![]() ![]() In 1933, the impresario Lincoln Kirstein discovered Balanchine traipsing around Europe as a choreographer-for-hire and persuaded him to move to New York, where he hoped to build a new, ambitious American ballet. He survived the 1917 revolution by playing piano for silent films and hunting stray cats in the countryside, and fled to Paris, traumatised, at the first opportunity. The ballet has three acts, each with its own mood: the mysterious “Emeralds”, a tribute to the French Romantic style, set to the music of Fauré the dynamic “Rubies”, inspired by Jazz Age New York, with a score by Stravinsky and the regal “Diamonds”, an ode to the Russian traditions of his childhood, set to a symphony by Tchaikovsky.īorn Georgi Balanchivadze in 1904, the man who would one day be called the “father of American ballet” discovered his gift for choreography while training at the Imperial Ballet School in St Petersburg. Supposedly inspired by a visit to Van Cleef & Arpels’ Fifth Avenue boutique, Jewels displayed Balanchine’s populist streak, his knack for PR and his choreographic range. The story of Jewels – its artistic innovations, its enduring popularity, its flaunting of Balanchine’s favourite “muse” – encapsulates both the creative brilliance and the controversial methods of its maker. And yet the opening tableau of “Rubies”, the second act in George Balanchine’s 1967 triptych, could still dazzle a theatre full of jaded New Yorkers. ![]() On a cold winter’s night last year, the audience in New York gasped.Īlthough it had been more than half a century since Jewels had its premiere, I would bet that some of the audience had been there at its debut certainly, many of us had seen it before. Their knees are taut, arms raised in sharp Vs. The curtain reopens on 10 dancers in flared red tutus, posed one foot in front of the other in a sprawling fourth position. Gone are the wistful horn solos now it’s jittery, jazzy, caffeinated. The women curtsy and run offstage.Īnd then the music changes. “Emeralds” is pensive, subtle, unhurried – a haunting lullaby of a ballet. ![]() One spins round and round as if propelled by some invisible force. Elegant dancers in gauzy green tutus glide across the stage, falling into patterns as intricate as lace. ![]()
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