May 17, 2000
There are times when a dancer makes
an indelible first impression, and so it was for me with Irina
Dvorovenko. I don't remember who Giselle or Albrecht were that
night, but I won't soon forget Dvorovenko's icy ferocity and
stage-spanning leaps -- hers was a Myrtha not to be trifled with,
a vortex of anger and vengefulness rather than a magisterial
Queen.
Since then, Dvorovenko has continued
to impress -- and why shouldn't she? She's got the sort of ideal,
almost exaggerated dancer's body one often sees in Russian ballerinas
-- mile-long legs and arms, attenuated waist, radiant back, small
head, long neck. (Almost an extrapolation of the kind of body
Balanchine liked so much.) But more than this, she plays her
instrument like a virtuoso, with a formidable and often brilliant
technique and a showman's canny knack for shaping a role to display
her gifts to best advantage.
She's the kind of dancer of whom
one is more likely to say, "Holy cow. She really nailed
that," than "Oh, the rapture!" Yet in these days
when too many dancers, even principals, seem more than a little
fuzzy around the edges technically, stylistically and dramatically,
it's a pleasure to see a dancer who exhibits no doubts at any
moment about who she is, where she is, what she's doing, and
why, or, significantly, what she wants. (Thanks to her technique,
how is usually a given.)
It's usually not a compliment to
say of a dancer that she's herself first, and her roles second,
yet Dvorovenko's smart enough to employ the formidable sense
of self which she projects in a manner that augments both her
own onstage persona and the choreography she's performing. Her
bravura Kitri brought down the house last season at the Met,
and doubtless will again this Thursday. In addition to her ferocious
Myrtha, she's a Gamzatti of wit and intelligence -- turning a
simple game of chess with Vladimir Malakhov's Solor into a subtle
dance of seduction with little more than her face and eyes (would
Nikiya play chess?). Dvorovenko is equally at home in more modern
works, and particularly seems to have taken to Twyla Tharp's
ballets like a fish to water, in both Tharp's new Variations
on a Theme by Haydn and the revival of her 1975 Push Comes
to Shove, in which she invested herself in the Martine van
Hamel role as if it had been made for her.
Like Van Hamel, another noteworthy
Myrtha of years past, Dvorovenko seems currently to be ABT's
Matinee Queen, and her stately progress through ABT's ranks is
a clear indication that, these days, being an exquisitely trained
Russian (rather, Ukrainian) is no longer a guarantee of a speedy
entrance into American companies upper ranks. A soloist, she
most frequently dances with her husband, Maxim Belotserkovsky,
also a native of Kiev, also gifted with a long line and explosive
technique, and also a soloist. They complement each other perfectly,
and one of my joys of watching ABT for the past few years is
seeing these dancers grow in poise and artisty, and I've had
June 14th, the date of Dvorovenko's sole Swan Lake in
NYC, circled on my calendar for months now. It's a matinee, of
course.--Eric Taub
