In 1847 ballet arrived in Russia in the guise of Marius Petipa, a Frenchman. As Emissary-of-all-things-Western to Alexander II, Petipa choreographed most of the war-horses of classical ballet, including "Swan Lake", "Giselle", "La Bayadere", and "The Sleeping Beauty". Successive czars proceeded... [more]

In 1847 ballet arrived in Russia in the guise of Marius Petipa, a Frenchman. As Emissary-of-all-things-Western to Alexander II, Petipa choreographed most of the war-horses of classical ballet, including "Swan Lake", "Giselle", "La Bayadere", and "The Sleeping Beauty". Successive czars proceeded to patronize and prize ballet, and under such tutelage Russian ballet began to develop a grand name as a form unto itself. Ironically, as Stalin killed or oppressed every other art form, his Russia preserved a tradition of ballet the world otherwise would most likely have lost. It is somewhat of a mystery that Stalin's Russia would favor an art form so seemingly decadent and so beloved by the czars. It often displayed, in its system of rank -- first, second, third level corps, demi-soloists, soloists, etc. -- a mirror image of the royal court sitting in the audience. Perhaps this imperialist form was able to morph into a populist form by slipping into an avoidance of politics altogether, becoming a patriotic vehicle. Thus the Kirov Ballet (formerly known as the Imperial Ballet) stayed in business, even if it was the business of flogging the old war-horses at the expense of artistic exploration. In the late '60s and early '70s, a backlash of oppression followed Kruschev's "liberalism." KGB informants were everywhere to report suspect activity, and the ballet was no exception. More intent on protecting the people from "decadent ideas and deviant forms" than on inviting innovation, the administrative director of the Kirov Ballet called the shots, banning Western ballets and incorrect attitudes. Dancers were chosen for European tours based on good behavior, especially the unwillingness to try anything funny, like defecting. Restless stars learned to keep their frustration to themselves, but a huge curiosity about and desire for the trappings of the West invaded the ranks of the Kirov. Soviet dancers began to realize the incredible world exposure they could get by breaking out. The most famous name in ballet, Mikhail Baryshnikov, was not the first superstar to defect from the Soviet Union's artistic and personal oppression. George Balanchine had left a slightly more permissive Soviet Russia in the '20s and had changed dance forever. Rudolph Nureyev hopped the guard ropes in the Paris airport in 1961, and Natalia Makarova slipped away during a tour in 1970. Both left in their wake an administrative reign tighter than it was before. The 1970s rang in the end of the most frenzied phase of the Cold War in America, and as tiny gymnastic dynamo Nadia Comaneci bounced away with the Olympic gold in 1976, she reminded the West that Eastern Europe grew dancers as freakishly talented as its athletes. By the time Baryshnikov arrived in 1974, it took no time for him to become a star. Two years later he had danced 30 roles and made a movie ("The Turning Point" with Anne Bancroft and Shirley MacLaine). Soviet ballet literally became American Ballet, with American Ballet Theater absorbing most of the Soviet emigre's (prompting principal dancer Cynthia Gregory to resign in 1975 because she and other Americans were not getting enough roles). Conversely, a joke in Leningrad referred to the Kirov Corps de Ballet as the "corpse". With the era of the defector over, the developments in new Russian dance should prove fascinating. [show less]