Supporting and Promoting Czech Classical Music, Opera and Ballet

Dancers fall away, then crawl in terror to escape

The dancers surround a mature woman. She shakes a paper at them and all the dancers immediately fall to the floor. “My God! It’s a flower!” Mr Kylián says, standing among them and observing their perfect, spontaneous daisy-petal arrangement. “What would happen if you fall away, terrified, and crawl away?” he asks. “Turn your faces down, real cartoon faces, very stupid cartoon faces. Bigger. Bigger.”

The tension increases as the frightened figures, faces like gargoyles staring at the woman, wriggle away from the center.

“Excellent! Beautiful, wow!” he says. He sits at rapt attention now, forearms on both chrome arms of the chair, hands hanging down at the front, chin up, as if looking into a mirror just before the barber begins to snip.

Next a man brings in a large purse, circles around it, then sits squarely on top of it; a woman stands next to him. Except he’s actually poised a few inches above the purse, in mid-air. He pantomimes lighting a cigar and blowing smoke.

She coughs.

A Groucho Marx figure in a trench coat enters the stage, carrying a large suitcase. He circles around it and then sits on top. He has theatrically heavy eyebrows; the woman standing next to him has large black-rimmed glasses. The man lights a cigar of air, blows pretend smoke. She coughs. She begins to read a speech slowly, exaggerating every sound of the Czech words. The man pantomimes the meaning. Except his pantomimes have absolutely no relationship to what the woman is saying. The audience roars.

The Committee

Even the dog has perfectly turned-out hips

In the studio, the professional dancers are having big discussions in small groups. Mr Kuneš is discussing specific steps with Mr Kylián. His assistant Elke Schepers, also a former NDT dancer, reviews the notes she’s been taking during the practice; suggests some changes. A dancer does push-ups on the hard floor (no, he does not bend at the knees). Fifi, the golden retriever, scratches. A small child rattles a plastic box of candy in front of the dog’s nose. Someone beats the back of a chair like a bongo drum.

It’s like a big committee meeting, except they actually decide things. And there don’t seem to be any major egos on the line. Cora Bos-Kroese, the visiting assistant choreographer, tells Nataša Novotná, the executive director of 420People, that on a certain step she should “move over more,” and Mrs Novotná simply agrees, “Yeah, because I came in one step too early.”

Mrs Novotná and Miguel Oliveira rehearse the final movements of their pas de deux. It ends with a long series of slow steps downstage with no music. A hush falls on the studio as the dancers sitting on the perimeter watch. There is no sound.

Even the clock stops ticking.

They finish the final steps. The other dancers applaud softly. “Really good, good,” Mr Kylián says.

The couple moves downstage slowly. The man stands with one shoulder raised to his ear; the woman comes behind him and gently lowers it. There is no sound. She steps around in front of him. He moves in front of her, his shoulder again rising to his ear. She gently pushes it down and steps in front of him. Her shoulder rises to her ear; he gently pushes it down. The audience is so quiet it might not even be there. Except you sense that they are all holding their breath.

Outside in The New Stage Foyer, the waiters and waitresses have prepared a full buffet. Glasses of champagne and sparkling wines are lined up on linen-covered tables. The microphones are wired and ready on a small platform. Everything is ready for the congratulatory speeches, the applause, the official launch of the Different Shores biography.

Inside on The New Stage, the dancers are taking their bows. They look relieved and happy, their eyes glittering in the spotlights. Finally a tall, thin figure dressed in black appears from behind them. Mr Kylián takes a bow and quickly returns to stand behind the line of dancers. They step backwards in a wave, to more applause and standing ovations. Mr Kylián watches, then spreads his arms and gently pushes the wave forward again. He slips off to the left wing, alone; and quietly observes, his hands clasped behind his back, as this young generation soaks up its own applause.

The professional dancers rest along the edges of the rehearsal studio floor. Mr Kylián and Mr Kuneš softly discuss an idea, and start walking catty-corner downstage, still talking. Mr Kylián raises his left hand and then gestures downward. Mr Kuneš copies it. They try the same motion with their right hands, still walking. Now they repeat the movement as synchronized swimming strokes, their chins held back, smiling ever-so-slightly at their joke, as they move off together slowly from the rehearsal floor. — oo

– Mary Matz