Alexei Ratmansky giải tỏa nỗi đau chiến tranh tại nhà hát Ballet

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How does a body stand upright when the world is spinning around it? Or, worse, when that world is breaking down with such vehemence that the air seems to grow more toxic by the minute? In Alexei Ratmansky’s new ballet “Solitude,” dancers waver and buckle as inner and outer forces wreak havoc on their bodies. Within this stark, dark universe, set to music by Gustav Mahler, bodies live on the edge, leaning and bending (nghiêng và uốn) precariously as they fight for equilibrium (trạng thái cân bằng). They are disjointed, their body parts at odds with one another. Spines twist deeply, as if wringing out the torso (vắt kiệt thân mình) could also unleash the rawest pain.

Ratmansky’s latest ballet, his first as artist in residence at New York City Ballet, is about war — the devastating war in Ukraine, the country where Ratmansky grew up and where his parents still live. This month marks two years since the Russian invasion (xâm lăng), and there seems to be no end in sight.

The motionless form of Gordon, wearing pants and a tight army-green turtleneck that calls to mind Ukraine’s president, Volodymyr Zelensky, is searing. Couples spring onto the stage from the opposite side, bursting across like fast-moving clouds. Pairs of dancers, each grasping a single hand, pull away until they break apart and then, just as quickly, conjoin with a partner’s back leg bent in an attitude position.

In this sharp program, City Ballet presents two ways of looking at war. Balanchine’s is explosive and, at times, victorious; Ratmansky’s is endless and harrowing. But this week in dance was remarkable for something else, too: the male solo. That is, a particular kind of male solo: understated, as airy as it is powerful.

In both Ratmansky’s “Solitude” and in “Brel,” a new work by Twyla Tharp currently at the Joyce Theater, the solos are major, each gleaming in individual ways. What they have in common is their sophistication and depth. They show what can be done with ballet steps while leaving behind any pomposity. These aren’t the kind of dances you interrupt with applause (ngắt bằng tràng pháo tay). You let them flow.

source: nytimes,