In the Shadow of the Greats

Over the years, the principal roles were performed by Peter Degnan, Joseph Bowerman, and Aleksandr Agadzhanov and by Kristen Schleich, Julie Cunningham, and JoAnn Michaels. I remember that as an effort to bolster the home box office, I incorporated a large cast of children, requiring each to sell ten tickets. With a total of sixty children in the production, that guaranteed one completely sold out house at the Playhouse. That created a controversy, as some parents wanted their children in the show, but eschewed selling tickets. I rationalized that if other schools (commercial studios in particular, which also required the children to purchase expensive costumes) could do this, so could I and it might develop a larger audience.

Even after ADE’s demise, the college’s Nutcracker tradition continued. One stand-out performance was presented in Greensburg at the Palace Theatre in conjunction with the Pittsburgh Youth Ballet and the Westmoreland Symphony. The sponsor had requested a big Nutcracker with children. Since there were none in the company, I recruited Jean Gedeon’s students. Stage manager Paul Dimeo was responsible for loading the cannon, which required simple, one amp fuses to produce sound and smoke. Paul had forgotten to buy them. He returned from the store with fourteen amp fuses and installed one along with the flash powder. At the climax of the battle scene, the switch was pushed, unleashing an explosion like we had never heard--“kaboom” accompanied by billowing clouds of smoke and small, flying splinters that showered on the orchestra members. It was an absolute catastrophe.

First, I chopped and shaved to pare the three-hour musical opus into an eighty minute ballet that concisely told the tale of an evil princess who dupes her father and exiles her beautiful sister. An enchanted Prince, disguised as a salamander, saves the kingdom. I cut all the repeats and axed every potentially dull scene, as I was certain that with a student cast, any boring scenes would assure a flop--and that, I could not afford. With the animosity generated by PBT, I chose my projects carefully and opted for works which were not in PBT’s plans. Premieres were essential. In line with the contemporary score, Pat designed spandex costuming. The green frog costumes turned out exceptionally well.

I invited my old friend Leo Weitershausen to portray the Emperor--who under the influence of his wicked stepdaughter became powerless--as I knew he would do a great job. Jordeen, who was then dancing in Chicago, put in an opening night guest appearance as Belle Rose, with Doug as the Salamander Prince. Former student Jill Keating, a dynamite actress, who shone as the nursemaid in Romeo and Juliet, excelled as the wicked Belle Epine. Faculty and guests assumed the soloist roles, which were distinctly delineated from the student corps.

I saw Sir Kenneth MacMillan’s version of Prince of the Pagodas much later. Mine was not influenced by his or any other ballet. MacMillan’s--which was faithful to the score--was big on budget and weak on character development. Frankly, I preferred Leo’s scrunched-up interpretation of the Emperor to Anthony Dowell’s, though he acted well. My version included a fight scene for the two sisters that created a nice contrast and underscored Belle Rose’s generosity and loving nature. My dwarfs, unlike the Disney variety, were mean as the ballet required. For the underwater scene, I borrowed a device from a production of The King and I, which I had previously staged. We gently waved blue, translucent silk strips that simulated ocean waves--the result was impressive. The starfish, crabs, and sea creatures moved among the undulating fabric and appeared to be swimming. I also choreographed a spectacular pas de deux for Jordeen and Doug, which featured a double tour en l’air for her. I was quite satisfied with the work and judging by the applause, the audience was too. It was a great undertaking, especially on a shoestring budget and with the Playhouse’s limited resources. It was a pleasant ballet and should be revived for children. I fail to understand why so few choreographers mount it, as it is spectacular, accessible, and musically appealing.

Wrote Ann Barzel, in the February 1978 issue of Dance News:
Petrov always thinks big and brings to reality his large scale ideas…Petrov aware of the shortcomings of The Prince of the Pagodas…cut Britten’s score to the most danceable parts and adapted the murky, semi-macabre story to a light-hearted fairy-tale.
Doug, Judith Leifer, and guest choreographer Sandra Peticolas contributed works to the April 1978 program, but its centerpiece was our tribute to the late David Lichine. His widow, Tatiana Riabouchinska sent Sarma Lapenieks to stage Graduation Ball, his most popular work. I opted for costumes designs after Alexander Benois’ originals.

Grad Ball became a popular repertory staple for more than twenty years. Kenneth Johnson, who restaged the ballet, launched a second career in his ongoing role as the Headmistress. I frequently played the General, which I enjoyed. It was funny and the public responded enthusiastically, especially when something went wrong. Once our costumes got hooked and at Kenneth’s suggestion we chassé-chasséed into to the wings, ripped ourselves apart, and bounded back onstage. Another time, I missed a lift--I moved to the side, he looked at me, and just jumped, so I caught him. The audience roared and we decided to incorporate that into subsequent performances. And, in one scene, while I was waiting for all the dancers to exit, I fell asleep, missing my musical cue. He came running over to me, kicked me, and gestured, “Come on that’s you!”

According to Dance Magazine’s Ann Barzel, writing in August 1978:

I approached Mark Lewis, who in turn went to Dr. Hopkins. The price was right--about twenty-five hundred dollars for the entire group. It was worth the publicity for the college, even if we lost the money. We signed the contract for two performances at the Playhouse at ten dollars a ticket. Unfortunately, a political event that riled the Jewish population against Russia affected our box office sales. Demonstrators protested outside of the Playhouse, impeded patrons from purchasing tickets, and attracted negative media coverage. The press quizzed the dancers with politically angled questions, which they refused to answer because they feared reprimands when they returned home. I stepped in as moderator, though some of the dancers spoke very good English. The translation process afforded them extra moments to think before speaking.

The concerts failed to sell out, possibly because the format was unfamiliar to American audiences, while in Europe it was very popular. The program was very good, but opening night received a bad review from the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette’s Jane Vranish, who accused us of false advertising. Ironically, less than a year later, the Kozlovs’ defection made headlines across the U.S. I clipped those reports and sent them to Vranish suggesting that she retract her statements.

The Kozlovs were less old-style Bolshoi and more Western European in their look, technique, and attack. They easily fit into the NYCB, which they joined after their defections. During their visit here, we put them up at the Howard Johnson’s near the Playhouse and transported them via the college’s van. Kozlov commented to me that in other cites, their ground transportation had been in luxury automobiles. I explained that we were just an educational institution and lacked the money. We did what we could. I was in turn offended by his remark.

For RFD, I envisioned a nineteenth century American community at the time of the railroad boom, just as the horse and buggy were taking a backseat to the steam engine. The opening tableau featured grandparents in rocking chairs, observing a street scene from their porch. I was unsure about the existence of balloons in that era, but McKuen’s Balloon Concerto was too enticing to ignore. The kids played with balloons. The boys chased each other, displaying acrobatic capabilities. And, the village youth gathered on the plaza. A square dance with its mingling and flirting provided appropriate opportunities for several adagios. A conman/rainmaker character, whose hoax is revealed, and a Bo Jangles character, who tap dances through town added to the mix. Overall, the ballet created a lyrical and sentimental picture of the times.

Rod, a charming man, was pleased with the results and subsequently cut a record of the ballet score, which was assembled from a pastiche of his works. At the outset of rehearsals, he was “absolutely delighted,” and proclaimed, “I don’t care if anybody else likes it--I love it.”

Ann Barzel, writing for Dance Magazine’s July 1979 issue said:

According to Ruth Heimbuecher’s report, Falk stated that JoAnn McCarthy had reached prima ballerina status, but was forced to depart in November 1978 because of the “type of treatment” she had received from Patrick Frantz. Loti claimed that Alexander Filipov was fired in June 1977 for “misbehavior.” From my perspective, this is untrue--he left the company.

The article portrayed her as the company’s loving mother, and she was--but she was also a tyrant to those who lost her favor. On the other hand, Loti said, “I’ve given a lot. I couldn’t do it without the dancers and artistic directors, but I have acted as the great general who keeps the army going.” To me, she was a rather draconian Genghis Kahn.

The media blitz lasted for several days as the newspaper cranked out articles rife with dishonest descriptions and distorted truths that ignored the negative angles.

I felt sorry for the company. Loti really did not understand what she was doing. When Gilpin bolted, she grabbed the reins as artistic director and probably would have held on if the dance community had not been laughing about it. It surprised many that she was so unrealistic about her capabilities. Her head was so big!

Ironically, she compared me to Mussolini, who was a great leader and a tyrant. She stated that power had gone to his head, just as it had gone to mine. She was describing herself. However, she said, “He (Petrov) has a great talent for organizing. He is a very knowledgeable person. I learned most of what I learned in the beginning from Petrov because I was never involved with a ballet company before.”

Over the years, she fought relentlessly with company general managers, who dropped like flies, as did the company publicists. The newspapers always welcomed new general managers with complimentary write-ups, but later, each turned out to be a disaster. I was too busy with ADE to care about PBT’s rapid administrative turnover, but obviously Loti never allowed a manager to do his job. She desired to run everybody’s life and wanted everybody to do what she deemed to be right.

Frano Jelincic instigated my dismissal. He had failed to reconcile with the fact that he had handed his job to me when he joined Pennsylvania Ballet and I had become his boss upon his return to Pittsburgh. In May 1979, Frano’s contract was not renewed. A Pittsburgh Press article published on May 4, 1979, announced that Frano was exiting because of Patrick Frantz’s behavior, but Dagmar remained on the roster. Essentially, Frano’s jealously of Patrick’s wife, who was his chief muse, had generated a situation similar to the Dagmar versus Kaleria Fedicheva episode of my tenure.

I liked Patrick Frantz, who molded the company in the Maurice Béjart style. He was influenced by Milko Sparemblek, who was his idol. His penchant for contemporary ballets did not correspond with Dagmar Kessler’s taste. The fighting between Frano and Patrick became unbearable. Everyone must follow his destiny--it was Frano’s destiny to leave the company. (Patrick’s too--as PBT was badly received in New York, when it performed there. Clive Barnes’ review, which I feel was in defense of my dismissal, was brutal--that sealed Patrick’s fate.) And, it was Loti’s also. At the request of the Benedum Foundation, she resigned in early 1987.

Loti applied every ounce of her energy to incriminate me, destroy me, and crush the reputation I had built in Pittsburgh. And I still puzzle over it and wonder if she was taking medications or if other causes altered her mood and shadowed her understanding and comprehension. I hoped to someday confront her with the question, but the opportunity never presented itself.

When destiny took Loti’s beloved toy away from her, the war between us was over--at least from my perspective. We could live in peace again. However, she never entirely let bygones be bygones--even when she became cordial and friendly. She visited me in the hospital when I had heart bypass surgery. (She was on the board of trustees at Shadyside Hospital.)
Chapter Sixteen: Feuillet, Stepanov, and Stanislavsky
My long association with Massine as a dancer and apprentice, inspired me to develop a new dance technique based on Raoul-Auger Feuillet’s positions of the feet--five regular, turned-out ballet positions and five “false” (as he called them) turned in positions. Normally, dancers stand with feet joined by the heel, but separated by the toes, which would loosely be described as a forty-five-degree separation. Ballet positions are turned out so that the foot is contorted, creating a straight line between the toes and the heels, for example--first position.

With Feuillet’s “false” positions the toes were joined, while the heels were separated--which was actually opposite of the turned out position. There was always a variance between the angle of the turned in and the turned out positions--depending on the degree of turn out or turn in.

I sought to determine that angle of the turn out and the turn in. While the difference between forty-five and fifty-degree angles was very small geometrically, it can be precisely determined via computer programs, such as Life Forms. I christened the turned out positions and movements as “positive” angles and those turned in as “negative” angles. Modern and jazz dance vocabularies frequently employ “false” positions, without acknowledging Feuillet.

The body is only one instrument. However, we can “play” various types of dance--ballet, jazz, modern, and folk on it. The type of technique to use when demonstrating or expressing a dance is determined by a conscious decision. A gray area remains between a turned in and a turned out leg and between the final forms of any of the previously mentioned techniques.

In effect, the processes of turn out and turn in, of rigid and curved, and of contract and release can alternately be applied to one instrument (body), while movement technique need not be specifically designated.

I advocate new developments, but am against labeling something as “new” when it merely recycles the old. Typically, “innovators” who are uninformed about dance history, claim “new” developments as their own.

The incorporation of gymnastic technique into dance has generated an admirable new movement style--like the experimental, athletic technique of Pilobolus Dance Theatre, which followed the gymnastic-based dance of Ted Shawn and his male dancers, the callisthenic style of Maurice Béjart and his Ballet of the Twentieth Century, and Jean Babilée, who often employed gymnastics in his dancing and choreography. There are always many who imitate, but these artists were the most successful.

Since the seventies, internationally acclaimed choreographer Jiri Kylián, whom I admire, has successfully amalgamated classical ballet with modern technique. His accomplishment is extraordinary. He succeeded in extending movements into space so that they appear to cover more territory than a hand or leg can actually reach. For example, a hand movement initiated from a croisé in front of the body, passed in front, and extended diagonally downward covers approximately six or seven feet in length. If the dancer extends the movement and penchées in the direction of the movement, that movement can be extended nine or ten feet, depending on the length of the musical phrase. The movement could extend, even if it caused the body to fall or crawl to the ground and roll in the same direction--almost like rippling ocean waves.

This is the same principle that I taught with Technique Totale.

Classical ballet requires comfortable, symmetrical movements coordinated with head, arms, and legs. However, movements can be asymmetric and contradictory. For example, symmetrically both arms may rotate de dedans or en dehors. Asymmetrically one arm would move en dedans and the other de dehors, which is more uncomfortable or more difficult to learn--almost like a pianist, who plays the melody with the right hand and the bass with the left.

In the mid-seventies, I began incorporating this technique in classes and sporadically drew on its concepts for choreography, but the dancers were not trained in the technique. Consequently, I kept the movements simple. After all, we never can forget that dance is dance--not physical or mental torture. As an advocate of Stanislavsky’s system, I could not allow dance to lose its essential feeling through an organically contradictory and stifling situation. In 1977, I began offering Technique Totale as a specific class to volunteers, with substantial previous dance training. I have achieved remarkable results.
Massine had also advised that if I desired to become a choreographer, I must learn a sophisticated movement alphabet. Feuillet’s method, which was used to notate court dances--like the Courant, Minuet, and Gavotte--and seventeenth century ballets, was insufficient. Massine favored Stepanov’s notation system, which dated from the mid-nineteenth century and resembled music notation. Its merits were recognized by Joseph Hanson at the Paris Opéra. Subsequently, many full-length ballets were notated with it.

At the time, Massine did not mention his interest in revising and expanding on Stepanov’s alphabet. He believed that recording a movement created an accomplished activity that could be repeated.

Massine’s choreography was filmed, as video was yet to be invented. As synchronizing film was a difficult procedure, Massine felt that it was useful in recording existing ballets, but useless for jotting down ideas. Instead, he ascribed to a written alphabet that necessitated musical correctness and logical thinking.

I was very much influenced by Massine and strongly believed that a professional dancer should master a notation system. During a London visit in 1958, I purchased V.I. Stepanov’s The Alphabet of Movements of the Human Body (1892), a limited edition of 175 copies, published by Cambridge’s Golden Head Press. Mine was number 129 and is probably quite valuable. I copied Feuillet’s treatise at the Paris Opéra Library, which owned three copies in poor condition.

I studied both Feuillet’s and Stepanov’s alphabets. The former was simpler and easier to remember. I acquired sufficient skill to notate most classical steps--pirouette, chassé, sissonne, and contretemps--and record movement. It was a game, not an indispensable tool.

Stepanov’s book required substantial study. The notation process was laborious. I never used it to record a ballet. As structured, there are two lines for the head, three for the hand, and four for the feet. Movement symbols correlate to music symbols, with a bunch of clefs defining abductions or adductions and they indicate the height of the legs. I felt like a person who had learned a language but could neither speak nor understand it.

When Massine visited Point Park College in the mid-seventies as a guest lecturer, he was writing his book on choreography. I suggested that he teach our students his notation system. He was delighted, as that would facilitate his research. He relied on work study students, secretaries, and me to help with his book. I have a copy of the original manuscript. Some of the pages are identical to those in the published volume.

Learning the Feuillet and Stepanov alphabets aided my systematic thinking and gave me a comfort level when looking over a notated ballet, but I could not pretend to revive a work that way. Today those alphabets are obsolete, as video cameras provide perfect pictures and sound. The facility to film from different angles reveals every movement, expression, and detail. Still, I see the importance of notation, though courses are disappearing from many schools’ curriculums.

Laban notation, one of about two hundred attempts to create an easy, comprehensive, and unified alphabet continues to thrive. I admire Ann Hutchinson Guest for her work, Dance Notation the Process of Recording Movement on Paper, which is a valuable educational tool. Notation should be taught in conjunction with technique to students between ages twelve and eighteen to produce literate dancers. Computer animation software, such as Life Forms can help notate movements and facilitate the choreographic process. Will this become the international standard?

Today, computer literacy is necessary. In the past, a dancer needed an alphabet to be a literate dancer. Is it practical or only pride? The debate continues, but the bottom line is that the alphabet is a necessary composition tool.