Thanks to blogger Lula Bites for this YouTube clip of Nureyev's solo from Le Corsaire (taken from the Bridcut BBC/PBS documentary, I think):
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.
We're finding out more and more about the documentary, "Nureyev: The Russian Years," every minute.
First, the documentary's producer, John Bridcut, stopped by our blog to clear up the confusion over the PBS/BBC versions of this project:
As the producer of the Nureyev documentary, I should make clear that the BBC, which commissioned the film in the first place, decided to use the title "NUREYEV: From Russia with Love". It will be screened on BBC2 on September 29th in the UK, and on the BBC HD channel. PBS is broadcasting a slightly shorter version of the film (six minutes is the difference), and elected to call it "NUREYEV: The Russian Years". Broadcasters often choose different titles, according to what they believe will resonate with their particular audiences.
Much of this early footage was shot by Teja Kremke, an East German ballet student who became Nureyev’s lover when they were both young. (Julie Kavanagh, whose exhaustive biography, "Nureyev: The Life," will be published by Pantheon next month, tracked it down, and served as consultant to Bridcut’s project.)
The earliest known film of Nureyev dancing was made at a student competition in Moscow in 1958. At 20, dressed only in white harem pants, a gold headband and regulation soft slippers, he tears off a solo from “Le Corsaire.” The leaps and spins come thick and fast, embellished with Arabian Nights flourishes that go well with his Tatar allure. Yet the most seductive moment of the dance comes between the circus tricks, with a little nothing of a step called pas balancé. A sweep of the leg here, an echoing sweep of the arm there, and repeat, to the other side — that was all, then straight into the next cyclone of a pirouette. But that throwaway transition was Nureyev’s invitation to join him in his private world of fantasy. Technically, the narrator of the Bridcut film points out, Nureyev’s performance at the competition was “far from perfect.” But already the imprint of his personality was unmistakable.
