March 16, 2012

He's Good, but He's No Baryshnikov.



After spending four days last week performing my duties as chaperone to the senior band students of my kids' high school on their intensive trip to Calgary, Alberta, I have spent part of every day of this week allowing myself some recovery time. Yesterday afternoon I decided to relax by watching a DVD I had taken out of the library two weeks ago and which was due the day before yesterday. The DVD was a 2010 production of the Provokiev ballet, Cinderella, performed by the Birmingham Royal Ballet. I enjoyed it and agreed with the critic quoted on the back: "As a ballet, this performance of Cinderella was good. As theatre, it was great!" The costumes and stage sets were fantastic, and the characters often comical and extremely dramatic. My son took the DVD back to the library for me immediately after I had finished watching it -so I wouldn't accumulate any more fines - and I can't remember the names of the dancers. Cinderella herself was danced by someone who could present the character with all the grace and sweetness we can imagine Cinderella to own. The prince was danced by a tall, male, heroic looking figure, and while I appreciated his performance I heard my mind saying Well, he's good, but he's no Baryshnikov.

Mikhail Baryshnikov is my favourite male dancer of all time. He is a lot of people's favourite male dancer of all time. After watching Cinderella, I spent a few minutes on Youtube watching videos of Baryshnikov, which only confirmed by long-held belief in his unparalled gift. I don't follow ballet much now. It is not because I don't want to, it's just that I really do not have the opportunity to do so. Perhaps there are some male dancers out there who are every bit as good as Baryshnikov, and perhaps one day when I have both the time and money I will see them perform. An elderly lady I knew on Vancouver Island held season's tickets to the ballet in Vancouver and would go over to the Mainland to see every performance. She would tell me about the performance she was going to see, and I would sigh and think how I would like to spend my old age doing just that.

I once bought a large poster of Baryshnikov and pinned it up with the other dance pictures on my bedroom wall. Those posters represented a lot of dreams for me at the time. I used to lie in bed at night and pray, "Please make me a dancer. Please make me a dancer. Please can I be a dancer?" I was with a small studio at the time. My Granny had died and left me and my siblings a little money, and I used mine to pay for dance lessons at a small studio which was a fifteen minute drive from my home. I had taken lessons when I was six, and again, with another excellent teacher who had come from the Royal Winnipeg Ballet when I was ten and eleven. I loved her and her teaching style (as did my mom who encouraged her to stay in our town), but she struggled to make a living and left after a year or two for the city. It was not until I was fifteen that I decided to take lessons again, and although I had the right attitude for dance and plenty of musicality I did not have the years of steady technical training that the other girls had, and I had to work very hard to catch up. The experience was good for me, and the other girls were surprisingly welcoming and encouraging. I had a wonderful four years with the company. I thoroughly enjoyed rehearsing for shows, and was chosen to play Snow White in our production of the same name - 'for your expressive face, Rebecca,' said the head teacher/choreographer. Even though our company embraced jazz and modern dance, my first love was ballet and I immersed myself in its world. I read books about ballet, saw films about dance, watched televised ballets, particularly with the National Ballet of Canada, bought pictures of dance, painted pictures of dancers, received ballet themed gifts, etc. A friend and I went to the States for a night to see the Pacific Northwest Ballets' Nutcracker (Ultimately I was disappointed - the calibre of dance was not anywhere near what I'd seen on TV).

I remember during my last year with the studio I asked for a meeting with the director and main teacher, Lynette. I wanted her honest opinion: did she think I had what it took to become a dancer professionally? I had thoughts of auditioning for a university dance program. I had taken a couple of intensive summer programs with other teachers and had felt encouraged by them. Lynette was kind. She began to point out all the areas in the dance world I could study: dance history, dance theory, dance administration...everything but dancing itself. "You're an intellectual, Rebecca. There is so much you could do." I was too much of an optomist to allow myself to be crushed entirely, but of course I was terribly disappointed. I didn't want to be an intellectual. I wanted to be a dancer so badly, it ached. I did audition for that university dance program and did not get accepted. I was called into a room with several other dancers who were all told we showed promise but needed some more training before we could join the full time program. Perhaps, looking back, I should have stuck with it, pushed forward, but I was beginning to realize that perhaps I just didn't have what it would take.

Sometimes, things don't work out the way we want them to, no matter how much we will them to. That's the seeming cruelty of life, and often, timing is everything. I remember when I worked for a dance company for a short time in Vancouver when I was first married. A wonderful flamenco dancer who had taught me during a week-long intensive course a couple of years before, came into the office. He gave me a hug and invited me to come dance with his company downtown. 'You are good!' he said. I could have cried, I felt so validated. However, I had also just found out I was pregnant and new dreams were beginning to flutter in my soul. Over the years other things came into my life and gave me joy. I became a runner, which gives me a bit of that sense of flight dancers have. I practise yoga, which gives me the strength and stretch I used to enjoy at the studio barre. I began to write, which allows me an outlet for my creative expression. I had children, which meant more to me than anything. Still, when I watch a ballerina, I can feel every move they make. In a sense I dance with them in my heart and in my mind.

And Baryshnikov? Well, he is beyond a dancer. He is a bird in flight, a lion in strength, and a unicorn in unusual grace. At least he is in the videos which captured him in his prime, and in films like The Turning Point and White Nights. He is older now of course. Aren't we all? I understand that now he is a generous and gifted teacher.

Here he is, the great Misha in his younger days. I chose this video to show what an amazing dancer, actor and athlete he is. So inspiring.





I am adding another video featuring Canada's extraordinary Evelyn Hart and Rex Harrington. I once spotted Evelyn on the streets of Winnipeg when I was visiting my sister. She was just a teeny tiny thing.



I am behind in both my posting and my reading of posts. I promise to catch up soon. Wishing everyone a Happy St. Patty's Day tomorrow, and a Happy St. Joseph's Day on Monday - he's the patron saint of Canada, eh?

12 comments:

  1. I've just upped security and I couldn't make the comment stick. If this works I'll write a full one.

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  2. Wayhay.


    OhhhKayzies then. Ballet is it. Hmmmmmm.

    I think there are a few ways of looking at this. And hold them simultaneously and validly. Only a fool couldn't see the beauty and athleticism. And while many will have difficulty understanding. Nonetheless they will see, and in the same way as one sees a poem read in another tongue.
    Would I have a girl of mine enter that world. No way, not a snowballs chance in hell.
    I would go so far as to actively discourage. And here's why. Even though my connections are narrow they are wide enough and at a level which has seen the mental heart ache and physical torment of those involved. While a boy of mine in that game and not living in Russia, ludicrous. You might as well hand him the bat himself, for he WILL have the crap hammered out of him in infants class.
    And then, would I embrace that life in a mate. Yes. They tend to be tough little witches.

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  3. Hello Vince, and Happy St. Pat's day to you! Yes, perhaps my self-preservationist tendencies (and they are strong ones, mind you) kicked in after the auditions when I heard the boy dancers who were waiting in the wings openly criticizing the few girls who were not as thin as they thought they should be. It was a bit ugly, but I knew that existed in the dance world. I had been well protected from that it, admittedly. The dance teachers I'd had had no patience whatsoever for that kind of thing. Recently, I was complimenting a woman I know on the obvious talent of her young daughter, who I had seen dancing in a show. "She obviously loves dance." I said. "I wish she didn't," said the mom, "the politics are unreal." Her child is only 8 years old.
    Oh, well, it was a sweet dream and did me a world of good at the time. I have no regrets whatsoever.

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    1. Ah now, you know darn well that a girl with a pound or two extra on the ground even if it is 'bone' will multiply that extra by ten on a lift. And it's so very rare that the lift is straight up, so the extra is a killer for the man who has to schlep and dance himself.

      And I totally forgot St Patrick's wishes.

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  4. ha...my wife danced for 18 years...it is a hard life...i actually danced in the nutcracker as well..and that was hard...i remember nights drilling her toes to relieve the pressure (nasty) and the teachers def push push push...but man is it beauty when it is done...and they recruited me mainly for the lifts as i was already dating her to give the girls practice in the air...that was tough...

    timing is everything and nothing is random...so i appreicate that part of your write as well...

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    1. Yes, pointe shoes really hurt. We can blame/celebrate George Balanchine for pushing the boundaries of physical possibility. Several of my neices have danced or do dance. They now have pointe shoes with gel toes - a little kinder to the tootsies! My teacher had routine cortisone injections into her foot, which had been ruined by a pushy teacher (which is also how I got bursitis). Say hi to your wife and give her a sympathetic foot rub for me!

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  5. What must it feel like to have that strength and control? But what must it cost to get it?

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    1. Everything. It costs everything. Evelyn Hart battled anorexia and extreme perfectionism during her entire career, so she really sold her body (and soul, arguably) to dance like she did. Baryshnikov, I think, danced for the joy of his liberty to do so, outside the Russian system. That's what White Nights is all about. Was not your mum a dancer?

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  6. I'm glad you indulged your dance passion to "recover". Baryshnikov most certainly has a gift that makes others pale in comparison. I remember a movie he was in when I was a teenager that some friends and I would watch over and over about a young aspiring dancer whose mother had given it all up for a husband and kids. I can't remember the title, do you know of it? In the end, I felt the mom made the right choice! You too.

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  7. That movie is The Turning Point! Shirley McLaine and Anne Bancroft (and Baryshnikov) were in it. It's one of mine and my mom's all time favourite films. Thanks for reading :)

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  8. Ahhhh Rebecca, your writing is a gift! While I'm not, and never have been, a dancer your writing touches that part of me that was (and maybe still is), a dreamer! I had a decent enough childhood but when I read your blog I must admit I'm envious of the world you grew up in. Ballet and music and art were not a part of my childhood. I am trying to catch up a bit in my adult years but that will never replace the passion that develops as a young girl or more importantly, as a teenager, when life in general is full of passion. I do have appreciation of all you write about but I do not have the inner experiences to create that real connection. I always thought that if I found the genie lamp that I knew what two of my wishes would be; one would be to run so fast that my hair actually moved, the other was to sing just one song so beautifully that it would bring tears to my eyes. The first song that really touched my soul was, The Prayer, by Andrea Bocelli and Celine Dion. Thank you for sharing your stories and making my days richer for having read them!

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I'd love to hear your thoughts. Thanks!