax of their dance, he arcs around her erect body without touching it.

Ashley Laracey, Cainan Weber, and Company in George Balanchine’s “The Unanswered Question (from Ivesiana).” Photograph by Erin Baiano

Ashley Laracey, Cainan Weber, and Company in George Balanchine’s “The Unanswered Question (from Ivesiana).” Photograph by Erin Baiano

“Ivesiana” was choreographed in 1954, 8 years after “La Sonnambula,” and the central couple in “The Unanswered Question” are easy foils for the Poet and the Sleepwalker. Here too a questing man rolls on the ground and reaches up to an aloof muse, who floats (this time literally) around the stage. She is also wearing white with her hair loose. Yet nearly a decade later, Balanchine flipped the ending. Where “Sonnambula” concludes with the Sleepwalker carrying off the Poet’s dead body (which is itself a gender inversion of several Romantic story ballets), “Unanswered Question” depicts a woman carried away from the man who longs for her. Cainan Weber made a strong debut as the yearning man opposite Ashley Laracey’s delicate apparition. He remained tortuously grounded as she hovered creepily on the shoulders of Gilbert Bolden III, Oscar Estep, Eli Raphael Gruska, and Hugo Mestres—invisible forces clad in black and cast in shadow.

However, there was nothing mysterious or provocative about the program’s grand finale except for the extremely fast tempi. Thank goodness the quicksilver Tiler Peck was at the helm of Balanchine’s “Theme and Variations,” a bright and tidy nightcap after so much clandestine hair-flinging. Conductor Andrew Hilary Grams took the final movement of Tchaikovsky’s “Suite No. 3” the fastest I’ve ever heard it done for dance (save for Roman Mejia’s Dewdrop redux solo, which seemed a tad slow for him).

The finale was so speedy it was almost comical. Balanchine embroidered this section with so many precise steps that even when it is on the slow side it looks (and feels!) hurried. Peck and Mejia zigzagged through it like hummingbirds, but the corps and demi-soloists got a tad ragged; the fives and the tours at the very end turned into popcorn. A weightier pace would’ve made “Theme” a better counterpoint to the “Pithoprakta” restoration, but the dash of chaos in the ballroom made me reflect upon how surprisingly orderly “Pithoprakta” was at times too.

Unity Phelan and Taylor Stanley in George Balanchine’s “La Sonnambula.” Photograph by Erin Baiano

Unity Phelan and Taylor Stanley in George Balanchine’s “La Sonnambula.” Photograph by Erin Baiano

At first, “Pithoprakta” seemed like total anarchy. The sound of crumbling bricks accompanied the curtain’s rise. Three circle spotlights highlighted some of the cast in frenzied movements, while other dancers stabbed wildly in the dark zones of the stage. Jagged parabolas on the backdrop resembled the output of a polygraph machine, though they were actually a rendering of a section of composer Iannis Xenakis’s mathematically-derived score (Farrell added this cool cyclorama when she staged the ballet for her own troupe in 2007). Much of the vocabulary was distorted—as if Balanchine was a horror movie director using backwards filming and other trick shots. Mira Nadon, gloriously present in the Farrell role, slid backwards into a split with her head to her knee—a dicey riff on Coffee in the “Nutcracker” and the 2nd Movement ballerina in “Symphony in C.” The corps often clawed at the air like rabid felines —one of Balanchine’s go-to moves to evoke wildness (see the “Central Park in the Dark” section of “Ivesiana,” or the Furies in “Orpheus”). This catlike behavior was musically supported too, as the score contained plenty of caterwauling strings.

And yet, there was a ton of method in all the deceptive madness: like repetition, unison, canon, and recurrent motifs. Sometimes the wildcats became tame, pawing cutely in neat rows, showgirl style. And where the vocabulary was at its most off-balance and messy, the structure was obvious. The corps performed Tina Turner’s “Proud Mary” manic legs back and forth in unison groups in canon. And Nadon executed a few disorienting diagonal combinations three times in a row, à la Petipa.

And though the corps often resembled subatomic particles bouncing around reactively in their nucleic spotlights, they also had highly organized moments—as when they all lined up in one circle spot and split down the center into two lines of bodies on the floor. This is perhaps the first ballet to depict the spindly symmetry of cellular mitosis.   

There were Black & White ballet shoutouts, like the backwards piqué developpé front from the “Sanguinic” section of “The Four Temperaments.” There was even a reverse “Sonnambula” moment, when Nadon passed through the loop of Davide Riccardo’s arms (he also made an excellent debut in the Arthur Mitchell role), hunching over her leg to fit through. However, she did this more like a fierce tiger jumping through a trainer’s hoop than someone offering their soul to another. The link to “Sonnambula” was neat (here was yet another untouchable woman in white with her hair down), yet perhaps it shouldn’t have been so pronounced.  

Mira Nadon and Davide Riccardo in George Balanchine’s “Pithoprakta.”  Photograph by Erin Baiano

Mira Nadon and Davide Riccardo in George Balanchine’s “Pithoprakta.”  Photograph by Erin Baiano

Which brings me to one of two quibbles I had with the revival: the first concerns the costumes. The gold-fringed bikini originally worn by Farrell was replaced with a white unitard with a gold pleated faux skirt. And the gold pants worn by Mitchell were replaced by a plain white unitard with a gold belt. These anodyne onesies felt too safe, like taking a few steps back from Balanchine’s ledge. The bikini was a major talking point in all the original reviews; people couldn’t believe Balanchine’s audacity. And Nancy Reynolds quotes Mitchell on his “Pithoprakta” costume in “Repertory in Review”: “Balanchine would say, ‘Oh, he’s too dressed. Take something off him.’ He never liked me to have a lot of clothes on in that ballet.” Balanchine was crossing a line, on purpose. Some six decades later, I think we could still handle that shock.

My other issue was the isolation of “Pithoprakta,” which, in the 60s, was the second part of a diptych, always following “Metastaseis”—a short ensemble piece to another Xenakis composition, danced in white unitards. Revivals are difficult. Farrell singlehandedly kept “Pithoprakta” alive. Perhaps there is simply no one to resuscitate “Metastaseis” (although the rehearsal tape does seem to contain the full cast).

I also bring up “Metastaseis” to support my point about the costumes. With that ballet in all white unitards, and the corps in “Pithoprakta” all in black unitards, it means something that Balanchine put Farrell and Mitchell in sparkling, scanty gold. Some dancers from that era told me that they thought “Pithoprakta” was Balanchine’s take on Studio 54. At the very least, I think there is something significant about separating Farrell and Mitchell from the pack and highlighting them as glittery stars, which they certainly were. Xenakis derived this score mathematically, using formulas for the statistical movements of gases exposed to temperature fluctuations. “Pithoprakta” means “action through probability” in Greek, but there seems to me little left to chance in Farrell’s eventual conquest of the stage. If you turned up the heat, which Balanchine certainly did, it was inevitable that she’d end up alone on center stage, vibrating. Farrell’s still got it, by the way. She earned a partial ovation when she bowed. Nadon, who was sensational in this dance, has it too.           

Since “Pithoprakta’s” return was so electric (really, it was the most cutting-edge dance I’ve seen in ages), I’m keen to see “Metastaseis” as well. Would completing the set unlock further “Pithoprakta” revelations? I saw Balanchine’s “Episodes” in an entirely new—and improved—light when the fourth movement (a solo made on Paul Taylor) was reinstated in 2020 after a 30-year absence. Then again, on this very bill “Theme and Variations” and “The Unanswered Question” proved that sometimes dances are just as strong, or even stronger, in excerption. I have no idea which way “Pithoprakta” would go, but I’d love to find out one day.

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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