Saturday Matinee

San Francisco Ballet in Tomasson's Le Quattro Stagioni. © Erik Tomasson. It must be a fun photography game to try to catch Taras Domitro in the perfect 180 degree splits.

Every opening night gala is a celebration in itself, but especially recently, San Francisco Ballet has had much to celebrate. With the festivities of the landmark 75th anniversary still echoing in my ears, this year’s celebration was one with a more personal touch – artistic director Helgi Tomasson’s 25th year anniversary with the company. In an opening night program that highlighted choreographers whose work have been staples in shaping the company’s repertoire, the gala was not only a showcase for the company’s astounding versatility but also the vision of Tomasson and his extraordinary accomplishments as its artistic director. With pieces from Balanchine, Morris, Wheeldon, Robbins, and Tomasson himself, you see that Tomasson had an eye for innovative choreographers that think a little bit outside the box and push the envelope. (A choreographer missing from the opening night lineup was choreographer-in-residence Yuri Possohkov whose presence was missed.) San Francisco audiences have been privileged to benefit from his vision for innovation and style.

This opening night gala was not only a showcase for Tomasson’s leadership in bringing the company to the forefront of the international ballet scene, but his choreography as well. A majority of the evening were choreographed by Tomasson himself, and it was interesting to see a broad range of his choreography in one sitting. His eye for innovation that makes him a good artistic director is present everywhere – Tomasson favors class and elegance in his lines, no better exemplified in his pas de deux from 7 For Eight. Backed by Johann Sebastian Bach’s music, Nutnaree Pipt-Suksun and Pierre-Francois Vilanoba, elegantly clothed in black, personify the restrained yearnings of Bach’s music by being boxed in by a square spotlight, and dancing within its realm with outstretched arabesques and coolly controlled promenades. There are also occasional indulgences in unabashed romance in Tomasson’s choreography, like dips into a well of guilty pleasure. Passion simmers underneath a layer of decorum, such as in the pas de deux from The Fifth Season, multiplied by the wholehearted trust only seen in the assured partnership between the thrillingly seamless Yuan Yuan Tan and Damian Smith. More than once in different works, a woman is cradled into a man’s arms and carried off stage. A woman’s cheek rests gently on a brawny arm. Tomasson’s world is a world where the men are chivalrous like knights on white horses, jumping with power and always debonair. In Tomasson’s “Winter” from Le Quattro Stagioni, an overflowing of stage full of strapping men embodying strength and virtue, led by the dynamic Taras Domitro. The stage seemed too small to contain this tour de force.

Yuan Yuan Tan in Tomasson's Chi-Lin. © Erik Tomasson

Still, even in the opening night program, Tomasson’s abilities fall short as a champion choreographer. It’s unclear if Tomasson is the master constructionist with a view for the bigger picture while making the journey interesting. Watching his works, I get the feeling that he choreographs in blocks. He seems to be getting somewhere within the span of a few minutes, but it ends soon; transitions are abrupt and not always logical nor easy to follow. This blocked style is especially evident in contrast to Balanchine’s “The Man I Love” from Who Cares?. In a falling-in-love-in-a-Carousel-sort-of-way duet between Sarah Van Patten and Pierre-Francois Vilanoba, there is even a poetic story in the placement of the two lovers, both in space and in relation to each other. In their spacing alone, both close and far, in different hand holds and lifts, there is both uncertainty and certainty in falling in love, an ebb and flow that resolves with a satisfying close. There are revelations around every corner, small and big. In contrast, Tomasson’s Balcony pas de deux from Romeo and Juliet, also a story of falling in love, the overall construction lacks an overarching line in the plot – no slow yet growing buildup to a climax or natural die down punctuated by a first kiss. It’s phrasing built into the construction of the piece, the same as in music as in dance. The result are sudden changes in fast and slow in a ride that feels more random and uneven. Perhaps there’s a metaphor for first love in there somewhere?

As in music, there is room for performers to inject their own artistry. The dancers who excel at Tomasson choreography are the performers who carry and follow through the movements, adding momentum. Yuan Yuan Tan and Damian Smith seamlessly converge in a whirlwind of trust as she falls freely in Smith’s sure arms in The Fifth Season. Tan is a free bird in the “Flute Moon” from Tomasson’s Chi-Lin, angular and showy. Davit Karapetyan powers through space with power and grace, noble yet stirring in Tomasson’s Chaconne for Piano and Two Dancers with incredible stage presence. Maria Kochetkova is a thrilled young girl in love as Juliet as she flits across the stage with Joan Boada as her ardent lover.

Maria Kochetkova and Joan Boada in Tomasson's Romeo & Juliet. © Erik Tomasson

In some of the pieces, this blocked style is used to its advantage. In Tomasson’s Concerto Grosso, which may as well be his finest piece yet, utilizes this style by presenting the work set in a classroom feel. Five men in solid colored unitards repeat high flying steps, steps tinted with lyricism and authority, on both left and right sides as is normal in a ballet class. There is a repetitiveness reminiscent of basic training exercises. The men push themselves higher and faster, as well as competitively yet congenially with others. This display of virtuosity is a thrilling showcase for dancers as beautiful as the lyrical Diego Cruz, James Sofranko, Garen Scribner who holds gentility in his finishes, Hansuke Yamamoto, led by Pascal Molat. Molat bursts off the stage with his energy yet his footwork is precise, and he seems to fly. In other pieces however, choreography falls flat. The pas de six from Tomasson’s Sleeping Beauty felt harried, with each variation feeling truncated and too brief; the shaky footwork and lack of unity amongst the dancers didn’t help either. It was disappointing that the pas de deux from Tomasson’s Tuning Game went nowhere in spite of its sharp inflections, especially since it was an introduction for newly hired principal Vitor Luiz (dancing with Lorena Feijoo) to San Francisco audiences. It wasn’t the proper showcase for both dancers, and we’ll have to wait until the season to see what he can do.

The company truly soars in choreography such as Morris and Balanchine that the company seemed created to dance. The “Typewriter” from Mark Morris’ Sandpaper Ballet is quirky, lightning fast, and entertaining, and Robbins’ “The Mistake Waltz” from The Concert is earnest and heartwarming that reminds me, a bit painfully, of my ballet classes where someone (like me) goes in the wrong direction or gets offbeat from the music without quite knowing why. It’s easy to write these pieces off as mere froth, yet these pieces require a transparent sincerity without overdoing it. San Francisco Ballet excels at striking the perfect balance. Balanchine’s Agon with Sofiane Sylve and Anthony Spaulding is both severe and stunning. Gennadi Nedvigin in “Bugle Boy” from Paul Taylor’s Company B is a finger snappin’ carefree spirit with loose, swinging shoulders. Katita Waldo and Damian Smith work through the angular complexity of Christopher Wheeldon’s pas de deux from Rush, unraveling movements through time and space. Stylistically, this company has become an expert in these choreographers. Yet this company isn’t one that evolved this way, but it’s a company that represents a vision of its artistic director, Helgi Tomasson. And for that, San Francisco audiences are thankful. It’s going to be a great season this year.

San Francisco Ballet website. Program 1, Tomasson’s Swan Lake, starts tonight.