A Spanish Invasion of the Bay
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Multiple explosions rocked the War Memorial Opera House over the weekend, bringing the house down, and reverberating throughout the city. We’re talking about the opening weekend of Don Quixote by the San Francisco Ballet, whose illustrious dancers stormed the stage Saturday and Sunday, each time to be answered by a volley of riotous applause by near-capacity audiences. No casualties were reported, except perhaps to any disbelief that this city’s preeminent ballet company can marshal the requisite force to deliver a performance of this mighty magnitude.
San Francisco Ballet’s arsenal of world class talent, collected and cultivated so faithfully over the years by the outgoing legend, artistic director Helgi Tomasson, was on full display both Saturday evening and Sunday afternoon. Lead dancers, in a barrage of breathtaking leaps and daring lifts, along with the precision synchronization by the corps-de-ballet, coalesced impeccably to imbue the characters of Cervantes’ enduring and beloved tale with the panache and spirit they demand.
The production of Don Quixote entails an all-out assault on the senses. As the timeless escapade unfolds, so too does the polychromatic kaleidoscope of costumery and dramatis personae. Sunny tableaus of a mythical Spanish kingdom, wherein the magic of the pueblo and plaza still reigns supreme, swirl off the conductor’s baton and directly into the dancers’ majestic physiques, pinning us to our seats and transporting through the mists of time.
Don Quixote is a comedic ballet, and as such an anomaly in the canon of classical dance whose repertory is so often steeped in misfortune and tragedy. It speaks to the indomitable forces of good within the human heart (in these dark days we can take comfort in the fact that the forces of light always vanquish those of darkness). And as in all gripping theater, atmospheres and moods oscillate between the rowdy to the deeply poignant, crashing over the audience in waves like a raucous day in the surf and pinning the crowd to their seats.
Who amongst us can resist a timeless spectacle of chivalry and adventure? – where dauntless idealism begets selfless acts of courage, and where the undying soul of eternal youth breaks through every obstacle like sun rays through stacks of clouds? And perhaps even more importantly, who remains unmoved when these timeless themes are played out on a stage in a combination of refined artistry and the unmatched athleticism unique to this art form? Is it any wonder that on both Saturday night and Sunday afternoon, the company was received with thundering applause and standing ovations?
Sunday’s cast proved the more tightly knit and compelling of the two brilliant performances. The perfect pairing of Wona Park as the ever-ebullient Kitri, and Joseph Walsh as Basilio, her dauntless and dashing suitor, produced a sort of dreamy (or should we say, quixotic) oneness that only true love can command. And just as love cannot be forced, chemistry cannot be taught -this duo just has it.
The uber handsome and red-blooded Walsh, in all his fiery and virile presence on stage, summons an equally sultry and almost mystical response in Miss Park – a surprisingly saucy allure, both absolutely critical to Kitri’s role, and well beyond Wona’s years. Equally miraculous is this budding prima’s level of confidence and competence at every turn, executing her endless string of delicate and difficult maneuvers, including a multitude of the very acrobatic “Ring Jump” (made famous by the Russian icon of classical dance Maya Plisetskaya), where the ballerina jumps high into an open scissors type kick, with her head is cocked backward to meet the calf of her lifted back leg. Russian ballerinas have nothing over this outstanding ballerina, whose dedication to excellence is both obvious and extremely inspirational. Ah yes, the delicate blossom of youth harbors infinite possibilities and powers untold!
And speaking of flowery youth, all laud and honor to the brilliant constellations of supporting cast members. One of the most beloved balletic scenes of all time comes to us as our hero Don Quixote, after being humiliated in battle at the hand of an unruly wind mill, collapses to the ground unconscious, only to emerge into a fantastic dream-world, surrounded by a regiment of Driads, (forest nymphs of some sort) exquisitely sheathed in green leotards and tutus. The mirthful and fleeting feet of Julia Rowe as Cupid might have just stolen the show if it weren’t for the fact that every dancer on stage, including student dancers from the SFB Academy, moved in such unison as to weave a tapestry of spellbinding awe.
The luscious transcendence of this enduring scene, handed down over the centuries from the grandaddy of classical choreography, Marius Petipa, whose genius always seems to combine the flooding the stage with a bevy of ballerinas and a veritable a jamboree of pliés, fouettés, and battements. Nor does Petipa deprive us the moxie and muscularity of the young gents of the Corps as seen in the first act with its generous dose of toreadors, fully decked out in the award-winning and jubilant costumery of Martin Pakledinaz.
The San Francisco Ballet laid siege to our beloved city by the Bay last weekend, commanding the attention of all who heed the call of classic and enduring beauty. Time itself is vanquished – overwhelmed by very ounce of every step of one of perhaps a dozen of classical ballets that survive to this day, and the only one that invades our entire collective sensory being with the pervasive joy we felt downtown over the weekend.
Hats off to General Helgi Tomasson! who long ago laid out the company’s strategy that “we must dance these classics well to be taken seriously”. Indeed a noble and effective strategy of warfare and conquest. We kneel at thy company’s feet, and humbly surrender.