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The Boston Ballet has an eclectic agenda for its 31st season. The company's program includes traditional ballets which feature three radically different kinds of heroines--the betrayed in "Giselle," the doll which comes to life in "Coppelia," and the spunky Kate in "The Taming of the Shrew." In addition, the Boston Ballet's 1994-95 season blends the classic with the modern in American Festival I and II, two ballets which feature the works of recent American ballet luminaries like Cunningham, Feld, Balanchine, Taylor, and Tharp.
Despite this dynamic assemblage, the season's opening last Thursday with "Giselle" was less than inspiring. Associate Director Anna-Marie Holmes staged her version of Giselle as a reproduction of Leonid Lavrovsky's 1944 milestone adaption, which is still performed and taught at the Kirov Ballet. However, this production lacked the kind of festive, group energy necessary to do justice to this time-honored tradition.
"Giselle," a product of the Romantic Era, is a ballet which celebrates the depth of human emotions, the elemental bonds within a community, and the simplicty of pastoral life. Indeed, the ballet does not make sense unless these themes are stressed.
The principal dancers, Larissa Ponomarenko and Patrick Armand (Giselle and Count Albrecht), injected a good deal of acting into their dancing, and thus dramatically conveyed the pinnacles and plunges of their respective emotional roller-coasters. However, Ponomarenko and Armand remained unsupported in their eruptions of energy. The soloists and corps seemed unfocused and emotionally neutral. The lack of enthusiasm in the village's celebrations of Act I and the superficial pathos of the Wills in Act II detracted from Ponomarenko and Armand's powerful performances.
Ponomarenko, trained at the famous Vaganova Institute in St. Petersburg, was a spectacular Giselle. Technically flawless and undaunted by her emotionally exhausting role, Ponomarenko slid from artless innocence to rapturous love and painful disillusion with astounding authenticity and poignency.
Especially notable was her rendition of madness; with her hair loose and a frantic, self-absorbed demeanor, Ponomarenko absorbed the audience in her pain as she pantomimed the scenes Giselle had shared with Count Albrecht.
Armand complimented Ponomarenko's ebullience with a complex, brooding countenance: he was striking in his own right with phenomenal displays of athleticism and agility in his jumps.
The dynamic between Ponomarenko and Armand, technically and sentimentally speaking, was especially compelling. Their teasing intimacy in the first Act rendered their eventual tragedy especially affecting.
The staging of Giselle was largely successful, effectively spotlighting pageantry and incorporating some unusual corps configurations. However during some of the ensemble pieces, the combination of the full cast doing small beats with little movement made the stage appear clogged, and accentuated their failure to synchronize. Also, occasional directorial whimsies, such as Giselle interrupting her dancing to appear as an angel, clearly supported by a crane, were not only superfluous but also looked comical.
Many of these flaws were partially overcome by the spectacular scenery, designed by Gianni Quaranta. Act I transpires before the backdrop of elaborate, orangeish, interlaced trees set against a vibrant blue sky; traditional German houses and a grape arbor complete the dramatic set. Act II begins with dry ice sweeping over the stage which, far from disappearing, is contained by a filmy curtain to create the illusion of snow.
This creativity is paralleled by flamboyant costumes, designed by Paul Plesh, and helps compensate for the energy lacking in other areas of the production.
Perhaps a production first choreographed in 1944 will inevitably appear timeworn in 1994. Whatever the cause of the corps' stale presentation, the Boston Ballet's 1994-95 season has not started on a lively note.
But Giselle remains an indefatigable classic, a staple of the balletic diet nonetheless.
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