Review by Tatyana Kuznetsova of the ballet “The Snow Queen” at the Stanislavsky Music Theater

The Stanislavsky and Nemirovich-Danchenko Musical Theater hosted the world premiere of the ballet “The Snow Queen” to the music of three symphonies by Tchaikovsky. The two-act performance was composed by ballet artistic director Maxim Sevagin, fulfilling his childhood dream. Tells Tatiana Kuznetsova.

The large, complex ballet was staged with inspiration and speed—in just over two months. The young artistic director of “Stasik” Maxim Sevagin (see interview with him in “Kommersant” on November 22) cherished the idea of ​​“The Snow Queen” from the age of fifteen: in Tchaikovsky’s 6th, “Pathetic” symphony, he heard not only the main conflict of Andersen’s fairy tale, but also specific plot twists and turns. However, not all. Following Andersen, who divided “The Snow Queen” into seven fairy tales, and having composed his own eighth scene – an epilogue-adagio of the matured heroes – the choreographer added parts of two more symphonies, the Fourth and Fifth, to the ballet, giving the Muztheater orchestra an almost impossible task, with which he, led by the young temperamental maestro Fedor Beznosikov, he bravely coped with it. The same cannot be said about the choreographer. Maxim Sevagin danced Tchaikovsky’s symphonies in the most straightforward and unpretentious way: according to the “sad-happy” and “fast-slow” principles.

Everything became clear already in the prologue: on the proscenium, six trolls with black shells of shiny torsos and false plump butts were tumbling and kicking each other to the main theme of “Pathetique”. The constant discrepancy between the scale of the music and the primitiveness of the stage action looked so serene and confident that by the end of the performance I had to come to terms with Tchaikovsky’s assigned role as a pianist. There were also cinematic-comic fights between robbers led by the busty Atamansha, and even the mockery of Kai in the Snow Queen’s palace – to add to the tragedy, the choreographer crowned the beating of the hero with the mise-en-scène of his “crucifixion.” And only particularly long absurdities like the giant adagio for the 2nd movement of the Fifth Symphony (in which a Reindeer in a black wig with large ears sticking out perpendicular to the head, dressed by the artist Yuldus Bakhtiozina in a flesh-colored tight jumpsuit with white streaks of “frost”, was worn around the stage the exhausted Gerda, every now and then laying her on the floor and covering her with his body to protect her from the cold), was forced to remember that something less pathetic would have been enough for such choreography.

Moreover, the choreographer did not cut corners: on the contrary, in an effort to get away from ballet cliches, he excluded all powerful ballet steps like fouettés or series of big jumps. Therefore, there is nothing spectacular or even memorable in his performance: the soloists’ variations look as if the characters have been preparing for something important for a long time, making preparations, but never starting the dance itself. Purely choreographer’s joys like pirouettes from pointe (and not from plié), large jumps without run-up preparation or rotations from awkward positions are visible only to the naked eye. They do not form a coherent speech; the choreographic text seems fragmented, consisting of interjection movements. It is unprofitable for the artists (and therefore their individuality and even the purity of their performance are almost irrelevant) and monotonous for the audience.

Choreographer Sevagin is also a helpless director: he absolutely does not know how to tell stories and just as decisively despises pantomime, which is unfamiliar to him

In fact, the performance is designed to be dynamic (there are five changes of scenes in the first act) and compositionally diverse – Maxim Sevagin regularly alternates lyricism with the grotesque and crowd scenes with solo ones. However, at the same time he remains a neat student in captivity of memorized rules and moves. It seems that he spent all his imagination on inventing those very “interjections”, and there simply wasn’t enough for the corps de ballet scenes. In The Snow Queen the entire troupe is involved, but the “body of the ballet” does not have an independent voice. The corps de ballet ensembles are small – a maximum of a dozen artists. Basically, they “accompany” the soloists, dancing at the backdrop, forming figures along the wings, or, like the robbers, huddling together in a difficult to separate heap.

Given the vagueness of the choreographic speech, choreographer Sevagin is also a helpless director. He resolutely does not know how to tell stories and just as resolutely despises pantomime, which is unfamiliar to him. It’s good that everyone knows Andersen’s fairy tale. Otherwise, you would never guess that Gerda still remembered Kai after the male part of the Snow Queen’s retinue kidnapped her, giving the heroine serious trials – something like MacMillan’s Adagio Manon in a gambling house with the upper supports borrowed from there. That, clasping herself by the shoulders and extending her hand towards the mezzanine, Gerda explains to the Prince and Princess that she is going to go north. That the laser red lines on the backdrop represent the cage where the Robber locked the captive Deer and Gerda. The list can be continued, but here it is more appropriate to stop and admit that the artists (Ekaterina Mochenova – scenography, Konstantin Binkin – lighting, Sergei Rylko – video) also played a significant role in obscuring the meaning of what was happening.

And in the literal sense: “The Snow Queen” is not just dark (only at the very beginning of the performance we are shown a video projection of a cozy old town with twinkling windows). The black backdrop is the basis of all scenes. The crowns or branches of the forest may appear on it, white graphics indicate the arcs of the “enchanted garden,” and gray strokes indicate a moving panorama of the city with skyscrapers and a wide avenue, against the backdrop of which the adults Kai and Gerda chastely embrace, dancing on the way to a happy future. This probably reflects our black and white reality. And the friendly lights along the contours of a certain Palace of Culture, behind the columns of which the loving heroes are hidden in the finale, should not reassure those who expected magic. There are no miracles.