Terez Rose is a writer and former ballet dancer whose work has appeared in Crab Orchard Review, the Philadelphia Inquirer, the San Jose Mercury News, Dance Advantage and numerous anthologies.She is the author of the ballet-based novels OFF BALANCE (2015) and OUTSIDE THE LIMELIGHT (2016; a Kirkus Indie Books of the Month selection.) Visit her at The Classical Girl where she blogs about ballet, classical music and the writing life.
The ballet’s second act, following Giselle’s death, is set in a spooky, mystical realm, precisely the kind of thing that so intrigued its 19th century audiences and made this ballet an instant classic.
With Tchaikovsky’s dear, familiar overture, the reassuring sameness of Wendall K Harrington’s slide show projecting 1915 San Francisco scenes onto the curtains, we were all, most decisively, back.
The ballet culminates with fouettés, bravura leaps from the oversized ensemble and a rousing finish with all 44 dancers onstage. It was an exuberant end to an intelligent, satisfying production, both of thought and movement.
In Helgi Tomasson's production, Michael Yeargan’s scenic design and the late Martin Pakledinaz’ sumptuous costumes create a scene so charming, you just want to climb inside and stay in that world all evening and beyond.
Ulrich Birkkjaer presented an affecting portrait of a tormented Shostakovich, as he paced, leapt, slumped, was propped back to standing, and relentlessly propelled forward.
In this era that venerates the contemporary, it’s rewarding to see the classics faring so well, and San Francisco Ballet’s Sleeping Beauty is a winner for all.
Unbound by restrictions, they’ve been given free rein to create, implement and demonstrate to the world what contemporary ballet looks like. Hint: it looks great.
Wednesday night at the War Memorial Opera House, San Francisco Ballet’s opening night, offered a deeply comforting, festive return to a sparkling production that never fails to delight.
The show stealer is the opening scene of Act III, as the curtain rises to reveal a line of females, both human and forest-creature, seated, waiting to try on the slipper the prince holds. It’s brilliant, laugh-out-loud clever.
It’s here where the full onslaught of Kochetkova’s formidable talent comes into play. As Odile, she was virtuosic, wondrously flashy, whipping off multiple pirouettes and high arabesques with a powerful attack.
