580
~OBERT
GARIS
wistful face begin to change into a fanaticism of self-study, and to see
her movements ascend from elementary practical exercises into heroic
poetry. She has the strength of concentration, of security, not Farrell's
strength of pliability and balance; she is
assoluta;
but her refinement
and her remoteness entirely exempt her from that ugly audience-wowing
heartlessness of Plisetskaya.
Allegra Kent's
Bugaku
is the antithesis of Paul's almost painfully
intense performance. One often just escapes underestimating Kent,
partly because her style is so unemphatic, partly because she hasn't
attained the security that she must be capable of and that one frankly
suspects might be achieved with a little more rehearsal. Security mat–
ters. But other things matter too, and Kent's indifference to security
seems the price we must pay for her absolute lack of fanaticism in
other respects. In the difficult
Bugaku,
as it happens, she is almost
always perfectly secure, but she is not, so to speak, emphatically secure.
There is still plenty of tension - the choreography sees to that - - but
there is also a rich extra meaning in the contrast between Kent's easy
delicate grace and the impossibly difficult balances of the movement.
Paul goes straight in the direction of the choreography and thrillingly
underlines its peculiarity; Kent makes the eroticism more deeply moving,
more humane. There is unexotic natural grace in every move Kent
makes. Her fluid ease in
Concerto Barocco
reminds me of what Haggin
has said about a Cantelli performance:
"It
just comes into existence."
Her arm-positions in the first movement, for instance: she doesn' t seem
to have
placed
them, the relaxed limpid line just happens to be the
way she holds herself. So the grand configurations that open the slow
movement startle you with a nobility you wouldn't have predicted.
Patricia McBride's allegro, sharper and neater than Kent's, ought
to seem better, but actually it doesn't. Indeed, I have retained my
sense that McBride's essential dance instinct is not highly interesting
while at the same time I am getting more and more pleasure from her
dancing. In
H arlequinade
she is completely delectable; this exquisitely
tailored role displays her strengths and hides her weaknesses. But
Balanchine made the role in
Tarantella
for McBride too, and her neat
precision is not quite alive enough for it.
It
isn't nearly So interestingly
written a role as Villella's, of course - Balanchine is partly to blame–
but a dancer with more verve would win more attention than l\1cBride
does. But it was a wonderful relief to see her fine, clear and strong
Allegro Brillante
after years of strenuous exertion by Tallchief, Hayden
and Wilde. Though there is no high inspiration in McBride's
Swan Lake,
the finish of hers and Villella's conception makes the experience unex–
pectedly moving. In
Rubies
Balanchine has called forth a nervous power
I would once have thought beyond her, but it is her own powerful con-
