In 1949, a very young New York City Ballet had the fame, the prestige, and the praise of critics. There was a catch though, the company desperately needed an actual box office hit. Enter Firebird. The ornate Marc Chagall sets and costumes, the legendary, star-making performance of Maria Tallchief, all gave the company a lot of much-needed money.
George Balanchine was never happy with his Firebird. His own frank appraisal was that, “Right from the beginning, it didn’t work. You can never make it convincing that the ballerina really is fire, she’s just a dancer in a red tutu.” Nevertheless, over the years Balanchine would tinker with the ballet. He reset it for several ballerinas that caught his interest, a teenaged Gelsey Kirkland was one. And it’s continued to be both a box office hit and a marker of ballerina status within the company. If you get cast for Firebird, the chances are you’re on the principal track.
The company’s latest Firebird is Isabella LaFreniere. She’s perfect for the role. LaFreniere is tall, commanding, magisterial, with unusually liquid arms and an expressive back which make the birdlike moments of the choreography convincing. I’d love to see her tackle Odette. But she’s also fast, mercurial, with an air-slicing jump, which gave her a raw, unpredictable edge. When she reappears among the monsters, the circle of jetés that finished with a grande jeté into the wing was breathtaking in its force. This was a winged creature that could never be tamed. Yet LaFreniere’s Firebird had a soul. As she bourréed offstage at the end of the ballet, you felt her sadness at leaving Prince Ivan (a courtly Jared Angle, who is retiring in two weeks) forever.
The rest of the program was uneven. Tiler Peck and Roman Mejia started the evening with Allegro Brillante. Not much to say here – they’re both brilliant in the ballet. Tiler’s series of off-balance turns in the ballet’s cadenza remain stunning to watch, no matter how many times I see it (and I’ve seen it with her countless times).
Christopher Wheeldon’s Liturgy’s revival was head-scratching. The lachrymose Arvo Pärt score, the dim lighting, and the acrobatic, overwrought choreography make this little more than balletic navel gazing. Unity Phelan and Chun Wai Chan did make beautiful shapes with their bodies, but there’s not much of interest to watch. The audience loved it, so there’s that.
Balanchine’s Walpurgisnacht was an adaptation of choreography he did for a 1975 production of Gounod’s Faust at the Paris Opera, and was done as a diva vehicle for Suzanne Farrell. Balanchine never pretended that this was a great ballet. It is, however, a lot of fun (and hair). In recent years, Sara Mearns has owned this role. It perfectly suits her wild, go-for-broke abandon. Alas, Mearns is taking a leave of absence from the company. Emilie Gerrity made her debut as Mearns’ replacement. Gerrity is very different from Mearns (and Farrell) – her attributes are her beautiful épaulement and lyrical style. She was lovely in the ballet’s pas de deux and solos. She was just missing that extra energy in the hair-shaking, rip-roaring bacchanale finale.
The male lead was Tyler Angle in a performance that was, well, unfortunate. Angle has danced so much of the company’s repertoire with grace, style and impeccable partnering, but at this point in his career his dancing has deteriorated. His role was short, but he struggled even with the little dancing he had to do. Each of his double tours had a stumble on the landing. Erica Pereira was an unexpected delight as the 'small' soloist, with fast footwork and a perky cheerfulness.
Despite these quibbles, the evening was dominated by Isabella LaFreniere. There’s a magnificent new bird in town.
