Review of the two-act ballet “The Queen of Spades” staged by Yuri Posokhov

On the Historical Stage of the Bolshoi Theater, the premiere of the two-act ballet “The Queen of Spades” took place, staged by Yuri Posokhov to a score created by Yuri Krasavin based on the opera of the same name and other works by Tchaikovsky. The performance was conducted by Pavel Klinichev. He talks about the first premiere after the change of power at the Bolshoi Tatiana Kuznetsova.

This amazing ballet is similar to Krylov’s fable about the Swan, Cancer and Pike. With the difference that the “cart” ballet, which was created by three strong, independent and creative co-authors (to the choreographer and composer we should add Polina Bakhtina, the production designer), does not stand still, but rushes along like Gogol’s troika, forcing the stunned observer to wonder with the textbook question: “Where are you going?” and summarize with the same textbook: “Does not provide an answer.”

It is obvious that all three (more precisely, four, but the author of the strong, intelligible libretto, Valery Pecheykin, disappeared into the choreographer, as befits a like-minded screenwriter) consciously retreated from Pushkin’s story with its aristocratic lapidaryness. But they are clearly not ready to accept the romantic melodrama of the opera as a genre model, even though the love triangle (Lisa-Herman-Eletsky), invented by Modest Tchaikovsky, remained one of the main pillars of the plot structure in the ballet. It seems that all co-authors were united by a secret irony towards operatic passions, reinforced by the conviction that Pushkin treats his heroes the same way. The problem is that the gradations of irony are wide, from banter to sarcasm, and in the ballet each of the co-authors ironized in his own way.

Composer Yuri Krasavin changed and modernized the composition of the orchestra, including saxophone and accordion, and, placing emphasis on “sporadic chamber ensembles,” thus got rid of sensitivity and pathos. He transferred the voices of different characters arising at the climaxes to the countertenor: Vadim Volkov, hidden in the orchestra pit, sings beautifully either as Tomsky or as the ghost of the Countess, who came to Herman to reveal the secret of the cards. Yuri Krasavin played up the funeral scene of the Countess with “Funeral of a Doll,” extracted from Tchaikovsky’s “Children’s Album.” He didn’t forget the ballet “Diamonds,” having included in the score a fragment from Tchaikovsky’s Third Symphony, used by Balanchine in his famous ballet. At the insistence of the choreographer, who demanded a love adagio for the characters, he added Yeletsky’s love aria, to which Herman and Lisa confess their feelings at the ballet. In a word, it seems that for the composer this whole story became a sophisticated intellectual game about the Game.

Scenographer Polina Bakhtina, who a year ago in Stasik cluttered up the scenery of Posokhov’s “The Nutcracker” so much that the choreographer had to crumple and crumple the crowded ensembles, corrected herself here: she cleared the stage as much as possible for dancing. However, one cannot accuse her of minimalism: the scenery and costumes in this ballet are abundant and lead to an independent theme. Polina Bakhtina made a play about the collapse of an empire and the mad feast of a human anthill on its ruins. The luminous outline of a glass cube (Herman’s rooms, then wards in the Obukhov hospital), gambling tables rolling across the stage, the black cellophane shine of the Swan Canal water are only partial additions to the main structure: a gigantic imperial hall of cement color with crumbling stucco molding, gigantic arched galleries on the second floor and a dim mirror on the back. This frightening interior is presented from an unusual perspective, it seems to lie on its side: as if a small viewer is sprawled on the floor of this decrepit palace and sees a glittering mirror ceiling above him; if you split it, a tunnel to infinity will open.

The costumes of the heroes are quite traditional: frock coats, braids on men’s light jackets and women’s wide waist-length dresses can easily be attributed to the 19th century. The artist played back on the cards: a red-skinned, black-and-purple assorted “deck” in wigs with scarlet ponytails creates an atmosphere of total cabaret frenzy. A separate macabre is a funeral procession juggling a coffin: all as one – in black rubberized raincoats with capes and helmets on their heads; instead of a secular society – a paramilitary march of faceless clones.

Choreographer Yuri Posokhov, impeccably musical, actively and intelligently used scenographic discoveries, seems to be in complete harmony with his co-authors. However, intellectual games with the literary and operatic source, the infernal nature of society and the collapse of the world affect him only tangentially. He is interested in something else: specific characters, his artists and solving his own ballet-director’s problems. It is worth recalling here that Posokhov is staging The Queen of Spades, his fifth original ballet for the Bolshoi Theater, for the first time without a co-director. And at first glance it gets along just fine without it. The thoroughly danceable, dashingly rushing action is absolutely clear: everything that happens on stage is understandable even without a libretto. Each character has his own plastic speech, each is noticeable and richly gifted in dance. But the psychological detail that distinguished, say, “The Seagull” is not here. There is no clear concept either.

The love duets here are swift and smooth, the relationships between the players are friendly and harmonious, the balls are flying, the cards are playing tricks. The Countess (Vyacheslav Lopatin) “during her lifetime” remains in the background, and as a ghost behaves like a vengeful old money-lender (such an association is encouraged by both the wig with a stunted gray pigtail and the tattered underwear with the frame of a cut-off crinoline – infernal-demonic in this dexterous and there are very few mobile furies). We also have to take it on faith that this graceful, lively Liza (Elizaveta Kokoreva) loves Herman so much that she is ready to commit suicide; that this charming, spontaneous and temperamental German (Igor Tsvirko) is so obsessed with a team of freaks – insane Doubles of his consciousness; that the nimble “Moscow Venus” (Victoria Brileva) once captivated Versailles and that the sunken, vulgar Mikhail Lobukhin, who failed to keep her in quick support a couple of times, is that same mysterious occultist Saint Germain.

At the same time, the choreography of the ballet is logical and classically beautiful. However, it is complex and inventive – most of the current authors of Posokhov’s findings would be enough for four ballets. He scatters his pearls endlessly, repeating neither successful lifts, nor witty combinations, nor virtuoso jumps – so that the public does not have time to not only appreciate them, but even really notice them. This generosity is motivated by love for the talents of the wonderful artists of the Bolshoi Theater, to whom the author gave a whole scattering of excellent roles. Artem Ovcharenko, the darling of Tomsky’s fate, dances with delightful freedom; Mark Chino hones with dagger sharpness the jumps of the black and red Ace, looking like an operetta sharpie; Mark Orlov – the stately, aristocratic Yeletsky – is even now ready to turn into some kind of Siegfried. The “Troika” is excellent – three miniature soloists, endowed with absolutely ballerina virtuosity. The only thing that fails is the corps de ballet. Yuri Possokhov, who generally considered “The Queen of Spades” to be a chamber performance, but was forced to give it mass appeal for the sake of the big Historical stage, inflated the “body of the ballet” at such a pace, such technical difficulties and such a whimsical pattern of movements that the purity of the dance has yet to be achieved here. Unless, of course, the new leadership of the Bolshoi still has the desire to preserve in the repertoire this unique performance of the break of eras, which marked the end of the brilliant directorship of Vladimir Urin, on whose initiative it was created.