(Photo courtesy of Marius Fiskum / Nordlysfestivalen)
Slow, rigid and predictable are often words that describe classic story ballets like “Swan Lake” or “The Nutcracker.” None of these are words, however, describe Ballet Hispánico’s performance of “Carmen.maquia” at Macky Auditorium on Oct. 9.
Choreographed by Gustavo Ramírez Sansano, “Carmen.maquia,” shares a modern retelling of a 19th century tale filled to the brim with exquisite storytelling and connection.
“Carmen,” first performed as a ballet in 1949, is adapted from the French opera of the same name, which debuted in 1875. The original story tells the tale of an intriguing and powerful woman who falls in love with two men. Don José, danced by Omar Rivéra, is a native soldier who falls deeply in love with Carmen, danced by Amanda Ostuni. While the other man, Escamillo, danced by Dylan Dias McIntyre, is a charming bullfighter. Attention follows Carmen everywhere she goes, causing tension between her and other people in the town. Don José gives up everything, including his fiancée Micaela, danced by Francesca Levita, to be with Carmen. When Carmen chooses to marry Escamillo instead, Don José becomes overwhelmed with grief and jealousy and kills Carmen.
While the plot itself does not change in “Carmen.maquia,” the story is told in a modern way that makes it feel authentically 150 years later. Ballet Hispánico achieves this through the use of realistic, modern pantomime or codified gestures used in classical story ballets that communicate certain phrases or emotions. Common examples of pantomime include circling a hand around one’s face to indicate beauty or dramatically crossing one outstretched arm over the other in the shape of an “X” to signal death.
After years of dancing fairytale ballet myself, these gestures have become very familiar to me, even though the gestures themselves are not intuitive. Oftentimes, the way a storyline is communicated creates a disconnect between dancers and their viewers. Audience members who don’t have dance experience, but who are there for other reasons, like my dad at many shows of mine, have almost no understanding of the story in these old and dated storylines. Why, for instance, would the gesture for “to dance” involve two hands circling over one’s head instead of an arm gesturing “come here” followed by a quick running motion?
The gestures used in Ballet Hispánico’s production were adapted for a modern audience. When the dancers conveyed disdainful amusement, they placed their hands on their hips and cocked their heads, rather than maintaining perfect body alignment and tilting their heads only slightly. To show that they were upset, dancers crossed their arms and stuck out a hip. These are very common body language movements that everyone understands, but to cross one’s arms in ballet, at least in old-fashioned ballet, is essentially illegal.
One factor driving this change is the audience, specifically, who the performance is intended for. When ballet first emerged, performances were for Royal Courts in the 15th and 16th centuries. Many ballet steps and much of the culture that still exists today can be traced back to this time period, including the simplicity of pantomime. These demure, simple gestures have created an unrealistic status quo, and to see ballerinas acting like normal people is a breath of fresh air.
In addition, the masterful choreography by Ramírez Sansano immersed viewers into the world of “Carmen.maquia.” The choreography was incredibly intricate and oftentimes reached into the realm of contemporary ballet, increasing the level of authenticity. This allowed for audience members to relate to the characters. Nonetheless, every dancer in the cast also has incredible ballet training that was shown in pops of pure ballet choreography, like Dylan Dias McIntyre’s double tour en l’air.
By far, the most fascinating part of Ramírez Sansano’s choreography is his use of canon and his ability to create connection between multiple dancers. A canon occurs when one dancer starts a set of choreography and another starts the same set of moves a few counts later. In “Carmen.maquia,” the canons usually consisted of three or four people.
The thing that made his use of canon unique was that just as I began to catch on to the pattern, one dancer would begin performing a variation of the choreography. It was mesmerizing and meticulously thought out. These experiments of choreography pushed the boundaries of what is considered ballet and gives a hint of what story ballet choreography can look like in the future.
But there is one piece of original ballet culture that I hope lasts forever. There is a tradition to give flowers to recognize the hard work and dedication of a dancer during the bows of their final performance. Over the years, I have seen countless performances, yet last night was only the second time I’ve had the chance to witness this sacred tradition.
When Artistic Director Eduardo Vilaro announced that that performance would be Rivéra’s final bow and presented him with an armful of roses, the audience was on their feet and cheers of “Bravo” flew through the air.
As I held back tears, I was reminded of the support within the ballet community, composed of both performers and audience members, and I was filled with hope. Ballet Hispánico’s production of “Carmen.maquia” is a perfect example of the direction in which ballet needs to, and will, continue to grow. Towards love, community, authentic strength and beauty.
Contact CU Independent Assistant Arts Editor Addisson Pribble at Addisson.Pribble@colorado.edu.
