The New York City Ballet has not been seen in London since 1983. But now they're here sponsored by a variety organizations and as part of grander scheme to bring to London leading dance and ballet companies in the world.
      The Ballet Company are presenting four anthologies as a survey of present and past work. Their second programme consists of the three ballets by one of their most famous choreographers, Jerome Robbins (1918-1998). He created over 50 ballets for the NYCB as well as making a name for himself in many other and varied ways on Broadway.
      The first ballet was the Four Seasons choreographed by Robbins mostly to Verdi's ballet music, which is seldom heard particularly not in its original operatic locations. The scenery and costumes were by Santo Loquasto and the lighting by Jennifer Tipton. It was premiered in 1979 at the New York State Theatre. Nearly thirty years on it rather shows its age. It is a pretty ballet with colour-coded seasons (Winter White, Spring Green, Summer Orange, Autumn Red) and a succession of balletic clichés. Each season boasts a little for the corps and then a succession of solos and ensembles for the principals, and others, usually portraying couples in seasonally amatory attitudes. In too many cases the principal dancers were framed by symmetrical groups in photographic poses. Line and flow seem to have been Robbins intention, and the loose (diaphanous tops mostly) clothing were exploited to create that kind of weightless and effortless style so beloved of Frederick Ashton. But this depends on the dancers being able to achieve this effect, and the NYBC could not bring this off. This was partly because the gestures and movements were rather four-square and executed too much like superior gymnastics (hearty and athletic). In part also, the dancers' hearts and techniques seemed either challenged or under pressure. The Summer Pas de Deux, for instance, was distinctly out of time in places, particularly the ends of the tableaux. First a final cadence was heard, then feet hit stage worryingly late. However, as the audience began to lose enthusiasm, its spirits were lifted by a brilliant vignette in Autumn. A faun appeared perfectly in time, full of character and magnificently danced by Daniel Ulbricht. Each movement and gesture perfectly matched the music, and it was witty and suggestive. But was it Daniel Ulbricht? This was hard to tell as the programme, though lavish and expensive (£6), was uninformative. No dancer's name was attached to a character. Daniel Ulbricht looked quite like his picture, and if so he was lucky to have a picture as many of the 'soloists', as opposed to 'principals', were not so fortunate. This is a pity as if someone dances a part as well as he did the audience ought to be able to deduce who he or she is from the programme.
      The Four Seasons was not helped by the rather dull music. The programme claims that Verdi's ballet music is amongst the 'most delightful of the period'. It is not, as it is mostly very four-square with endless tidy cadences and second-rate tunes. Though Verdi followed convention in providing such music for Paris, it does not sound as though his heart was much in it. It was played efficiently but without much passion.
      The Four Seasons was followed by a music-less ballet: Moves (premiered in May 1984). This seemed much more up the NYBC's street. There is no overall narrative, though short parts of the abstract choreography suggested brief scenarios. From a line at the back of the stage, the corps gradually fragmented into semaphore-like patterns and then split into smaller ensembles. At the end these groups gradually reformed as the line at the front of the stage and then moved back, giving a neat symmetry to the whole ballet. One of the most striking effects were threesomes in which the three partners, by the intertwining and interchanging their limbs managed to change allegiances. The whole ballet called for precision and very accurate use of limbs and poses to suggest scenes and incidents. It was very successfully brought off.
      The evening ended with The Concert or the Perils of Everyone. The choreography and performances were a delight from beginning to end, and made the whole evening well worth while. The music is adapted mostly from Chopin. Much of it is played on stage by the pianist Nancy McDill, about whom the programme is, as ever, silent except in naming her.
      The overall story is about an audience at a Chopin concert. The programme-note alluded to the fanciful titles given to some of Chopin's pieces, such as the Raindrop Prelude or the Butterfly Etude. Curiously, however, though umbrellas and butterflies appeared in a couple of scenes they were never allied to their respective namesakes!
      After an orchestral burst of Chopin's A major Polonaise, the piano recital begins during which the characters in the audience appear each beautifully delineated in gesture and mime. "Politely Appreciative" was followed by "Passionately Fond of Music", who embraced the piano. A married couple appeared with the seats brought on for them to suggest their social status. The wife was a little interested in the music, but she spent a good deal of her time stopping her bored husband reading his newspaper and making eyes at the most attractive member of audience. Much of the time the characterization formed a counterpoint to the music, and was a caricature of concert audiences and how they listen to music. But this is par excellence the way mime can be used, and the choreography was often reminiscent of Marcel Marceau and others.
      It was beautifully and wittily performed by all the company, who had exchanged ballet shoes for 'jazz' shoes, which seemed symbolic of where their dancing excellence lay.
       Finally the cast turn into butterflies cavorting about the stage. Finally the pianist fed up with being the background to her audience's social pretensions slams her hands onto piano, rushes off and re-appears armed with a butterfly net. It was a wonderful ending to a captivating third part.
Roderick Swanston