In the first installment of my Becoming series, I reveal how performing the grande dame of Romantic era ballet went from being a role I didn't want to dance at the beginning of my career, to being what I was known for towards the end of my career.
Grand Pas de Quatre is the quintessential Romantic era ballet that brought four of the greatest ballerinas of the time together on stage for four historic performances in 1845. During the early years of my career I danced the roles of Lucille Grahn, Carlotta Grisi, and Fanny Cerrito respectively. Marie Taglioni was usually performed by older more experienced dancers who portrayed her as an elderly, grouchy, wrinkly, grey haired, senile grandmother type. Since I identified as being eternally young, I never envisioned myself performing the character.
In 2006, when I turned 40, it was suggested that the time was right for me to take on the grande dame, but I was hesitant. Accepting the role meant facing my mortality. Once I realized I was around the same age as Taglioni when she danced the ballet, I knew I had my angle and was able to embrace the idea. It became a challenge for me to create a fresh perspective on a familiar character. Since I was more experienced but still youthful I was determined to play my age. I declined wearing a grey wig, and refrained from painting wrinkles on my face, or walking with a limp. Inspired by Gloria Swanson’s portrayal of Norma Desmond - a middle aged fading film star clinging to youth, I adapted her slightly uneven mouth, wide eyes and flowing hands moving around the face. Taglioni was known for sustaining long balances en pointe, so I went against type and made a big deal out of the preparation for the balances, but kept the balances themselves brief. My jumps barely left the floor, not because I was old, but because I couldn’t be bothered to exert energy with the possibility of messing up or losing my jewelry.
In real life,Taglioni was showered with expensive jewelry by her admirers, and her character in the ballet usually wore a string of pearls and a bracelet. Wanting to show Taglioni having gratitude for her gifts, I started out wearing one necklace and one bracelet, but every time I reentered the stage I had two to three more pieces of jewelry adorning me. By the time of my final entrance my entire neck and half my arms were covered. The prima ballerina blissfully strangled by adoration.
How I interacted towards the other dancers was crucial to my characterization. Since Grahn was the youngest (by two days) and the least well-known, she was the least threatening. I openly showered her with praise and treated her as if she were my precious pet. At the end of her variation I jumped out onto the stage and wildly applauded her for everyone to see. If I approved of her the audience would as well.
Grisi was a star in her own right and there for a threat to Taglioni’s status. Not wanting to look too jealous, I decided to act indifferent towards her. When ever she executed difficult choreography I pantomimed the “mediocre” sign, and when the audience applauded her, I simply shrugged my shoulders as if I couldn’t understand what the fuss was all about. At the conclusion of her variation, I peaked out from behind the curtain and granted her one clap.
The dancers who portrayed Cerrito were usually more experienced, so we often improvised and played off each other which kept the ballet fun for us. In real life, there was much division in Milan between admirers of the two ballerinas, so I hyped up the rivalry by being blatantly hostile towards her. When she was supposed to interact with me I whipped my head away and stuck my nose in the air. My pantomime to her was harsh, and my attitude judgmental as if I felt she gave Italians a bad name. I walked in front of her while she took her bows, flippantly motioning for her to exit the stage, again without looking at her, and then inspected my finger nails as she left.
In 2007, I embarked on another tour to Italy, which included my third trip to beautiful Venice. I was cast to dance Taglioni at the Teatro Malibran. Before the show, the Italian promoter informed me that Taglioni had adopted Venice as her home after her retirement, and that the people there still held her in high regard. He added almost as a warning, “All of Venice will be watching you.” Talk about pressure. That piece of information sparked an idea that would take my character to the next level. Discarding the Norma angle, I would simply be Taglioni. That night would be my welcome home gala, my triumphant return to my adoring public. I reacted outright to what happened in my mind. What I saw every time I entered the stage was the audience jumping to their feet and applauding enthusiastically. Every moment I was in the spotlight my admirers screamed brava until their throats were sore. Every step I took was cause for celebration, every movement I made was met with revelry. I was in awe. I soaked up their affection and returned the love ten fold. Each time I took a bow I was brought to tears; I wept opening and freely. Usually I only broke the fourth wall for special occasions, but that night I played every minute breaking that wall. The audience ate it up. It was a magical night.
After the show the promoter ran to me and gave me a big hug. He boasted proudly, “The people of Venice have adopted you as their own!” Could there have been a better compliment? Their seal of approval was the confirmation I needed to continue performing Taglioni the way I had that night.
The following year I danced 90 shows on an Australian tour where I appeared as Taglioni in every performance. Half way through the tour our ballet master told me, “Every time you dance Taglioni it’s as if it’s the first time.” From then on I purposely danced every one of my performances of Taglioni as if it were the first.
What I though was going to be my farewell to Taglioni performance ended up being the most fun I ever had on stage. In a 2010, Tokyo gala, I performed in a special version of Grand Pas de Quatre that consisted of two casts dancing simultaneously along side each other. My counterpart Taglioni visibly attempted to outshine me, but I continued on, ignoring her as if she didn’t matter. Every time we exited the stage we competed to be the last, and therefore the most important. I was able to sneak one last brief entrance/exit. During her variation when I usually crossed backstage behind the scrim, I nonchalantly walked across the stage out of character to draw the audience’s attention away from her. She took a double take mid-step. The bows were where the real competition heated up. Who would take the longest? Which one of us would receive the loudest applause? I was in total control of the situation. The curtain fell and the intermission began. In a wonderful twist of fate, both of us were also cast to dance The Dying Swan later in the show. I graciously offered to go first, which was the less desirable spot. Without any time for a bow, my counterpart started as soon as I was through, and I quickly left the stage. Unbeknownst to anyone except the wardrobe assistants, I changed back into my Taglioni costume. Once my counterpart was finished she gestured for me to appear so we could take our swan bows together. Instead of doing what we rehearsed, I entered further up stage so she could see me enter as Taglioni to take my historic final bow. The audience howled and my counterpart gave me a well deserved slow clap. What else could she do?
Summer 2012, another gala in Tokyo, and this time I was the artistic director. In an unplanned and unannounced special addition to the evening, I decided to enter and exit the stage as Taglioni. Grand Pas de Quatre wasn’t even on the program. I bought some make-up, borrowed a pair of pointe shoes, and squeezed into the costume.The audience had no idea. Walking to my mark lasted as long as any of the variations that evening. Slowly and carefully I placed one foot in front of the other, and took my sweet time to strike my opening pose. Then, when I should have danced, I turned and walked off. First my foot, then my leg, hip, torso, shoulder, arm, hand and finally my fingers all unwillingly disappeared behind the curtain. A reluctant Good-bye to a loving audience. My Taglioni would never be seen on the stage again.
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