Saturday, September 1, 2007

"Nureyev: The Russian Years" postgame wrap-up

We've now read through just about every newspaper review of PBS's "Nureyev: The Russian Years," and just about every base seems to have been covered. Personal reactions to add to the pile:

Nureyev is hypnotic. It sounds like a terrible cliché, but it's true. When you see him in the opening moments of the film, as the press asks questions and he says nothing, or when you listen to him speak, years later, about his early life, there's a mesmerizing quality that makes it difficult to look away.

It's fascinating to see how dramatically his technique improved. The early films do show some stunning feats—such as his machine-gun execution of pirouettes in "Le Corsaire"—but they also show the sometimes awkward lack of poise of a young dancer (or perhaps simply a young man). But the films of his post-defection work show no flaws. This level of polish made photographer Roger Urban's work in Life Behind the Metaphor much easier—every frame was guaranteed to be beautiful. As Richard Benson, Dean of the Yale University School of Art, says in his essay in the book: "...the dancer makes the movement so that when well done every part is right; in theory we could stop it anywhere and see perfection."

And finally, a link to a letter from a viewer of the documentary that appeared in the San Francisco Chronicle, reflecting upon Nureyev in action:

I find it hard to explain what Nureyev did that was so spellbinding. He certainly defied gravity in an explosive way, but perhaps the most striking memory I have is of him circling the stage as Romeo, below Fonteyn's Juliet, up on her balcony. The image of the way he carried himself - the animal grace and the weightedness of him (unlike many ballet dancers) - as he ran, with his cape flying behind him and his aquiline features barely picked out by the dim stage lighting - is seared on my brain. It is something so beautiful - so fleeting and mysterious - you wish you had words to describe it so others can understand what you mean ... but words fail miserably.

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