Chapter 81
TIMELESS
Swan Lake has a permanent home in any company’s repertory, timeless, instantly recognisable and yet the most malleable ballet of them all, music rearranged, character arcs extended, choreography added and taken away over centuries
in Nureyev’s staging for the Paris Opera Ballet, Siegfried dies but Odette lives
in Soviet productions they both live
tragedy and romance, playing out at the same time in different dancers around the world, all possibilities coming true for better and worse
there are no background roles, the company has to give it their all, every time, no exceptions, but as we say to one another every day, “It’s busy-busy at the BCBC”, we’re worn out from Nutcracker, yet have to delve even deeper and find some hitherto untapped reserve of fortitude and going into 1988
the more sections we start weaving together, the more drained I feel
one night of broken sleep leaves me frazzled, which leads to more broken sleep, which makes me more stressed, and by the time we get to the full studio call, no costumes, no set changes, just our bodies packed into the Pavlova, I barely speak to anyone, even Sander, for fear that Odette and Odile will fly away from me
of the famous thirty-two fouettés, I only hit twenty-six in the studio call, the rest I have to cheat, reverting to pirouettes to sustain my flagging momentum, I can feel Roksana Kutuzova’s disappointment boring into me from the side, Odette/Odile is one of her most cherished roles so she’s returned from the States to be our guest répétiteur along with her former Siegfried, Nick
late one afternoon in the studio in character as Odette, I lean against Sander’s chest and close my eyes to keep real, unbidden tears at bay
Roksana sighs as she brings her hands together in a soft clap, bracelets jangling
‘This what it’s about. No movement wasted. No movement “dead”’
that cold grey feeling of isolation that has stalked me since my teen years brings her and Nick no end of delight
‘Yes, that’s it – the crossing of arms: I cannot love you… and yet!’
later Jim Goldman joins us for the Act II and Act IV confrontations with the wicked sorcerer von Rothbart, who interrupts the human prince and swan queen in their gentle, chaste pas de deux to reassert his control not just over Odette but all the other swans who were once young women with hopes and dreams
she assumes a Giselle-style protective stance in front of Siegfried but von Rothbart is too powerful, he compels her body towards him
‘Back, back, back!’ Roksana shouts as I lengthen my spine and arch my back as far as it can go until en pointe I begin a panicked bourrée towards Jim, my feet working against my will, disconnected from my body despite feeling every muffled hit of pain through my toe pads, my hands slip out of Sander’s
I stop in a tight fifth
‘Hold, hold, hold!’
and slowly ripple my spine, elbows, hands, transforming from woman to swan
‘Arms, arms, arms!’
with my back to Roksana and Nick I bourrée stiffly to the right, angling my head to Sander (‘Make sure you look him in the eye!’ Nick calls. ‘You can’t say it in words but you’re promising you’ll find a way back to each other!’)
Akihiko and I sweat out our Act III learning calls together in the Nijinsky, putting our muscles through Petipa’s bravura choreography with Roksana until the steps imprint themselves on our bones at the end of grand allegro in morning class we drill as many fouettés as we can before we fall out of them and then walk in robotic circles until our equilibrium returns
Carolyn and Mariska advise us to practise the fouettés at the end of class rather than in isolation most ballerinas new or seasoned can do thirty-two fouettés, if asked they can do sixty-four, many of the younger ones fresh off the audition and competition circuit are hungry to show off but what makes the thirty-two fouettés of Swan Lake so gruelling is how late they come in the ballet after the entirety of Act II where all the tension, strain, and sweat of the adages have to be hidden from the audience and after Act III’s feisty high-energy pas de deux between Odile and Siegfried which involves an unsupported piqué arabesque and a demi-hauteur balance with the arms overhead in fifth getting through that pas and the fouettés alone leaves me gasping my legs full of static von Rothbart has glamoured Odile to be so close to Odette’s likeness that Siegfried loses the battle before he even has a chance to think they wow the court with their flashy choreography, ending in my knife-sharp arabesque penché with Sander on one knee and both hands on my waist, our eyes locked my supporting leg stops trembling and my pulse draws away from my ears
in the ten seconds of scattered applause from the wings and the tech crew, a sliver of strength moves from Sander to me: a gift his coda is spectacular as usual, and over too quickly I pummel some feeling back into my legs and shake out my feet, the adrenaline of dancing on the main stage and Tchaikovsky’s music, the first score he ever composed, raw and human and superhuman, carries me to the final lap
I plié into fourth the way I’ve been taught from the age of twelve, a very English preparation for a proudly Italian showstopper
I fill my lungs and lift off