KC Ballet’s first full-length Swan Lake goes over gracefully
I can think of no greater disappointment in the appearance-versus-reality department than the swan. What an image of grace she seems: a long-necked, snow-white bird, gliding serenely across a glassy pond. What an instrument of chaos she is: a territorial, hate-beaked behemoth, weaving like a cobra and squeaking like a chew toy.
The Kansas City Ballet’s exquisitely danced Swan Lake only perpetuates this sweepingly romantic, entirely false impression of that sodding bird.
The KC Ballet has never before tackled the full, four-act production, and no wonder: Swan Lake is punishing to perform, demanding perfection not only from its principals but also from a lusty corps of swan maidens, marching in lockstep to Tchaikovsky’s prim oboe and staccato strings. Consider, then, Swan Lake‘s place in the season as something of a milestone. And while some directorial and design choices lean more ugly duckling than swan, choreographer Devon Carney leaves no question that this is a company robust enough to perform it, with principals skilled enough to make the iconic roles their own. (Principals and soloists rotate among three casts; the performers described here were featured on opening night, February 19.)
Liang Fu’s Prince Siegfried tamps the strength of a late-career ox into the spirit of an emotive teenager. Act I, a pre-hunt celebration for Siegfried’s 21st birthday, showcases Fu’s moody acting as much as his powerful dancing. The Queen Mother (Pamela Carney, firm but not overbearing) wants her son to choose a bride; Siegfried, like many modern men, would rather play with his bedazzled crossbow than settle down.
To lift his spirits, chief wingman Benno (Michael Davis) grabs a couple gals for a birthday pas de trois. The steps are skillfully executed, if a bit predictable — the bouncy choreography could easily conduct the symphony, as Davis and partners Laura Hunt and Sarah Chun pulse on each downbeat. But the wild hunt calls, and Siegfried soon waves off the young ladies to chase a different breed of bird. Enter the swans and, with them, lighting designer Trad A Burns. Burns’ lights are as ethereal as the corps’ fluttering wingbeats, brushing dancers with shafts of lustrous, stark-white moonlight.
Enter also Odette (Molly Wagner), queen of the swan maidens and instant object of Siegfried’s affection. Odette and her maidens are the victims of a curse cast by the evil magician Von Rothbart (Thom Panto; crisply danced but emotionally cool). By day, they sail the lake as swans; only at night do they regain their human forms.
Wagner dances both Odette and Von Rothbart’s daughter, Odile (colloquially, apocryphally, the black swan), in top form. As Odette, she keeps her movements slow and controlled, her feet sweeping across the stage with a lightness and grace that feel both impossibly fragile and more precious for it. Wagner isn’t appreciably taller than the rest of the corps, but uses her height to its full advantage, arching neck and shoulders in uncanny swan scoops before stretching, with perfect alignment, toward the proscenium. As Odile, Wagner is buoyant and self-assured, staring down the audience with a smirk at her lips and a challenge in her eyes. She attacks with gusto Odile’s requisite fouettés en tournant (translation: whipping around on one leg like a motherfucker). Tradition dictates a dizzying 32 turns; I lost count staring at her supporting leg, which seemed superglued to the stage floor, but can say with confidence that Wagner fouetté-ed somewhere between 12 and 1,000 times.
Wagner and Fu are electric in every dance, but momentum and clarity occasionally dip when they disappear into the wings. Long stretches of Acts I and III play like overripe divertissements, dancers checking off boxes instead of motivating their movements.
The design elements can be similarly perplexing. Jose Varona’s set is rich with lush, verdant forestscapes, but his costumes (other than those for Siegfried and the swans) feel like cartoonish anachronisms. Von Rothbart looks more Vegas showturkey than villain, and the princesses wear gaudy, accordion-pleated skirts in screaming fuschia, seafoam and turquoise. The color palette suggests they might, at any moment, pull out glowsticks and perform a routine to Darude’s “Sandstorm.”
The Kansas City Symphony is in good hands as usual under the direction of Ramona Pansegrau, sailing through Tchaikovsky’s candied score with ease. Harpist Deborah Wells Clark, concertmaster Noah Geller and oboist Kristina Fulton make especially strong contributions.
Perhaps banking on Swan Lake‘s iconic position in the ballet repertoire, Carney and his design team have focused more on the pas de deux (and trois) than on connecting each dot of the plot. The result is undeniably striking, though some of the story’s finer points may feel lost in translation. Muddy stage positioning, particularly in the hurried Act IV climax, may leave newcomers to pore over the program notes.
But the Kansas City Ballet has staged a memorable first effort, proving the company has the strength and depth to handle even ballet’s most demanding fairy tale.
And make no mistake: Swan Lake is a fairy tale. Try to get within dancing distance of a real swan. Photograph your wounds and report back.
